[Illustration]

THE STROLLERS

By FREDERIC S. ISHAM

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY

HARRISON FISHER

INDIANAPOLIS

THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY

PUBLISHERS

Copyright 1902

The Bowen-Merrill Company

March

PRESS OF

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 

THE STROLLERS

CONTENTS

 PROLOGUE PAGE THE MARQUIS' HONEYMOON 3

BOOK I

ON THE CIRCUIT IN THE WILDERNESS

 CHAPTER I THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 11 II A NEW ARRIVAL 33 III AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE VENTURE 48 IV "GREEN GROW THE RUSHES, O!" 59 V A CONFERENCE IN THE KITCHEN 72 VI THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHARIOT 80 VII SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 87 VIII FLIPPING THE SHILLING 99 IX SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 111 X SEALING THE COMPACT 122 XI THE QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 136 XII AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 144 XIII THE COMING OF LITTLE THUNDER 156 XIV THE ATTACK ON THE MANOR 172 XV A HASTY EXIT 178 XVI THE COUNCIL AT THE TOWN PUMP 190 XVII THE HAND FERRY 203

BOOK II

DESTINY AND THE MARIONETTES

 CHAPTER I THE FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 211 II "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 224 III AT THE RACES 232 IV LEAR AND JULIET 250 V THE MEETING BENEATH THE OAKS 266 VI A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 275 VII A CYNICAL BARD 287 VIII THE SWEETEST THING IN NATURE 308 IX A DEBUT IN THE CRESCENT CITY 321 X LAUGHTER AND TEARS 333 XI THE PASSING OF A FINE GENTLEMAN 342 XII IN THE OLD CEMETERY 360 XIII AN INCONGRUOUS RÔLE 370

BOOK III

THE FINAL CUE

 CHAPTER I OVERLOOKING THE COURT-YARD 387 II ONLY A SHADOW 399 III FROM GARRET TO GARDEN 412 IV "THE BEST OF LIFE" 420 V THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 428 VI THE COUNCIL OF WAR 436 VII A MEETING ON THE MOUNT 450 VIII A FAIR PENITENT 464 IX "COMUS' MISTICK WITCHERIES" 476 X CONSTANCE AND THE SOLDIER 488

PROLOGUE

THE MARQUIS' HONEYMOON

Old Drury Lane rang with applause for the performance of Madame Carew. Of British-French parentage, she was a recognized peer among thefavorite actresses on the English stage and a woman whose attractionsof face and manner were of a high order. She came naturally by hertalents, being a descendant of Madame de Panilnac, famed as anactress, confidante of Louise-Benedicte, Duchess du Maine, whooriginated the celebrated _nuits blanches_ at Sceaux during the closeof Louis XIV's reign. 

The bill for the evening under consideration was "Adrienne Lecouvreur"and in no part had the actress been more natural and effective. Hertriumph was secure, for as the prologue says:

 "Your judgment given--your sentence must remain; No writ of error lies--to Drury Lane. "

She was the talk of the day and her praises or deficiencies werediscussed by the scandal-carriers of the town; the worn-out dowagers, the superannuated maidens, the "tabernacle gallants, " the male membersof the tea tables and all the coxcombs, sparks and beaux who hauntedthe stage door. 

The player had every stimulus to appear at her best on this particularevening, for the audience, frivolous, volatile, taking its characterfrom the loose, weak king, was unusually complaisant through thepresence of the first gentleman of Europe. As the last of the Georgesdeclared himself in good-humor, so every toady grinned and everycourtly flunkey swore in the Billingsgate of that profanely eloquentperiod that the actress was a "monstrous fine woman. "

With rare discretion and spirit had the latter played, a queenlyfigure in that ribald, gross gathering. She had reached the scenewhere the actress turns upon her tormentors, those noble ladies ofrank and position, and launches the curse of a soul lashed beyondendurance. Sweeping forward to confront her adversaries, about to facethem, her troubled glance chanced to fall into one of the side boxeswhere were seated a certain foreign marquis, somewhat notorious, and alady of insolent, patrician bearing. The anticipated action wasarrested, for at sight of the nobleman and his companion, Adrienneswayed slightly, as though moved by a new overpowering emotion. Onlyfor a moment she hesitated, then fixing her blazing eyes upon the twoand lifting her arm threateningly, the bitter words flowed from herlips with an earnestness that thrilled the audience. A palloroverspread the face of the marquis, while the lady drew back behindthe draperies, almost as if in fear. At the conclusion of that effortthe walls echoed with plaudits; the actress stood as in a trance; herface was pale, her figure seemed changed to stone and the light wentout of her eyes. 

She fainted and fell and the curtain descended quickly. The woman bythe marquis' side, who had trembled at first, now forced a laugh, asshe said: "The trollop can curse! Let us go. " Together they left thebox, the marquis regretting the temerity which had led him to bringhis companion to the theater. He, too, was secretly unnerved, and, when they entered the carriage, they seated themselves as far apart aspossible, the marquis detesting the lady and she for her partdisliking him just as cordially. 

Next day the critics referred to the scene with glowing words, whilein the coffee houses they discussed the proposition: Should an actressfeel the emotion she portrays? With a cynical smile the marquis readthe different accounts of the performance, when he and his companionfound themselves in the old stage coach _en route_ for Brighton. Hefelt no regret for his action--had not the Prince of Wales taught thegentlemen of his kingdom that it was fashionable to desert actresses?Had he not left the "divine Perdita" to languish, after snubbing herright royally in Hyde Park?

Disdainfully the lady in the coach regarded her husband and itwas evident that the ties of affection which bound these twotravelers together on life's road were neither strong nor enduring. Yet they were traveling together; their way was the same; theirdestination--but that belongs to the future. The marquis had beenrelieved in his mind after a consultation with a distinguishedbarrister, and, moreover, was pleased at the prospect of leavingthis island of fogs for the sunny shores of France. The timeswere exciting; the country, on the verge of proposed electoralreforms. But in France the new social system had sprung intoexistence and--lamentable fact!--duty towards one's country hadassumed an empire superior to ancient devotion toward kings. 

To stem this tide and attach himself closely to King Charles X was themarquis' ambitious purpose. For this he had espoused a party inmarrying a relative of the royal princess, thus enhancing the tiesthat bound him to the throne, and throwing to the winds _his_ Perditawhose charms had once held him in folly's chains. Did he regret thestep? Has ravening aspiration any compunction; any contrite visitingsof nature? What did the player expect; that he would violateprecedence; overthrow the fashionable maxims of good George IV; becomea slave to a tragi-comic performer and cast his high destiny to thewinds? Had ever a gentleman entertained such a project? Vows? Witnessthe agreeable perjuries of lovers; the pleasing pastime of fondhearts! Every titled rascallion lied to his mistress; every nobleblackguard professed to be a Darby for constancy and was a JonathanWild by instinct. If her ideals were raised so high, the worse forher; if a farce of a ceremony was regarded as tying an indissolubleknot--let her take example by the lady who thought herself the king'sspouse; pish! there are ceremonies and ceremonies, and wives andwives; those of the hedge-concealed cottage and those of palace andchateau!

As the coach sped over the road, the lady by his side smileddisagreeably from time to time, and my lord, when he became aware ofit, winced beneath her glance. Had she fathomed his secret? Else whythat eminently superior air; that manner which said as plainly asspoken words: "Now I have learned what to do if he should play thetyrant. Now I see a way to liberty, equality, fraternity!" And beneaththe baneful gleam of that look of enlightenment, my lord cursed underhis breath roundly. The only imperturbable person of the party wasFrançois, the marquis' valet, whose impassive countenance was that ofa stoic, apathetic to the foibles of his betters; a philosopher of thewardrobe, to whom a wig awry or a loosened buckle seemed of moremoment than the derangement of the marriage tie or the disorder ofconjugal affection. 

Not long thereafter the player left for America, where she procured anengagement in New York City, and, so far as London was concerned, shemight have found rest and retiredness in the waters of Lethe. Of herreception in the old New York Theater; the verdict of the phalanx ofcritics assembled in the Shakespeare box which, according totradition, held more than two hundred souls; the gossip overconfections or tea in the coffee room of the theater--it isunnecessary to dwell upon. But had not the player become a voluntaryexile; had she not foregone her former life for the new; had she notfound that joy sometimes begets the bitterest grief, there would havebeen no occasion for this chronicle. 

BOOK I

ON THE CIRCUIT IN THE WILDERNESS

CHAPTER I

THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND

It was a drizzly day in the Shadengo Valley. A mist had settled downupon the old inn; lost to view was the landscape with its variedfoliage. Only the immediate foreground was visible to a teamster whocame down the road--the trees with dripping branches, and the inn fromthe eaves of which water fell to the ground with depressing monotony;the well with its pail for watering the horses and the log trough inwhose limpid waters a number of speckled trout were swimming. Thedriver drew up his horses before the Travelers' Friend--as the placewas named--and called out imperatively:

"Hullo there!"

No one appearing, he leaned over and impatiently rapped on the doorwith the heavy oak butt-end of his whip. Still there was no response. Again he knocked, this time louder than before, and was preparing foran even more vigorous assault upon the unhospitable entrance, when thedoor swung back and the landlord, a tall, gaunt individual, confrontedthe driver. 

"Well, I heard ye, " he said testily. "Are ye coming in or shall Ibring it out?"

"Bring it out, " was the gruff response of the disgruntled teamster. 

Shortly afterwards mine host reappeared with a tankard of generousdimensions. The teamster raised it; slowly drained it to the bottom;dropped a coin into the landlord's hand; cracked his whip in a livelymanner and moved on. The steam from his horses mingled with the mistand he was soon swallowed up, although the cheerful snap of his whipcould yet be heard. Then that became inaudible and the boniface whohad stood for a brief space in the doorway, empty tankard in hand, re-entered the house satisfied that no more transient patronage wouldbe forthcoming at present. 

Going through an outer room, called by courtesy a parlor, the landlordpassed into an apartment which served as dining-room, sitting-room andbar. Here the glow of a wood fire from the well swept hearth and theaspect of the varied assortment of bottles, glasses and tankards, gavemore proof of the fitness of the appellation on the creaking sign ofthe road-house than appeared from a superficial survey of its exteriorand far from neat stable yard, or from that chilly, forbidding room, so common especially in American residences in those days, the parlor. Any doubt regarding the contents of the hospitable looking bottles wasdispelled by such prominent inscriptions in gilt letters as "Whisky, ""Brandy" and "Rum. " To add to the effect, between the decanters wereranged glass jars of striped peppermint and winter-green candies, while a few lemons suggested pleasing possibilities of a hot sling, spiced rum flip or Tom and Jerry. The ceiling of this dining-room wasblackened somewhat and the huge beams overhead gave an idea of thesubstantial character of the construction of the place. That fuel wasplentiful, appeared in evidence in the open fireplace where wereburning two great logs, while piled up against the wall were manyother good-sized sections of hickory. 

Seated at a respectful distance from this cheerful conflagration was ayoung man of perhaps five-and-twenty, whose travel-stained attireindicated he had but recently been on the road. Upon a chair near bywere a riding-whip and hat, the latter spotted with mud and testifyingto the rough character of the road over which he had come. He held ashort pipe to his lips and blew clouds of smoke toward the fire, whileupon a table, within arm's length, rested a glass of some hot mixture. But in spite of his comfortable surroundings, the expression of hisface was not that of a person in harmony with the Johnsonianconclusion, "A chair in an inn is a throne of felicity. " Hiscountenance, well bronzed as a weather-tried trooper's, was harsh, gloomy, almost morose; not an unhandsome face, but set in such asevere cast the observer involuntarily wondered what experience hadindited that scroll. Tall, large of limb, muscular, as was apparenteven in a restful pose, he looked an athlete of the most approvedtype, active and powerful. 

Mine host, having found his guest taciturn, had himself become genial, and now remarked as he entered: "How do you find the punch? Is it toyour liking?"

"Yes, " shortly answered the stranger, without raising his eyes from amoody regard of the fire. 

"You're from France, I guess?" continued the landlord, as he seatedhimself on the opposite side of the fireplace. "Been here long? Whereyou going?" Without waiting for an answer to his first question heexercised his time-honored privilege of demanding any and allinformation from wayfarers at the Travelers' Friend. 

"I say, where you going?" he repeated, turning over a log and sendinga shower of sparks up the flue. 

With no change of countenance the guest silently reached for hispunch, swallowed a portion of it, replaced the glass on the table andresumed his smoking as though oblivious of the other's presence. Momentarily disconcerted, the landlord devoted himself once more tothe fire. After readjusting a trunk of old hickory on the greatandirons and gazing absently for a moment at the huge crane supportingan iron kettle of boiling water, mine host tipped back in his chair, braced his feet against the wall, lighted a vile-smelling pipe andagain returned valiantly to the attack, resolved to learn more abouthis guest. 

"I hear things are kind of onsettled in France?" he observeddiplomatically, emitting a cloud of smoke. "I see in a Syracuse paperthat Louis Philippe is no longer king; that he and the queen have fledto England. Perhaps, now, "--inwardly congratulating himself on hisshrewdness--"you left Paris for political reasons?"

The stranger deliberately emptied his pipe and thrust it into hispocket, while the landlord impatiently awaited the response to hispointed query. When it came, however, it was not calculated to allaythe curiosity of his questioner. 

"Is it your practice, " said the young man coldly, in slow butexcellent English, "to bark continuously at the heels of yourguests?"

"Oh, no offense meant! No offense! Hope none'll be taken, " stammeredthe landlord. 

Then he recovered himself and his dignity by drawing forth a hugewine-colored silk handkerchief, set with white polka-dots, andostentatiously and vigorously using it. This ear-splitting operationhaving once more set him up in his own esteem, he resumed hisattentions to the stranger. 

"I didn't know, " he added with an outburst of honesty, "but what youmight be some nobleman in disguise. "

"A nobleman!" said the other with ill-concealed contempt. "My name isSaint-Prosper; plain Ernest Saint-Prosper. I was a soldier. Now I'm anadventurer. There you have it all in a nut-shell. "

The inn-keeper surveyed his guest's figure with undisguisedadmiration. 

"Well, you look like a soldier, " he remarked. "You are like oneof those soldiers who came over from France to help us in theRevolution. "

This tribute being silently accepted, the landlord grew voluble as hisguest continued reserved. 

"We have our own troubles with lords, too, right here in New YorkState, " he said confidentially. "We have our land barons, descendantsof the patroons and holders of thousands of acres. And we have ourbolters, too, who are making a big stand against feudalism. "

Thereupon he proceeded to present the subject in all its details tothe soldier; how the tenants were protesting against the enforcementof what they now deemed unjust claims and were demanding the abolitionof permanent leaseholds; how they openly resisted the collection ofrents and had inaugurated an aggressive anti-rent war againsttyrannical landlordism. His lengthy and rambling dissertation wasfinally broken in upon by a rumbling on the road, as of carriagewheels drawing near, and the sound of voices. The noise sent theboniface to the window, and, looking out, he discovered a lumberingcoach, drawn by two heavy horses, which came dashing up with a greatsemblance of animation for a vehicle of its weight, followed by awagon, loaded with diversified and gaudy paraphernalia. 

"Some troopers, I guess, " commented the landlord in a tone whichindicated the coming of these guests was not entirely welcome to him. "Yes, " he added, discontentedly, "they're stage-folk, sure enough. "

The wagon, which contained several persons, was driven into the stableyard, where it was unloaded of "drops" and "wings, " representing astreet, a forest, a prison, and so on, while the stage coach, with arattle and a jerk, and a final flourish of the driver's whip, stoppedat the front door. Springing to the ground, the driver opened the doorof the vehicle, and at the same time two other men, with their headsmuffled against the wind and rain, leisurely descended from the top. The landlord now stood at the entrance of the inn, a sour expressionon his face. Certainly, if the travelers had expected in him thetraditional glowing countenance, with the apostolic injunction to "usehospitality without grudging" writ upon it, they were doomed todisappointment. 

A rustle of skirts, and there emerged from the interior of the coach, first, a little, dried-up old lady whose feet were enclosed inprunella boots, with Indian embroidered moccasins for outsideprotection; second, a young woman who hastily made her way into thehostelry, displaying a trim pair of ankles; third, a lady resemblingthe second and who the landlord afterwards learned was her sister;fourth, a graceful girl above medium height, wearing one of thoseprovoking, quilted silk hoods of the day, with cherry-colored lining, known as "Kiss-me-if-you-dare" hoods. 

Then followed a dark melancholy individual, the utility man, whosewaistcoat of figured worsted was much frayed and whose "tooth-pick"collar was the worse for the journey. He preceded a more natty personin a bottle-green, "shad-belly" coat, who strove to carry himself asthough he were fashionably dressed, instead of wearing clothes whichno longer could conceal their shabbiness. The driver, called intheatrical parlance "the old man, " was a portly personage in a bluecoat with velvet collar and gilt buttons, a few of which were missing;while the ruffles of his shirt were in sad plight, for instead ofprotruding elegantly a good three or even four inches, their glory hadgone and they lay ignominiously flattened upon the bosom of thewearer. A white choker rivaled in hue the tooth-pick collar of themelancholy individual. 

The tavern's stable boy immediately began to remove the trunks intothe main hallway. This overgrown, husky lad evidently did not sharehis employer's disapproval of the guests, for he gazed in open-eyedwonder at the sisters, and then, with increasing awe, his glancestrayed to the young girl. To his juvenile imagination an actressappeared in the glamour of a veritable goddess. But she had obviouslythat tender consideration for others which belongs to humanity, forshe turned to the old man with an affectionate smile, removing fromhis shoulders the wet Petersham overcoat, and, placing it on a chair, regarded him with a look of filial anxiety. Yet their appearancebelied the assumption of such relationship; he was hearty, florid andsturdy, of English type, while she seemed a daughter of the South, afigure more fitting for groves of orange and cypress, than for thisrugged northern wilderness. 

The emotion of the stable boy as he gazed at her, and the forbiddingmood of the landlord were broken in upon by the tiny old lady, who, ina large voice, remarked:

"A haven at last! Are you the landlord?"

"Yes, ma'am, " testily replied that person. 

"I am pleased to meet you, sir, " exclaimed the melancholy individual, as he extended a hand so cold and clammy that shivers ran up and downthe back of the host when he took it gingerly. "We are having finetragedy weather, sir!"

"A fire at once, landlord!" commanded the would-be beau. 

"Refreshments will be in order!" exclaimed she of the trim ankles. 

"And show me the best room in the house, " remarked her sister. 

Mine host, bewildered by this shower of requests, stared from one tothe other in helpless confusion, but finally collected his witssufficiently to usher the company into the tap-room with:

"Here you'll find a fire, but as for the best room, thisgentleman"--indicating the reticent guest--"already occupies it. "

The young man at the fire, thus forced prominently into notice, aroseslowly. 

"You are mistaken, landlord, " he said curtly, hardly glancing at theplayers. "I no longer occupy it since these ladies have come. "

"Your complaisance does credit to your good nature, sir, " exclaimedthe old man. "But we can not take advantage of it. "

"It is too good of you, " remarked the elder sister with a glancereplete with more gratitude than the occasion demanded. "Really, though, we could not think of it. "

"Thank you; thank you, " joined in the wiry old lady, bobbing up anddown like a miniature figure moved by the unseen hand of the showman. "Allow me, sir!" And she gravely tendered him a huge snuff-box oftortoise shell, which he declined; whereupon she continued:

"You do not use it? New fashions; new habits! Though whether for thebetter is not for me to say. "

She helped herself to a liberal portion and passed the box to theportly old gentleman. Here the landlord, in a surly tone, told thestable boy to remove the gentleman's things and show the ladies totheir rooms. Before going, the girl in the provoking hood--nowunfastened, and freeing sundry rebellious brown curls where themoisture yet sparkled like dew--turned to the old man:

"You are coming up directly? Your stock wants changing, while yourruffles"--laughing--"are disgraceful!"

"Presently, my dear; presently!" he returned. 

The members of the company mounted the broad stairway, save the driverof the coach--he of the disordered ruffles--who wiped his heavy bootson a door mat and made his way to the fire, where he stood in Englishfashion with his coat-tails under his arms, rubbing his hands anddrying himself before the flames. 

"A disagreeable time of year, sir, " he observed to the soldier, whohad returned to his seat before the table. "Twice on the road wenearly broke down, and once the wagon dumped our properties in theditch. Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the ladies heaped reproachesupon these gray hairs. This, sir, to the man who was considered one ofthe best whips in old Devonshire county. "

The other did not answer immediately, but regarded the speaker withthe look of one not readily disposed to make acquaintances. Hisconclusions were apparently satisfactory, however, for he presentlyvouchsafed the remark:

"You are the manager, I presume?"

"I enjoy that honor, " returned the loquacious stranger. "But my dutiesare manifold. As driver of the chariot, I endure the constantapprehension of wrecking my company by the wayside. As assistantcarpenter, when we can not find a stage it is my task to erect one. Asbill-poster and license-procurer, treasurer and stage manager, my timeis not so taken up, sir, as to preclude my going on and assuming acharacter. "

"A life of variety, " observed the young man, politely if indifferently. 

"Yes; full of ups and downs, as the driver of the property wagon saidwhen we entered this hilly district, " replied the manager, with thecontentment of a man who has found a snug haven after a hard ride in acomparatively unbroken country. "Affluence we may know, but poverty isapt to be our companion. "

To this the other deemed no response necessary and a silence fellbetween them, broken only by the simmering water in the iron kettle, the sputtering of the sap in the burning logs and the creaking withoutof the long balancing pole that suspended the moss-covered bucket. Thewind sighed in the chimney and the wooing flames sprang to meet it, while the heart of the fire glowed in a mass of coals between theandirons. 

The old gentleman before the blaze began to outrival the kettle insteaming; from his coat-tails a thin veil of mist ascended, his facebeaming through the vapor with benign felicity. Then he turned andtoasted the other side and the kettle reigned supreme until he thawedonce more and the clouds ascended, surrounding him like Jupiter on thecelestial mount. At that the kettle hummed more angrily and the oldgentleman's face beamed with satisfaction. 

"A snug company, sir, " he said, finally, glowing upon the impassiveface before him, "like a tight ship, can weather a little bad weather. Perhaps you noticed our troupe? The old lady is Mrs. Adams. She isnearly seventy, but can dance a horn-pipe or a reel with the best ofthem. The two sisters are Kate and Susan Duran, both coquettes of thefirst water. Our juvenile man is a young Irishman who thinks much ofhis dress and little of the cultivation of mind and manners. Then, "added the old man tenderly, "there is my Constance. "

He paused abruptly. "Landlord, a pot of ale. My throat is hoarse fromthe mist. Fancy being for hours on a road not knowing where you are!Your good-fortune, sir!" Lifting the mug. "More than once we lurchedlike a cockle-shell. "

The conversation at this point was interrupted by the appearance ofthe juvenile man. 

"Mr. Barnes, the ladies desire your company immediately. "

The manager hurriedly left the room and the newcomer regarded hisretiring figure with a twinkle in his eye. Then he took a turn aroundthe room in stilted fashion--like one who "carried about with him hispits, boxes and galleries"--and observed:

"Faith, Mr. Barnes' couch is not a bed of roses. It is better to havethe fair ones dangling after you, than to be running at their everybeck and call. "

Here he twisted his mustache upward. 

"A woman is a strange creature, " he resumed. "If she calls and youcome once, your legs will be busy for the rest of your natural days. "

He seemed about to continue his observations along this philosophicalline, when the manager appeared in much perturbation, approaching thelandlord, who, at the same time, had entered the room from thekitchen. 

"The ladies insist that their sheets are damp, " began the manager inhis most plausible manner. 

A dangerous light appeared in the other's eyes. 

"It's the weather, you understand. Not your fault; bless you, no!"

The landlord's face became a shade less acrimonious. 

"Now, if there was a fire in the room--it is such a comfortable, cheery room--"

"Sandy!" interrupted the host, calling to the long-armed, red-handedstable boy, who thrust a shock of hair through the kitchen door. "Build a fire upstairs. "

Mr. Barnes heaved a sigh of relief and drawing a chair to the blazeprepared once more to enjoy a well-earned rest. 

By this time the shadows had begun to lengthen in the room as thefirst traces of early twilight filled the valley. The gurgling stillcontinued down the water pipe; the old sign before the front doormoaned monotonously. An occasional gust of wind, which mysteriouslypenetrated the mist without sweeping it aside, rattled the windows andwaved wildly in mid-air a venturesome rose which had clambered to thesecond story of the old inn. The barn-yard appeared even more dismalbecause of the coming darkness and the hens presented a patheticpicture of discomfort as they tucked their heads under their wetfeathers for the night, while his lordship, the rooster, was but asorry figure upon his high perch, with the moisture regularly andunceasingly dripping through the roof of the hen-house upon hisunprotected back. 

An aroma from the kitchen which penetrated the room seemed especiallygrateful to the manager who smiled with satisfaction as he conjured upvisions of the forthcoming repast. By his Falstaffian girth, heappeared a man not averse to good living, nor one to deny himselfplentiful libations of American home-brewed ale. 

"Next to actual dining, " observed this past-master in the art, "arethe anticipations of the table. The pleasure consists in speculationregarding this or that aroma, in classifying the viands and separatingthis combination of culinary odors into courses of which you will indue time partake. Alas for the poor stroller when the tavern ceases tobe! Already it is almost extinct on account of the Erie Canal. Only ashort time ago this room would have been crowded with teamsters of thebroad-tired Pennsylvania wagons, drawn by six or eight horses. "

Again the appetizing aroma from the kitchen turned the current of hisreflections into its original channel, for he concluded with: "Anexcellent dinner is in progress, if my diagnosis of these penetratingfragrances be correct. "

And it was soon demonstrated that the manager's discernment was not inerror. There was not only abundance but quality, and the landlord'sdaughter waited on the guests, thereby subjecting herself to the veryopen advances of the Celtic Adonis. The large table was laden withheavy crockery, old-fashioned and quaint; an enormous rotary castoroccupied the center of the table, while the forks and spoons were--anunusual circumstance!--of silver. 

When the company had seated themselves around the board the waitressbrought in a sucking pig, done to a turn, well stuffed, and with anapple in its mouth. The manager heaved a sigh. 

"The lovely little monster, " said Kate, admiringly. 

"Monster!" cried Susan. "Say cherub!"

"So young and tender for such a fate!" exclaimed Hawkes, themelancholy individual, with knife and fork held in mid-air. 

"But worthy of the bearer of the dish!" remarked Adonis, so pointedlythat the landlord's daughter, overwhelmed with confusion, nearlydropped the platter, miniature porker and all. Whereupon Kate cast anangry glance at the offender whom "she could not abide, " yet regardedin a certain proprietary way, and Adonis henceforth became less openin his advances. 

Those other aromas which the manager had mentally classified took formand substance and were arranged in tempting variety around theappetizing and well-browned suckling. There were boiled and bakedhams, speckled with cloves, plates of doughnuts and pound cake, beetroot and apple sauce. Before each of the guests stood a foaming mugof home-brewed ale that carried with it a palpable taste of the hops. 

"There is nothing of the stage repast about this, " commented themanager. 

To which Kate, having often partaken of the conventional banquet ofthe theater, waved her hand in a serio-comic manner toward the _piècede résistance_ and observed:

"Suppose, now, by some necromancy our young and tender friend here onthe platter should be changed to a cleverly fashioned block of wood, painted in imitation of a roasted porker, with a wooden apple in hismouth?"

The manager, poising the carving knife, replied:

"Your suggestion is startling. We will obviate the possibility of anysuch transformation. "

And he cut the "ambrosian fat and lean" with a firm hand, eying thesuckling steadfastly the while as if to preclude any exhibition ofHindoo mysticism, while the buxom lass, the daughter of the boniface, with round arms bared, bore sundry other dishes from place to placeuntil the plates were heaped with an assortment of viands. 

"Well, my dear, how are you getting on?" said the manager to the youngactress, Constance, as he helped himself to the crackle. "Have youeverything you want?"

She nodded brightly, and the stranger who was seated some distancefrom her glanced up; his gaze rested on her for a moment and thenreturned in cold contemplation to the fare set before him. 

Yet was she worthy of more than passing scrutiny. The gleam of thelamp fell upon her well-turned figure and the glistening of her eyescould be seen in the shadow that rested on her brow beneath the crownof hair. She wore a dark lavender dress, striped with silk, a small"jacquette, " after the style of the day, the sleeves being finishedwith lace and the skirt full and flowing. Her heavy brown tresses werearranged in a coiffure in the fashion then prevailing, a portion ofthe hair falling in curls on the neck, the remainder brought forwardin plaits and fastened at the top of the forehead with a simple pearlornament. 

If the young girl felt any interest in the presence of the taciturnguest she concealed it, scarcely looking at him and joining but rarelyin the conversation. Susan, on the other hand, resorted to sundrycoquetries. 

"I fear, sir, that you find our poor company intrusive, since we haveforced you to become one of us?" she said, toying with her fork, andthereby displaying a white and shapely hand. 

His impassive blue eyes met her sparkling ones. 

"I am honored in being admitted to your fellowship, " he returnedperfunctorily. 

"Only poor players, sir!" exclaimed Hawkes deprecatingly, with theregal gesture a stage monarch might use in setting forth theperplexities of royal pre-eminence. 

[Illustration]

"The landlord does not seem to share your opinion?" continued Susan, looking once more at the stranger. 

"As a host he believes in brave deeds, not fair words, " said Kate, indicating the remains of the repast. 

"Peace to his bones!" exclaimed the manager, extending a hand over theremnants of the suckling. 

Here the dark-haired girl arose, the dinner being concluded. There wasnone of his usual brusqueness of manner, as the manager, leaning backin his chair and taking her hand, said:

"You are going to retire, my dear? That is right. We have had a hardday's traveling. "

She bent her head, and her lips pressed softly the old man's cheek, after which she turned from the rest of the company with a grave bow. But as she passed through the doorway her flowing gown caught upon anail in the wall. Pre-occupied though he seemed, her low exclamationdid not escape the ear of the stranger, and, quitting his place, heknelt at her feet, and she, with half turned head and figuregracefully poised, looked down upon him. 

With awkward fingers, he released the dress, and she bowed heracknowledgment, which he returned with formal deference. Then shepassed on and he raised his head, his glance following her through thebleak-looking hall, up the broad, ill-lighted staircase, into themysterious shadows which prevailed above. 

Shortly afterward the tired company dispersed, and the soldier alsosought his room. There he found the landlord's daughter before himwith the warming-pan. She had spread open the sheets of his bed andwas applying the old-fashioned contrivance for the prevention ofrheumatism, but it was evident her mind was not on this commendablehousewifely task, for she sighed softly and then observed:

"It must be lovely to be an actress!"

Dreamily she patted the pillows, until they were round and smooth, andabsently adjusted the bed, until there was not a wrinkle in thesnow-white counterpane, after which, like a good private in domesticservice, she shouldered the warming pan with its long handle, murmured"good-night" and departed, not to dream of milking, churning orcheese-making, but of a balcony and of taking poison in a tomb. 

Absently the stranger gazed at the books on the table: "Nutting'sGrammar, " "Adams' Arithmetic, " "David's Tears" and the "New EnglandPrimer and Catechism"--all useful books undoubtedly, but notcalculated long to engross the attention of the traveler. Turning fromthese prosaic volumes, the occupant of the chamber drew aside thecurtain of the window and looked out. 

Now the mists were swept away; the stars were shining and the gurglinghad grown fainter in the pipes that descended from the roof to theground. Not far was the dark fringe which marked the forest and theliquid note of a whippoorwill arose out of the solitary depths, amelancholy tone in the stillness of the night. The little owl, too, was heard, his note now sounding like the filing of a saw and againchanging in character to the tinkling of a bell. A dog howled for amoment in the barn-yard, and then, apparently satisfied with havinggiven this evidence of watchfulness, re-entered his house of one roomand curled himself upon the straw in his parlor, after which nothingmore was heard from him. 

Drawing the curtains of his own couch, a large, four-posted affair, sleep soon overpowered the stranger; but sleep, broken and fitful! Nordid he dream only of France and of kings running away, of Americanland barons and of "bolters. " More intrusive than these, the faces ofthe strollers crept in and disturbed his slumbers, not least amongwhich were the features of the dark-eyed girl whose gown had caught asshe passed through the doorway. 

CHAPTER II

A NEW ARRIVAL

The crowing of the cock awakened the French traveler, and, going tothe window, he saw that daylight had thrown its first shafts upon theunromantic barn-yard scene, while in the east above the hill-topsspread the early flush of morning. The watch-dog had left hisone-roomed cottage and was promenading before it in stately fashionwith all the pomp of a satisfied land-holder, his great undershot jawand the extraordinary outward curve of his legs proclaiming anuntarnished pedigree. The hens were happily engaged in scratching theearth for their breakfast; the rooster, no longer crestfallen, wasstrutting in the sunshine, while next to the barn several grunting, squealing pigs struggled for supremacy in the trough. From thecow-shed came an occasional low and soon a slip-shod maid, yawningmightily, appeared, pail in hand, and moved across the yard to herearly morning task. 

Descending the stairs and making his way to the barn, the soldiercalled to Sandy, the stable boy, who was performing his ablutions bypassing wet fingers through a shock of red hair, to saddle his horse. The sleepy lad led forth a large but shapely animal, and soon thestranger was galloping across the country, away from the village, nowdown a gentle declivity, with the virgin forest on either side, thenthrough a tract of land where was apparent the husbandry of thepeople. 

After a brisk pace for some miles, he reined in his horse, and, leisurely riding in a circuit, returned on the road that crossed thefarming country back of the tavern. Around him lay fields of rye andbuckwheat sweet with the odor of the bee-hive; Indian corn, whosesilken tassels waved as high as those of Frederick's grenadiers', andyellow pumpkins nestling to the ground like gluttons that had partakentoo abundantly of mother earth's nourishment. Intermingling with thesegreat oblong and ovoid gourds, squashes, shaped like turbans andmany-cornered hats, appeared in fantastic profusion. 

The rider was rapidly approaching the inn, when a sudden turn in thehighway, as the road swept around a wind-break of willows, brought himupon a young woman who was walking slowly in the same direction. Sofast was the pace of his horse, and so unexpected the meeting, she wasalmost under the trampling feet before he saw her. Taken by surprise, she stood as if transfixed, when, with a quick, decisive effort, therider swerved his animal, and, of necessity, rode full tilt at thefence and willows. She felt the rush of air; saw the powerful animallift itself, clear the rail-fence and crash through the bulwark ofbranches. She gazed at the wind-break; a little to the right, or theleft, where the heavy boughs were thickly interlaced, and the rider'sexpedient had proved serious for himself, but chance--he had no timefor choice--had directed him to a vulnerable point of leaves andtwigs. Before she had fairly recovered herself he reappeared at anopening on the other side of the willow-screen, and, after removing anumber of rails, led his horse back to the road. 

With quivering nostrils, the animal appeared possessed of unquenchablespirit, but his master's bearing was less assured as he approached, with an expression of mingled anxiety and concern on his face, theyoung girl whom the manager had addressed as Constance. 

"I beg your pardon for having alarmed you!" he said. "It was careless, inexcusable!"

"It was a little startling, " she admitted, with a faint smile. 

"Only a little!" he broke in gravely. "If I had not seen you just whenI did--"

"You would not have turned your horse--at such a risk to yourself!"she added. 

"Risk to myself! From what?" A whimsical light encroached on the setlook in his blue eyes. "Jumping a rail fence? But you have not yetsaid you have pardoned me?"

The smile brightened. "Oh, I think you deserve that. "

"I am not so sure, " he returned, glancing down at her. 

Slanting between the lower branches of the trees the sunshine touchedthe young girl's hair in flickering spots and crept down her dresslike caressing hands of light, until her figure, passing into a solidshadow, left these glimmerings prone upon the dusty road behind her. The "brides, " or strings of her little muslin cap, flaunted in thebreeze and a shawl of China crape fluttered from her shoulders. Somuch of her dusky hair as defied concealment contrasted strongly withthe calm translucent pallor of her face. The eyes, alone, belittledthe tranquillity of countenance; against the rare repose of features, they were the more eloquent, shining beneath brows, delicately definedbut strongly marked, and shaded by long upturned lashes, deep in toneas a sloe. 

"You are an early riser, " he resumed. 

"Not always, " she replied. "But after yesterday it seemed so brightoutdoors and the country so lovely!"

His gaze, following hers, traversed one of the hollows. Below yetrested deep shadows, but upon the hillside a glory celestial enlivenedand animated the surrounding scene. Scattered houses, constituting thelittle hamlet, lay in the partial shade of the swelling land, thesmoke, with its odor of burning pine, rising lazily on the languidair. In the neighboring field a farm hand was breaking up the groundwith an old-fashioned, pug-nosed "dirt-rooter;" soil as rich as thatof Egypt, or the land, Gerar, where Isaac reaped an hundred fold andevery Israelite sat under the shadow of his own vine. 

Pausing, the husbandman leaned on the handle of his plow anddeliberately surveyed the couple on the road. Having at the same timesatisfied his curiosity and rested his arms, he grasped the handlesonce more and the horses pulled and tugged at the primitiveimplement. 

While the soldier and the young girl were thus occupied in surveyingthe valley and the adjacent mounds and hummocks, the horse, considering doubtlessly that there had been enough inaction, tappedthe ground with rebellious energy and tossed his head in mutinyagainst such procrastination. 

"Your horse wants to go on, " she said, observing this equine by-play. 

"He usually does, " replied the rider. "Perhaps, though, I aminterrupting you? I see you have a play in your hand. "

"I was looking over a part--but I know it very well, " she added, moving slowly from the border of willows. Leading his horse, hefollowed. 

His features, stern and obdurate in repose, relaxed in severity, whilethe deep-set blue eyes grew less searching and guarded. Thisalleviation became him well, a tide of youth softening his expressionas a wave smoothes the sands. 

"What is the part?"

"Juliana, in 'The Honeymoon'! It is one of our stock pieces. "

"And you like it?"

"Oh, yes. " Lingering where a bit of sward was set with field flowers. 

"And who plays the duke?" he continued. 

"Mr. O'Flariaty, " she answered, a suggestion of amusement in herglance. Beneath the shading of straight, black brows, her eyes weredeceptively dark, until scrutinized closely, they resolved themselvesinto a clear gray. 

"Ah, " he said, recalling Adonis, O'Flariaty's, appearance, and, as hespoke, a smile of singular sweetness lightened his face. "A Spanishgrandee with a touch of the brogue! But I must not decry your noblelord!" he added. 

"No lord of mine!" she replied gaily. "My lord must have a velvetrobe, not frayed, and a sword not tin, and its most sanguinary purposemust not be to get between his legs and trip him up! Of course, whenwe act in barns--"

"In barns!"

"Oh, yes, when we can find them to act in!"

She glanced at him half-mockingly. 

"I suppose you think of a barn as only a place for a horse. "

The sound of carriage wheels interrupted his reply, and, looking inthe direction from whence it came, they observed a coach doubling thecurve before the willows and approaching at a rapid pace. It was ahandsome and imposing equipage, with dark crimson body and wheels, preserving much of the grace of ancient outline with the utility ofmodern springs. 

As they drew aside to permit it to pass the features of its occupantwere seen, who, perceiving the young girl on the road--the shawl, half-fallen from her shoulder revealing the plastic grace of an erectfigure--gazed at her with surprise, then thrust his head from thewindow and bowed with smiling, if somewhat exaggerated, politeness. The next moment carriage and traveler vanished down the road in acloud of dust, but an alert observer might have noticed an eye at therear port-hole, as though the person within was supplementing hisbrief observation from the side with a longer, if diminishing, viewfrom behind. 

The countenance of the young girl's companion retrograded from itsnew-found favor to a more inexorable cast. 

"A friend of yours?" he said, briefly. 

"I never saw him before, " she answered with flashing eyes. "Perhaps heis the lord of the manor and thought I was one of his subjects. "

"There are lords in this country, then?"

"Lords or patroons, they are called, " she replied, her face stillflushed. 

At this moment, across the meadows, beyond the fence of stumps--poorremains of primeval monarchs!--a woman appeared at the back door ofthe inn with a tin horn upon which she blew vigorously, the harshblasts echoing over hill and valley. The startled swallows andmartins arose from the eaves and fluttered above the roof. The farmhand at the plow released the handle, and the slip-shod maid appearedin the door of the cow-shed, spry and nimble enough at meal time. 

From the window of her room Susan saw them returning and lookedsurprised as well as a bit annoyed. Truth to tell, Mistress Susan, with her capacity for admiring and being admired, had conceived amomentary interest in the stranger, a fancy as light as it wasephemeral. That touch of melancholy when his face was in reposeinspired a transitory desire for investigation in this past-mistressof emotional analysis. But the arrival of the coach which had passedthe couple soon diverted Susan's thoughts to a new channel. 

The equipage drew up, and a young man, dressed in a style novel inthat locality, sprang out. He wore a silk hat with scarcely any brim, trousers extremely wide at the ankle, a waistcoat of the dimensions of1745, and large watch ribbons, sustaining ponderous bunches of seals. 

The gallant fop touched the narrow brim of his hat to Kate, who waspeeping from one window, and waved a kiss to Susan, who wassurreptitiously glancing from another, whereupon both being detected, drew back hastily. Overwhelmed by the appearance of a guest of suchmanifest distinction, the landlord bowed obsequiously as the otherentered the tavern with a supercilious nod. 

To Mistress Susan this incident was exciting while it lasted, butwhen the dandy had disappeared her attention was again attracted toConstance and Saint-Prosper, who slowly approached. He paused with hishorse before the front door and she stood a moment near the littleporch, on either side of which grew sweet-williams, four-o'clocks andlarkspur. But the few conventional words were scanty crumbs for thefair eavesdropper above, the young girl soon entering the house andthe soldier leading his horse in the direction of the stable. As thelatter disappeared around the corner of the tavern, Susan left thewindow and turned to the mirror. 

"La!" she said, holding a mass of blond hair in one hand and deftlycoiling it upon her little head, "I believe she got up early to meethim. " But Kate only yawned lazily. 

Retracing his steps from the barn, the soldier crossed the back-yard, where already on the clothes' line evidences of early matutinalindustry, a pair of blue over-alls, with sundry white and redstockings, were dancing in the breeze. First the over-alls performedwildly, then the white stockings responded with vim, while the redones outdid themselves by their shocking abandonment, vaunting skywardas though impelled by the phantom limbs of some Parisian _danseuse_. 

Making his way by this dizzy saturnalia and avoiding the pranks ofanimated hosiery and the more ponderous frolics of over-alls, sheetsand tablecloths, Saint-Prosper entered the kitchen. Here the farm handand maid of all work were eating, and the landlord's rotund andenergetic wife was bustling before the fireplace. An old iron crane, with various sized pothooks and links of chain, swung from the jambsat the will of the housewife. Boneset, wormwood and catnip had theirplaces on the wall, together with ears of corn and strings of driedapples. 

Bustling and active, with arms bared to the elbow and white withflour, the spouse of mine host realized the scriptural injunction:"She looketh well to the ways of her household. " Deftly she spread thedough in the baking pan; smoothly leveled it with her palm; with nicemathematical precision distributed bits of apple on top in parallelrows; lightly sprinkled it with sugar, and, lo and behold, wasfashioned an honest, wholesome, Dutch apple cake, ready for thebaking!

In the tap-room the soldier encountered the newcomer, seated not farfrom the fire as though his blood flowed sluggishly after his longride in the chill morning air. Upon the table lay his hat, and he wasplaying with the seals on his watch ribbon, his legs indolentlystretched out straight before him. Occasionally he coughed when thesmoke, exuding from the damp wood, was not entirely expelled up thechimney, but curled around the top of the fireplace and diffuseditself into the atmosphere. Well-built, although somewhat slender offigure, this latest arrival had a complexion of tawny brown, a livingrusset, as warm and glowing as the most vivid of Vandyke pigments. 

He raised his eyes slowly as the soldier entered and surveyed himdeliberately. From a scrutiny of mere physical attributes he passed onto the more important details of clothes, noting that his sack coatwas properly loose at the waist and that the buttons were sufficientlylarge to pass muster, but also detecting that the trousers lackedbreadth at the ankles and that the hat had a high crown and a broadbrim, from which he complacently concluded the other was somewhatbehind the shifting changes of fashion. 

"Curse me, if this isn't a beastly fire!" he exclaimed, stretchinghimself still more, yawning and passing a hand through his black hair. "Hang them, they might as well shut up their guests in the smoke-housewith the bacons and hams! I feel as cured as a side of pig, ready tobe hung to a dirty rafter. "

With which he pulled himself together, went to the window, raised itand placed a stick under the frame. 

"They tell me there's a theatrical troupe here, " he resumed, returningto his chair and relapsing into its depths. "Perhaps you are one ofthem?"

"I have not that honor. "

"Honor!" repeated the new arrival with a laugh. "That's good! That wasone of them on the road with you, I'll be bound. You have good taste!Heigho!" he yawned again. "I'm anchored here awhile on account of alame horse. Perhaps though"--brightening--"it may not be so bad afterall. These players promise some diversion. " At that moment his facewore an expression of airy, jocund assurance which faded to visibleannoyance as he continued: "Where can that landlord be? He placed mein this kennel, vanished, and left me to my fate. Ah, here he is atlast!" As the host approached, respectfully inquiring:

"Is there anything more I can do for you?"

"More?" exclaimed this latest guest, ironically. "Well, better latethan never! See that my servant has help with the trunks. "

"Very well, sir; I'll have Sandy look after them. You are going tostay then?" Shifting several bottles on the bar with apparentindustry. 

"How can I tell?" returned the newcomer lightly. "Fate is a Sphynx, and I am not OEdipus to answer her questions!"

The landlord looked startled, paused in his feigned employment, butslowly recovering himself, began to dust a jar of peppermint candy. 

"How far is it to Meadtown?" continued the guest. 

"Forty odd miles! Perhaps you are seeking the old patroon manor there?They say the heir is expected any day"--gazing fixedly at the youngman--"at least, the anti-renters have received information he iscoming and are preparing--"

The sprightly guest threw up his hands. 

"The trunks! the trunks!" he exclaimed in accents of despair. "Look atthe disorder of my attire! The pride of these ruffles leveled by thedew; my wristbands in disarray; the odor of the road pervading myperson! The trunks, I pray you!"

"Yes, sir; at once, sir! But first let me introduce you to Mr. Saint-Prosper, of Paris, France. Make yourselves at home, gentlemen!"

With which the speaker hurriedly vanished and soon the bumping andthumping in the hall gave cheering assurance of instructionsfulfilled. 

"That porter is a prince among his kind, " observed the guestsatirically, wincing as an unusual bang overhead shook the ceiling. "But I'll warrant my man won't have to open my luggage after he getsthrough. "

Then as quiet followed the racket above--"So you're from Paris, France?" he asked half-quizzically. "Well, it's a pleasure to meetsomebody from somewhere. As I, too, have lived--not in vain!--inParis, France, we may have mutual friends?"

"It is unlikely, " said the soldier, who meanwhile had drawn off hisriding gloves, placed them on the mantel, and stood facing the fire, with his back to the other guest. As he spoke he turned deliberatelyand bent his penetrating glance on his questioner. 

"Really? Allow me to be skeptical, as I have considerable acquaintancethere. In the army there's that fire-eating conqueror of the ladies, Gen--"

"My rank was not so important, " interrupted the other, "that Inumbered commanders among my personal friends. "

"As you please, " said the last guest carelessly. "I had thought toexchange a little gossip with you, but--_n'importe_! In my own veinsflows some of the blood of your country. "

For the time his light manner forsook him. 

"Her tumults have, in a measure, been mine, " he continued. "Now she iswithout a king, I am well-nigh without a mother-land. True; I was notborn there--but it is the nurse the child turns to. Paris was my_bonne_--a merry abigail! Alas, her vicious brood have turned on herand cast her ribbons in the mire! Untroubled by her own brats, shecould extend her estates to the Eldorado of the southwestern seas. " Hehad arisen and, with hands behind his back, was striding to and fro. Coming suddenly to a pause, he asked abruptly:

"Do you know the Abbé Moneau?"

At the mention of that one-time subtle confidant of the deposed king, now the patron of republicanism, Saint-Prosper once more regarded hiscompanion attentively. 

"By reputation, certainly, " he answered, slowly. 

"He was my tutor and is now my frequent correspondent. Not a bad sortof mentor, either!" The new arrival paused and smiled reflectively. "Only recently I received a letter from him, with private details ofthe flight of the king and vague intimations of a scandal in the army, lately come to light. "

His listener half-started from his seat and had the speaker not beenmore absorbed in his own easy flow of conversation than in theattitude of the other, he would have noticed that quick change ofmanner. Not perceiving it, however, he resumed irrelevantly:

"You see I am a sociable animal. After being cramped in thatmiserable coach for hours, it is a relief to loosen one's tongue aswell as one's legs. Even this smoky hovel suggests good-fellowship andjollity beyond a dish of tea. Will you not join me in a bottle ofwine? I carry some choice brands to obviate the necessity of drinkingthe home-brewed concoctions of the inn-keepers of this district. "

"Thank you, " said the soldier, at the same time rising from his chair. "I have no inclination so early in the day. "

"Early?" queried the newcomer. "A half-pint of Chateau Cheval Blanc orCru du Chevalier, high and vinous, paves a possible way for BrotherJonathan's _déjeuner_--fried pork, potatoes and chicory!" And turningto his servant who had meanwhile entered, he addressed a few words tohim, and, as the door closed on the soldier, exclaimed with a shrug ofthe shoulders:

"An unsociable fellow! I wonder what he is doing here. "

CHAPTER III

AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE VENTURE

Pancakes, grits, home-made sausage, and, before each guest, an eggthat had been proudly heralded by the clucking hen but a few hoursbefore--truly a bountiful breakfast, discrediting the latest guest'santicipations! The manager, in high spirits, mercurial as the weather, came down from his room, a bundle of posters under his arm, boisterously greeting Saint-Prosper, whom he encountered in the hall:

"Read the bill! 'That incomparable comedy, The Honeymoon, by apeerless company. ' How does that sound?"

"Attractive, certainly, " said the other. 

"Do you think it strong enough? How would 'unparagoned' do?"

"It would be too provincial, my dear; too provincial!" interrupted thequerulous voice of the old lady. 

"Very well, Madam!" the manager replied quickly. "You shall be'peerless' if you wish. Every fence shall proclaim it; every postbecome loquacious with it. "

"I was going to the village myself, " said the soldier, "and will joinyou, if you don't mind?" he added suddenly. 

"Mind? Not a bit. Come along, and you shall learn of the duties ofmanager, bill-poster, press-agent and license-procurer. "

An hour or so later found the two walking down the road at a briskpace, soon leaving the tavern behind them and beginning to descend ahill that commanded a view to eastward. 

"How do you advertise your performances?" asked the younger man, opening the conversation. 

"By posters, written announcements in the taverns, or a notice in thecountry paper, if we happen along just before it goes to press, "answered Barnes. "In the old times we had the boy and the bell. "

"The boy and the bell?"

"Yes, " assented Barnes, a retrospective smile overspreading hisgood-natured face; "when I was a lad in Devonshire the manager announcedthe performance in the town market-place. I rang a cow-bell to attractattention and he talked to the people: Ding-a-ling!--'Good people, to-night will be given "Love in a Wood";' ding-a-long!--'to-morrow night, "The Beaux' Strategem'";' ding!--'Wednesday, "The Provoked Wife";'ling!--'Thursday, "The Way of the World. "' So I made my début in anoisy part and have since played no rôle more effectively than that of thesmall boy with the big bell. Incidentally, I had to clean the lampsand fetch small beer to the leading lady, which duties were perfunctorilyperformed. My art, however, I threw into the bell, " concluded themanager with a laugh. 

"Do you find many theaters hereabouts?" asked the other, thoughtfully. 

Barnes shook his head. "No; although there are plenty of them upon theAtlantic and Southern circuits. Still we can usually rent a hall, erect a stage and construct tiers of seats. Even a barn at a pinchmakes an acceptable temple of art. But our principal difficulty isprocuring licenses to perform. "

"You have to get permission to play?"

"That we do!" sighed the manager. "From obdurate trustees in villagesand stubborn supervisors or justices of the peace in the hamlets. "

"But their reason for this opposition?" asked his companion. 

They were now entering the little hamlet, exchanging the grassy pathfor a sidewalk of planks laid lengthwise, and the peace of nature forsuch signs of civilization as a troop of geese, noisily promenadingacross the thoroughfare, and a peacock--in its pride of pomp as afavored bird of old King Solomon--crying from the top of the shed andproudly displaying its gorgeous train. Barnes wiped the perspirationfrom his brow, as he answered:

"Well, a temperance and anti-theatrical agitation has preceded us inthe Shadengo Valley, a movement originated in Baltimore by seven menwho had been drunkards and are now lecturing throughout the country. This is known as the 'Washington' movement, and among the mostformidable leaders of the crusade is an old actor, John B. Gough. Buthere we are at the supervisor's office. I'll run in and get thelicense, if you'll wait a moment. "

Saint-Prosper assented, and Barnes disappeared through the door of aone-story wooden building which boasted little in its architecturalappearance and whose principal decorations consisted of a smallwindow-garden containing faded geraniums, and a sign with sundryinverted letters. The neighborhood of this far from imposing structurewas a rendezvous for many of the young men of the place who had muchleisure, and, to judge from the sidewalk, an ample supply of Lone Jackor some other equally popular plug tobacco. As Saint-Prosper surveyedhis surroundings, the Lone Jack, or other delectable brand, wasunceremoniously passed from mouth to mouth with immediate andsurprising results so far as the sidewalk was concerned. Regardingthese village yokels with some curiosity, the soldier saw in them apossible type of the audiences to which the strollers must appeal forfavor. To such hobnails must the fair Rosalind say: "I would kiss asmany of you as had beards that pleased me. " And the churls wouldapplaud with their cowhide boots, devour her with eager eyes and--atthis point the soldier found himself unconsciously frowning at hisvillage neighbors until, with an impatient laugh, he recalled hiswandering fancies. What was it to him whether the players appeared incity or hamlet? Why should he concern himself in possible conjectureson the fortunes of these strollers? Moreover--

Here Barnes reappeared with dejection in his manner, and, treading hisway absent-mindedly past the Lone Jack contingent with no word ofexplanation to his companion, began to retrace his steps toward thehostelry on the hill. 

"Going back so soon?" asked the young man in surprise. 

"There is nothing to be done here! The temperance lecturer has justgone; the people are set against plays and players. The supervisorrefuses the license. "

With which the manager relapsed into silence, rueful and melancholy. Their road ran steadily upward from the sleepy valley, skirting a woodwhere the luxuriance of the overhanging foliage and the brightautumnal tint of the leaves were like a scene of a spectacular play. Out of breath from the steepness of the ascent, and, with his handpressed to his side, Barnes suddenly called a halt, seated himself ona stump, his face somewhat drawn, and spoke for the first time sincehe left the hamlet. 

"Let's rest a moment. Something catches me occasionally here, " tappinghis heart. "Ah, that's better! The pain has left. No; it's nothing. The machinery is getting old, that's all! Let me see--Ah, yes!" And hedrew a cigar from his pocket. "Perhaps there lies a crumb of comfortin the weed!"

The manager smoked contemplatively, like a man pushed to the verge ofdisaster, weighing the slender chances of mending his broken fortunes. But as he pondered his face gradually lightened with a faint glimmerof satisfaction. His mind, seeking for a straw, caught at a possibleway out of this labyrinth of difficulties and in a moment he hadstraightened up, puffing veritable optimistic wreaths. He arosebuoyantly; before he reached the inn the crumb of comfort had become aloaf of assurance. 

At the tavern the manager immediately sought mine host, stating hisdesire to give a number of free performances in the dining-room of thehotel. The landlord demurred stoutly; he was an inn-keeper, not theproprietor of a play-house. Were not tavern and theater inseparable, retorted Barnes? The country host had always been a patron of thehistrionic art. Beneath his windows the masque and interlude wereborn. The mystery, harlequinade and _divertissement_ found shelter ina pot-house. 

In a word, so indefatigably did he ply arguments, appealing alike toclemency and cupidity--the custom following such a course--that thelandlord at length reluctantly consented, and soon after thedining-room was transformed into a temple of art; stinted, it is true, for flats, drops, flies and screens, but at least more tenable thanthe roofless theaters of other days, when a downpour drenched theplayers and washed out the public, causing rainy tears to drip fromOphelia's nose and rivulets of rouge to trickle down my LadySlipaway's marble neck and shoulders. In this labor of converting thedining-room into an auditory, they found an attentive observer in thelandlord's daughter who left her pans, plates and platters to watchthese preparations with round-eyed admiration. To her that temporarystage was surrounded by glamour and romance; a world remote from cook, scullion and maid of all work, and peopled with well-born dames, courtly ladies and exalted princesses. 

Possibly interested in what seemed an incomprehensible venture--forhow could the manager's coffers be replenished by freeperformances?--Saint-Prosper that afternoon reminded Barnes he hadreturned from the village without fulfilling his errand. 

"Dear me!" exclaimed Barnes, his face wrinkling in perplexity. "Whathave I been thinking about? I don't see how I can go now. Hawkes orO'Flariaty can't be spared, what with lamps to polish and costumes toget in order! Hum!" he mused dubiously. 

"If I can be of any use, command me, " said the soldier, unexpectedly. 

"You!"--exclaimed the manager. "I could not think--"

"Oh, it's a notable occupation, " said the other with a satiricalsmile. "Was it not the bill-posters who caused the downfall of theFrench dynasty?" he added. 

"In that case, " laughed Barnes, with a sigh of relief, "go ahead andspread the inflammable dodgers! Paste them everywhere, except on thetombstones in the graveyard. "

Conspicuously before the postoffice, grocery store, on the town pumpand the fence of the village church, some time later, the soldieraccordingly nailed the posters, followed by an inquisitive group, whoread the following announcement: "Tuesday, 'The Honeymoon'; Wednesday, 'The School for Scandal'; Thursday, 'The Stranger, ' with divertingspecialties; Friday, 'Romeo and Juliet'; Saturday, 'Hamlet, ' with aJig by Kate Duran. At the Travelers' Friend. Entrance Free. "

"They're going to play after all, " commented the blacksmith's wife. 

"I don't see much harm in 'Hamlet, '" said the supervisor's yokemate. "It certainly ain't frivolous. "

"Let's go to 'The Honeymoon'?" suggested an amorous carl to hisslip-slop Sal. 

"Go 'long!" she retorted with barn-yard bashfulness. 

"Did you ever see 'The School for Scandal'?" asked the smithy's goodwife. 

"Once, " confessed the town official's faded consort, her worn facelighting dreamily. "It was on our wedding trip to New York. Silaswarn't so strict then. "

Amid chit-chat, so diverting, Saint-Prosper finished "posting" thetown. It had been late in the afternoon before he had altered theposters and set out on his paradoxical mission; the sun was decliningwhen he returned homeward. Pausing at a cross-road, he selected a treefor one of his remaining announcements. It was already adorned with adodger, citing the escape of a negro slave and offering a reward forhis apprehension; not an uncommon document in the North in thosedays. 

As the traveler read the bill his expression became clouded, cheerless. Around him the fallen leaves gave forth a pleasantfragrance; caught in the currents of the air, they danced in a circleand then broke away, hurrying helter-skelter in all directions. 

"Poor devil!" he muttered. "A fugitive--in hiding--"

And he nailed one of his own bills over the dodger. As he stood therereflectively the lights began to twinkle in the village below likestars winking upwards; the ascending smoke from a chimney seemed afilm of lace drawn slowly through the air; from the village forge camea brighter glow as the sparks danced from the hammers on the anvils. 

Shaking the reins on his horse's neck, the soldier continued his way, while the sun, out of its city of clouds, sent beams like asearchlight to the church spire; the fields, marked by the plow; thegaunt stumps in a clearing, displaying their giant sinews. Then theresplendent rays vanished, the battlements crumbled away and night, with its army of shadows, invaded the earth. As Saint-Prosperapproached the tavern, set prominently on the brow of the hill, allwas solemnly restful save the sign which now creaked in dolefuldoldrums and again complained wildly as the wind struck it a vigorousblow. The windows were bright from the fireplace and lamp; above thedoor the light streamed through the open transom upon the swayingsign and the fluttering leaves of the vine that clambered around theentrance. 

In the parlor, near a deteriorated piano whose yellow keys werecracked and broken--in almost the seventh stage of pianodum, _sans_teeth, _sans_ wire, _sans_ everything--he saw the dark-eyed girl andreined his horse. As he did so, she seated herself upon the hair-clothstool, pressed a white finger to a discolored key and smiled at thenot unexpected result--the squeak of decrepitude. While her hand stillrested on the board and her features shone strongly in relief againstthe fire like a cameo profile set in bloodstone, a figure approached, and, leaning gracefully upon the palsied instrument, bent over herwith smiling lips. It was the grand seignior, he of the equipage withsilver trimmings. If the horseman's gaze rested, not without interest, on the pleasing picture of the young actress, it was now turned withsudden and greater intentness to that of the dashing stranger, a swiftinterrogation glancing from that look. 

How had he made his peace with her? Certainly her manner now betrayedno resentment. While motionless the rider yet sat in his saddle, aninvisible hand grasped the reins. 

"Shall I put up your horse?" said a small voice, and the soldierquickly dismounted, the animal vanishing with the speaker, asSaint-Prosper entered the inn. Gay, animated, conscious of hisattractions, the fop hovered over the young girl, an all-pervadingHyperion, with faultless ruffles, white hands, and voice softlymodulated. That evening the soldier played piquet with the wiry oldlady, losing four shillings to that antiquated gamester, and, when hehad paid the stakes, the young girl was gone and the buoyant beau hadsought diversion in his cups. 

"Strike me, " muttered the last named personage, "the little strollerhas spirit. How her eyes flashed when I first approached her! Itrequired some tact and acting to make her believe I took her for someone else on the road. Not such an easy conquest as I thought, althoughI imagine I have put that adventurer's nose out of joint. But whyshould I waste time here? Curse it, just to cut that fellow out!Landlord!"

"Yes, sir, " answered the host behind the bar, where he had beenquietly dozing on a stool with his back against the wall. 

"Do you think my horse will be fit for use to-morrow morning?"

"The swelling has gone down, sir, and perhaps, with care--"

"Perhaps! I'll take no chances. Hang the nag, but I must make the bestof it! See that my bed is well warmed, and"--rising--"don't call me inthe morning. I'll get up when I please. Tell my man to come up atonce--I suppose he's out with the kitchen wenches. I have some ordersto give him for the morning. Stay--send up a lamp, and--well, Ibelieve that's all for now!"

CHAPTER IV

"GREEN GROW THE RUSHES, O!"

So well advertised in the village had been the theatrical company andso greatly had the crusade against the play and players whetted publiccuriosity that on the evening of the first performance every bench inthe dining-room--auditorium--of the tavern had an occupant, while inthe rear the standing room was filled by the overflow. Upon thecounter of the bar were seated a dozen or more men, including theschoolmaster, an itinerant pedagogue who "boarded around" and receivedhis pay in farm products, and the village lawyer, attired in aclaret-colored frock coat, who often was given a pig for a retainer, or knotty wood, unfit for rails. 

From his place, well to the front, the owner of the private equipagesurveyed the audience with considerable amusement and complacency. Hewas fastidiously dressed in double-breasted waistcoat of figured silk, loosely fitting trousers, fawn-colored kid gloves, light pumps andsilk hose. Narrow ruffles edged his wristbands which were fastenedwith link buttons, while the lining of his evening coat was ofimmaculate white satin. As he gazed around upon a scene at once noveland incongruous, he took from his pocket a little gold case, bearingan ivory miniature, and, with the eyes of his neighbors bentexpectantly upon him, extracted therefrom a small, white cylinder. 

"What may that be, mister?" inquired an inquisitive rustic, placinghis hand on the other's shoulder. 

The latter drew back as if resenting that familiar touch, and, by wayof answer, poised the cylinder in a tiny holder and deliberatelylighted it, to the amazement of his questioner. Cigarettes were thenunknown in that part of the state and the owner of the coach enjoyedthe dubious distinction of being the first to introduce them there. "Since which time, " says Chronicler Barnes in his memoirs, "their useand abuse has, I believe, extended. "

The lighting of the aboriginal American cigarette drew generalattention to the smoker and the doctor, not a man of modern smallpills, but a liberal dispenser of calomel, jalap, castor-oil andquinine, whispered to the landlord:

"Azeriah, who might he be?"

"The heir of the patroon estate, Ezekiel. I found the name on histrunks: 'Edward Mauville. '"

"Sho! Going to take possession at the manor?"

"He cal'lates to, I guess, ef he can!"

"Yes; ef he can!" significantly repeated the doctor. "So this isthe foreign heir? He's got wristbands like a woman and handsjust as small. Wears gloves like my darter when she goes tomeeting-house! And silk socks! Why, the old patroon didn't wearnone at all, and corduroy was good enough for him, they say. Wonder how the barn-burners will take to the silk socks? Who's theother stranger, Azeriah?" Indicating with his thumb the soldier, who, standing against a window casement in the rear of the room, was by his height a conspicuous figure in the gathering. 

"I don't exactly know, Ezekiel, " replied the landlord, regretfully. "Not that I didn't try to find out, " he added honestly, "but he was soclose, I couldn't get nothing from him. He's from Paris, France; maybe Louis Philippe himself, for all I know. "

"No; he ain't Louis Philippe, " returned the doctor with decision, "'cause I seen his likeness in the magazine. "

"Might be the dolphin then, " suggested the boniface. "He's so mightymysterious. "

"Dolphin!" retorted the other contemptuously. "There ain't no dolphin. There hasn't been no dolphin since the French Revolution. "

"Oh, I didn't know but there might a been, " said the landlordvaguely. 

From mouth to mouth the information, gleaned by the village doctor, was circulated; speculation had been rife ever since the demise of thelast patroon regarding his successor, and, although the locality wasbeyond the furthermost reach of that land-holder, their interest wasnone the less keen. The old master of the manor had been like a myth, much spoken of, never seen without the boundaries of his acres; butthe new lord was a reality, a creditable creation of tailor, hatter, hosier, cobbler--which trades had not flourished under the old masterwho bought his clothes, cap and boots at a country store, owned byhimself. Anticipation of the theatrical performance was thus relievedin a measure by the presence of the heir, but the delay, incident to afirst night on an improvised stage, was so unusual that the audienceat length began to evince signs of restlessness. 

Finally, however, when the landlord's daughter had gazed what seemedto her an interminable period upon the lady and the swan, the lake andthe greyhound, painted on the curtain, this picture vanished bydegrees, with an exhilarating creaking of the rollers, and wassucceeded by the representation of a room in a cottage. The scenery, painted in distemper and not susceptible to wind or weather, hadmanifold uses, reappearing later in the performance as a nobleman'spalace, supplemented, it is true, by a well-worn carpet to indicateducal luxury. 

Some trifling changes--concessions to public opinion--were made in theplay, notably in the scene where the duke, with ready hospitality, offers wine to the rustic Lopez. In Barnes' expurgated, "Washingtonian"version (be not shocked, O spirit of good Master Tobin!) the countrymanresponded reprovingly: "Fie, my noble Duke! Have you no water from thewell?" An answer diametrically opposed to the tendencies of thesack-guzzling, roistering, madcap playwrights of that early period!

On the whole the representation was well-balanced, with few weak spotsin the acting for fault finding, even from a more captious gathering. In the costumes, it is true, the carping observer might have detectedsome flaws; notably in Adonis, a composite fashion plate, who struttedabout in the large boots of the Low Countries, topped with Englishtrunk hose of 1550; his hand upon the long rapier of Charles II, whilea periwig and hat of William III crowned his empty pate!

Kate was Volante; not Tobin's Volante, but one fashioned out of herown characteristics; supine, but shapely; heavy, but handsome; slow, but specious. Susan, with hair escaping in roguish curls beneath herlittle cap; her taper waist encompassed by a page's tunic; the trimcontour of her figure frankly revealed by her vestment, was truly alad "dressed up to cozen" any lover who preferred his friend and hisbottle to his mistress. Merry as a sand-boy she danced about in russetboots that came to the knee; lithe and lissome in the full swing ofimmunity from skirts, mantle and petticoats!

Conscious that his identity had been divined, and relishing, perhaps, the effect of its discovery, the young patroon gazed languidly at theplayers, until the entrance of Constance as Juliana, when he forgotthe pleasing sensations of self-thought, in contemplation of theactress. He remarked a girlish form of much grace, attired in anattractive gown of white satin and silver, as became a bride, withtrain and low shimmering bodice, revealing the round arms andshoulders which arose ivory-like in whiteness. Instead of thecustomary feathers and other ornaments of the period, specified in thetext of the play, roses alone softened the effect of her dark hair. Very different she appeared in this picturesque Spanish attire fromthe lady of the lane, with the coquettish cap of muslin and its"brides, " or strings. 

The light that burned within shone from her eyes, proud yet gay; itlurked in the corners of her mouth, where gravity followed merriment, as silence follows laughter when the brook sweeps from the purlingstones to the deeper pools. Her art was unconscious of itself andscene succeeded scene with a natural charm, revealing unexpectedresources, from pathos to sorrow; from vanity to humility; from scornto love awakened. And, when the transition did come, every pose spokeof the quickening heart; her movements proclaimed the golden fetters;passion shone in her glances, defiant though willing, lofty thoughhumble, joyous though shy. 

Was it the heat from the lamps?--but Mauville's brow became flushed;his buoyancy seemed gross and brutal; desire lurked in his livelyglances; Pan gleamed from the curls of Hyperion!

The play jogged on its blithesome course to its wonted end; the dukedelivered the excellent homily, "A gentle wife Is still the sterling comfort of a man's life, "

and the well-pleased audience were preparing to leave when Barnes, ina drab jacket and trunks, trimmed with green ribbon bows, came forwardlike the clown in the circus and addressed the "good people. "

"In the golden age, " said the father of Juliana, "great men treatedactors like servants, and, if they offended, their ears were cut off. Are we, in brave America, returning to the days when they tossed anactor in a blanket or gave a poet a hiding? Shall we stifle an artwhich is the purest inspiration of Athenian genius? The law prohibitsour performing and charging admission, but it does not debar us fromtaking a collection, if"--with a bow in which dignity and humilitywere admirably mingled--"you deem the laborer worthy of his hire?"

This novel epilogue was received with laughter and applause, but theaudience, although good-natured, contained its proportion of timidsouls who retreat before the passing plate. The rear guard began toshow faint signs of demoralization, when Mauville sprang to his feet. Pan had disappeared behind his leafy covert; it was the careless, self-possessed man of the world who arose. 

"I am not concerned about the ethics of art, " he said lightly, "butthe ladies of the company may count me among their devout admirers. Iam sure, " he added, bowing to the manager with ready grace, "if theywere as charming in the old days, after the lords tossed the men, theymade love to the women. "

"There were no actresses in those days, sir, " corrected Barnes, resenting the flippancy of his aristocratic auditor. 

"No actresses?" retorted the heir. "Then why did people go to thetheater? However, without further argument, let me be the firstcontributor. "

"The prodigal!" said the doctor in an aside to the landlord. "He'sholding up a piece of gold. It's the first time ever patroon was aspendthrift!"

But Mauville's words, on the whole, furthered the manager's project, and the audience remained in its integrity, while Balthazar, aproperty helmet in hand, descended from his palace and trod the aislesin his drab trunk-hose and purple cloak, a royal mendicant, in whosepot soon jingled the pieces of silver. No one shirked his admissionfee and some even gave in excess; the helmet teemed with riches; onceit had saved broken heads, now it repaired broken fortunes, itsproperties magical, like the armor of Pallas. 

"How did you like the play, Mr. Saint-Prosper?" said Barnes, as heapproached that person. 

"Much; and as for the players"--a gleam of humor stealing over hisdark features--"'peerless' was not too strong. "

"'Your approbation likes me most, my lord, '" quoted the manager, andpassed quickly on with his tin pot, in a futile effort to evade theoutstretched hand of his whilom helper. 

Thanking the audience for their generosity and complimenting them ontheir intelligence, the self-constituted lord of the treasury vanishedonce more behind the curtain. The orchestra of two struck up a negromelody; the audience rose again, the women lingering to exchange theirlast innocent gossip about prayer-meeting, or about the minister who"knocked the theologic dust from the pulpit cushions in the good oldorthodox way, " when some renegade exclaimed: "Clear the room for adance!"

Jerusha's shawl straightway fell from her shoulders; Hannah's bonnetwas whipped from her head; Nathaniel paused on his way to the stableyard to bring out the team and a score of willing hands obeyed theinjunction amid laughing encouragement from the young women whose feetalready were tapping the floor in anticipation of the Virginia Reel, Two Sisters, Hull's Victory, or even the waltz, "lately imported fromthe Rhine. " A battered Cremona appeared like magic and

 "In his shirt of check and tallowed hair The fiddler sat in his bull-rush chair, "

while "'Twas Monnie Musk in busy feet and Monnie Musk byheart"--old-fashioned "Monnie Musk" with "first couple join righthands and swing, " "forward six" and "across the set"; an honest dancefor country folk that only left regrets when it came to "Good Nightfor aye to Monnie Musk, " although followed by the singing of "OldHundred" or "Come, ye Sinners, Poor and Needy, " on the homewardjourney. 

In the parlor the younger lads and lasses were playing "snap and catch'em" and similar games. The portly Dutch clock gazed down benignly onthe scene, its face shining good-humoredly like the round visage ofsome comfortable burgher. "Green grow the rushes, O!" came from manymerry-makers. "Kiss her quick and let her go" was followed byscampering of feet and laughter which implied a doubt whether the ladhad obeyed the next injunction, "But don't you muss her ruffle, O!"Forming a moving ring around a young girl, they sang: "There's a rosein the garden for you, young man. " A rose, indeed, or a rose-bud, rather, with ruffles he was commanded not to "muss, " but which, nevertheless, suffered sadly!

Among these boys and girls, the patroon discovered Constance, nolonger "to the life a duchess, " with gown in keeping with the "prideand pomp of exalted station, " but attired in the simple dress oflavender she usually wore, though the roses still adorned her hair. Shunning the entrancing waltz, the inspiring "Monnie Musk" and thecotillion, lively when set to Christy's melodies, she had sought themore juvenile element, and, when seen by the land baron, was circlingaround with fluttering skirts. Joyous, merry, there was no hint now inher natural, girlish ways of the capacity that lay within for variedimpersonations, from the lightness of coquetry to the thrill oftragedy. 

He did not know how it happened, as he stood there watching her, butthe next moment he was imprisoned by the group and voices weresinging:

"There he stands, the booby; who will have him for his beauty?"

Who? His eye swept the group; the merry, scornful glances fixed uponhim; the joyous, half-inviting glances; the red lips parted as inkindly invitation; shy lips, willing lips!

Who? His look kindled; he had made his selection, and the next momenthis arm was impetuously thrown around the actress's waist. 

"Kiss her quick and let her go!"

Amid the mad confusion he strove to obey the command, but a pantingvoice murmured "no, no!" a pair of dark eyes gazed into his for aninstant, defiantly, and the pliant waist slipped from his impassionedgrasp; his eager lips, instead of touching that glowing cheek, onlygrazed a curl that had become loosened, and, before he could repeatthe attempt, she had passed from his arms, with laughing lips andeyes. 

"Play fair!" shouted the lads. "He should 'kiss her quick and let hergo. '"

"Oh, he let her go first!" said the others. 

"'Kiss her quick, '" reiterated the boys. 

"He can't now, " answered the girls. 

The voices took up the refrain: "Don't you muss the ruffles, O!" andthe game went on. The old clock gossiped gleefully, its tonguerepeating as plainly as words:

"Let-her-go!--ho!--ho!--one--two--three!"

Three o'clock! Admonishingly rang out the hour, the jovial face of theclock looking sterner than was its wont. It glowered now like apreacher in his pulpit upon a sinful congregation. Enough of"snatch-and-catch'em;" enough of Hull's Victory or the Opera Reel;let the weary fiddler descend from his bull-rush chair, for soon thetouch of dawn will be seen in the eastern sky! The merry-making beganto wane and already the sound of wagon-wheels rattled over the logroad away from the tavern. Yes, they were singing, and, as Hepsibethleaned her head on Josiah's shoulder, they uplifted their voices inthe good old orthodox hymn, "Come, Ye Sinners, " for thus they courtedand worshiped in olden times. 

"Good-night, every one!" said a sweet voice, as Constance passedcalmly on, with not a ruffle mussed. 

"Good-night, " answered the patroon, a sparkle in his eyes. "I wastruly a booby. "

"What can you mean?" she laughed. 

"There's many a slip 'twixt--lip and lip!" exclaimed Susan. 

With heightened color the young girl turned, and as she did so herlook rested on the soldier. His glance was cold, almost strange, and, meeting it, she half-started and then smiled, slowly mounting thestairs. He looked away, but the patroon never took his eyes from heruntil she had vanished. Afar, rising and falling on the clear air, sounded the voices of the singers:

 "Praise God from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him all creatures here below;"

and finally, softer and softer, until the melody melted into silence:

 "Praise Him above, ye Heavenly H-o-s-t--"

"One good turn deserves another, " said Barnes to Saint-Prosper, whenSusan and Kate had likewise retired. "Follow me, sir--to the kitchen!No questions; but come!"

CHAPTER V

A CONFERENCE IN THE KITCHEN

A keen observer might have noticed that the door of the inn kitchenhad been kept swinging to and fro as certain ones in the audience hadstolen cautiously, but repeatedly, in and out of the culinaryapartment while the dancing and other festivities were in progress. The itinerant pedagogue was prominent in these mysterious movementswhich possibly accounted for his white choker's being askew and hisdisposition to cut a dash, not by declining Greek verbs, but byinclining too amorously toward Miss Abigail, a maiden lady with apronounced aversion for frivolity. 

The cause of the schoolmaster's frolicsome deportment was apparent tothe soldier when he followed Barnes into the kitchen, where, in asecluded corner, near the hospitable oven, in the dim light of atallow dip, stood a steaming punch bowl. A log smoldered in thefireplace, casting on the floor the long shadows of the andirons, while a swinging pot was reflected on the ceiling like a mightyeclipse. Numerous recesses, containing pans and plates that gleamed byday, were wrapped in vague mystery. Three dark figures around thebowl suggested a scene of incantation, especially when one of themthrew some bark from the walnut log on the coals and the flames sprangup as from a pine knot and the eclipse danced among the raftersoverhead while the pot swung to and fro. 

As the manager approached the bowl, the trio, moved by some vagueimpelling impulse, locked arms, walked toward the side door, crossedits threshold in some confusion, owing to a unanimous determination topass out at one and the same time, and went forth into the tranquilnight, leaving Barnes and Saint-Prosper the sole occupants of thekitchen. The manager now helped himself and his companion to thebeverage, standing with his back to the tiny forks of flame from theshagbark. His face expanded with good-fellowship; joviality shone fromhis eyes beaming upon the soldier whom he unconsciously regarded as anauxiliary. 

"Here's to our better acquaintance, " he said, placing his hand withlittle ceremony on the other's shoulder. "The Bill-Poster!" Raisinghis cup. "You gathered them in--"

"And you certainly gathered in the contents of their pockets!"

"A fair robbery!" laughed Barnes, "as Dick Turpin said when he robbedthe minister who robbed the king who robbed the people! A happythought that, turning the helmet into a collection box! It tided usover; it tided us over!"

Saint-Prosper returned the manager's glance in kind; Barnes' candorand simplicity were apparent antidotes to the other's taciturnity andconstraint. During the country dance the soldier had remained apassive spectator, displaying little interest in the rusticmerry-making or the open glances cast upon him by bonny lasses, burnedin the sunlit fields, buxom serving maids, as clean as the pans in thekitchen, and hearty matrons, not averse to frisk and frolic inwholesome rural fashion. 

But now, in the face of the manager's buoyancy at the success of amere expedient--a hopefulness ill-warranted by his short purse and thelong future before him!--the young man's manner changed from one ofindifference to friendliness, if not sympathy, for the over-sanguinecustodian of players. Would the helmet, like the wonderful pitcher, replenish itself as fast as it was emptied? Or was it but amake-shift? The manager's next remark seemed a reply to these queries, denoting that Barnes himself, although temporarily elated, was notoblivious to the precarious character of "free performances, " withvoluntary offerings. 

"What we need, " continued the manager, "is a temperance drama. Withwhat intemperate eagerness would the people flock to see it! But whereis it to be found? Plays don't grow on bushes, even in thisagricultural district. And I have yet to discover any dramatistshereabouts, unless"--jocularly--"you are a Tom Taylor or a TomRobertson in disguise. Are you sure you have never courted the divinemuse? Men of position have frequently been guilty of that folly, sir. "

"But once, " answered the other in the same tone. "At college; apolitical satire. "

"Was it successful?"

"Quite so--I was expelled for writing it!"

"Well, " retorted Barnes, irrelevantly, "you have at least mildlycoquetted with the muse. Besides, I dare say, you have been behind thescenes a good deal. The green room is a fashionable rendezvous. Whereare you going? And what--if I may ask--is your business?"

"I am on my way to New Orleans, " said the traveler, after a moment'shesitation. "My business, fortune-getting. In sugar, tobacco, orindigo-culture!"

"New Orleans!" exclaimed the manager, poising the ladle in mid air. "That, too, is our destination. We have an engagement to play there. Why not join our band? Write or adapt a play for us. Make a temperancedrama of your play!"

"You are a whimsical fellow, " said the stranger, smiling. "Why don'tyou write the play yourself?"

"I? An unread, illiterate dotard! Why, I never had so much as a day'sschooling. As a lad I slept with the rats, held horses, sweptcrossings and lived like a mudlark! Me write a play! I might let falla suggestion here and there; how to set a flat, or where to drop afly; to plan an entrance, or to arrange an exit! No, no; let theshoemaker stick to his last! It takes"--with deference--"a scholar towrite a drama. "

"Thus you disqualify me, " laughed the other, drawing out a pipe whichhe filled; and lighted with a coal held in the iron grip of theantique tongs. "If it were only to help plant a battery or stand in agap!" he said grimly, replacing the tongs against the old brick ovenat one side of the grate. "But to beset King Bacchus in three acts! Tostorm his castle in the first; scale the walls in the second, and blowup all the king's horses and all the king's men in the last--that is, indeed, serious warfare!"

"True, it will be a roundabout way to New Orleans, " continued themanager, disregarding his companion's response, "but there is nobetter way of seeing the New World--that is, if you do not disdain thecompany of strolling players. You gain in knowledge what you lose intime. If you are a philosopher, you can study human nature through thebuffoon and the mummer. If you are a naturalist, here are grandforests to contemplate. If you are not a recluse, here is free, thoughhumble, comradeship. "

His listener gazed thoughtfully into the fire. Was the prospect ofsharing this gipsy-like life attractive to him? An adventurer himself, was he drawn toward these homeless strollers, for whom the illusionsof dramatic art shone with enticing luster in the comparative solitudeof the circuit on the wilderness?

As he sat before the glow, the light of the burning shagbark, playingelfishly above the dying embers, outlined the stalwart, yet activefigure and the impenetrable, musing features. But when, with an upwardshower of sparks, the backlog fell asunder and the waning flame castyet more gloomy shadows behind them, he leaned back in his heavy, hewnchair and again bent an attentive look upon the loquacious speaker. 

"Or, if you desire, " resumed the manager after some hesitation, "itmight become a business venture as well as a pleasure jaunt. Here is asinking ship. Will the salvage warrant helping us into port; that is, New Orleans? There hope tells a flattering tale. The company is wellequipped; has a varied repertoire, while Constance"--tenderly--"is ahost in herself. If you knew her as I do; had watched her artgrow"--his voice trembled--"and to think, sometimes I do not knowwhere the next day's sustenance may come from! That she"--

He broke off abruptly, gazing at his companion half-apologetically. "We players, sir, " he resumed, "present a jovial front, but"--tappinghis breast--"few know what is going on here!"

"Therein, " said the younger man, emptying his pipe, "you have stated auniversal truth. " He pushed a smoldering log with his foot toward theremnants of the embers. "Suppose I were so minded to venture"--and hementioned a modest sum--"in this hazard and we patched up the playtogether?"

"You don't mean it?" cried the manager, eagerly. Then he regarded theother suspiciously: "Your proposal is not inspired through sympathy?"

"Why not through the golden prospects you have so eloquentlydepicted?" replied Saint-Prosper, coldly. 

"Why not indeed!" exclaimed the reassured manager. "Success will come;it must come. You have seen Constance but once. She lives in everycharacter to her heart's core. How does she do it? Who can tell? It'sinborn. A heritage to her!"

His voice sank low with emotion. "Yes, " he murmured, shaking his headthoughtfully, as though another image arose in his mind; "a heritage!a divine heritage!" But soon he looked up. "She's a brave girl!" hesaid. "When times were dark, she would always smile encouragingly, and, in the light of her clear eyes, I felt anew the Lord would temperthe wind to the shorn lamb. "

"One--two--three--four, " rang the great clock through the silent hall, and, at its harsh clangor, Barnes started. 

"Bless my soul, the maids'll be up and doing and find us here!" heexclaimed. "One last cup! To the success of the temperance drama!"

In a few moments they had parted for their respective chambers andonly the landlord was left down-stairs. Now as he came from behind thebar, where he had been apparently dozing and secretly listeningthrough the half-opened door leading into the kitchen, he had muchdifficulty to restrain his laughter. 

"That's a good one to tell Ezekiel, " he muttered, turning out thelights and sweeping the ashes on the hearth to the back of the grate. "To the temperance drama!"

CHAPTER VI

THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHARIOT

Down the hill, facing the tavern, the shadows of night were slowlywithdrawn, ushering in the day of the players' leaving. A single tree, at the very top, isolated from its sylvan neighbors, was bathed in thewarm sunshine, receiving the earliest benediction of day. Down, down, came the dark shade, pursued by the light, until the entire slope ofthe hill was radiant and the sad colored foliage flaunted in new-borngaiety. 

Returning from the stable, where he had been looking after his horse, the soldier stood for a moment before the inn, when a flower fell athis feet, and, glancing over his shoulder, he perceived Susan, who wasleaning from her window. The venturesome rose, which had clambered ashigh as the second story, was gone; plucked, alas, by the wayward handof a coquette. Saint-Prosper bowed, and stooped for the aspiring butnow hapless flower which lay in the dust. 

"You have joined the chariot, I hear?" said Susan. 

"For the present, " he replied. 

"And what parts will you play?" she continued, with smilinginquisitiveness. 

"None. "

"What a pity! You would make a handsome lover. " Then she blushed. "Lud! What am I saying? Besides"--maliciously--"I believe you haveeyes for some one else. But remember, "--shaking her finger and with acoquettish turn of the head--"I am an actress and therefore vain. Imust have the best part in the new piece. Don't forget that, or I'llnot travel in the same chariot with you. " And Susan disappeared. 

"Ah, Kate, " she said, a moment later, "what a fine-looking young manhe is!"

"Who?" drawled her sister. 

"Mr. Saint-Prosper, of course. "

"He is large enough, " retorted Kate, leisurely. 

"Large enough! O, Kate, what a phlegmatic creature you are!"

"Fudge!" said the other as she left the chamber. 

Entering the tavern, the soldier was met by the wiry old lady whobobbed into the breakfast room and explained the kind of part thatfitted her like a glove, her prejudices being strong against modernplays. 

"Give me dramas like 'Oriana, ' 'The Rival Queens' or Webster'spieces, " she exclaimed, quoting with much fire for her years:

 "'We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves!'"

"And do not forget the 'heavy' in your piece!" called out Hawkesacross the table. "Something you can dig your teeth in!"

"Nor the 'juvenile lead, '" chimed in the Celtic Adonis. 

"Adonis makes a great hit in a small part, " laughed Kate, appearing atthe door. "'My lord, the carriage is waiting!'"

"My lady, your tongue is too sharp!" exclaimed Adonis, nettled. 

"And put in a love scene for Adonis and myself, " she continued, lazilyfloating into the room. "He is so fond of me, it would not be likeacting!"

This bantering was at length interrupted by the appearance of thechariot and the property wagon at the front door, ready for thejourney. The rumbling of the vehicles, the resounding hoofs and theresonant voice of the stable boy awakened the young lord of the manorin his chamber above. He stretched himself sleepily, swore and againcomposed himself for slumber, when the noise of a property trunk, thumping its way down the front stairs a step at a time, galvanizedhim into life and consciousness. 

"Has the world come to an end?" he muttered. "No; I remember; it'sonly the players taking their departure!"

But, although he spoke carelessly, the bumping of boxes and slammingand banging of portable goods annoyed him more than he would confess. With the "crazy-quilt"--a patch-work of heptagons of different huesand patterns--around his shoulders, clothing him with all the colorsof the rainbow, he sat up in bed, wincing at each concussion. 

"I might as well get up!" he exclaimed. "I'll see her once more--theperverse beauty!" And tossing the kaleidoscopic covering viciouslyfrom him, he began to dress. 

Meanwhile, as the time for their going drew near, mine hostdown-stairs sped the parting guest with good cheer, having faredprofitably by the patronage the players had brought to the inn; buthis daughter, Arabella, looked sad and pensive. How weary, flat andstale appeared her existence now! With a lump in her throat and a pangin her heart, she recklessly wiped her eyes upon the best parlorcurtains, when Barnes mounted to the box, as robust a stage-driver asever extricated a coach from a quagmire. The team, playful throughlong confinement, tugged at the reins, and Sandy, who was at the bits, occasionally shot through space like an erratic meteor. 

The manager was flourishing his whip impatiently when Constance andSusan appeared, the former in a traveling costume of blue silk; apaletot of dark cloth, and, after the fashion of the day, a bonnet ofsatin and velvet. Susan was attired in a jupe sweeping and immenselyfull--to be in style!--and jacquette with sleeves of the pagoda form. The party seemed in high spirits, as from his dormer window Mauville, adjusting his attire, peered through the lattice over the edge of themoss-grown roof and leaf-clogged gutters and surveyed theirpreparations for departure. How well the rich color of her gownbecame the young girl! He had told himself white was her bestadornment, but his opinion veered on the moment now, and he thought hehad never seen her to better advantage, with the blue of her dressreappearing in the lighter shade, above the dark paletot, in thelining of the bonnet and the bow of ribbons beneath her chin. 

"On my word, but she looks handsome!" muttered the patroon. "Might sitfor a Gainsborough or a Reynolds! What dignity! What coldness! Allexcept the eyes! How they can lighten! But there's that adventurerwith her, " as the figure of the soldier crossed the yard to theproperty wagon. "No getting rid of him until the last moment!" And heopened the shutters wider, listening and watching more closely. 

"Are you going to ride in the property wagon?" he heard Saint-Prosperask. 

"Yes; when I have a part to study I sometimes retire to the stagethrone, " she answered lightly. "I suppose you will ride your horse?"

Of his reply the listener caught only the words, "wind-break" and"lame. " He observed the soldier assist her to the throne, and then, toMauville's surprise, spring into the wagon himself. 

"Why, the fellow is going with them!" exclaimed the land baron. "Or, at any rate, he is going with her. What can it mean?" And hurriedlyquitting his post, his toilet now being complete, he hastened to thedoor and quickly made his way down-stairs. 

During the past week his own addresses had miscarried and hisgallantry had been love's labor lost. At first he had fancied hewas making progress, but soon acknowledged to himself he hadunderestimated the enterprise. Play had succeeded play--he could nothave told what part favored her most! Ophelia sighed and died; Susandanced on her grave between acts, according to the program, andturned tears into smiles; the farewell night had come and gone--andyet Constance had made no sign of compliance to reward the patientwooer. Now, at the sight of these preparations for departure, andthe presence of the stalwart stranger in the property wagon, heexperienced a sudden sensation of pique, almost akin to jealousy. 

Stepping from the tavern, it was with an effort he suppressed hischagrin and vexation and assumed that air of nonchalance which becamehim well. Smilingly he bade Susan and the other occupants of thechariot farewell, shook Barnes by the hand, and turned to the propertywagon. 

"The noise of your departure awakened me, " he said to the young girl. "So I have come to claim my compensation--the pleasure of seeingyou--"

"Depart!" she laughed quickly. 

Momentarily disconcerted, he turned to the soldier. "You ride early. "

"As you see, " returned the other, immovably. 

"A habit contracted in the army, no doubt!" retorted Mauville, recovering his easy self-possession. "Well, a bumping trunk is asefficacious as a bugle call! But _au revoir_, Miss Carew; for we maymeet again. The world is broad--yet its highways are narrow! There isno need wishing you a pleasant journey. "

His glance rested on Saint-Prosper for a moment, but told nothingbeyond the slight touch of irony in his words and then shifting to theyoung girl, it lingered upon each detail of costume and outline offeature. Before she could reply, Barnes cracked his whip, the horsessprang forward, and the stable boy, a confused tangle of legs andarms, was shot as from a catapult among the sweet-williams. The abruptdeparture of the chariot was the cue for the property wagon, whichfollowed with some labor and jolting, like a convoy struggling in thewake of a pretentious ship. From the door Mauville watched it until itreached a toll-gate, passed beneath the portcullis and disappearedinto the broad province of the wilderness. 

CHAPTER VII

SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA

Calm and still was the morning; the wandering air just stirred thependulous branches of the elms and maples, and, in the clearatmosphere, the russet hills were sharply outlined. As they swung outinto the road, with Hans, the musician, at the reins, the young girlremoved her bonnet and leaned back in the chair of state, where kingshad fretted and queens had lolled. 

The throne, imposing on the stage, now appeared but a flimsy articleof furniture, with frayed and torn upholstering, and carving which hadlong since lost its gilded magnificence. Seated amid the jumble oftheatrical appliances and accoutrements--scenery, rolled uprug-fashion, property trunks, stage clock, lamps and draperies--sheaccepted the situation gracefully, even finding nothing strange in thepresence of the soldier. New faces had come and gone in the companybefore, and, when Barnes had complacently informed her Saint-Prosperwould journey with the players to New Orleans in a semi-businesscapacity, the arrangement appeared conformable to precedent. Themanager's satisfaction augured well for the importance of thesemi-business rôle assumed by the stranger, and Barnes' friendlinesswas perhaps in some degree unconsciously reflected in her manner; anattitude the soldier's own reserve, or taciturnity, had not tended todispel. So, his being in the property wagon seemed no more singularthan Hans' occupancy of the front seat, or if Adonis, Hawkes, or Susanhad been there with her. She was accustomed to free and easycomradeship; indeed, knew no other life, and it was only assiduousattentions, like those of the land baron's, that startled anddisquieted her. 

As comfortably as might be, she settled back in the capacious, threadbare throne, a slender figure in its depths--more adapted toaccommodate a corpulent Henry VIII!--and smiled gaily, as the wagon, in avoiding one rut, ran into another and lurched somewhat violently. Saint-Prosper, lodged on a neighboring trunk, quickly extended asteadying hand. 

"You see how precarious thrones are!" he said. 

"There isn't room for it to more than totter, " she replied lightly, removing her bonnet and lazily swinging it from the arm of the chair. 

"Then it's safer than real thrones, " he answered, watching the swayingbonnet, or perhaps, contrasting the muscular, bronzed hand he hadplaced on the chair with the smooth, white one which held the blueribbons; a small, though firm, hand to grapple with the minotaur, Life!

She slowly wound the ribbons around her fingers. 

"Oh, you mean France, " she said, and he looked away with suddendisquietude. "Poor monarchs! Their road is rougher than this one. "

"Rougher truly!"

"You love France?" she asked suddenly, after studying, with secret, sidelong glances his reserved, impenetrable face. 

His gaze returned to her--to the bonnet now resting in her lap--to thehand beside it. 

"It is my native land, " he replied. 

"Then why did you leave it--in its trouble?" she asked impulsively. 

"Why?" he repeated, regarding her keenly; but in a moment he added:"For several reasons. I returned from Africa, from serving underBugeaud, to find the red flag waving in Paris; the king fled!"

"Oh, " she said, quickly, "a king should--"

"What?" he asked, as she paused. 

"I was going to say it was better to die like a king than--"

"Than live an outcast!" he concluded for her, a shadow on his brow. 

She nodded. "At any rate, that is the way they always do in theplays, " she added brightly. "But you were saying you found your realking fled?"

His heavy brows contracted, though he answered readily enough: "Yes, the king had fled. A kinsman in whose house I had been reared thenbade me head a movement for the restoration of the royal fugitive. Forwhat object? The regency was doomed. The king, a May-fly!"

"And so you refused?"

"We quarreled; he swore like a Gascon. His little puppet should yetsit in the chair where Louis XIV had lorded it! I, who owed mycommission to his noble name, was a republican, a deserter! The bestway out of the difficulty was out of the country. First it wasEngland, then it was here. To-morrow--where?" he added, in a lowertone, half to himself. 

"Where?" she repeated, lightly. "That is our case, too. "

He looked at her with sudden interest. "Yours is an eventful life, Miss Carew. "

"I have never known any other, " she said, simply, adding after apause: "My earliest recollections are associated with my mother andthe stage. As a child I watched her from the wings. I remember a grandvoice and majestic presence. When the audience broke into applause, myheart throbbed with pride. "

But as her thoughts reverted to times past, the touch of melancholy, invoked by the memory of her mother, was gradually dispelled, as fancyconjured other scenes, and a flickering smile hovered over the lipswhose parting displaced that graver mood. 

"Once or twice I played with her, too, " she added. "I thought it niceto be one of the little princes in Richard III and wear white satinclothes. One night after the play an old gentleman took me on his kneeand said: I had to come, my child, and see if the wicked old unclehadn't really smothered you!' When he had gone, my mother told me hewas Mr. Washington Irving. I thought him very kind, for he brought mea bag of bonbons from the coffee-room. "

"It's the first time I ever heard of a great critic laden withsweetmeats!" said the soldier. "And were you not flattered by hishoneyed regard?"

"Oh, yes; I devoured it and wanted more, " she laughed. 

Hans' flourishing whip put an end to further conversation. "Der stagegoach!" he said, turning a lumpish countenance upon them and pointingdown the road. 

Approaching at a lively gait was one of the coaches of the regularline, a vehicle of ancient type, hung on bands of leather andcurtained with painted canvas, not unlike the typical Frenchdiligence, except for its absence of springs. The stage wasspattered with mud from roof to wheel-tire, but as the mire was notfresh and the road fair, the presumption followed that custom andpractice precluded the cleaning of the coach. The passengers, amongwhom were several ladies, wearing coquettish bonnets with ribbonsor beau-catchers attached, were too weary even to view with wonderthe odd-looking theatrical caravan. Only the driver, a diminutiveperson with puckered face the color of dried apples, so venerableas to be known as Old Hundred, seemed as spry and cheery as whenhe started. 

"Morning, " he said, briskly, drawing in his horses. "Come back, haveye, with yer troupe? What's the neuws from Alban-y?"

"Nothing, except Texas has been admitted as a State, " answeredBarnes. 

"Sho! We air coming on!" commented the Methuselah of the road. 

"Coming on!" groaned a voice in the vehicle, and the florid face of anEnglish traveler appeared at the door. "I say, do you call this'coming on!' I'm nearly gone, don't you know!"

"Hi!--ge' long!--steady there!" And Old Hundred again whipped up histeam, precipitating a lady into the lap of the gentleman who was"nearly gone, " and well-nigh completing his annihilation. 

In less time than when a friendly sail is lost in the mist, OldHundred's bulky land-wherry passed from view, and the soldier againturned to his companion. But she was now intent on some part in a playwhich she was quietly studying and he contented himself with lightingthat staple luxury of the early commonwealth, a Virginia stogie, observing her from time to time over the glowing end. With the bookupon her knee, her head downcast and partly turned from him, he could, nevertheless, through the mazy convolutions and dreamy spirals of theIndian weed, detect the changing emotions which swept over her, as infancy she assumed a rôle in the drama. Now the faintest shadow of asmile, coming and going; again beneath the curve of her long lashes, asofter gleaming in the dark eyes, adding new charm to the pale, proudface. Around them nature seemed fraught with forgetfulness; the Libyanpeace that knows not where or wherefore. Rocked in the cradle of rutsand furrows, Hans, portly as a carboy, half-dozed on the front seat. 

Shortly before noon they approached an ancient hostelry, set well backfrom the road. To the manager's dismay, however, the door was lockedand boards were nailed across the windows. Even the water pail, hospitably placed for man or beast, had been removed from itscustomary proximity to the wooden pump. Abandoned to decay, thetenantless inn was but another evidence of traffic diverted from theold stage roads by the Erie Canal Company. Cold was the fireplacebefore which had once rested the sheep-skin slippers for the guests;empty was the larder where at this season was wont to be game inabundance, sweet corn, luscious melons--the trophies of the hunt, thefruits of the field; missing the neat, compact little keg whose spigothad run with consolation for the wanderer!

Confronted by the deserted house, where they had expected convivialcheer, there was no alternative but to proceed, and their journey wasresumed with some discomfiture to the occupants of the coach which nowlabored like a portly Spanish galleon, struck by a squall. They hadadvanced in this manner for some distance through furrow and groove, when the vehicle gave a sharper lurch down a deeper rut; a crash wasfollowed by cries of affright and the chariot abruptly settled on oneside. Barnes held the plunging horses in control, while the gentlemenscrambled to the ground and assisted the ladies to dismount. 

"Any one hurt?" asked the manager from his box. 

"No damage done--except to the coach, " said Hawkes. 

By this time the horses had become quiet and Barnes, now that thepassengers were rescued, like a good skipper, left the quarter deck. 

"We couldn't have chosen a better place for our lunch, " he remarkedphilosophically. "How fortunate we should have broken down where wedid!"

"Very fortunate!" echoed the old lady ironically. 

The accident had happened upon a slight plateau, of which theyaccordingly took possession, tethering the horses to graze. From thebranches overhead the squirrels surveyed them as if asking what mannerof people were these, and the busy woodpecker ceased his drumming, cocking his head inquisitively at the intruders; then shyly drew away, mounting spirally the trunk of the tree to the hole, chiseled by hisstrong beak for a nest. As Barnes gazed around upon the pleasingprospect, he straightway became the duke in the comedy of the forest. 

"Ha, my brothers in exile, " he exclaimed, "are not these woods morefree from peril than the envious court?"

"All it wants, " said the tragedian, hungrily, "is mutton, greens and afoaming pot. "

"I can't promise the foaming pot, " answered the manager. "But, atleast, we have a well-filled hamper. "

Soon the coffee was simmering and such viands as they had brought withthem--for Barnes was a far-sighted and provident manager--were spreadout in tempting profusion. Near them a swift-flowing stream chatteredabout the stones like one of nature's busiest gossips; it whispered tothe flowers, murmured to the rushes and was voluble to the overhangingbranch that dragged upon the surface of the water. The flowers on itsbrim nodded, the rushes waved and the branch bent as if in assent tothe mad gossip of the blithesome brook. And it seemed as though allthis animated conversation was caused by the encampment of the band ofplayers by the wayside. 

The repast finished, they turned their attention to the injuredchariot, but fortunately the damage was not beyond repair, and Barnes, actor, manager, bill-poster, license-procurer, added to his alreadyextensive repertoire the part of joiner and wheelwright. The skilledartisans in coachmaking and coach-repairing might not have regardedthe manager as a master-workman, but the fractured parts were finallyset after a fashion. By that time, however, the sun had sunk to restupon a pillow of clouds; the squirrels, law-abiding citizens, hadsought their homes; the woodpecker had vanished in his snug chamber, and only forest dwellers of nocturnal habits were now abroad, theirname legion like the gad-abouts of a populous city. 

"There!" exclaimed the manager, surveying his handiwork. "The 'bus isready! But there is little use going on to-night. I am not sure of theroad and here is a likely spot to pass the night. "

"Likely to be devoured by wild beasts, " said Kate, with a shudder. 

"I am sure I see two glistening eyes!" exclaimed Susan. 

"Fudge!" observed the elastic old lady. "That's the first time youhave been afraid of two-glistening eyes. "

"There's a vast difference between wolves and men, " murmured Susan. 

"I'm not so sure of that, " returned the aged cynic. 

But as the light of day was withdrawn a great fire sprang up, illumining the immediate foreground. The flames were cheering, drawingthe party more closely together. Even Hawkes partly discarded histragedy face; the old lady threw a bundle of fifty odd years from hershoulders as easily as a wood-carrier would cast aside his miserablestack of fagots, while Barnes forgot his troubles in narrating theharrowing experience of a company which had penetrated the west at aperiod antedating the settlement of the Michigan and Ohio boundarydispute. 

The soldier alone was silent, curiously watching the play of light andshade on the faces of the strollers, his gaze resting longest, perhaps, on the features of the young girl. Leaning against an ancientoak, so old the heart of it was gone and it towered but a mightyshell, the slender figure of the actress was clearly outlined, butagainst that dark and roughly-furrowed background she seemed tooslight and delicate to buffet with storms and hardships. That day'sexperience was a forerunner of the unexpected in this wandering life, but another time the mishap might not be turned to diversion. Thecoach would not always traverse sunny byways; the dry leaf floatingfrom the majestic arm of the oak, the sound of an acorn as it struckthe earth presaged days less halcyon to come. 

"How do you enjoy being a stroller?" asked a voice, interrupting thesoldier's reverie. "It has its bitters and its sweets, hasn't it?Especially its sweets!" Susan added, glancing meaningly at the younggirl. "But after all, it doesn't much matter what happens to you ifyou are in good company. " The semi-gloom permitted her to gazesteadfastly into his eyes. He ignored the opportunity for acompliment, and Susan stifled a little yawn, real or imaginary. 

"Positively one could die of _ennui_ in this wilderness, " shecontinued. "Do you know you are a welcome addition to our band? But youwill have to make yourself very agreeable. I suppose"--archly--"you_were_ very agreeable in the property wagon?"

"Miss Carew had a part to study, " he returned, coldly. 

"A part to study!" In mock consternation. "How I hate studying parts!They say what you wouldn't, and don't say what you would! But I'm offto bed, " rising impatiently. "I'm getting sleepy!"

"Sleepy!" echoed Barnes. "Take your choice! The Hotel duOmnibus"--indicating the chariot--"or the Villa Italienne?"--with agesture toward a tent made of the drop curtain upon the walls of whichwas the picture of an Italian scene. 

"The chariot for me, " answered Susan. "It is more high and dry anddoes not suggest spiders and other crawling things. "

"Good-night, then, and remember a good conscience makes a hard bedsoft. "

"Then I shall sleep on down. I haven't had a chance"--with a sigh--"todamage my conscience lately. But when I strike civilizationagain"--and Susan shook her head eloquently to conclude her sentence. "Oh, yes; if beds depend on conscience, boughs would be feathers forme to-night. " With which half-laughing, half-defiant conclusion, Susantripped to the chariot, pausing a moment, however, to cast areproachful glance over her shoulder at Saint-Prosper before vanishingin the cavernous depths of the vehicle of the muses. 

Her departure was the signal for the dispersing of the party to theirrespective couches. Now the fire sank lower, the stars came outbrighter and the moon arose and traveled majestically up the heavens, taking a brief but comprehensive survey of the habitations of mortals, and then, as if satisfied with her scrutiny, sailed back to thehorizon and dropped out of sight. 

CHAPTER VIII

FLIPPING THE SHILLING

Shortly after the departure of the strolling players from the tavern, Mauville summoned his servant and ordered his equipage. While waitinghe strode impatiently to and fro in the dining-room, which, dismantledof the stage, by very contrast to the temporary temple of art, turnedhis thoughts to the players. The barrenness of the room smote himacutely with the memory of those performances, and he laughedironically to himself that he should thus revert to them. But as hescoffed inwardly, his eyes gleamed with vivacity, and the sensationswith which he had viewed the young girl night after night werereawakened. What was one woman lost to him, his egotism whispered; hehad parted from many, as a gourmand leaves one meal for another. Yes;but she had not been his, insinuated vanity; another had whipped heroff before his eyes. 

"Why the devil didn't you tell me he was going with them?" he demandedof the landlord while settling his account. 

"He--who?" asked the surprised inn-keeper. 

"That adventurer you have been harboring here. How far's he going withthem?"

"I don't know. The night after the performance I heard the manager askhim to join the company; to write a temperance play. "

"Temperance play!" sneered Mauville. "The fool's gone with them onaccount of a woman. "

"I did think he was mighty attentive to one of the actresses, " saidthe landlord, reflectively. "The one with them melting eyes. Purtygood-looking! Quiet and lady-like, too! So he's gallivanting afterher? Well, well, I guess actresses be all alike. "

"I guess they are, " added the heir savagely. "And this one took mein, " he thought to himself. "Holding me off and playing with him, thejade!" Then he continued aloud: "Where are they going?"

"Didn't hear 'em say, " answered the other, "and I didn't like toappear too curious. "

"You didn't?" returned Mauville, ironically. "You must have changedlately. "

"I don't know as I understand you quite, " replied the landlord withsudden dignity. "But here's your carriage and your things are all on. I guess your tenants will be glad to see you, " he continued, notresisting a parting shot. 

"Curse the tenants!" muttered the guest in ill-humor, as he strodefrom the tavern without more ado. 

He was soon on his way, partly forgetting his vexation in newanticipations, and traveling with spirit to his destination, which hereached late that afternoon. The residence of the old patroons, alordly manor where once lavish hospitality had been displayed, wasapproached through great gates of hammered iron in which the familyarms were interwoven, leading into a fine avenue of trees. Thebranches of the more majestic met overhead, forming a sylvan arch thatalmost obscured the blue sky by day and the stars by night. Gazingthrough this vista, a stately portico appeared, with Corinthiancolumns, affording an inviting termination of the view. The groundsbore evidence of neglect in the grass growing knee-high and rank withweeds; the flower beds almost obliterated; a corn-crib sunk to oneside like a quadruped gone weak-kneed; and the stream that struggledvainly through the leaves and rubbish barring its passage across theestate. The fence resembled the "company front" of an awkward squad, each picket being more or less independent of its neighbor, with hereand there a break or gap in the ranks. 

Passing through the leafy archway over a noiseless road and drawingnear the manor, the heir could see that the broad windows, with theirquaint squares of glass, were unwashed, the portico unswept and thebrass finishings of the front door unpolished. At the right of thesteps leading to the portico, moss-covered and almost concealed by arose-bush, stood a huge block of granite upon which rested the"lifting-stone, " as it was called, of one of the early masters. Thisnot inconsiderable weight the new retainers had been required to liftin days of old, or failing, the patroon would have none of theirservices, for he wanted only lusty, broad-backed varlets for farmersor--when need were--soldiers. 

In answer to repeated summons from the ponderous knocker, shufflingfootsteps were finally heard within, the door was opened a few inchesand the gleaming teeth of a great, gaunt dog were thrust into theopening, followed by an ominous growling. Mauville sprang back a step;the snarling resolved itself into a yelp, as some one unceremoniouslydragged the canine back; the door was opened wider and a brawnyfigure, smoking a long-stemmed pipe, barred the way. The dog, butpartly appeased, peered from behind the man's sturdy legs, awaitinghostilities. The latter, an imperturbable Dutchman, eyed the intruderaskance, smoking as impassively in his face as one of his ancestorsbefore William the Testy. From his point of vantage on the thresholdthe care-taker looked down upon the master so indifferently, while thedog glared so viciously that the land baron cried angrily:

"Why the devil don't you get out of the way and call off that beast?"

The man pondered. "No one but the heir would give orders like that, "he said, so accustomed to speaking his thoughts in the solitude of thegreat rooms, that he gave way to the habit now. "This must be theheir. "

Slowly the care-taker moved aside, the hound shifting his positionaccordingly, and Mauville entered, gazing around with some interest, for the interior of the manor realized the pretensions of its outwardaspect. The floor of the hall was of satinwood and rosewood, and themahogany wainscoting, extending almost to the ceiling, was black withage. With its rich carvings, the stairway suggested woody rioting inbalustrades lifting up to the support of the heavy beams in theceiling. The furnishings were in keeping, but dust obscured themirror-like surface of the mahogany tables, the heavy draperies werein need of renovation, while a housewife would have viewed withdespair the condition of brass and ebony inlaid cabinets, ancienttapestries, and pictures, well-nigh defaced, but worthy, even in theirfaded aspect, of the brush of Sir Godfrey Kneller, Benjamin West andthe elder Peale. 

Having casually surveyed his new home, the heir was reminded of theneed for refreshment after his long journey, and, turning to thecare-taker, asked him what there was in the house? The servant smokedsilently as though deeply considering this momentous question, whilethe rear guard maintained unabated hostility between the man'sfirmly-planted feet. Then abruptly, without removing his pipe, theguardian of the manor ejaculated:

"Short-cakes and oly-koeks. "

The other laughed, struck his knee with his light cane and demanded tobe shown to the library, where he would have these outlandish dishesserved. 

"And bring with them, Mynheer Oly-koeks, a bottle of wine, " hecontinued. "At the same time, chain up the dog. He eyes me with suchhungry hostility that, gad! I believe he's an anti-renter!"

Mauville was ushered into a large room, where great leather-boundvolumes filled the oak shelves to the ceiling. The care-taker turned, and, with echoing footsteps, slowly departed, followed by his faithfulfour-footed retainer. It is true the latter paused, swung half-aroundand regarded the land-owner with the look of a sulky and rebellioustenant, but, summoned by a stern "Oloffe!" from his master, the dogreluctantly pattered across the hard-wood floor. 

In surveying his surroundings, the land baron's attention wasattracted by a coat-of-arms deeply carved in the massive wood of thebook-case--on a saltire sable, a fleur-de-lys or. This head ofheraldic flowers appeared to interest Mauville, who smiled grimly. "From what I know of my worthy ancestors, " he muttered, "and theirpropensities to prey on their fellow-men, I should say a more fittingdevice would be that of Lovett of Astwell: Gules, three wolves passantsable, in pale. "

Pleased with his own humor, he threw himself upon a couch near thewindow, stretching himself luxuriously. Soon the man reappeared withthe refreshments and a bottle of old-fashioned, substantial girth, which he uncorked with marked solicitude. 

"Where are the oly-koeks?" exclaimed the heir. 

The watchman pointed to a great dish of dark blue willow-warepattern. 

"Oh, doughnuts!" said Mauville. "You know where the family lawyerlives? Have my man drive you to his house and bring him here atonce. "

As the care-taker again disappeared the heir bent over the curiouslyshaped bottle in delight, for when the cork was drawn a fragrancefilled the musty apartment as from a bouquet. 

"Blessings on the ancestor who laid down this wine!" he muttered. "May his ghost wander in to sniff it! These oly-koeks are not bad. I suppose this man, Ten Breecheses, or whatever he is called, is atonce cook and housekeeper. Although I don't think much of hishousekeeping, " ruminated Mauville, as he observed a herculean spiderweaving a web from an old volume of Giraldus Cambrensis, antiquary, to the classical works of one Joseph of Exeter. There is a strongsympathy between wine and cobwebs, and Mauville watched withincreasing interest the uses to which these ponderous tomes hadsunk--but serving the bloodthirsty purpose of the nimble architect, evolving its delicate engineering problem in mid air. 

A great blundering fly had just bobbed into the net and the spider, with hideous, carnivorous zest, was scrambling for it, when theguardian of the manor returned with the family solicitor, a little manwho bore in his arms a bundle of papers which, after the customarygreetings, he spread upon the table. He helped himself to a glass ofburgundy and proceeded forthwith to enter into the history of histrust. 

Mynheer, the patroon, Mauville's predecessor, a lonely, arrogant man, had held tenaciously to the immense tracts of land acquired in thecolonial days by nominal purchase. He had never married, his desirefor an heir being discounted by his aversion for the other sex, untilas the days dragged on, he found himself bed-ridden and childless inhis old age. Unfortunately the miser can not take his acres intoParadise, and the patroon, with many an inward groan, cast about himfor some remote relative to whom he would reluctantly transfer hisearthly hereditaments. These were two: one a man of piety, who prayedwith the tenants when they complained of their lot; the other, Mauville, upon whom he had never set eyes. 

When the earliest patroons had made known to the West India Companytheir intention of planting colonies in New Netherland, they hadissued attractive maps to promote their colonization projects. Amongthose who had been lured to America by these enticing advertisementswas an ancestor of Edward Mauville. Incurring the displeasure of thegovernor for his godless views, this Frenchman was sent to thepillory, or whipping post, and his neighbors were about to cast outthe devil of irreverence in good old-fashioned manner, when one ofMynheer's daughters interceded, carried off the handsome miscreant, and--such was her imperious way!--married him! He was heard in afteryears to aver that the whipping would have been the milder punishment, but, be that as it may, a child was born unto them who inherited thefather's adventuresome and graceless character, deserted his home, joined hands with some ocean-rovers and sailed for that pasture-groundof buccaneers, the Caribbean sea. Of his subsequent history variousstories may be found in the chronicles of New Orleans and Louisiana. 

The only other person who might have any pretensions to the estate wasa reverend gentleman who had been a missionary among the Indians, preaching from a stump, and called "Little Thunder" by the red menbecause of his powerful voice; a lineal descendant of the Rev. DoctorJohannes Vanderklonk, the first dominie of the patroons, who servedfor one thousand guilders, payable in meat or drink, twenty-twobushels of wheat and two firkins of butter. He saved the souls of thesavages, while the white men cheated their bodies. Now and then, inthose early days, the children of the forest protested against thisevangelizing process and carried off the good dominie to the torturestake, where they plucked out his finger nails; but he returned withas much zest to his task of landing these simple souls in Paradise asthose who employed him displayed in making an earthly Paradise out ofthe lands the red men left behind them. 

When by this shrewd system the savages were gradually saved, andincidentally exterminated, Little Thunder's occupation was gone and hebecame a pensioner of Mynheer the Patroon, earning his bread by anoccasional sermon to the tenants, exhorting them to thrift andindustry, to be faithful and multiply, and to pay their rentspromptly. As Mynheer's time drew near he sent for his attorney andcommanded him to look up the life, deeds and character of EdwardMauville. 

"This I did, " said the lawyer, "and here it is. " Waving a roll ofpapers before his interested listener. 

"A nauseating mess, no doubt, " carelessly remarked the land baron. 

"Oh, sir!" deprecated the lawyer, opening the roll. "'Item: Religion;pupil of the brilliant Jesuit, Abbé Moneau. Item: Morals; Exhibit A, the affair with Countess ---- in Paris, where he was sent to beeducated after the fashion of French families in New Orleans; ExhibitB--'"

"Spare me, " exclaimed Mauville. "Life is wearisome enough, but abiography--" He shrugged his shoulders. "Come to your point. "

"Of course, sir, I was only trying to carry out his instructions. Thesame, sir, as I would carry out yours!" With an ingratiating smile. Whereupon the attorney told how he had furnished the patroon this rolland fastened it to his bed, so that he might wind and unwind it, perusing it at his pleasure. This the dying man did, sternly notingthe damaging facts; thinking doubtlessly how traits will endure forgenerations--aye, for ages, in spite of the pillory!--the while LittleThunder was roaring petitions to divinity by his bedside, as though tobluster and bully the Almighty into granting his supplications. Thepatroon glanced from his pensioner to the roll; from the kneeling manto that prodigious list of peccadillos, and then he called for ashilling, a coin still somewhat in use in America. This he flippedthrice. 

"_Roué_ or sham, " he said the first time. 

"Rake or hypocrite, " he exclaimed the second time. 

"Devil or Pharisee, " he cried the third time. 

He peered over the coin and sent for his attorney. His soul passedaway, mourned by Little Thunder until the will was read, when hislamentations ceased; he soundly berated Mynheer, the Patroon, in hiscoffin and refused to go to his burying. Then he became an ardentanti-renter, a leader of "bolters, " a thunderer of the people's cause, the devoted enemy of land barons in general, and one patroon inparticular, the foreign heir of the manor. 

"But let him thunder away, sir, " said Scroggs, soothingly. "Theestate's yours now, for the old patroon can't come back to change hismind. He's buried sure enough in the grove, a dark and sombrous spotas befitted his disposition, but restful withal. Aye, and the marbleslab's above him, which reminds me that only a month before he took tohis bed he was smoking his pipe on the porch, when his glance fellupon the lifting-stone. Suddenly he strode towards it, bent his backand raised it a full two inches. 'So much for age!' said he, scoffing-like. But age heard him and now he lies with a stone on himhe can not lift, while you, sir"--to his listener, deferentially--"aresole heir to the estate and to the feud. "

"A feud goes with the property?" remarked Mauville carelessly. 

"The tenants object to paying rent, " replied Scroggs, sadly. "They'rea sorry lot!"

"Evade their debts, do they?" said the land baron languidly. "Whatpresumption to imitate their betters! That won't do; I need themoney. "

"They claim the rights of the landlord originated in fraud--"

"No doubt!" Yawning. "My ancestors were rogues!"

"Oh, sir"--deprecatorily. 

"If the tenants don't pay, turn them out, " interrupted Mauville, listlessly, "if you have to depopulate the country. "

Having come to an understanding with his client, the lawyer arose totake his departure. 

"By the way, " he said, obsequiously, selecting a yellow, well-worn bitof paper from his bundle of documents, "it may interest you to keepthis yourself. It is the original deed for all these lands from thesquaw Pewasch. You can see they were acquired for a few shillings'worth of 'wet and dry goods' and seventeen and a half ells ofduffels. "

"The old patroons could strike a rare bargain, " muttered the heir, ashe casually surveyed the ancient deed, and then, folding it, placed itin his breast pocket. "For a mere song was acquired--"

"A vast principality, " added the solicitor, waving his hand toward thefields and meadows far in the distance. 

CHAPTER IX

SAMPLING THE VINTAGES

Having started the wheels of justice fairly moving, with Scroggs atthe throttle, the new land baron soon discovered that he was not inconsonance with the great commoner who said he was savage enough toprefer the woods and wilds of Monticello to all the pleasures ofParis. In other words, those rural delights of his forefathers, thepleasures of a closer intimacy with nature, awoke no responsive chordin Mauville's breast, and he began to tire before long of apatriarchal existence and crullers and oly-koeks and playing the finelord in solitary grandeur. 

The very extent of the deserted manor carried an overwhelming sense ofloneliness, especially at this season when nature was dying andtriumphal tints of decay were replacing the vernal freshness of theforests, flaunting gaudy vestments that could not, however, concealthe sadness of the transition. The days were growing shorter and theleaden-colored vapors, driven by the whip of that taskmaster, thewind, replaced the snow-white clouds becalmed in the tender depths ofether. Soon would the hoar frost crystallize on grass and fence, orthe autumn rains descend, dripping mournfully from the water spoutsand bubbling over the tubs. Already the character of the dawn waschanged to an almost sullen awakening of the day, denoting a seeminguneasiness of the hidden forces, while an angry passing of the glowingorb replaced the Paphian sunset. 

In nook and cranny, through the balustrades and woody screens of theancient house, penetrated the wandering currents of air. The draperieswaved mysteriously, as by a hidden hand, and, at nightfall, the floorof satin and rosewood creaked ominously as if beneath the restlessfootsteps of former inmates, moving from the somber hangings of thewindows to the pearl-inlaid harpsichord whose melody was gone, andthence up the broad staircase, pausing naturally at the landing, beneath which had assembled gay gatherings in the colonial days. Andsuch a heedless phantom group--fine gentlemen in embroidered coats, bright breeches, silk stockings and peruke, and, peeping throughethereal lace wristbands, a white hand fit for no sterner toil than toflourish with airy grace a gold-headed cane; ladies with gleaming bareshoulders, dressed in "cumbrous silk that with its rustling made proudthe flesh that bore it!" The imaginative listener could almostdistinguish these footfalls, as the blind will recognize the tread ofan unseen person. 

To further add to the land baron's dissatisfaction over his heritage, "rent-day"--that all-important day in the olden times; when my lord'sdoor had been besieged by the willing lease-holders, cheerful inrendering unto Caesar what was due Caesar!--seemed to have beendropped from the modern calendar, as many an ancient holiday hasgradually been lost in the whirligig of time. No long procession nowawaited the patroon's pleasure, when it should suit him to receive thetribute of guilders, corn or meal; the day might have been as obsoleteas an Hellenic festival day to Zeus, for all the observance it wasaccorded. 

"Your notices, Scroggs, were wasted on the desert air, " said thepatroon, grimly, to that disappointed worthy. "What's the use oftenants who don't pay? Playing at feudal lord in modern times is afarce, Scroggs. I wish we had lived about four hundred years ago. "

"Yes, if four hundred years ago were now, " assented the parasite, "I'dbegin with Dick, the tollman! He's a regular Goliath and, "--his facebecoming purple--"when I threatened him with the law, threw me out ofthe barn on an obnoxious heap of refuse. "

"You weren't exactly a David, then?" laughed the patroon, in spite ofhis bad humor. 

"I'll throw the stone yet, " said the little man, viciously showing hisyellow teeth. "The law's the sling. "

That evening, when the broad meadows were inundated by the shadow ofthe forest that crept over it like an incoming tide, the land baronordered lights for every room. The manor shone in isolated grandeuramid the gloomy fields, with the forest-wall around it; radiant as ofold, when strains of music had been heard within and many figurespassed the windows. But now there was light, and not life, and asolitary anti-renter on the lonely road regarded with surprise theunusual illumination. 

"What does it mean?" asked Little Thunder--for it was he--waiting andwatching, as without the gates of Paradise. 

Well might he ask, for the late Mynheer, the Patroon, had been averitable bat for darkness; a few candles answered his purpose in thespacious rooms; he played the prowler, not the grand lord; a reclusewho hovered over his wine butts in the cellar and gloated over them, while he touched them not; a hermit who lived half his time in thekitchen, bending over the smoky fireplace, and not a lavender-scentedgentleman who aired himself in the drawing-room, a fine fop withnothing but the mirrors to pay him homage. Little Thunder, standingwith folded arms in the dark road, gloomy as Lucifer, almost expectedto see the brilliant fabric vanish like one of those palaces of joybuilt by the poets. 

Hour after hour passed, midnight had come and gone, and still thelights glowed. Seated in the library, with the curtains drawn, werethe land baron and Scroggs, a surveyor's map between them and a dozenbottles around them. Before Mauville stood several glasses, containingwines of various vintages which the land baron compared and sipped, held to the light and inhaled after the manner of a connoisseursampling a cellar. He was unduly dignified and stately, but theattorney appeared decidedly groggy. The latter's ideas clashed againstone another like pebbles in a child's rattle, and, if the round tablemay be supposed to represent the earth, as the ancient geographersimagined it, Scrogg's face was surely the glowing moon shining uponit. 

Readily had the attorney lent himself to the new order of procedure. With him it was: "The king is dead! Long live the king!" He, who hadfound but poor pickings under the former master--dry crust fees forpleadings, demurrers or rejoinders--now anticipated generous booty andspoil. Alert for such crumbs as might fall from a bountiful table;keen of scent for scraps and bits, but capable of a mighty mouthful, he paid a courtier's price for it all; wheedling, pandering, ready forany service, ripe for any revelry. With an adulator's tact, he stillstrove strenuously to hold the thread of his companion's conversation, as Mauville said:

"Too old, Scroggs; too old!" Setting down a glass of burgundy in whichfine particles floated through the magenta-hued liquid. "It has lostits luster, like a woman's eyes when she has passed the meridian. Goodwine, like a woman, has its life. First, sweetly innocent, delicatelypalatable, its blush like a maiden of sixteen; then glowing with ariper development, more passionate in hue, a siren vintage; finally, thin, waning and watery, with only memories of the deeper, rosy-hueddays. Now here, my good, but muddled friend, is your youthful maiden!"Holding toward the lamp a glass, clear as crystal, with luster like agem. "Dancing eyes; a figure upright as a reed; the bearing of anymph; the soul of a water lily before it has opened its leaves to thewooing moonlight!"

[Illustration]

"Lord! How you go on!" exclaimed Scroggs. "What with a sampling thisand sampling that, my head's going round like a top. If there'sanything in the cellar the old patroons put down we haven't tried, sir, I beg to defer the sampling. I am of the sage's mind--'Of all menwho take wine, the moderate only enjoy it, ' says Master Bacon, or someone else. "

"Pass the bottle!" answered the other. "Gently, man! Don't disturb itsrepose, and remember it disdains the perpendicular. "

"So will I soon, " muttered Scroggs. "I hope you'll excuse me, sir, butthat last drop of Veuve Cliquot was the whip-cord that started the topgoing, and, on my word"--raising his hands to his head--"I feel likeholding it on to keep it from spinning off. "

"Spinning or not, you shall try this vintage"--the young man's eyesgleamed with such fire as shone in the glass--"and drink to ConstanceCarew!"

"Constance Carew!" stammered the other, desperately swallowing thetoast. 

Mauville slowly emptied the glass. "A balsamic taste, slightly piquantbut agreeable, " he observed. "A dangerous wine, Scroggs! It carries nowarning; your older kind is like a world-worn coquette whose glancesat once place you on the defensive. This maiden vintage, justspringing into glorious womanhood, comes over you like a springtimedream. "

"Who--who is she?" muttered Scroggs. 

"She is not in the scroll you prepared for my lamented kinsman, eh?They are, for the most part, deep red, dark scarlet--that list of fairdames! She doesn't belong to them--yet! No title, man; not even asociety lady. A stroller, which is next door to a vagrant. "

"Well, sir, she's a woman and that's enough, " replied the lawyer. "Andmy opinion is, it's better to have nothing to do with 'em. "

This sententious remark seemed to arouse Scroggs to momentaryvivacity. 

"Now there was my Lord Hamerton, whose picture is upstairs, " he wenton quickly, like a man who is bent on grasping certain ideas beforethey escape him. "He brought a beautiful woman here--carried her off, they say from England--and installed her as mistress of the manor. Ihave heard my father say that his great-grandfather, who was my lord'ssolicitor, said that before his death my lord desired to make her hiswife, having been brought to a sense of the sinful life he had led bya Puritan preacher. But at that, this woman straightened herself up, surveyed him with scorn, and, laughing like a witch, answered: 'Theysay marriages are made in heaven, my lord--and you are the devil!' Somy lord died without having atoned, and, as for my lady who refused tobecome an honest woman, I am sure she was damned!" concluded Scroggstriumphantly. 

"No doubt! So this wicked lord abducted her, Scroggs?" he addedthoughtfully. "A man of spirit, until the Puritans got after him andshowed him the burning pit and frightened him to that virtue which wasforeign to his inclinations. My lady was right in refusing to honorsuch a paltry scoundrel with her hand. But it takes courage, Scroggs, to face everlasting damnation. "

"They say, too, there was a spice of revenge about her unwillingnessto give her hand to my lord, " resumed the narrator, unmindful of theinterruption. "This Puritan father said nothing but marriage with herwould save Hamerton from the sulphurous flames and so my lady refusedto sanctify their relations and rescue her lord from perdition!"

"A pleasant revenge!" laughed the land baron. "He made life a hell forher and she gave him an eternity of it. But take a little of thiswhite wine, man. We've drunk to the roses of desire, and now shoulddrink to the sanctified lilies. Her neck, Scroggs, is like a lily, andher hand and her brow! Beneath that whiteness, her eyes shine with atenderness inviting rays of passion to kindle them. Drink!"

But the other gave a sudden lurch forward. "My lady--refused--perdition!"he muttered, and his head dropped to the board. 

"Wake up, man, and drink!" commanded the master. 

"Jush same--they ought to have been married, " said his companiondrowsily. "They lived together so--so ill!" And then to place himselfbeyond reach of further temptation from the bottle, he quietly andnaturally slid under the table. 

The patroon arose, strode to the window, which he lifted, and thenight air entered, fanning his hot brow. The leaves, on high, rustledlike falling rain. The elms tossed their branches, striking oneanother in blind confusion. The long grass whispered as the breezestirred it like the surface of an inland lake. Withering flowers gaveup their last perfume, while a storm-cloud fled wildly across theheavens. Some of the restlessness of the external world disturbed thatsilent dark figure at the window; within him, conflicting passionsjarred like the boughs of the trees and his fancies surged like theeddying leaves. 

"The roses of desire--the sanctified lilies!" he muttered. 

As he stood there the stars grew pale; the sky trembled and quiveredbefore the advent of morn. A heavy footstep fell behind him, and, turning, he beheld the care-taker. 

"Not in bed yet, Oly-koeks?" cheerfully said the land baron. 

"I am just up. "

"In that case, it is time for me to retire, " returned the master, witha yawn. "This is a dull place, Oly-koeks; no life; no variety. Nothinggoing on!"

The servant glanced at the formidable array of bottles. "And he callsthis a quiet life!" thought the care-taker, losing his impassivenessand viewing the table with round-eyed wonder. 

"Nothing going on?" he said aloud. "Mynheer, the Patroon, complainedof too much life here, with people taking farms all around. But, ifyou are dull, a farmer told me last night there was a company ofstrolling players in Vanderdonkville--"

"Strollers!" exclaimed Mauville, wheeling around. "What are theycalled?"

"Lord; I don't know, sir. They're show-folks, and that's all--"

"Do many strolling players come this way?"

"Not for weeks and months, sometimes! The old patroon ordered the_schout_ to arrest them if they entered the _wyck_. "

"Is Vanderdonkville in the _wyck_?" asked the land baron quickly. 

"No. It was separated from the _wyck_ when Rickert Jacobus married--"

"Never mind the family genealogy! Have the coach ready at nine--"

"To-night?"

"This morning, " replied Mauville, lightly. "And, meanwhile, put thisto bed, " indicating Scroggs, who was now snoring like a bag-pipe withone arm lovingly wound around a leg of the library table. 

The care-taker hoisted the attorney on his broad shoulders, his burdenstill piping as they crossed the hall and mounted the stairway. Havingdeposited his load within the amazing depths of a Dutch feathermattress, where he lay well-nigh lost to sight, but not unheard, the_wacht-meester_ of the _steyn_ left him to well-earned slumber anddescended to the kitchen. 

At the appointed hour, the land baron, freshly shaven, not a jadedline in his face, and elastic in step, appeared on the front porchbefore which his carriage was waiting. 

"When shall I expect you back?" asked Oly-koeks, who had reappeared atthe sound of his master's footsteps. 

"Any time or never!" laughed the patroon, springing into the vehicle. 

But as he drove through a bit of wood, wrapped in pleasing reflections, he received startling proof that the warfare between landlord andtenants had indeed begun in earnest, for a great stone suddenlycrashed through the window of the vehicle, without, however, injuringthe occupant. Springing from his carriage, Mauville dashed throughthe fringe of wood, discharging his revolver at what he fancied was afleeing figure. But a fluttering in the trees from the startled birdswas the only result. 

Little Thunder was too spry to be caught by even a pursuing bullet. 

CHAPTER X

SEALING THE COMPACT

"The show troupe has come to town, " said the tall, lank postmaster toevery one who called, and the words passed from mouth to mouth, sothat those who did not witness the arrival were soon aware of it. Punchinello and his companions never attracted more attention from theold country peasants than did the chariot and its occupants, as on theday after their night in the woods they passed through the mainthoroughfare of the village where they were soon to appear. 

Children in woolen dresses of red retinet, or in calico vandykes andaprons, ran after the ponderous vehicle with cries of delight; thestaid, mature contingent of the population shook their headsdisapprovingly, while viewing with wonder the great lumbering coach, its passengers inside and out, and, behind, the large wagon with itsload of miscellaneous trappings. Now on the stage throne lolled thebass viol player, even as Jacques assumed the raiment of the Duke ofAranza, reclining the while in his chair of state. Contentment waswritten upon his face, and he was as much a duke or a king, asJacques when he swelled like a shirt bleaching in a high wind andlooked burly as a Sunday beadle. 

The principal avenue of the village boasted but few prosperous-lookingbusiness establishments. In the general "mixed store, " farmers'implements, groceries, West India goods and even drugs were dispensed. But the apothecary's trade then had its limitations, homeopathy beingunknown, while calomel, castor oil and rhubarb were mainly in demand, as well as senna, manna and other bitter concoctions with which bothyoung and old were freely dosed. The grocer, haberdasher, anddruggist, all rolled into one substantial personage, so blocked thedoorway of his own establishment, while gazing at the strollers, itwould have puzzled a customer, though but a "sketch and outline" of aman, to have slipped in or out. Dashing as in review before the rankand file of the village, the coach, with an extra flourish, rattled upto the hotel, a low but generous-sized edifice, with a wide, comfortable veranda, upon the railing of which was an array of boots, and behind them a number of disconsolate-looking teamsters. 

"You want to register, do you?" said the landlord in answer to Barnes'inquiry, as the latter entered the office, the walls of which werecovered with advertisements of elections, auctions, sales of stock, lands and quack medicines. 

"We don't keep no register, " continued the landlord, "but I guess wecan accommodate you, although the house is rather full with thefellers from the ark. Or, " he added, by way of explanation in answerto the manager's look of surprise, "Philadelphia freight wagons, Isuppose you would call them. But we speak of them as arks, becausethey take in all creation. Them's the occupants, making a Mount Araratof the porch. They're down-hearted, because they used to liquor uphere and now they can't, for the town's temperance. "

"I trust, nevertheless, you are prepared for a season of legitimatedrama, " suggested Barnes. 

The other shook his head dubiously. "The town's for lectures clearthrough, " he answered. "They've been making a big fuss about showfolks. "

The manager's countenance did not fall, however, upon hearingthis announcement; on the contrary, it shed forth inscrutablesatisfaction. 

No sooner were they settled in far from commodious quarters thanpreparations for the future were seriously begun; and now the dramaproceeded apace, with Barnes, the moving spirit. Despite his assertionthat he was no scholar, the manager's mind was the storehouse of ahundred plays, and in that depository were many bags of gold and manybags of chaff. From this accumulation he drew freely, frankly, in thelight-fingered fashion of master playwrights and lesser theatricalthimble-riggers. 

Before the manager was a table--the stage!--upon which were scatteredmiscellaneous articles, symbols of life and character. A statelysalt-cellar represented the leading lady; a pepper box, the irasciblefather; a rotund mustard pot, the old woman; a long, slim cruet, the_ingenue_; and a pewter spoon, the lover. 

Barnes gravely demonstrated the action of the scene to Saint-Prosper, and the soldier became collaborator, "abandoning, as it were, " wrotethe manager in his autobiographical date-book and diary, "the swordfor the pen, and the glow of the Champ de Mars for the glimmer of akerosene lamp. " And yet not with the inclination of Burgoyne, or othermilitary gentlemen who have courted the buskin and sock! On thecontrary, so foreign was the occupation to his leaning, that often awhimsical light in his eye betrayed his disinclination and modestdisbelief in his own fitness for the task. "He said the way I laid outan act reminded him of planning a campaign, with the outriders andskirmishers before; the cavalry arrayed for swift service, and theinfantry marching steadily on, carrying with them the main plot, orstrength of the movement. "

No sooner were the Salt Cellar and Pepper Box reunited, and the PewterSpoon clasped in the arms of the loving Cruet, with the curtaindescending, than Barnes, who like the immortal Alcibiades Tripletcould turn his hand to almost anything, became furiously engaged inpainting scenery. A market-place, with a huge wagon, containingporkers and poultry, was dashed off with a celerity that would havemade a royal academician turn green with envy. The Tiddly Wink Inn wasso faithfully reproduced that the painted bottles were a realtemptation, while on the pastoral green of a rural landscape grazedsheep so life-like that, as Hawkes observed, it actually seemed "theywould eat the scenery all up. " But finally sets and play were alikefinished, and results demonstrated that the manager was correct in hisestimate of such a drama, which became a forerunner of other pieces ofthis kind, "The Bottle, " "Fruits of the Wine Cup, " "Aunt Dinah'sPledge, " and "Ten Nights in a Bar Room. "

In due time the drama was given in the town hall, after the rehearsalshad been witnessed by a committee from the temperance league, whoreported that the play "could not but exercise a good influence andwas entertaining withal . . . We recommend the license to be issued andcommend the drama to all Good Templars. " Therefore, the production wasnot only well attended, but play and players were warmly received. Thetown hall boasted a fairly commodious platform which now served thepurpose of a stage, and--noteworthy circumstance!--there were gas jetsfor footlights, the illuminating fluid having at that early date beenintroduced in several of the more progressive villages. Between theacts, these yellow lights were turned low, and--running with thecurrent of popular desire--the orchestra, enlarged to four, played, byspecial request, "The Old Oaken Bucket. "

The song had just sprung into popularity, and, in a moment, men, womenand children had added their voices to the instruments. It was not thethrill of temperance fanaticism that stirred their hearts, but it wasthe memories of the old pioneer home in the wilderness; therail-splitting, road-building days; the ancient rites of "raisings"and other neighborly ceremonies; when the farmer cut rye with acradle, and threshed it out with his flail; when "butter and eggs werepin money" and wheat paid the store-keeper. 

"How solemnly they take their amusements in the North, Mr. Barnes!"exclaimed a voice in one of the entrances. "What a contrast to theSouth--the wicked South!"

The manager turned sharply. 

"We are mere servants of the public, Mr. Mauville. "

"And the public is master, Mr. Barnes! How the dramatic muse iswhipped around! In Greece, she was a goddess; in Rome, a hussy; inEngland, a sprightly dame; now, a straight-laced Priscilla. But youhave a recruit, I see?"

"You mean Saint-Prosper?"

"Yes, and I can hardly blame him--under the circumstances!" murmuredthe land baron, at the same time glancing around as though seekingsome one. 

"Circumstances! What circumstances?" demanded the manager. 

"Why, the pleasant company he finds himself in, of course, " said thevisitor, easily. "Ah, I see Miss Carew, " he added, his eye immediatelylightening, "and must congratulate her on her performance. Curseddusty hole, isn't it?" Brushing himself with his handkerchief as hemoved away. 

"What business has he behind the scenes anyway?" grumbled themanager. "Dusty hole, indeed! Confound his impudence!" But hisattention being drawn to the pressing exigencies of a first night, Barnes soon forgot his irritation over this unwarranted intrusion inlowering a drop, hoisting a fly or readjusting a flat to his liking. 

The land baron meanwhile crossed to the semi-darkness at the rear ofthe stage behind the boxed scene, where he had observed the young girlwaiting for the curtain to rise on the last act. A single light oneach side served partly to relieve the gloom; to indicate theframe-work of the set scene and throw in shadow various articlesdesigned for use in the play. As she approached Mauville, who stoodmotionless in an unlighted spot, the pale glow played upon her amoment, white on her neck, in sheen on the folds of her gown, and thenshe stepped into the shadow, where she was met by a tall figure, withhand eagerly outstretched. 

"Mr. Mauville!" she exclaimed, drawing back at the suddenness of theencounter. 

His restless eyes held hers, but his greeting was conventional. 

"Did I not say the world was small and that we might meet again?"

"Of course, we are always meeting people and parting from them, " shereplied unconcernedly. 

He laughed. "With what delightful indifference you say that! You didnot think to see me again?"

"I hadn't thought about it, " she answered, frankly, annoyed by hispersistence. 

"I am unfortunate!" he said. 

Beneath his free gaze she changed color, as though the shadow of arose had touched her face. 

"You are well?" he continued. 

"Yes. "

"I need not have asked. " His expression conveyed more--so much more, she bit her lip impatiently. "How do you like the new part?"

"It is hard to tell yet, " she answered evasively. 

"You would do justice to any rôle, but I prefer you in a historical orromantic play, with the picturesque old costumes. If it were in mydomains, you should appear in those dramas, if I had to hang everyjustice of the peace in the district. "

Her only response was a restless movement and he hastened to add: "Ifear, however, I am detaining you. "

He drew aside with such deference to permit her to pass that herconscience smote her and she was half-minded to turn and leave himmore graciously, but this impulse was succeeded by another feeling, ill-defined, the prevailing second thought. Had she looked, she wouldhave seen that her fluttering shawl touched his hand and he quicklyraised it to his lips, releasing it immediately. As it was, she movedon, unaware of the gesture. The orchestra, or rather string quartet, had ceased; Hans, a host in himself, a mountain of melody, bowed hisacknowledgments; the footlights glared, the din of voices subsiding;and the curtain rose. 

Remaining in the background, the land baron watched the young girlapproach the entrance to the stage, where she stood, intent, one handresting against the scenery, her dress upheld with the other; theglimmer from the footlights, reflected through the opening, touchingher face; suddenly, with a graceful movement, she vanished, and herlaughing voice seemed to come from afar. 

Was it for this he had made his hasty journey? To be treated withindifference by a wandering player; he, the patroon, the unsuccessfulsuitor of a stroller! She, who appeared in taverns, in barns, perhaps, was as cold and proud as any fine lady, untroubled about the morrow, and, as he weighed this phase of the matter, the land baron knew notwhether he loved her most for her beauty or hated her for the slightshe put upon him. But love or hate, it was all one, and he toldhimself he would see the adventure to the end. 

"How do you do, Mr. Mauville?" said a gay but hushed voice, interrupting his ruminations, and Susan, in a short skirt and brightstockings, greeted him. 

"The better for seeing you, Mistress Susan. " Nonchalantly surveyingher from head to foot. 

She bore his glance with the assurance of a pretty woman who knows sheis looking her best. 

"Pooh!" Curtesying disdainfully. "I don't believe you! You came to seesome one else. Well"--lightly--"she is already engrossed. "

"Really?" said the land baron. 

"Yes. You understand? He follows her with his every glance, " she addedroguishly. Susan was never averse to straining the truth a little whenit served her purpose. 

"I should infer he was following her with more than his eyes, "retorted the master of the manor dryly. 

Susan tapped the stage viciously with a little foot. "She's a lovelygirl, " she continued, drawing cabalistic figures with the provokingslipper. 

"You are piqued?" he said, watching her skeptically. 

"Not at all. " Quickly, startled by his blunt accusation. 

"Not a little jealous?" he persisted playfully. 

"Jealous?" Then with a frown, hesitatingly: "Well, she is givenprominence in the plays and--"

"--You would not be subordinated, if she were not in the company?Apart from this, you are fond of her?"

The foot ceased its tracing and rested firmly on the floor. 

"I hate her!" snapped Susan, angered by this baiting. No sooner hadshe spoken than she regretted her outburst. "How you draw one out! Iwas only joking--though she does have the best parts and we take whatwe can get!"

"But she's a lovely girl!" concluded the land baron. Susan's eyesflashed angrily. 

"How clever of you! You twist and turn one's words about and givethem a different meaning from what was intended. If I wanted to catchyou up--"

"A truce!" he exclaimed. "Let us take each other seriously, hereafter. Is it agreed?" She nodded. "Well, seriously, you can help me and helpyourself. "

"How?" doubtfully. 

"Why not be allies?"

"What for?"

"Mutual service. "

"Oh!" dubiously. 

"A woman's 'yes'!"

"No, " with affirmative answer in her eyes. 

He believed the latter. 

"We will seal the compact then. "

And he bent over and saluted Mistress Susan on the lips. She became asrosy as the flowers she carried and tapped him playfully with them. 

"For shame! La! What must you think of me?"

"That you are an angel. "

"How lovely! But I must go. "

"May I see you after the play?"

"Yes. "

"Do not fail me, or the soldier will not transfer his affections toyou!"

"If he dared!" And she shook her head defiantly as she tripped away. 

"Little fool!" murmured Mauville, his lips curling scornfully. "Theone is a pastime; the other"--he paused and caught his breath--"apassion!"

But he kept his appointment with Susan, escorting her to the hotel, where he bade her good-night with a lingering pressure of the hand, and--ordered his equipage to the door!

"Hadn't you better wait until morning?" asked the surprised landlord, when the young patroon announced his intention of taking an immediatedeparture. "There are the barn-burners and--traveling at night--"

"Have they turned footpads?" was the light reply. "Can't I drivethrough my own lands? Let me see one of their thieving faces--" And hemade a significant gesture. "Not ride at night! These Jacobins shallnot prevent me. "

Barring the possible danger from the lease-holders who wereundoubtedly ripe for any mischief, the journey did not promise suchdiscomfiture as might have been expected, the coach being especiallyconstructed for night traveling. On such occasions, between the seatsthe space was filled by a large cushion, adapted to the purpose, whichin this way converted the interior of the vehicle into a sleeping-roomof limited dimensions. With pillows to neutralize the jarring, theland baron stretched himself indolently upon his couch, and gazedthrough the window at the crystalline lights of the heavens, whilethoughts of lease-holders and barn-burners faded into thin air. 

At dawn, when he opened his eyes, the morning star yet gleamed with alast pale luster. Raising himself on his elbow and looking out overthe country to learn his whereabouts, his eye fell upon a tree, blood-red, a maple amid evergreens. Behind this somber community ofpines, stiff as a band of Puritan elders, surrounding the bright-huedmaple, a Hester in that austere congregation, appeared the glazed tileroof of Little Thunder's habitation, a two-story abode of modestproportions and olden type. As the land baron passed, a brindle cow inthe side yard saluted the morn, calling the sluggard from his couch, but at the manor, which the patroon shortly reached, the ever wakefulOly-koeks was already engaged in chopping wood near the kitchen door. The growling of the hound at his feet called the care-taker'sattention to the master's coming, and, driving the ax into anobstinate stick of hickory, he donned his coat, drawing near thevehicle, where he stood in stupid wonderment as the land baronalighted. 

"Any callers, Oly-koeks?" carelessly asked the master. 

"A committee of barn-burners, Mynheer, to ask you not to serve anymore writs. "

"And so give them time to fight me with the lawmakers! But there;carry my portmanteau into the library and"--as Oloffe's upper lip drewback--"teach your dog to know me. "

"He belonged to the old master, Mynheer. When he died, the dog laynear his grave day and night. "

"I dare say; like master, like dog! But fetch the portmanteau, youDutch varlet!" Entering the house, while the coachman drove the tiredhorses toward the barn. "There's something in it I want. Bring ithere. " As he passed into the library. "Yes; I put it in there, I amsure. Ah, here we have it!" And unpacking the valise, he tooktherefrom a handsome French writing case. 

"Thou Wily Limb of the Law, " wrote the patroon, "be it known by thesepresents, thou art summoned to appear before me! I have work foryou--not to serve any one with a writ; assign; bring an action, or anyof your rascally, pettifogging tricks! Send me no demurrer, but yourown intemperate self. "

Which epistle the patroon addressed to his legal satellite anddespatched by messenger. 

CHAPTER XI

THE QUEST OF THE SOLDIER

Several bleak days were followed by a little June weather in October. A somnolent influence rested everywhere. Above the undulation of landon the horizon were the clouds, like heavenly hills, reflecting theirradiance on those earthly elevations. The celestial mountains andvalleys gave wondrous perspective to the outlook, and around them layan atmosphere, unreal and idyllic. 

On such a morning Susan stood at a turn in the road, gazing after adeparting vehicle with ill-concealed satisfaction and yet withal somedubiousness. Now that the plan, suggested by Mauville, had notmiscarried, certain misgivings arose, for there is a conscience in theculmination wanting in the conception of an act. As the partialrealization of the situation swept over her, she gave a gasp, andthen, the vehicle having meanwhile vanished, a desperate spirit ofbravado replaced her momentary apprehension. She even laughednervously as she waved her handkerchief in the direction the coachhad taken: "_Bon voyage!_"

But as the words fell from the smiling lips, her eyes becamethoughtful and her hand fell to her side; it occurred to Susan shewould be obliged to divert suspicion from herself. The curling lipsstraightened; she turned abruptly and hastened toward the town. Buther footsteps soon lagged and she paused thoughtfully. 

"If I reach the hotel too soon, " she murmured, "they may overtakehim. "

So she stopped at the wayside, attracted by the brilliant cardinalflowers, humming as she plucked them, but ever and anon glancingaround guiltily. The absurd thought came to her that the bright autumnblossoms were red, the hue of sin, and she threw them on the sward, and unconsciously rubbed her hands on her dress. 

Still she lingered, however, vaguely mindful she was adding to herburden of ill-doing, but finally again started slowly toward thevillage, hurrying as she approached the hotel, where she encounteredthe soldier on the veranda. Her distressed countenance and hasteproclaimed her a messenger of disaster. 

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Where is Mr. Barnes?"

"What is the matter, Miss Duran?" Suspecting very little was thematter, for Susan was nothing, if not all of a twitter. 

"Constance has been carried off!"

"Carried off!" He regarded her as if he thought she had lost hersenses. 

"Yes; abducted!"

"Abducted! By whom?"

"I--I did not see his face!" she gasped. "And it is all my fault!I asked her to take a walk! Oh, what shall I do?" Wringing her handsin anguish that was half real. "We kept on and on--it was sopleasant!--until we had passed far beyond the outskirts of thevillage. At a turn in the road stood a coach--a cloak was thrownover my head by some one behind--I must have fainted, and, when Irecovered, she was gone. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"

"When did it happen?" As he spoke the young man left the veranda. Grazing contentedly near the porch was his horse and Saint-Prosper'shand now rested on the bridle. 

"I can't tell how long I was unconscious, " said the seeminglyhysterical young woman, "but I hurried here as soon as I recoveredmyself. "

"Where did it occur? Down the road you came?"

"Ye-es. "

Saint-Prosper vaulted into the saddle. "Tell the manager to see amagistrate, " he said. 

"But you're not going to follow them alone?" began Susan. "Oh dear, Ifeel quite faint again! If you would please help me into the--"

By way of answer, the other touched his horse deeply with the spur andthe mettlesome animal reared and plunged, then, recalled by the sharpvoice of the rider, galloped wildly down the road. Susan observed thesudden departure with mingled emotions. 

"How quixotic!" she thought discontentedly. "But he won't catch them, "came the consoling afterthought, as she turned to seek the manager. 

Soon the soldier, whose spirited dash down the main thoroughfare hadawakened some misgivings in the little town, was beyond the precinctsof village scrutiny. The country road was hard, although marked bydeep cuts from traffic during a rainy spell, and the horse's hoofsrang out with exhilarating rhythm. Regardless of all save the distancetraversed, the rider yet forbore to press the pace, relaxing onlywhen, after a considerable interval, he came to another road and drewrein at the fork. One way to the right ran gently through the valley, apparently terminating in the luxuriant foliage, while the other, likea winding, murky stream, stretched out over a more level tract ofland. 

Which thoroughfare had the coach taken? Dismounting, the young manhastily examined the ground, but the earth was so dry and firm, andthe tracks of wheels so many, it was impossible to distinguish the oldmarks from the new. Even sign-post there was none; the roads diverged, and the soldier could but blindly surmise their destination, selectingafter some hesitation the thoroughfare running into the gorgeous, autumnal painted forest. 

He had gone no inconsiderable distance when his doubts were abruptlyconfirmed. Reaching an opening, bright as the chapel of a darkenedmonastery, he discerned a farmer in a buckboard approaching from theopposite direction. The swift pace of the rider and the leisurely jogof the team soon brought them together. 

"Did you pass a coach down the road?" asked the soldier. 

"No-a, " said the farmer, deliberately, as his fat horses instinctivelystood stock still; "didn't pass nobody. "

"Have you come far?"

"A good ways. "

"You would have met a coach, if it had passed here an hour ago?"

"I guess I would, " said the man. "This road leads straight across thecountry. "

"Where does the other road at the fork go?"

"To the patroon village. There's a reform orator there to-day and abarn-burners' camp-fire. "

Without waiting to thank his informant, Saint-Prosper pulled his horsequickly around, while the man in the buckboard gradually got underway, until he had once more attained a comfortable, slow gait. Indeed, by the time his team had settled down to a sleepy jog, in keeping withthe dreamy haze, hanging upon the upland, his questioner was far downthe road. 

When, however, the soldier once more reached the fork, and took thewinding way across a more level country, he moderated his pace, realizing the need of husbanding his horse's powers of endurance. The country seemed at peace, as though no dissension nor heatedpassions could exist within that pastoral province. And yet, not fardistant, lay the domains of the patroons, the hot-bed of the twoopposing branches of the Democratic party: The "hunkers, " orconservative-minded men, and the "barn-burners, " or progressivereformers, who sympathized with the anti-renters. 

After impatiently riding an hour or more through this delectableregion, the horseman drew near the patroon village, a cluster ofhouses amid the hills and meadows. Here the land barons had originallybuilt for the tenants comfortable houses and ample barns, saw andgrist mills. But the old homes had crumbled away, and that ruggedancestry of dwellings had been replaced by a new generation of houses, with clapboards, staring green blinds and flimsy verandas. 

In the historic market place, as Saint-Prosper rode down the street, were assembled a number of lease-holders of both sexes and all ages, from the puny babe in arms to the decrepit crone and hoary grand-sire, listening to the flowing tongue of a rustic speech-maker. This forumof the people was shaded by a sextette of well-grown elms. Theplatform of the local Demosthenes stood in a corner near the street. 

"'Woe to thee, O Moab! Thou art undone, O people of Chemosh, ' if youlight not the torch of equal rights!" exclaimed the platform pattereras Saint-Prosper drew near. "Awake, sons of the free soil! Now is thetime to make a stand! Forswear all allegiance to the new patroon;this Southern libertine and despot from the land of slavery!"

The grandam wagged her head approvingly; the patriarch stroked hisbeard with acquiescence and strong men clenched their fists as thespokesman mouthed their real or fancied wrongs. It was an earnest, implacable crowd; men with lowering brows merely glanced at thesoldier as he rode forward; women gazed more intently, but werequickly lured back by the tripping phrases of the mellifluousspeaker. 

On the outskirts of the gathering, near the road, stood a tall, beetling individual whom Saint-Prosper addressed, reining in his horsenear the wooden rail, which answered for a fence. 

"Dinna ye ken I'm listening?" impatiently retorted the other, with afierce frown. "Gang your way, mon, " he added, churlishly, as he turnedhis back. 

Judging from the wrathful faces directed toward him, the lease-holdersesteemed Saint-Prosper a political disturber, affiliating with theother faction of the Democratic party, and bent, perhaps, on creatingdissension at the tenants' camp-fire. The soldier's impatience andanger were ready to leap forth at a word; he wheeled fiercely upon theweedy Scot, to demand peremptorily the information so uncivillywithheld, when a gust of wind blowing something light down the roadcaused his horse to shy suddenly and the rider to glance at what hadfrightened the animal. After a brief scrutiny, he dismounted quicklyand examined more attentively the object, --a pamphlet with a redcover, upon which appeared the printed design of the conventionalGreek masks of Tragedy and Comedy, and beneath, the title, "TheHoneymoon. " The bright binding, albeit soiled by the dusty road, andthe fluttering of the leaves in the breeze had startled the horse andincidentally attracted the attention of his master. Across the sombermask of melancholy was traced in buoyant hand the name of the youngactress. 

But the soldier needed not the confirmation, for had he not noticedthis same prompt book in her lap on the journey of the chariot? It wasa mute, but eloquent message. Could she have spoken more plainly ifshe had written with ink and posted the missive with one of those newbronze-hued portraits of Franklin, called stamps by the government and"sticking plaster" by the people? Undoubtedly she had hoped themanager was following her when she intrusted the message to thaterratic postman, Chance, who plied his vocation long before the blackWashington or the bronze Franklin was a talisman of more or lessuncertain delivery. 

The soldier, without a moment's hesitation, thrust the pamphlet insidehis coat, flung himself on his horse, and, turning from themarket-place, dashed down the road. 

CHAPTER XII

AN ECCENTRIC JAILER

"For a man who can't abide the sex, this _is_ a predicament, " mutteredthe patroon's jackal, as the coach in which he found himself spedrapidly along the highway. "Here am I as much an abductor as my lordwho whipped his lady from England to the colonies!" Gloomily regardinga motionless figure on the seat opposite, and a face like ivoryagainst the dark cushions. "Curse the story; telling it led to this!How white she is; like driven snow; almost as if--"

And Scroggs, whose countenance lost a shade of its natural flush, going from flame-color to salmon hue, bent with sudden apprehensionover a small hand which hung from the seat. 

"No; it's only a swoon, " he continued, relieved, feeling her wristwith his knobby fingers. "How she struggled! If it hadn't been forsmothering her with the cloak--but the job's done and that's the endof it. "

Settling back in his seat he watched her discontentedly, alternatelyprotesting against the adventure, and consoling himself weakly with theremembrance of the retainer; weighing the risks, and the patroon'sability to gloss over the matter; now finding the former undulyobtrusive, again comforted with the assurance of the power pre-emptedby the land barons. Moreover, the task was half-accomplished, and itwould be idle to recede now. 

"Why couldn't the patroon have remained content with his bottle?" hegrumbled. "But his mind must needs run to this frivolous andirrational proceeding! There's something reasonable in pilfering apurse, but carrying off a woman--Yet she's a handsome baggage. "

Over the half-recumbent figure swept his glance, pausing as hesurveyed her face, across which flowed a tress of hair loosened in thestruggle. Save for the unusual pallor of her cheek, she might havebeen sleeping, but as he watched her the lashes slowly lifted, and hesullenly nerved himself for the encounter. At the aspect of thosebead-like eyes, resolute although ill at ease, like a snake strivingto charm an adversary, a tremor of half-recollection shone in her gazeand the color flooded her face. Mechanically, sweeping back thestraggling lock of hair, she raised herself without removing her eyes. He who had expected a tempest of tears shifted uneasily, evenirritably, from that steady stare, until, finding the silenceintolerable, he burst out:

"Well, ma'am, am I a bugbear?"

In her dazed condition she probably did not hear his words; or, if shedid, set no meaning to them, Her glance, however, strayed to thenarrow window, and then wandered back to the well-worn interior of thecoach. Suddenly, as the startling realization of her position came toher, she uttered a loud cry, sprang toward the door, and, with nervousfingers, strove to open it. The man's face became more rubicund as heplaced a detaining hand on her shoulder, and roughly thrust her towardthe seat. 

"Make the best of it!" he exclaimed peremptorily. "You'd better, forI'm not to be trifled with. "

Recoiling from his touch, she held herself aloof with such aversion, asneer crossed his face, and he observed glumly:

"Oh, I'm not a viper! If you're put out, so am I. "

"Who are you?" she demanded, breathlessly. 

"That's an incriminating question, Ma'am, " he replied. "In this case, though, the witness has no objection to answering. I'm your humbleservant. "

His forced drollery was more obnoxious than his ill-humor, and, awakening her impatience, restored in a measure her courage. He wasbut a pitiful object, after all, with his flame-colored visage, andshort, crouching figure; and, as her thoughts passed from the brutalpart he had played on the road to her present situation, she exclaimedwith more anger than apprehension:

"Perhaps you will tell me the meaning of this outrage--your smotheringme--forcing me into this coach--and driving away--where?"

His face became once more downcast and moody. Driven into a corner byher swift words, his glance met hers fairly; he drummed his fingerstogether. 

"There's no occasion to show your temper, Miss, " he said reflectively. "I'm a bit touchy myself to-day; 'sudden and quick in quarrel. ' Yousee I know my Shakespeare, Ma'am. Let us talk about that great poetand the parts you, as an actress, prefer--"

"Can I get an answer from you?" she cried, subduing her dread. 

"What is it you asked?"

"As if you did not know!" she returned, her lip trembling withimpatience and loathing. 

"Yes; I remember. " Sharply. "You asked where we were driving? Acrossthe country. What is the meaning of this--outrage, I believe youcalled it? All actions spring from two sources--Cupid and cupidity. The rest of the riddle you'll have to guess. " Gazing insolently intoher face, with his hands on his knees. 

"But you have told me nothing, " she replied, striving to remainmistress of herself and to hide her apprehension. 

"Do you call that nothing? You have the approximate cause--_causacausans_. Was it Cupid? No, for like Bacon, your sex's 'fantastical'charms move me not. "

This sally put him in better temper with himself. She was helpless, and he experienced a churlish satisfaction in her condition. 

"What was it, then? Cupidity. Do you know what poverty is like in thisbarren region?" he cried harshly. "The weapons of education onlyunfit you for the plow. You stint, pinch, live on nothing!" He rubbedhis dry hands together. "It was crumbs and scraps under theparsimonious régime; but now the prodigal has come into his own andbelieves in honest wages and a merry life. "

Wonderingly she listened, the scene like a grotesque dream, with theever-moving coach, the lonely road, the dark woods, and--so near, shecould almost place her hand upon him--this man, muttering andmumbling. He had offered her the key of the mystery, but she hadfailed to use it. His ambiguous, loose talk, only perplexed andalarmed her; the explanation was none at all. 

As he watched her out of the corner of his eye, weighing doubt anduncertainty, new ideas assailed him. After all she had spirit, courage! Moreover, she was an actress, and the patroon was madly inlove with her. 

"If we were only leagued together, how we could strip him!" hethought. 

His head dropped contemplatively to his breast, and for a longinterval he remained silent, abstracted, while the old springlesscoach, with many a jolt and jar, covered mile after mile; up thehills, crowned with bush and timber; across the table land; over theplank bridges spanning the brooks and rivulets. More reconciled tohis part and her presence, his lips once or twice parted as if hewere about to speak, but closed again. He even smiled, showing hisamber-hued teeth, nodding his head in a friendly fashion, as tosay: "It'll come out all right, Madam; all right for both of us!"Which, indeed, was his thought. She believed him unsettled, bereftof reason, and, although, he was manifestly growing less hostile, his surveillance became almost unbearable. At every moment she felthim regarding her like a lynx, and endeavored therefore to keepperfectly still. What would her strange warder do next? It was not analarming act, however. He consulted a massive watch, remarking:

"It's lunch time and over! With your permission, I'll take a bite anda drop. Will you join me?"

She turned her head away, and, not disconcerted by her curt refusal, he drew a wicker box from beneath a seat and opened it. His referenceto a "bite and a drop" was obviously figurative, especially the"drop, " which grew to the dimensions of a pint, which he swallowedquickly. Perhaps the flavor of the wine made him less attentive to hisprisoner, for as he lifted the receptacle to his lips, she thrust herarms through the window and a play book dropped from her hand, apossible clue for any one who might follow the coach. For some timeshe had been awaiting this opportunity and when it came, the carriagewas entering a village. 

Scroggs finished his cup. "You see, we're provided for, " he began. Here the bottle fell from his hand. 

"The patroon village!" he exclaimed in consternation. "I'd forgottenwe were so close! And they're all gathered in the square, too!"

He cast a quick glance at her. "You're all ready to call for help, " hesneered, "but I'm not ready to part company yet. "

Hastily drawing up one of the wooden shutters, he placed himself nearthe other window, observing fiercely; "I don't propose you shall undowhat's being done for you. Let me hear from you"--jerking his fingertoward the square--"and I'll not answer for what I'll do. " But inspite of his admonition he read such determination in her eyes, hefelt himself baffled. 

"You intend to make trouble!" he cried. And putting his head suddenlythrough the window, he called to the driver: "Whip the horses throughthe market place!"

As the affrighted animals sprang forward he blocked the window, placing one hand on her shoulder. He felt her escape from his grasp, but not daring to leave his post, he leaned out of the window whenthey were opposite the square, and shook his fist at the anti-renters, exclaiming:

"I'll arrest every mother's son of you! I'll evict you--jail you forstealing rent!"

Drowned by the answering uproar, "The patroon's dog!" "Bullets fordeputies!" the emissary of the land baron continued to threaten thethrong with his fist, until well out of ear-shot, and, thanks to thelevel road, beyond reach of their resentment. Not that they strove tofollow him far, for they thought the jackal had taken leave of hissenses. Laughter mingled with their jeers at the absurd figure hepresented, fulminating and flying at the same time. But there was nodefiance left in him when they were beyond the village, and he fellback into his seat, his face now ash-colored. 

"If they'd stopped us my life wouldn't have been worth the asking, " hemuttered hoarsely. "But I did it!" Triumphantly gazing at the younggirl who, trembling with excitement, leaned against the side of thecoach. "I see you managed to get down the shutter. I hope you heardyour own voice. I didn't; and, what's more, I'm sure they didn't!"

With fingers he could hardly control he opened a second bottle, dispensed with the formality of a glass, and set the neck to his lips, repeating the operation until it was empty, when he tossed it out ofthe window to be shattered against a rock, after which he sank againinto a semblance of meditation. 

Disappointed over her ineffectual efforts, overcome by the strain, theyoung girl for the time relaxed all further attempt. Unseen, unheard, she had stood at her window! She had tried to open the door, but itresisted her frantic efforts, and then the din had died away and lefther weak, powerless, hardly conscious of the hateful voice of hercompanion from time to time addressing her. 

But fortunately he preferred the gross practice of draining the cup tothe fine art of conversation. Left to the poor company of herthoughts, she dwelt upon the miscarriage of her design, and theslender chance of assistance. They would probably pass through nomore villages and if they did, he would undoubtedly find means toprevent her making herself known. Unless--and a glimmer of hopeflickered through her thoughts!--her warder carried his potations to apoint where vigilance ceased to be a virtue. Inconsiderately hestopped at the crucial juncture, with all the signs of contentment andnone of drowsiness. 

So minutes resolved themselves into hours and the day wore on. Watching the sun-rays bathe the top of the forest below them, shenoted how fast the silver disk was descending. The day which hadseemed interminable now appeared but too short, and she would gladlyhave recalled those fleeting hours. Ignorant of the direction in whichthey had been traveling, she realized that the driver had beenunsparing and the distance covered not inconsiderable. The mystery ofthe assault, the obscurity of the purpose and the vagueness of theirdestination were unknown quantities which, added to the declining ofthe day and the brewing terrors of the night, were well calculated toterrify and crush her. 

Despairingly, she observed how the sun dipped, and ever dipped towardthe west, when suddenly a sound afar rekindled her fainting spirits. Listening more attentively, she was assured imagination had notdeceived her; it was the faint patter of a horse's hoofs. Nearer itdrew; quicker beat her pulses. Moreover, it was the rat-a-tat ofgalloping. Some one was pursuing the coach on horseback. Impatient toglance behind, she only refrained for prudential reasons. 

Immersed in his own grape-vine castle her jailer was unmindful of theapproaching rider, and she turned her face from him that he might notread her exultation. Closer resounded the beating hoofs, but herimpatience outstripped the pursuer, and she was almost impelled torush to the window. 

Who was the horseman? Was it Barnes? Saint-Prosper? The latter's namehad quickly suggested itself to her. 

Although the rider, whoever he might be, continued to gain ground, toher companion, the approaching clatter was inseparable from the noiseof the vehicle, and it was not until the horseman was nearly abreast, and the cadence of the galloping resolved itself into clangor, thatthe dreamer awoke with an imprecation. As he sprang to his feet, thusrudely disturbed, a figure on horseback dashed by and a stern voicecalled to the driver:

"Stop the coach!"

Probably the command was given over the persuasive point of a weapon, for the animals were drawn up with a quick jerk and came to astandstill in the middle of the road. Menacing and abusive, as thevehicle stopped, the warder's hand sought one of his pockets, when theyoung girl impetuously caught his arm, clinging to it tenaciously. 

"Quick!--Mr. Saint-Prosper!" she cried, recognizing, as she thought, the voice of the soldier. 

"You wild-cat!" her jailer exclaimed, struggling to throw her off. 

Not succeeding, he raised his free arm in a flurry of invective. 

"Curse you, will you let go!"

"Quick! Quick!" she called out, holding him more tightly. 

A flood of Billingsgate flowed from his lips. "Let go, or--"

But before he could in his blind passion strike her or otherwise venthis rage, a revolver was clapped to his face through the window, and, with a look of surprise and terror, his valor oozing from him, hecrouched back on the cushions. At the same time the carriage door wasthrown open, and Edward Mauville, the patroon, stood in the entrance!

Only an instant his eyes swept her, observing the flushed cheeks anddisordered attire, leading her wonder at his unexpected appearance, and--to his satisfaction!--her relief as well; only an instant, duringwhich the warder stared at him open-mouthed--and then his glancerested on the now thoroughly sober limb of the law. 

"Get out!" he said, briefly and harshly. 

"But, " began the other with a sickly grin, intended to be ingratiating, "I don't understand--this unexpected manner--this forcible departurefrom--"

Coolly raising his weapon, the patroon deliberately covered thehapless jailer, who unceremoniously scrambled out of the door. Theland baron laughed, replaced his revolver and, turning to the younggirl, removed his hat. 

"It was fortunate, Miss Carew, I happened along, " he said gravely. "With your permission, I will get in. You can tell me what hashappened as we drive along. The manor house, my temporary home, is notfar from here. If I can be of any service, command me!"

The jackal saw the patroon spring into the carriage, having fastenedhis horse behind, and drive off. Until the vehicle had disappeared, hestood motionless in the road, but when it had passed from sight, heseated himself on a stone. 

"That comes from mixing the breed!" he muttered. "Dramatic effect, _àla France_!" He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "Well, I'm threemiles from my humble habitation, but I'd rather walk than ride--undersome circumstances!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE COMING OF LITTLE THUNDER

The afternoon was waning; against the golden western sky the old manorhouse loomed in solemn majesty, the fields and forests emphasizing itsisolation in the darkening hour of sunset, as a coach, with jadedhorses, passed through the avenue of trees and approached the broadportico. A great string of trailing vine had been torn from the wallsby the wind and now waved mournfully to and fro with no hand to adjustit. In the rear was a huge-timbered barn, the door of which wasunfastened, swinging on its rusty hinges with a creaking and moaningsound. 

As gaily as in the days when the periwigged coachman had driven theelaborate equipage of the early patroons through the wrought-iron gatethis modern descendant entered the historic portals, not to be met, however, by servitors in knee breeches at the front door, but by thesolitary care-taker who appeared on the portico in considerabledisorder and evident state of excitement, accompanied by the shaggydog, Oloffe. 

"The deputies shot two of the tenants to-day, " hurriedly exclaimed theguardian of the place, without noticing Mauville's companion. "Thefarmers fired upon them; they replied, and one of the tenants isdead. "

"A good lesson for them, since they were the aggressors, " cried theheir, as he sprang from the coach. "But you have startled the lady. "

An exclamation from the vehicle in an unmistakably feminine voicecaused the "_wacht-meester_" now to observe the occupant for the firsttime and the servant threw up his hands in consternation. Here was amaster who drank all night, shot his tenants by proxy, visitedstrollers, and now brought one of them to the _steyn_. That thestrange lady was a player, Oly-koeks immediately made up his mind, andhe viewed her with mingled aversion and fear, as the early settlersregarded sorcerers and witches. She was very beautiful, he observed inthat quick glance, but therefore the more dangerous; she appeareddistressed, but he attributed her apparent grief to artfulness. He atonce saw a new source of trouble in her presence; as though thethreads were not already sufficiently entangled, without theintroduction of a woman--and she a public performer!--into thecomplicated mesh!

"Fasten the iron shutters of the house, " briefly commanded Mauville, breaking in upon the servant's painful reverie. "Then help this manchange the horses and put in the grays. "

Oly-koeks, with a final deprecatory glance at the coach, expressiveof his estimate of his master's light conduct and his apprehension ofthe outcome, disappeared to obey this order. 

"May I assist you, Miss Carew?" said the land baron deferentially, offering his arm to the young girl, whose pale but observant facedisclosed new demur and inquiry. 

"But you said we would go right on?" she returned, drawing back withimplied dissent. 

"When the horses are changed! If you will step out, the carriage willbe driven to the barn. "

Reluctantly she obeyed, and as she did so, the patroon and thecoachman exchanged pithy glances. 

"Look sharp!" commanded the master, sternly. "Oh, he won't run away, "added Mauville quickly, in answer to her look of surprise. "He knows Icould find him, and"--fingering his revolver--"will not disoblige me. Later we'll hear the rogue's story. "

The man's averted countenance smothered a clandestine smile, as hetouched the horses with his whip and turned them toward the barn, leaving the patroon and his companion alone on the broad portico. Sweeping from a distant grove of slender poplars and snowy birch abreeze bore down upon them, suddenly bleak and frosty, and sheshivered in the nipping air. 

"You are chilled!" he cried. "If you would but go into the house whilewe are waiting! Indeed, if you do not, I shall wonder how I haveoffended you! It will be something to remember"--half lightly, halfseriously--"that you have crossed my threshold!"

He stood at the door, with such an undissembled smile, his accents soregretful, that after a moment's hesitation, Constance entered, followed by the patroon. Sweeping aside the heavy draperies from thewindow, he permitted the golden shafts of the ebbing day to enter thehall, gleaming on the polished floors, the wainscoting and thefurniture, faintly illuminating the faded pictures and weirdlyrevealing the turnings of the massive stairway. No wonder ahalf-shudder of apprehension seized the young actress in spite of herself-reliance and courage, as she entered the solemn and mournfulplace, where past grandeur offered nothing save morbid memories andwhere the frailty of existence was significantly written! After thatIndian summer day the sun was sinking, angry and fiery, as thoughpresaging a speedy reform in the vagaries of the season and animmediate return to the legitimate surroundings of October. 

Involuntarily the girl moved to the window, where the light rested onher brown tresses, and as Mauville watched that radiance, shifting andchanging, her hair alight with mystic color, the passion that hadprompted him to this end was stirred anew, dissipating any intrusivedoubts. The veering and flickering sheen seemed but a web ofentangling irradiation. A span of silence became an interminableperiod to her, with no sight of fresh horses nor sign of preparationfor the home journey. 

"What takes him so long?" she said, finally, with impatience. "It isgetting so late!"

"It is late, " he answered. "Almost too late to go on! You are wearyand worn. Why not rest here to-night?"

"Rest here?" she repeated, with a start of surprise. 

"You are not fit to drive farther. To-morrow we can return. "

"To-morrow!" she cried. "But--what do you mean?"

"That I must insist upon your sparing yourself!" he said, firmly, although a red spot flushed his cheek. 

"No; no! We must leave at once!" she answered. 

He smiled reassuringly. "Why will you not have confidence in me?" heasked. "You have not the strength to travel all night--over a roughroad--after such a trying day. For your own sake, I beg you to give upthe idea. Here you are perfectly safe and may rest undisturbed. "

"Please call the horses at once!"

An impatient expression furrowed his brow. He had relied on easilyprevailing upon her through her gratitude; continuing in hisdisinterested rôle for yet some time; resuming the journey on themorrow, carrying her farther away under pretext of mistaking the road, until--Here his plans had faded into a vague perspective, dominated byunreasoning self-confidence and egotism. 

But her words threatened a rupture at the outset that would seriouslyalter the status of the adventure. 

"It is a mistake to go on to-night, " he said, with a dissentinggesture. "However, if you are determined--" And Mauville stepped tothe window. "Why, the carriage is not there!" he exclaimed, lookingout. 

"Not there!" she repeated, incredulously. "You told them to change thehorses. Why--"

"I don't understand, " returned the land baron, with an effort to makehis voice surprised and concerned. "He may--Hello-a, there!You!--Oly-koeks!" he called out, interrupting his own explanation. 

Not Oly-koeks, but the driver's face, appeared from behind the barndoor, and, gazing through the window, the young girl, with a start, suddenly realized that she had seen him not for the first time thatday--but where?--when? Through the growing perplexity of her thoughtsshe heard the voice of her companion

"Why don't you hitch up the grays?"

"There are no horses in the barn, " came the answer. 

"Strange, the care-taker did not tell me they had been taken away!"commented the other, hastily, stepping from the window as the drivervanished once more into the barn. "I am sorry, but there seems noalternative but to wait--at least, until I can send for others. "

She continued to gaze toward the door through which the man haddisappeared. She could place him now, although his livery had beendiscarded for shabby clothes; she recalled him distinctly in spite ofthis changed appearance. 

"Why not make the best of it?" said Mauville, softly, but with glancesparkling in spite of himself. "After all, are you not giving yourselfneedless apprehensions? You are at home here. Anything you wish shallbe yours. Consider yourself mistress; me, one of your servants!"

Almost imperceptibly his manner had changed. Instinctive misgivingswhich had assailed her in the coach with him now resolved themselvesinto assured fears. Something she could not explain had aroused hersuspicions before they reached the manor, but his words hadglossed these inward qualms, and a feeling of obligation suggestedtrust, not shrinking; but, with his last words, a full light illuminedher faculties; an association of ideas revealed his intent andperformance. 

"It was you, then, " she said, slowly, studying him with steady, penetrating glance. 

"You!" she repeated, with such contempt that he was momentarilydisconcerted. "The man in the carriage--he was hired by you. Thedriver--his face is familiar. I remember now where I saw him--in theShadengo Valley. He is your coachman. Your rescue was planned todeceive me. It deceived even your man. He had not expected that. Yourreassuring me was false; the plan to change horses a trick to get mehere--"

"If you would but listen--"

"When"--her eyes ablaze--"will this farce end?"

Her words took him unawares. Not that he dreaded the betrayal of hisactual purpose. On the contrary, his reckless temper, chafing underher unexpected obduracy, now welcomed the opportunity of discardingthe disinterested and chivalrous part he had assumed. 

"When it ends in a honeymoon, _ma belle_ Constance!" he said, swiftly. 

His sudden words, removing all doubts as to his purpose, awoke suchrepugnance in her that for a moment aversion was paramount to everyother feeling. Again she looked without, but only the solitude of thefields and forests met her glance. 

The remoteness of the situation gave the very boldness of his planfeasibility. Was he not his own magistrate in his own province? Why, then, he had thought, waste the golden moments? He had but one heednow; a study of physical beauty, against a crimson background. 

"To think of such loveliness lost in the wilderness!" he said, softly. "The gates of art should all open to you. Why should you play torustic bumpkins, when the world of fashion would gladly receive you? Iam a poor prophet if you would not be a success in town. It is notalways easy to get a hearing, to procure an audience, but means couldbe found. Soon your name would be on every one's lips. Your art isfresh. The jaded world likes freshness. The cynical town runs toartless art as an antidote to its own poison. Most of the players arewrinkled and worn. A young face will seem like a new-grown whiterose. "

She did not answer; unresponsive as a statue, she did not move. Thesun shot beneath an obstructing branch, and long, searching shaftsfound access to the room. Mauville moved forward impetuously, until hestood on the verge of the sunlight on the satinwood floor. 

"May I not devote myself to this cause, Constance?" he continued. "Youare naturally resentful toward me now. But can I not show you that Ihave your welfare at heart? If you were as ambitious as you areattractive, what might you not do? Art is long; our days are short;youth flies like a summer day. "

His glance sought hers questioningly; still no reply; only a wave ofblood surged over her neck and brow, while her eyes fell. Then theglow receded, leaving her white as a snow image. 

"Come, " he urged. "May I not find for you those opportunities?"

He put out his eager hand as if to touch her. Then suddenly the figurein the window came to life and shrank back, with widely opened eyesfixed upon his face. His gaze could not withstand hers, man of theworld though he was, and his free manner was replaced by somethingresembling momentary embarrassment. Conscious of this new and annoyingfeeling, his egotism rose in arms, as if protesting against the novelsensation, and his next words were correspondingly violent. 

"Put off your stage manners!" he exclaimed. "You are here at mypleasure. It was no whim, my carrying you off. After you left I wentto the manor, where I tried to forget you. But nights of revelry--whyshould I not confess it?--could not efface your memory. " His voiceunconsciously sank to unreserved candor. "Your presence filled thesehalls. I could no longer say: Why should I trouble myself about onewho has no thought for me?"

Breathing hard, he paused, gazing beyond her, as though renewing thememories of that period. 

"Learning you were in the neighboring town, " he continued, "I wentthere, with no further purpose than to see you. On the journey perhapsI indulged in foolish fancies. How would you receive me? Would you bepleased; annoyed? So I tempted my fancy with air-castles like the mostunsophisticated lover. But you had no word of welcome; scarcelylistened to me, and hurried away! I could not win you as I desired;the next best way was this. "

He concluded with an impassioned gesture, his gaze eagerly seeking thefirst sign of lenity or favor on her part, but his confession seemedfutile. Her eyes, suggestive of tender possibilities, expressed nowbut coldness and obduracy. In a revulsion of feeling he forgot thedistance separating the buskined from the fashionable world; thetragic scatterlings from the conventions of Vanity Fair! He forgot allsave that she was to him now the one unparagoned entirety, overridingother memories. 

"Will not a life of devotion atone for this day, Constance?" he cried. "Do you know how far-reaching are these lands? All the afternoon youdrove through them, and they extend as wide in the other direction. These--my name--are yours!"

A shade of color swept over her brow. 

"Answer me, " he urged. 

"Drive back and I will answer you. "

"Drive back and you will laugh at me, " he retorted, moodily. "Youwould make a woman's bargain with me. "

"Is yours a man's with me?" Contemptuously. 

"What more can I do?"

"Undo what you have done. Take me back!"

"I would cut a nice figure doing that! No; you shall stay here. "

He spoke angrily; her disdain at his proposal not only injured hispride but awoke his animosity. On the other hand, his wordsdemonstrated she had not improved her own position. If he meant tokeep her there he could do so, and opposition made him only moreobstinate, more determined to press his advantage. Had she been morepolitic--Juliana off the stage as well as on--she, whose artifice wasglossed by artlessness--

Her lashes drooped; her attitude became less aggressive; her eyes, from beneath their dark curtains, rested on him for a moment. What itwas in that glance so effective is not susceptible to analysis. Was itthe appeal that awakened the quixotic sense of honor; the helplessnessarousing compassion; the irresistible quality of a brimming eye sofatal to masculine calculation and positiveness? Whatever it was, itdispelled the contraction on the land baron's face, and--despite histhreats, vows!--he was swayed by a look. 

"Forgive me, " he said, tenderly. 

"You will drive back?"

"Yes; I will win you in your own way, fairly and honestly! I will takeyou back, though the whole country laughs at me. Win or lose, back wego, for--I love you!" And impetuously he threw his arm around herwaist. 

Simulation could not stand the test; it was no longer acting, butreality; she had set herself to a rôle she could not perform. Hatinghim for that free touch, she forcibly extricated herself with anexclamation and an expression of countenance there was no mistaking. From Mauville's face the glad light died; he regarded her once morecruelly, vindictively. 

"You dropped the mask too soon, " he said, coldly. "I was not preparedfor rehearsal, although you were perfect. You are even a betteractress than I thought you, than which"--mockingly--"I can pay you nobetter compliment. "

She looked at him with such scorn he laughed, though his eyesflashed. 

"Bravo!" he exclaimed. 

While thus confronting each other a footfall sounded without, the doorburst open, and the driver of the coach, with features drawn by fear, unceremoniously entered the room. The patroon turned on him enraged, but the latter without noticing his master's displeasure, exclaimedhurriedly:

"The anti-renters are coming!"

The actress uttered a slight cry and stepped toward the window, whenshe was drawn back by an irresistible force. 

"Pardon me, " said a hard voice, from which all passing compunction hadvanished. "Be kind enough to come with me. "

"I will follow you, but--" Her face expressed the rest. 

"This way then!"

He released her and together they mounted the stairway. For a longtime a gentle footfall had not passed those various landings; notsince the ladies in hoops, with powdered hair, had ascended ordescended, with attendant cavaliers, bewigged, beruffled, bedizened. The land baron conducted his companion to a distant room up stairs, the door of which he threw open. 

"Go in there, " he said curtly. 

She hesitated on the threshold. So remote was it from the main part ofthe great manor, the apartment had all the requirements of a prison. 

"You needn't fear, " he continued, reading her thoughts. "I'm not goingto be separated from you--yet! But we can see what is going on here. "

Again she mutely obeyed him, and entered the room. It was a commodiousapartment, where an excellent view was offered of the surroundingcountry on three sides. But looking from the window to discern hisassailants, Mauville could see nothing save the fields and openings, fringed by the dark groves. The out-houses and barns were but dimlyoutlined, while scattered trees here and there dotted the open spaceswith small, dark patches. A single streak of red yet lingered in thewest. A tiny spot, moving through the obscurity, proved to be a cow, peacefully wandering over the dewy grass. The whirring sound of adiving night-hawk gave evidence that a thing of life was inspectingthe scene from a higher point of vantage. 

From that narrow, dark crimson ribbon, left behind by the flauntingsun, a faint reflection entered the great open windows of the chamberand revealed Mauville gazing without, pistol in hand; Constanceleaning against the curtains and the driver of the coach standing inthe center of the room, quaking inwardly and shaking outwardly. Thislast-named had found an old blunderbuss somewhere, useful onceundoubtedly, but of questionable service now. 

Meanwhile Oly-koeks had not returned. Having faithfully closed andlocked all the iron shutters, he had crept out of a cellar window andvoluntarily resigned as care-taker of the manor, with its burden ofdangers and vexations. With characteristic prudence, he had timed theperiod of his departure with the beginning of the end in the fortunesof the old patroon principality. The storm-cloud, gathering during thelife of Mauville's predecessor, was now ready to burst, the impendingcatastrophe hastened by the heir's want of discretion and his failureto adjust difficulties amicably. That small shadow, followed by asmaller shadow, passing through the field, were none other thanOly-koeks and Oloffe, who grew more and more imperceptible until theywere finally swallowed up and seemingly lost forever in the darknessof the fringe of the forest. 

A branch of a tree grated against the window as Mauville looked outover the peaceful vale to the ribbon of red that was being slowlywithdrawn as by some mysterious hand. Gradually this adornment, growing shorter and shorter, was wound up while the shadows of theout-houses became deeper and the meadow lands appeared to recede inthe distance. As he scanned the surrounding garden, the land baron'seye fell upon an indistinct figure stealing slowly across the sward inthe partial darkness. This object was immediately followed by anotherand yet another. To the observer's surprise they wore the headgear ofIndians. 

Suddenly the patroon heard the note of the whippoorwill, the nocturnalsongster that mourns unseen. It was succeeded by the sharp tones of asaw-whet and the distinct mew of a cat-bird. A wild pigeon began tocoo softly in another direction and was answered by a thrush. Thelistener vaguely realized that all this unexpected melody came fromthe Indians, who had by this time surrounded the house and who tookthis method of communicating with one another. 

An interval of portentous silence was followed by a loud knocking atthe front door, which din reverberated through the hall, echoing andre-echoing the vigorous summons. Mauville at this leaned from thewindow and as he did so, there arose a hooting from the sward asthough bedlam had broken loose. Maintaining his post, the heir calledout:

"What do you want, men?"

At these words the demonstration became more turbulent, and, amid thethreatening hubbub, voices arose, showing too well the purpose of thegathering. Aroused to a fever of excitement by the shooting of thetenants, they were no longer skulking, stealthy Indians, but a riotousassemblage of anti-renters, expressing their determination in anominous chorus:

"Hang the land baron!"

In the midst of this far from reassuring uproar a voice arose like atrumpet:

"We are the messengers of the Lord, made strong by His wrath!"

"You are the messenger of the devil, Little Thunder, " Mauville shoutedderisively. 

A crack of a rifle admonished the land baron that the jest might havecost him dear. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE ATTACK ON THE MANOR

After this brief hostile outbreak in the garden below the right wing, Mauville prepared to make as effective defense as lay in his power andlooked around for his aid, the driver of the coach. But that quakingindividual had taken advantage of the excitement to disappear. Uponhearing the threats, followed by the singing of bullets, and doubtingnot the same treatment accorded the master would be meted out to theservant, the coachman's fealty so oozed from him that he dropped hisblunderbuss, groping his way through the long halls to the cellar, where he concealed himself in an out-of-the-way corner beneath a heapof potato sacks. In that vast subterranean place he congratulatedhimself he would escape with a whole skin, his only regret beingcertain unpaid wages which he considered as good as lost, togetherwith the master who owed them. 

Mauville, however, would have little regretted the disappearance ofthis poor-spirited aid, on the theory a craven follower is worse thannone at all, had not this discovery been followed quickly by therealization that the young girl, too, had availed herself of theopportunity while he was at the window and vanished. 

"Why, the slippery jade's gone!" he exclaimed, staring around theroom, confounded for the moment. Then recovering himself, he hurriedlyleft the chamber, more apprehensive lest she should get out of themanor than that the tenants should get in. 

"She can't be far off, " he thought, pausing doubtfully in the hall. 

For the moment he almost forgot the anti-renters and determined tofind her at all hazard. He hastily traversed the upper hall, but wasrewarded with no sight of her. He gazed down the stairs eagerly, withno better result; the front door was still closed, as he had left it. Evidently she had fled toward the rear of the house and made good herescape from one of the back or side entrances. 

"Yes; she's gone, " he repeated. "What a fool I was to have trusted herto herself for a moment!"

A new misgiving arose, and he started. What if she had succeeded inleaving the manor? He knew and distrusted Little Thunder and hiscohorts. What respect would they have for her? For all he had done, itwas, nevertheless, intolerable to think she might be in possibledanger--from others save himself! A wave of compunction swept overhim. After all, he loved her, and, loving her, could not bear to thinkof any calamity befalling her. He hated her for tricking him; fearedfor her, for the pass to which he had brought her; cared for herbeyond the point his liking had reached for any other woman. Amirthless laugh escaped him as he stood at the stairway looking downthe empty hall. 

"Surely I've gone daft over the stroller!" he thought, as his ownposition recurred to him in all its seriousness. "Well, what's done isdone! Let them come!" His eyes gleamed. 

With no definite purpose of searching further, he nevertheless walkedmechanically down the corridor toward the other side of the manor andsuddenly, to his surprise and satisfaction, discerned Constance in ablind passage, where she had inadvertently fled. 

At the end of this narrow hall a window looked almost directly outupon the circular, brick dove-cote, now an indistinct outline, and onboth sides were doors, one of which she was vainly endeavoring to openwhen he approached. Immediately she desisted in her efforts; flushedand panting, she stood in the dim light of the passage. Quiet, unbroken save for the cooing in the cote, had succeeded the firstnoisy demonstration; the anti-renters were evidently arranging theirforces to prevent the land baron's escape or planning an assault onthe manor. 

In his momentary satisfaction at finding her, Mauville overlooked thenear prospect of a more lengthy, if not final, separation, andsurveyed the young girl with a sudden, swift joyousness, but the fearand distrust written on her features dissipated his concern for her;his best impulses were smothered by harsher feelings. 

"Unfortunately, the door is locked, " he said, ironically. "Meanwhile, as this spot has no strategic advantages, suppose we change our baseof defense?"

Realizing how futile would be resistance, she accompanied him oncemore to the chamber in the wing, where he had determined to make hislast defense. After closing and locking the door, he lighted one ofmany candles on the mantel. The uncertain glow from the greatcandelabra, covered with dust, like the white marble itself, andevidently placed there many years before, revealed faded decorationsand a ceiling, water-stained as from a defective roof. Between thewindows, with flowery gilt details, an ancient mirror extended fromfloor to ceiling. A musty smell pervaded the apartment, for Mynheer, the Patroon, had lived so closely to himself that he had shut out bothair and sunlight from his rooms. 

The flickering glare fell upon the young actress standing, hand uponher heart, listening with bated breath, and Mauville, with ominousexpression, brooding over that chance which sent the lease-holders tothe manor on that night of nights. It was intolerable that no soonerhad she crossed his threshold than they should appear, ripe for anymischief, not only seeking his life, but wresting happiness from hisvery lips. For, of the outcome he could have little doubt, althoughdetermined to sell dearly that which they sought. 

The violent crash of a heavy body at the front of the house and atumult of voices on the porch, succeeded by a din in the hall, announcedthat the first barrier had been overcome and the anti-renters were inpossession of the lower floor of the manor. Mauville had started towardthe door, when the anticipation in the young girl's eyes held him tothe spot. Inaccessible, she was the more desired; her reserve wasfuel to his flame, and, at that moment, while his life hung in thebalance, he forgot the rebuff he had received and how she had nearlyplayed upon him. 

Words fell from his lips, unpremeditated, eloquent, voicing thosedesires which had grown in the solitude of the manor. Passionately headdressed her, knowing the climax to his difficulties was at hand. Once near her, he could not be at peace without her, he vowed, andthis outcome had been inevitable. All this he uttered impetuously, attimes incoherently, but as he concluded, she only clasped her handshelplessly, solely conscious of the uproar below which spread from themain hall to the adjoining rooms. 

"They are coming--they are coming!" she said, and Mauville stoppedshort. 

But while anger and resentment were at strife within him, some onetried the door of the chamber and finding it locked, set up a shout. Immediately the prowlers in the wings, the searchers in the kitchenand all the stragglers below congregated in the main hall; footstepswere heard ascending rapidly, pausing in doubt at the head of thestairway, not knowing whether to turn to the right or to the left. 

"Here they are!" called out the man at the door. 

"You meddlesome fool!" exclaimed Mauville, lifting a revolver anddischarging it in the direction of the voice. Evidently the bullet, passing through the panel of the door, found its mark, for the reportwas followed by a cry of pain. 

This plaint was answered from the distance and soon a number ofanti-renters hastened to the spot. Mauville, in vicious humor, movedtoward the threshold. One of the panels was already broken and an armthrust into the opening. The land baron bent forward and coollyclapped his weapon to the member, the loud discharge being succeededby a howl from the wounded lease-holder. Mauville again raised hisweapon when an exclamation from the actress caused him to turnquickly, in time to see a figure spring unexpectedly into the roomfrom the balcony. The land baron stood in amazement, eying theintruder who had appeared so suddenly from an unguarded quarter, butbefore he could recover his self-possession, his hand was struckheavily and the revolver fell with a clatter to the floor. 

His assailant quickly grasped the weapon, presenting it to the breastof the surprised land-owner, who looked, not into the face of anunknown anti-renter, but into the stern, familiar countenance ofSaint-Prosper. 

CHAPTER XV

A HASTY EXIT

The afternoon following the soldier's departure from the patroonvillage went by all too slowly, his jaded horse's feet as heavy as theleaden moments. That he had not long since overtaken the coach wasinexplicable, unless Susan had been a most tardy messenger. True, atthe fork of the road he had been misled, but should before this haveregained what he had lost, unless he was once more on the wrongthoroughfare. As night fell, the vastness of the new world impressedthe soldier as never before; not a creature had he met since leavingthe patroon village; she whom he sought might have been swallowed upin the immensity of the wilderness. For the first time his task seemedas if it might be to no purpose; his confidence of the morning hadgradually been replaced by consuming anxiety. He reproached himselfthat he had not pressed his inquiries further at the patroon village, but realized it was now too late for regrets; go on he must andshould. 

Along the darkening road horse and rider continued their way. Onlyat times the young man pulled at the reins sharply, as the animalstumbled from sheer weariness. With one hand he stroked encouraginglythe foam-flecked arch of the horse's neck; the other, holding thereins, was clenched like a steel glove. Leaving the brow of ahill, the horseman expectantly fixed his gaze ahead, when suddenly onhis right, a side thoroughfare lay before him. As he drew reinindecisively at the turn, peering before him through the gatheringdarkness, a voice from the trees called out unexpectedly:

"Hitch up in here!"

At this peremptory summons the soldier gazed quickly in the directionof the speaker. Through the grove, where the trees were so slender andsparsely planted the eye could penetrate the thicket, he saw a band ofhorsemen dismounting and tying their animals. There was somethingunreal, grotesque even, in their appearance, but it was not until oneof their number stepped from the shadow of the trees into the clearerlight of the road that he discerned their head-dress and garb to bethat of Indians. Recalling all he had heard of the masquerading, marauding excursions of the anti-renters, the soldier at onceconcluded he had encountered a party of them, bent upon some nefariousexpedition. That he was taken for one of their number seemed equallyevident. 

"Come!" called out the voice again, impatiently. "The patroon is atthe manor with his city trollop. It's time we were moving. "

An exclamation fell from the soldier's lips. The patroon!--hisill-disguised admiration for the actress!--his abrupt reappearancethe night of the temperance drama! Any uncertainty Saint-Prospermight have felt regarding the identity of him he sought, or thereason for that day's work, now became compelling certitude. But forthe tenants, he might have ridden by the old patroon house. As itwas, congratulating himself upon this accidental meeting rather thanhis own shrewdness, he quickly dismounted. A moment's thought, and hefollowed the lease-holders. 

In the attack on the manor, his purpose, apart from theirs, led him toanticipate the general movement of the anti-renters in front of thehouse and to make his way alone, aided by fortuitous circumstances, tothe room where the land baron had taken refuge. As he sprang into thischamber the young girl's exclamation of fear was but the prelude to anexpression of gladness, while Mauville's consternation when he foundhimself disarmed and powerless, was as great as his surprise. For amoment, therefore, in his bearing bravado was tempered withhesitancy. 

"You here?" stammered the land baron, as he involuntarily recoiledfrom his own weapon. 

The soldier contemptuously thrust the revolver into his pocket. "Asyou see, " he said coldly, "and in a moment, they"--indicating thedoor--"will be here!"

"You think to turn me over to them!" exclaimed the other violently. "But you do not know me! This is no quarrel of yours. Give me myweapon, and let me fight it out with them!"

The soldier's glance rested for a moment on the young girl and hisface grew stern and menacing. 

"By heaven, I am half-minded to take you at your word! But you shallhave one chance--a slender one! There is the window; it opens on theportico!"

"And if I refuse?"

"They have brought a rope with them. Go, or hang!"

The heir hesitated, but as he pondered, the anti-renters wereeffectually shattering the heavy door, regaling themselves withthreats taught them by the politicians who had advocated their causeon the stump, preached it in the legislature, or grown eloquent overit in the constitutional assembly. 

"The serfs are here! The drawers of water and hewers of wood havearisen! Hang the land baron! Hang the feudal lord!"

A braver man than Mauville might have been cowed by that chorus. Butafter pausing irresolutely, weighing the chances of life and death, gazing jealously upon the face of the apprehensive girl, andvenomously at the intruder, the heir finally made a virtue ofnecessity and strode to the window. With conflicting emotionsstruggling in his mind--fury toward the lease-holders, hatred for theimpassive mediator--he yet regained, in a measure, an outwardly calmbearing. 

[Illustration]

"It's a poor alternative, " he said, shortly, flashing a last glance atthe actress. "But it's the best that offers!"

So saying, he sprang upon the balcony--none too soon, for a momentlater the door burst open and an incongruous element rushed into theroom. Many were attired in outlandish head-dresses, embroideredmoccasins and fringed jackets, their faces painted in various hues, but others, of a bolder spirit, had disdained all subterfuge ofdisguise. Not until then did the soldier discover that he hadoverlooked the possible unpleasantness of remaining in the landbaron's stead, for the anti-renters promptly threw themselves uponhim, regardless of his companion. The first to grapple with him was aherculean, thick-ribbed man, of extraordinary stature, taller than thesoldier, if not so well-knit; a Goliath, indeed, as Scroggs had deemedhim, with arms long as windmills. 

"Stand back, lads, " he roared, "and let me throw him!" And Dick, thetollman, rushed at Saint-Prosper with furious attack; soon they werechest to chest, each with his chin on his opponent's right shoulder, and each grasping the other around the body with joined hands. 

Dick's muscles grew taut, like mighty whip-cords; his chest expandedwith power; he girded his loins for a great effort, and it seemed asif he would make good his boast. Held in the grasp of those arms, tight as iron bands, the soldier staggered. Once more the other heavedand again Saint-Prosper nearly fell, his superior agility alone savinghim. 

Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the soldier managed to face to theright, twisting so as to place his left hip against his adversary--hisonly chance; a trick of wrestling unknown to his herculean, but clumsyopponent. Gathering all his strength in a last determined effort, hestooped forward suddenly and lifted in his turn. One portentousmoment--a moment of doubt and suspense--and the proud representativeof the barn-burners was hurled over the shoulder of the soldier, landing with a crash on the floor where he lay, dazed and immovable. 

Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with labored effort, Saint-Prosper fell back against the wall. The anti-renters quicklyrecovering from their surprise, gave him no time to regain hisstrength, and the contest promised a speedy and disastrous conclusionfor the soldier, when suddenly a white figure flashed before him, confronting the tenants with pale face and shining eyes. A slenderobstacle; only a girlish form, yet the fearlessness of her manner, theeloquence of her glance--for her lips were silent!--kept them back forthe instant. 

But fiercer passions were at work among them, the desire forretaliation and bitter hatred of the patroon, which speedilydissipated any feeling of compunction or any tendency to waver, "Kill him before his lady love!" cried a piercing voice from behind. "Did they not murder my husband before me? Kill him, if you are men!"

And pressing irresistibly to the front appeared the woman whosehusband had been shot by the deputies. Her features, once soft andmatronly, flamed with uncontrollable passions. 

"Are only the poor to suffer?" she continued, as her, burning eyesfell on the young girl. "Shall she not feel what I did?"

"Back woman!" exclaimed one of the barn-burners, sternly. "This is noplace for you. "

"Who has a better right to be here?" retorted the woman. 

"But this is not woman's work!"

"Woman's work!" Fiercely. "As much woman's work as for his trull totry to save him! Oh? let me see him!"

Gently the soldier, now partly recovering his strength, thrust theyoung girl behind him, as pushing to the foreground the woman regardedhim vengefully. But in her eyes the hatred and bitter aversion fadedslowly, to be replaced by perplexity, which in turn gave way towonder, while the uplifted arm, raised threateningly against him, fellpassively to her side. At first, astonished, doubting, she did notspeak, then her lips moved mechanically. 

"That is not the land baron, " she cried, staring at him in disappointmentthat knew no language. 

"The woman is right, " added a masquerader. "I know Mauville, too, forhe told me to go to the devil when I asked him to wait for his rent. "

At this unexpected announcement, imprecations and murmurs ofincredulity were heard on all sides. 

"Woman, would you shield your husband's murderer?" exclaimed anover-zealous barn-burner. 

"Shield him!" she retorted, as if aroused from a trance. "No, no! I'mnot here for that! But this is not the patroon. His every feature isburned into my heart! I tell you it is not he. Yet he should be here. Did I not see him driving toward the manor?" And she gazed wildlyaround. 

For a moment, following this impassioned outburst, their rough glancessought one another's, and the soldier quickly took advantage of thiscessation of hostilities. 

"No; I am not the land baron, " he interposed. 

"You aren't?" growled a disappointed lease-holder. "Then who the devilare you? An anti-renter?" he added, suspiciously. 

"He must be an enemy of the land baron, " interrupted the woman, passing her hand across her brow. "He was with us in the grove. I sawhim ride up and took him to be a barn-burner. He crossed the meadowwith us. I saw his face; distinctly as I see it now! He asked me aboutthe patroon--yes, I remember now!--and what was she like, the womanwho was with him!"

"I am no friend of his, " continued the soldier in a firm voice. "Youhad one purpose in seeking him; I, another! He carried off this lady. I was following him, when I met you in the grove. "

"Then how came you here--in this room?"

"By the way of a tree, the branch of which reaches to the window. "

"The land baron was in this room a moment ago. Where is he now?"

For answer Saint-Prosper pointed to the window. 

"Then you let him--"

"We're wasting time, " impatiently shouted the barn-burner who haddisclaimed the soldier's identity to the patroon. "Come!" With anoath. "Do you want to lose him after all? He can't be far away. Andthis one, damn him! isn't our man!"

For a second the crowd wavered, then with a vengeful shout they shotfrom the room, disappearing as quickly as they had come. Led by LittleThunder, who, being a man of peace, had discreetly remained without, they had reached the gate in their headlong pursuit when they were metby a body of horsemen, about to turn into the yard as the anti-renterswere hurrying out. At sight of this formidable band, the lease-holdersimmediately scattered. Taken equally by surprise, the others madelittle effort to intercept them and soon they had vanished over fieldand down dell. Then the horsemen turned, rode through the avenue oftrees, and drew up noisily before the portico. 

From their window the soldier and his companion observed the abruptencounter at the entrance of the manor grounds and the dispersion ofthe lease-holders like leaves before the autumn gusts. Constance, whohad breathlessly watched the flight of the erstwhile assailants, felther doubts reawakened as the horsemen drew up before the door. 

"Are they coming back?" she asked, involuntarily clasping the arm ofher companion. 

She who had been so courageous and self-controlled throughout thatlong, trying day, on a sudden felt strangely weak and dependent. Heleaned from the narrow casement to command the view below, striving topierce the gloom, and she, following his example, gazed over hisshoulder. Either a gust of air had extinguished the light in thecandelabra on the mantel, or the tallow dip had burnt itself out, forthe room was now in total darkness so that they could dimly see, without being seen. 

"These men are not the ones who just fled, " he replied. 

"Then who are they?" she half-whispered, drawing unconsciously closerin that moment of jeopardy, her face distant but a curl's length. 

Below the men were dismounting, tying their horses among the trees. Like a noisy band of troopers they were talking excitedly, but theirwords were indistinguishable. 

"Why do you suppose they fled from them?" she continued. 

Was it a tendril of the vine that touched his cheek gently? Hestarted, his face toward the haze in the open borderland. 

"Clearly these men are not the lease-holders. They may be seekingyou. "

She turned eagerly from the window. In the darkness their hands met. Momentary compunction made her pause. 

"I haven't yet thanked you!" And he felt the cold, nervous pressure ofher hands on his. "You must have ridden very hard and very far!"

His hand closed suddenly upon one of hers. He was not thinking of theride, but of how she had placed herself beside him in his moment ofperil; how she had held them--not long--but a moment--yet longenough!

"They're coming in! They're down stairs!" she exclaimed excitedly. 

A flickering light below suddenly threw dim moving shadows upon theceiling of the hall. As she spoke she stepped forward and stumbledover the debris at the door. His arm was about her, almost before thestartled exclamation had fallen from her lips; for a moment hershapely, young figure rested against him. But quickly she extricatedherself, and they picked their way cautiously over the bestrewnthreshold out into the hall. 

At the balustrade, they paused. Reconnoitering at the turn, they wereafforded full survey of the lower hall where the latest comers hadtaken possession. Few in numbers, the gathering had come to a deadstop, regarding in surprise the broken door, and the furniturewantonly demolished. But amid this scene of rack and ruin, an objectof especial wonder to the newcomers was the great lifting-stone lyingin the hall amid the havoc it had wrought. 

"No one but Dick, the tollman, could have thrown that against thedoor!" said a little man who seemed a person of authority. "I wonderwhere the patroon can be?"

With unusual pallor of face the young girl stepped from behind thesheltering post. Her hand, resting doubtfully upon the balustrade, sought in unconscious appeal her companion's arm, as they descendedtogether the broad steps. In the partial darkness the little man illdiscerned the figures, but divined their bearing in the relation ofoutlines limned against the obscure background. 

"Why, " he muttered in surprise, "this is not the patroon! And here, ifI am not mistaken, is the lady Mr. Barnes is so anxious about. "

"Mr. Barnes--he is with you?"

It was Constance that spoke. 

"Yes; but--"

"Where is he?"

"We left him a ways down the road and--"

The sound of a horse's hoof beats in front of the manor, breaking inon this explanation, was followed by hurried footsteps upon the porch. The newcomer paused on the threshold, when, with an exclamation ofjoy, Constance rushed to him, and in a moment was clasped in the armsof the now jubilant Barnes. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE COUNCIL AT THE TOWN PUMP

Next morning the sun had made but little progress in the heavens andthe dew was not yet off the grass when the party, an imposingcavalcade, issued from the manor on the return journey. Theirhome-coming was uneventful. The barn-burners had disappeared likerabbits in their holes; the manor whose master had fled, deserted evenby the faithful Oly-koeks, was seen for the last time from the brow ofthe hill, and then, with its gables and extensive wings, vanished fromsight. 

"Well, " remarked Barnes as they sped down the road, "it was a happycoincidence for me that led the anti-renters to the patroon's houselast night. "

And he proceeded to explain how when he had sought the magistrate, hefound that official organizing a _posse comitatus_ for the purpose ofquelling an anticipated uprising of lease-holders. In answer to themanager's complaint the custodian of the law had asserted his firstduty was generally to preserve the peace; afterward, he would attendto Barnes' particular grievance. Obliged to content himself as besthe might with this meager assurance, the manager, at his wit's end, had accompanied the party whose way had led them in the direction thecarriage had taken, and whose final destination--an unhoped-forconsummation!--had proved the ultimate goal of his own desires. 

On reaching, that afternoon, the town where they were playing, Susanwas the first of the company to greet Constance. 

"Now that it's all over, " she laughed, "I rather envy you that youwere rescued by such a handsome cavalier. "

"Really, " drawled Kate, "I should have preferred not being rescued. The owner of a coach, a coat of arms, silver harness, and the besthorses in the country! I could drive on forever. "

But later, alone with Susan, she looked hard at her:

"So you fainted yesterday?"

"Oh, I'm a perfect coward, " returned the other, frankly. 

Kate's mind rapidly swept the rough and troubled past; the haphazardsea upon which they had embarked so long ago--

"Dear me!" she remarked quietly, and Susan turned to conceal a blush. 

Owing to the magistrate's zeal in relating the story of the rescue, the players' success that night was great. 

"The hall was filled to overflowing, " says the manager in his datebook. "At the end of the second act, the little girl was called out, and much to her inward discomfiture the magistrate presented her witha bouquet and the audience with a written speech. Taking advantage ofthe occasion, he pointed a political moral from the tale, and referredto his own candidacy to the legislature, where he would look after theinterests of the rank and file. It was time the land-owners weretaught their places--not by violence--Oh, no--no French methods forAmericans!--by ballot, not by bullet! Let the people vote for anamendment to the constitution!

"As we were preparing to leave the theater, the magistrate appearedbehind the scenes. 'Of course, Mr. Barnes, you will appear against thepatroon?' he said. 'His prosecution will do much to fortify theissue. '

"'That is all very fine, ' I returned, satirically. 'But will the Lordprovide while we are trying the case? Shall we find miraculoussustenance? We live by moving on, sir. One or two nights in a place;sometimes, a little longer! No, no; 'tis necessary to forget, if notto forgive. You'll have to fortify your issue without us. '

"'Well, well, ' he said, good-naturedly, 'if it's against yourinterests, I have no wish to press the matter. ' Whereupon we shookhands heartily and parted. I looked around for Constance, but she hadleft the hall with Saint-Prosper. Have I been wise in asking him tojoin the chariot? I sometimes half regret we are beholden to him--"

From the Shadengo Valley Barnes' company proceeded by easy stages toOhio, where the roads were more difficult than any the chariot had yetencountered. On every hand, as they crossed the country, sounded therefrains of that memorable song-campaign which gave to the state thefixed sobriquet of "Buckeye. " Drawing near the capital, where theconvention was to be held, a log cabin, on an enormous wagon, passedthe chariot. A dozen horses fancifully adorned were harnessed to thisnovel vehicle; flowers over-ran the cabin-home, hewn from the buckeyelogs of the forest near Marysville. In every window appeared the facesof merry lads and lasses, and, as they journeyed on, their chorusechoed over field and through forest. The wood-cutter leaned on his axto listen; the plowman waved his coonskin cap, his wife, a redhandkerchief from the doorway of their log cabin. 

 "Oh, tell me where the Buckeye cabin was made? 'Twas built among the boys who wield the plow and spade, Where the log-cabin stands in the bonnie Buckeye shade. "

From lip to lip the song had been carried, until the entire countrywas singing it, and the log-cabin had become a part of the armorialbearings of good citizenship, especially applicable to the crests ofpresidents. Well might the people ask:

 "Oh, what has caused this great commotion All the country through?"

which the ready chorus answered:

 "It is a ball a-rolling on For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!"

The least of the strollers' troubles at this crucial period of theirwanderings were the bad roads or the effects of song and log-cabinupon the "amusement world, " the greatest being a temperance orator whothundered forth denunciations of rum and the theater with thebitterness of a Juvenal inveighing profligate Rome. The people crowdedthe orator's hall, upon the walls of which hung the customary banners:a serpent springing from the top of a barrel; the steamboat, Alcohol, bursting her boiler and going to pieces, and the staunch craft, Temperance, safe and sound, sailing away before a fair wind. Withperfect self-command, gift of mimicry and dramatic gestures, thelecturer swayed his audience; now bubbling over with witty anecdotes, again exercising his power of graphic portraiture. His _elixirvitae_--animal spirits--humanized his effort, and, as Sir Robert Peelplayed upon the House of Commons "as on an old fiddle, " so John B. Gough (for it was the versatile comic singer, actor and speaker)sounded the chords of that homely gathering. 

Whatever he was, "poet, orator and dramatist, an English Gavazzi, " or, "mountebank, " "humbug, " or "backslider, " Mr. Gough was, even at thatearly period, an antagonist not to be despised. He had been out ofpocket and out at the elbows--indeed, his wardrobe now was mean andscanty; want and privation had been his companions, and, from hisgrievous experiences, he had become a sensational story-teller of lowlife and penury. Certainly Barnes had reason to lament the coincidencewhich brought players and lecturer into town at the same time, especially as the latter was heralded under the auspices of the Bandof Hope. 

The temperance lectures and a heavy rain combined to the undoing ofthe strollers. Majestically the dark clouds rolled up, outspread likea pall, and the land lay beneath the ban of a persistent downpour. People remained indoors, for the most part, and the only signs of lifeBarnes saw from the windows of the hotel were the landlord'sHolderness breed of cattle, mournfully chewing their monotonous cuds, and some Leicester sheep, wofully wandering in the pasture, or huddledtogether like balls of stained cotton beneath the indifferentprotection of a tree amid field. 

Exceptional inducements could not tempt the villagers to the theater. Even an epilogue gained for them none of Mr. Gough's adherents. "TheTemperance Doctor" failed miserably; "Drunkard's Warning" admonishedpitiably few; while as for "Drunkard's Doom, " no one cared what itmight be and left him to it. 

After such a disastrous engagement the manager not only found himselfat the end of his resources, but hopelessly indebted, and, with muchreluctance, laid the matter before the soldier who had alreadyadvanced Barnes a certain sum after their conversation on the nightof the country dance and had also come to his assistance on anoccasion when box-office receipts and expenses had failed to meet. Moreover, he had been a free, even careless, giver, not looking afterhis business concerns with the prudent anxiety of a merchant whoseventures are ships at the rude mercy of a troubled sea. To this thirdapplication, however, he did not answer immediately. 

"Is it as bad as that?" he said at length, thoughtfully. 

"Yes; it's hard to speak about it to you, " replied the manager, withsome embarrassment, "but at New Orleans--"

The soldier encountered his troubled gaze. "See if you can sell myhorse, " he answered. 

"You mean--" began the other surprised. 

"Yes. "

"Hanged if I will!" exclaimed the manager. Then he put out his handimpulsively. "I beg your pardon. If I had known--but if we're ever outof this mess, I may give a better account of my stewardship. "

Nevertheless, his plight now was comparable to that of the strollersof old, hunted by beadles from towns and villages, and classed asgypsies, vagabonds and professed itinerants by the constables. He wasno better served than the mummers, clowns, jugglers, and petty chapmenwho, wandering abroad, were deemed rogues and sturdy beggars. Yet noking's censor could have found aught "unchaste, seditious or unmete"in Barnes' plays; no cause for frays or quarrels, arising from piecesgiven in the old inn-yards; no immoral matter, "whatsoever any lightand fantastical head listeth to invent or devise;" no riotous actorsof rollicking interludes, to be named in common with fencers, bearwards and vagrants. 

"Better give it up, Mr. Barnes, " said a remarkably sweet andsympathetic voice, as the manager was standing in the hotel office, turning the situation over and over in his mind. 

Barnes, looking around quickly to see who had read his inmostthoughts, met the firm glance of his antagonist. 

"Mr. Gough, it is an honor to meet one of your talents, " replied themanager, "but"--with an attempt to hide his concern--"I shall not besorry, if we do not meet again. "

"An inhospitable wish!" answered the speaker, fixing his luminous eyesupon the manager. "However, we shall probably see each otherfrequently. "

"The Fates forbid, sir!" said Barnes, earnestly. "If you'll tell meyour route, we'll--go the other way!"

"It won't do, Mr. Barnes! The devil and the flesh must be fairlyfought. 'Where thou goest'--You know the scriptural saying?"

"You'll follow us!" exclaimed the manager with sudden consternation. 

The other nodded. 

"Why, this is tyranny! You are a Frankenstein; an Old-Man-of-theSea!"

"Give it up, " said the orator, with a smile that singularly illuminedhis thin, but powerful features. "As I gave it up! Into what dregs ofvice, what a sink of iniquity was I plunged! The very cleansing of mysoul was an Augean task. Knavery, profligacy, laxity of morals, looseness of principles--that was what the stage did for me; that wasthe labor of Hercules to be cleared away! Give it up, Mr. Barnes!" Andwith a last penetrating look, he strode out of the office. 

In spite of Barnes' refusal, the soldier offered to sell his horse tothe landlord, but the latter curtly declined, having horses enough to"eat their heads off" during the winter, as he expressed it. HisJeremy Collier aversion to players was probably at the bottom of thispoint-blank rebuff, however. He was a stubborn man, czar in his owndomains, a small principality bounded by four inhospitable walls. Hisguests--having no other place to go--were his subjects, or prisoners, and distress could not find a more unfitting tribunal before which tolay its case. There was something so malevolent in his vigilance, sounfriendly in his scrutiny, that to the players he seemed an emissaryof disaster, inseparable from their cruel plight. 

Thus it was that the strollers perforce reached a desperate conclusionwhen making their way from the theater on the last evening. Byremaining longer, they would become the more hopelessly involved; ingoing--without their host's permission--they would be taking theshortest route toward an honorable settlement in the near future; aparadoxical flight from the brunt of their troubles, to meet themsquarely! This, to Barnes, ample reason for unceremonious departurewas heartily approved by the company in council assembled around thetown pump. 

"Stay and become a county burden, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Adams, tragically. 

"As well be buried alive as anchored here!" fretfully added Susan. 

"The council is dissolved, " said the manager, promptly, "with no onethe wiser--except the town pump. "

"An ally of Mr. Gough!" suggested Adonis. 

Thus more merrily than could have been expected, with such adistasteful enterprise before them, they resumed their way. It wasdisagreeable under foot and they presented an odd appearance, each onewith a light. Mrs. Adams, old campaigner that she was, led the way forthe ladies, elastic and chatty as though promenading down Broadway ona spring morning. With their lanterns and the purpose they had inview, they likened themselves to a band of conspirators. As Barnesmarched ahead with his light, Susan playfully called him Guy Fawkes, of gun-powder fame, whereupon his mind almost misgave him concerningthe grave adventure upon which they were embarked. 

The wind was blowing furiously, doors and windows creaked, and all thedemons of unrest were moaning that night in the hubbub of sounds. Savefor a flickering candle in the hall, the tavern was dark, andlandlord and maids had long since retired to rest. Amid the noise ofthe rain and the sobbing of the wind, trunks were lowered from thewindow; the chariot and property wagon were drawn from the stable yardand the horses led from their stalls. In a trice they were ready andthe ladies, wrapped in their cloaks, were in the coach. But theclatter of hoofs, the neighing of a horse, or some other untowardcircumstance, aroused the landlord; a window in the second story shotup and out popped a head in a night-cap. 

"Here!--What are you about?" cried the man. 

"Leaving!" said the manager, laconically. 

The landlord threw up his arms like Shylock at the loss of hismoney-bags. 

"The reckoning!" he exclaimed. "What about the reckoning?"

"Your pound of flesh, sir!" replied Barnes. 

"My score! My score!" shouted the other. "You would not leave withoutsettling it!"

"Go to bed, sir, " was the answer, "and let honest people departwithout hindrance. You will be paid out of our first profits. "

But the man was not so easily appeased. "Robbers! Constable!" hescreamed. 

Conceiving it was better to be gone without further parley, havingassured him of their honorable intentions, Barnes was about to lashthe horses, when Kate suddenly exclaimed:

"Where's Constance?"

"Isn't she inside?" asked the manager quickly. 

"No; she isn't here. "

"Oh, I sent her back to get something for me I had forgotten, " spokeup Mrs. Adams, "and she hasn't returned yet. "

"Sent her back! Madam, you have ruined everything!" burst out Barnes, bitterly. 

"Mr. Barnes, I won't be spoken to like a child!"

"Child, indeed--"

But the querulous words were not uttered, for, as the manager wasabout to leave the box in considerable perturbation, there--gazing downupon them at a window next to that occupied by the landlord--stoodConstance!

For a tippet, or a ruff, or some equally wretched frippery, carelesslyleft by the old lady, all their plans for deliverance appeared likelyto miscarry. Presumably, Constance, turned from her original purposeby the noisy altercation, had hurried to the window, where now thelandlord perceived her and immediately availed himself of theadvantage offered. 

"So one of you is left behind, " he shouted exultantly. "And it's theleading lady, too! I'll take care she stays here, until after asettlement. I'll stop you yet! Stealing away in the middle of thenight, you--you vagabonds!"

His voice, growing louder and louder, ended in a shrieking crescendo. Disheartened, there seemed no alternative for the players save to turnback and surrender unconditionally. Barnes breathed a deep sigh; somuch for a tippet!--their dash for freedom had been but a sorryattempt!--now he saw visions of prison bars, and uttered a groan, whenthe soldier who was riding his own horse dashed forward beneath thewindow and stood upright in his stirrups. 

"Do not be afraid, Miss Carew, " he said. 

Fortunately the window was low and the distance inconsiderable, butBarnes held his breath, hoping the hazard would deter her. 

"Do not, my dear!" he began. 

But she did not hesitate; the sight of the stalwart figure and thestrong arms, apparently reassured her, and she stepped upon the sill. 

"Quick!" he exclaimed, and, at the word, she dropped into hisupstretched arms. Scarcely had she escaped, however, before thelandlord was seen at the same window. So astonished was he to find hergone, surprise at first held him speechless; then he burst into avolley of oaths that would have shamed a whaler's master. 

"Come back!" he cried. "Come back, or--" The alternative was lost invengeful imprecation. 

Holding Constance before him, the soldier resumed his saddle. "Driveon!" he cried to Barnes, as past the chariot sped his horse, with itsdouble burden. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE HAND FERRY

At a lively gait down the road toward the river galloped the horsebearing Saint-Prosper and Constance. The thoroughfare was deserted andthe dwelling houses as well as the principal buildings of the townwere absolutely dark. At one place a dog ran out to the front gate, disturbed by the unusual noise on the road, and barked furiously, butthey moved rapidly on. Now the steeple of the old church loomedweirdly against the dark background of the sky and then vanished. 

On; on, they went, past the churchyard, with its marble slabsindistinctly outlined in the darkness, like a phantom graveyard, asimmaterial and ghostlike itself as the spirits of the earliestsettlers at rest there beneath the sod. This was the last indicationof the presence of the town, the final impression to carry away intothe wide country, where the road ran through field and forest. As theysped along, they plunged into a chasm of blackness, caused by thetrees on both sides of the road which appeared to be constantlyclosing upon them. In the darkness of that stygian tunnel, dashingblindly through threatening obscurity, she yet felt no terrors, for aband of steel seemed to hold her above some pit of "visible night. "

Out of the tunnel into the comparatively open space, the windboomed with all its force, and like an enraged monster, drove thestorm-clouds, now rainless, across the sky. Occasionally the moonappeared through some aperture, serene, peace-inspiring, momentarilygilding the dark vapor, and again was swallowed up by another mass ofclouds. A brood of shadows leaped around them, like things of life, now dancing in the road or pursuing through the tufts of grass, thenvanishing over the meadows or disappearing in murky nooks. But amoment were they gone and then, marshaled in new numbers, menacingbefore and behind, under the very feet of the horse, biddingdefiance to the clattering hoofs. With mane tossed in the angrywind, and nostrils dilated, the animal neighed with affright, suddenlyleaping aside, as a little nest of unknown dangers lurked andrustled in the ambush of a drift of animated brush. 

At that abrupt start, the rider swayed; his grasp tightened about theactress' waist; her arms involuntarily held him closer. Loosened bythe wind and the mad motion, her hair brushed his cheek and fell overhis shoulder, whipped sharply in the breeze. A fiercer gust, sweepingupon them uproariously, sent all the tresses free, and scudded by withan exultant shriek. For a time they rode in this wise, her face coldin the rush of wind; his gaze fixed ahead, striving to pierce thegloom, and then he drew rein, holding the horse with some difficultyat a standstill in the center of the thoroughfare. 

With senses numbed by the stirring flight, the young girl had beenoblivious to the firmness of the soldier's sustaining grasp, but nowas they paused in the silent, deserted spot, she became suddenlyconscious of it. The pain--so fast he held her!--made her wince. Sheturned her face to his. A glint of light fell on his brow and anylines that had appeared there were erased in the magical glimmer;eagerness, youth, passion alone shone upon his features. 

His arm clasped her even yet more closely, as if in the wildness ofthe moment he would fiercely draw her to him regardless of all. Didshe understand--that with her face so near his, her hair surroundinghim, her figure pressed in that close embrace--he must needs speak toher; had, indeed, spoken to her. She was conscious her hand on hisshoulder trembled. Her cheek was no longer cold; abruptly the warmglow mantled it. Was it but that a momentary calm fell around them;the temporary hush of the boisterous wind? And yet, when again thesquall swept by with renewed turmoil, her face remained unchilled. Sheseemed but a child in his arms. How light her own hand-touch comparedto that compelling grasp with which he held her! She remembered he hadbut spoken to her standing in the window, and she had obeyed without aquestion--without thought of fear. She longed to spring to the groundnow, to draw herself from him. 

"You can hear the chariot down the road, Miss Carew. "

Quickly her glance returned to his face; his gaze was bent down thethoroughfare. He spoke so quietly she wondered at her momentary fears;his voice reassured her. 

A gleam of light shot through a rift in the clouds. 

"Hello-a!" came a welcome voice from the distance. 

"Hello-a!" answered the soldier. 

"You'd better ride on!" shouted the manager. "They're after us!"

For answer the soldier touched his horse, and now began a race for theriver and the ferry, which were in plain sight, Luna fortunately atthis critical moment sailing from between the vapors and shining froma clear lake in the sky. The chaste light, out of the angryconvulsions of the heavens, showed the fugitives the road and theriver, winding like a broad band of silver across the darkness of theearth, its surface rippled into waves by the northern wind. Behindthem the soldier and Constance could hear the coach creaking andgroaning. It seemed to careen on its beams' end, but some specialprovidence was watching over the players and no catastrophe occurred. 

Nearer came the men on horseback down the hill; now the foremostshouted. Closer was the river; Saint-Prosper reached its bank; thegang-plank was in position and he dashed aboard. With a mightytossing and rolling, the chariot approached, rattled safely across thegangway, followed by the property wagon, and eager hands grasped therope, extending from shore to shore above the large, flat craft. Thesehand ferries, found in various sections of the country, were strongly, although crudely, constructed, their sole means of locomotion in thestationary rope, by means of which the passengers, providing their ownpower for transportation, drew themselves to the opposite shore. 

The energy now applied to the hempen strand sent the ferry many feetfrom the shore out into the river, where the current was much swifterthan usual, owing to the heavy rainfalls. The horses on the greatcumbersome craft were snorting with terror. 

Crack! pish! One of the men on the shore used his revolver. 

"An illogical and foolish way to collect debts, that!" grumbled themanager, tugging at the rope. "If they kill us, how can we requitethem for our obligations?"

The river was unusually high and the current set the boat, heavilyloaded, tugging at the rope. However, it resisted the strain and soonthe craft grated on the sand and the party disembarked, safe fromconstable and bailiff in the brave, blue grass country. Only onemishap occurred, and that to Adonis, who, in his haste, fell into theshallow water. He was as disconsolate as the young hero Minerva threwinto the sea to wrest him from the love of Eucharis. But in thiscase, Eucharis (Kate) laughed immoderately at his discomfiture. 

As Barnes was not sure of the road, the strollers camped upon thebank. The river murmured a seductive cradle-song to the rushes, and, on the shore, from the dark and ominous background, came the deepervoice of the pines. 

Constance, who had been unusually quiet and thoughtful, graduallyrecovered her spirits. 

"Here, Mrs. Adams, is your tippet, " she said with a merry smile, taking a bit of lace from her dress. 

"Thank you, my dear; I wouldn't have lost it for anything!" said theold lady, effusively, while Barnes muttered something beneath hisbreath. 

The soldier, who had dismissed the manager's thanks somewhat abruptly, occupied himself arranging the cushions from the chariot on the grass. Suddenly Mrs. Adams noticed a crimson stain on his shoulder. 

"Sir!" she exclaimed, in the voice of the heroine of "Oriana, " "youare wounded!"

"It is nothing, Madam!" he replied. 

Stripping off his coat, Barnes found the wound was, indeed, butslight, the flesh having just been pierced. 

"How romantic!" gushed Susan. "He stood in front of Constance when thefiring began. Now, no one thought of poor me. On the contrary, if I amnot mistaken, Mr. Hawkes discreetly stood behind me. "

"Jokes reflecting upon one's honor are in bad taste, " gravely retortedthe melancholy actor. 

"Indeed, I thought it no jest at the time!" replied the other. 

"Mistress Susan, your tongue is dangerous!"

"Mr. Hawkes, your courage will never lead you into danger!"

"Nay, " he began, angrily, "this is a serious offense--"

"On the contrary, " she said, laughing, "it is a question of defense. "

"There is no arguing with a woman, " he grumbled. "She always takesrefuge in her tongue. "

"While you, Mr. Hawkes, take refuge--"

But the other arose indignantly and strode into the gloom. MeanwhileBarnes, while dressing the injury, discovered near the cut an old scarthoroughly healed, but so large and jagged it attracted hisattention. 

"That hurt was another matter, " said he, touching it. 

Was it the manager's fingers or his words caused Saint-Prosper towince? "Yes, it was another matter, " he replied, hurriedly. "An Arabspear--or something of the kind!"

"Tell us about it, " prattled Susan. "You have never told us anythingabout Africa. It seems a forbidden subject. "

"Perhaps he has a wife in Tangiers, or Cairo, " laughed Kate. 

 "He was wed in Amsterdam, Again in far Siam, And after this Sought triple bliss And married in Hindustan, "

sang Susan. 

The soldier made some evasive response to this raillery and thenbecame silent. Soon quiet prevailed in the encampment; only out of therecesses of the forest came the menacing howl of a vagabond wolf. 

"Such, " says Barnes in his notebook, "is the true history of anadventure which created some talk at the time. A perilous, regrettablebusiness at best, but we acted according to our light and were enabledthereafter to requite our obligations, which could not have been donehad they seized the properties, poor garments of players' pomp; toolswhereby we earned our meager livelihood. If, after this explanation, anyone still has aught of criticism, I must needs be silent, notcontroverting his censure. 

"With some amusement I learned that our notable belligerent, Mr. Gough, was well-nigh reduced to the same predicament as that in whichwe found ourselves. He could not complain of his audiences, and theBand of Hope gained many recruits by his coming, but, through somemisapprehension, the customary collections were overlooked. The lastnight of the lecture, the chairman of the evening, at the conclusionof the address, arose and said: 'I move we thank Mr. Gough for hiseloquent effort and then adjourn. '

"The motion prevailed, and the gathering was about to disperse whenthe platform bludgeon-man held them with a gesture. 'Will you kindlyput your thanks in writing, that I may offer it for my hotel bill, 'said he. 

"But for this quick wit and the gathering's response to the appeal hewould have been in the same boat with us, or rather, on the sameboat--the old hand ferry! Subsequently, he became a speaker of foreignand national repute, but at that time he might have traveled fromScarboro' to Land's End without attracting a passing glance. "

BOOK II

DESTINY AND THE MARIONETTES

CHAPTER I

THE FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS

Through the land of the strapping, thick-ribbed pioneers of Kentuckythe strollers bent their course--a country where towns and hamletswere rapidly springing up in the smiling valleys or on the fertilehillsides; where new families dropping in, and old ones obeying theinjunction to be "fruitful and multiply" had so swelled the populationthat the region, but a short time before sparsely settled, now teemedwith a sturdy people. To Barnes' satisfaction, many of the roads wereall that could have been wished for, the turnpike system of the centerof the state reflecting unbounded credit upon its builders. 

If a people may be judged by its highways, Kentucky, thus early, withits macadamized roads deserved a prominent place in the sisterhoodof states. Moreover, while mindful always of her own internaladvancement, she persistently maintained an ever-watchful eye andclosest scrutiny on the parental government and the acts of congress. "Give a Kentuckian a plug of tobacco and a political antagonist andhe will spend a comfortable day where'er he may be, " has been happilysaid. It was this hardy, horse-raising, tobacco-growing communitywhich had given the peerless Clay to the administrative councils ofthe country; it was this rugged cattle-breeding, whisky-distillingpeople which had offered the fearless Zach Taylor to spread thecountry's renown on the martial field. 

What sunny memories were woven in that pilgrimage for the strollers!Remembrance of the corn-husking festivities, and the lads who, havingfound the red ears, kissed the lasses of their choice; of the dancingthat followed--double-shuffle, Kentucky heel-tap, pigeon wing orArkansas hoe-down! And mingling with the remembrance of such pleasingdiversions were the yet more satisfying recollections of largeaudiences, generous-minded people and substantial rewards, well-won;rewards which enabled them shortly afterward to pay by post thelandlord from whom they had fled. 

Down the Father of Waters a month or so after their flight into theblue grass country steamed the packet bearing the company of players, leaving behind them the Chariot of the Muses. 

At the time of their voyage down the Mississippi "the science ofpiloting was not a thing of the dead and pathetic past, " and wonderfulaccounts were written of the autocrats of the wheel and thecharacteristics of the ever-changing, ever-capricious river. "Accidents!" says an early steamboat captain. "Oh, sometimes we runfoul of a snag or sawyer, occasionally collapse a boiler and blow upsky-high. We get used to these little matters and don't mind them. "

None of these trifling incidents was experienced by the players, however, who thereby lost, according to the Munchausens of the period, half of the pleasure and excitement of the trip. In fact, nothing morestirring than taking on wood from a flatboat alongside, or throwing aplank ashore for a passenger, varied the monotony of the hour, and, approaching their destination, the last day on the "floating palace"dawned serenely, uneventfully. 

The gray of early morn became suffused with red, like the flush oflife on a pallid cheek. Arrows of light shot out above the trees; anexpectant hush pervaded the forest. Inside the cabin a sleepy negrobegan the formidable task of sweeping. This duty completed, he shook abell, which feature of his daily occupation the darky entered intowith diabolical energy, and soon the ear-rending discord brought thepassengers on deck. But hot cornbread, steaks and steaming coffeespeedily restored that equanimity of temper disturbed by the morning'sclangorous summons. 

Breakfast over, some of the gentlemen repaired to the boiler deck forthe enjoyment of cigars, the ladies surrounded the piano in the cabin, while a gambler busied himself in getting into the good graces of ayoung fellow who was seeing the world. Less lonely became the shores, as the boat, panting as if from long exertion, steamed on. Carroltonand Lafayette were left behind. Now along the banks stretched theshowy houses and slave plantations of the sugar planters; and soon, from the deck of the boat, the dome of the St. Charles and thecathedral towers loomed against the sky. 

Beyond a mile or so of muddy water and a formidable fleet of oldhulks, disreputable barges and "small fry broad-horns, " layAlgiers, graceless itself as the uninviting foreground; looking outcontemplatively from its squalor at the inspiring view of NouvelleOrleans, with the freighters, granaries and steamboats, threestories high, floating past; comparing its own inertia--if a citycan be presumed capable of such edifying consciousness!--with theaspect of the busy levee, where cotton bales, sugar hogsheads, molasses casks, tobacco, hemp and other staple articles of the South, formed, as it were, a bulwark, or fortification of peace, for thehabitations behind it. Such was the external appearance--suggestiveof commerce--of that little center whose social and bohemian life wasyet more interesting than its mercantile features. 

At that period the city boasted of its Addison of letters--sinceforgotten; its Feu-de-joie, the peerless dancer, whose beauty hadfired the Duke Gambade to that extravagant conduct which made therecipient of those marked attentions the talk of the town; its Rosciusof the drama; its irresistible _ingenue_, the lovely, littleFantoccini; and its theatrical carpet-knight, M. Grimacier, whoseintrigue with the stately and, heretofore, saintly Madame Etalage had, it was said later, much to do with the unhappy taking-off of thatostentatious and haughty lady. It had Mlle. Affettuoso, songstress, with, it is true, an occasional break in her trill; and, last, but notleast, that general friend of mankind, more puissant, powerful andnecessary than all the nightingales, butterflies, or men ofletters--who, nevertheless, are well enough in their places!--Tortier, the only Tortier, who carried the _art de cuisine_ to ravishingperfection, whose ragouts were sonnets in sauce and whose fricasseesnothing less than idyls!

Following the strollers' experiences with short engagements andimprovised theaters, there was solace in the appearance of the city ofcream and honey, and the players, assembled on the boiler deck, regarded the thriving port with mingled feelings as they drew nearer. Susan began forthwith to dream of conquests--a swarthy Mexican, theowner of an opal mine; a prince from Brazil; a hidalgo, exile, or anyother notable among the cosmopolitan people. Adonis bethought himselfof dusky beauties, waiting in their carriages at the stage entrance;sighing for him, languishing for him; whirling him away to a supperroom--and Paradise! Regretfully the wiry old lady reverted to the timewhen she and her first husband had visited this Paris of the South, and, with a deep sigh, paid brief tribute to the memory of conjugalfelicity. 

Constance's eyes were grave as they rested upon the city where shewould either triumph or fail, and the seriousness of her task cameover her, leaning with clasped hands against the railing of the boat. Among that busy host what place would be made for her? How easy itseemed to be lost in the legion of workers; to be crushed in theswaying crowd! It was as though she were entering a room filled withstrangers, and stood hesitating on the threshold. But youth'sassurance soon set aside this gloomy picture; the shadow of a smilelighted her face and her glance grew bright. At twenty the world isrosy and in the perspective are many castles. 

Near by the soldier also leaned against the rail, looking not, however, at New Orleans but at her, while all unconscious of hisregard she continued to gaze cityward. His face, too, was thoughtful. The haphazard journey was approaching its end, and with it, in alllikelihood, the bond of union, the alliance of close comradeshipassociated with the wilderness. She was keenly alive to honor, fame, renown. What meaning had those words to him--save for her? He smiledbitterly, as a sudden revulsion of dark thoughts crowded upon him. Hehad had his bout; the sands of the arena that once had shone goldennow were dust. 

Drawing up to the levee, they became a part of the general bustle andconfusion; hurriedly disembarked, rushed about for their luggage, because every one else was rushing; hastily entered carriages of whichthere was a limited supply, and were whisked off over the roughcobblestones which constituted the principal pavements of the city;catching momentary glimpses, between oscillations, of oyster saloons, fruit and old clothes' shops, and coffee stands, where the people atein the open air. In every block were _cafés_ or restaurants, and thesign "Furnished Rooms" appearing at frequent intervals along thethoroughfare through which they drove at headlong pace, bore evidenceto the fact that the city harbored many strangers. 

The hotel was finally reached--and what a unique hostelry it was! "Setthe St. Charles down in St. Petersburg, " commented a chronicler in1846, "and you would think it a palace; in Boston, and ten to one, youwould christen it a college; in London, and it would remind you of anexchange. " It represented at that day the evolution of the Americantavern, the primitive inn, instituted for passengers and wayfaringmen; the development of the pot-house to the metropolitan hotel, ofthe rural ale-room to the palatial saloon. 

"What a change from country hostelries!" soliloquized the manager, after the company were installed in commodious rooms. "No more innswhere soap and towels are common property, and a comb, without itsfull complement of teeth, does service for all comers!" he continued, gazing around the apartment in which he found himself. "Think of realgas in your room, Barnes, and great chairs, easy as the arms ofMorpheus! Are you comfortable, my dear?" he called out. 

Constance's voice in an adjoining room replied affirmatively, and headded: "I'm going down stairs to look around a bit. "

Beneath the porch and reception hall extended the large bar-room, where several score of men were enjoying their liquors and lunches, and the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses and the noisemade by the skilful mixer of drinks were as sweet music to themanager, when shortly after he strode to the bar. Wearing neither coatnor vest, the bartender's ruffled shirt displayed a glistening stone;the sleeves were ornamented with gold buttons and the lace collar hada Byronic roll. 

"What will you have, sir?" he said in a well-modulated voice to a bigVirginian, who had preceded Barnes into the room. 

"A julep, " was the reply, "and, while you are making it, a littlewhisky straight. "

A bottle of bourbon was set before him, and he wasted no valuable timewhile the bartender manipulated the more complicated drink. Experiencing the felicity of a man who has entered a highercivilization, the manager ordered a bottle of iced ale, drank it withgusto, and, seating himself, was soon partaking of a palatable dish. By this time the Virginian, joined by a friend, had ordered anotherjulep for the near future and a little "straight" for the immediatepresent. 

"Happy days!" said the former. 

"And yours happier!" replied the newcomer. 

"Why, it's Utopia, " thought Barnes. "Every one is happy!"

But even as he thus ruminated, his glance fell upon an old man at thenext table whom the waiters treated with such deference the managerconcluded he must be some one of no slight importance. This gentlemanwas thin, wrinkled and worn, with a face Voltairian in type, his hairscanty, his dress elegant, and his satirical smile like the "flash ofa dagger in the sunlight. " He was inspecting his bouillon withmanifest distrust, adjusting his eye-glass and thrusting his headclose to the plate. The look of suspicion deepened and finally agrimace of triumph illumined his countenance, as he rapped excitedlyon the table. 

"Waiter, waiter, do you see that soup?" he almost shouted. 

"Yes, Monsieur le Marquis, " was the humble response. 

"Look at it well!" thundered the old gentleman. "Do you find nothingextraordinary about it?"

Again the bouillon was examined, to the amusement of the manager. 

"I am sorry, Monsieur le Marquis; I can detect nothing unusual, "politely responded the waiter, when he had concluded a pains-takingscrutiny with all the gravity and seriousness attending so momentousan investigation. 

"You are blind!" exclaimed the old man. "See there; a spot of greasefloating in the bouillon, and there, another and another! In fact, here is an 'Archipelago of Greece!'" This witticism was relieved by anironical smile. "Take it away!"

The waiter hurried off with the offending dish and the old man lookedimmensely satisfied over the disturbance he had created. 

"Well has it been said, " thought the manager, "that the destiny of anation depends upon the digestion of its first minister! I wonder whathe'll do next?"

Course after course that followed was rejected, the guest keeping up arunning comment:

"This sauce is not properly prepared. This salad is not well mixed. I shall starve in this place. These truffles; spoiled in theimportation!"

"Oh, Monsieur le Marquis, "--clasping his hands in despair--"they werepreserved in melted paraffin. "

"What do I care about your paraffin? Never mind anything more, waiter. I could not eat a mouthful. What is the bill? Very well; and there issomething for yourself, blockhead. "

"Thank you, Monsieur le Marquis. " Deferentially. 

"The worst meal I've ever had! And I've been in Europe, Asia andAfrica. Abominable--abominable--idiot of a waiter--miserable place, miserable--and this dyspepsia--"

Thus running on, with snatches of caustic criticism, the old gentlemanshambled out, the waiter holding the door open for him and bowingobsequiously. 

"An amiable individual!" observed Barnes to the waiter. "Is hestopping at the hotel?"

"No, Monsieur. He has an elegant house near by. The last time he washere he complimented the cook and praised the sauces. He is alittle--what you call it?--whimsical!"

"Yes; slightly inclined that way. But is he here alone?"

"He is, Monsieur. He loses great sums in the gambling rooms. He keepsa box at the theater for the season. He is a prince--a great lord--?"

"Even if he calls you 'liar' and 'blockhead'?"

"Oh, Monsieur, "--displaying a silver dollar with an expressive shrugof the shoulders--"this is the--what you call it?--balm. "

"And very good balm, too, " said Barnes, heartily. 

Still grumbling to himself, the marquis reached the main corridor, where the scene was almost as animated as in the bar and where theprincipal topic of conversation seemed to be horses and races that hadbeen or were about to be run. "I'd put Uncle Rastus' mule against thathoss!" "That four-year-old's quick as a runaway nigger!" "Fivehundred, the gelding beats the runaway nigger!" "Any takers on JollyRogers?" were among the snatches of talk which lent life and zest tothe various groups. 

Sitting moodily in a corner, with legs crossed and hat upon his knee, was a young man whose careless glance wandered from time to time fromhis cigar to the passing figures. As the marquis slowly hobbled along, with an effort to appear alert, the young man arose quickly and cameforward with a conventional smile, intercepting the old nobleman nearthe door. 

"My dear Monsieur le Marquis, " he exclaimed, effusively, "it is withpleasure I see you recovered from your recent indisposition. "

"Recovered!" almost shrieked the marquis. "I'm far from recovered; I'mworse than ever. I detest congratulations, Monsieur! It's what a lyingworld always does when you are on the verge of dissolution. "

"You are as discerning as ever, " murmured the land baron--for it wasEdward Mauville. 

"I'm not fit to be around; I only came out"--with a sardonicchuckle--"because the doctors said it would be fatal. "

"Surely you do not desire--"

"To show them they are impostors? Yes. "

"And does New Orleans continue to please you?" asked the other, withsome of that pride Southerners entertained in those days for theirqueen city. 

"How does the exile like the forced land of his adoption?" returnedthe nobleman, irritably. "My king is in exile. Why should I not bealso? Should I stay there, herd with the cattle, call every shipjack'Citizen' and every clod 'Brother'; treat every scrub as though shewere a duchess?"

"There is, indeed, a regrettable tendency to deify common claynowadays, " assented the patroon, soothingly. 

"Why, your 'Citizen' regards it as condescension to notice a man ofcondition!" said the marquis, violently. "When my king was driven awayby the rabble the ocean was not too broad to separate me from aswinish civilization. I will never go back; I will live there nomore!"

"That is good news for us, " returned the land baron. 

"Your politeness almost reconciles me to staying, " said the old man, more affably. "But I am on my way to the club. What do you say to arubber?"

The patroon readily assented. In front of the hotel waited themarquis' carriage, on the door of which was his coat-of-arms--argent, three mounts vert, on each a sable bird. Entering this conveyance, they were soon being driven over the stones at a pace which jarredevery bone in the marquis' body and threatened to shake the breath oflife from his trembling and attenuated figure. He jumped about like aparched pea, and when finally they drew up with a jerk and a jolt, themarquis was fairly gasping. After an interval to recover himself, hetook his companion's arm, and, with his assistance, mounted the broadsteps leading to the handsome and commodious club house. 

"At least, " said the nobleman, dryly, as he paused on the stairs, "ourpavements are so well-kept in Paris that a drive there in a tumbril tothe scaffold is preferable to a coach in New Orleans!"

CHAPTER II

"ONLY AN INCIDENT"

To the scattering of the anti-renters by the rescue party thatmemorable night at the manor the land baron undoubtedly owed hissafety. Beyond reach of personal violence in a neighboring town, without his own domains, from which he was practically exiled, he hadsought redress in the courts, only to find his hands tied, with noconvincing clue to the perpetrators of these outrages. On the patroonlay the burden of proof, and he found it more difficult than he hadanticipated to establish satisfactorily any kind of a case, for alibisblocked his progress at every turn. 

At war with his neighbors, and with little taste for the monotony of anorthern winter, he bethought him of his native city, determined toleave the locality and at a distance wait for the turmoil to subside. His brief dream of the rehabilitation of the commonwealth brought onlymemories stirring him to restlessness. He made inquiries about thestrollers, but to no purpose. The theatrical band had come and gonelike gipsies. 

Saying nothing to any one, except Scroggs, to whom he entrusted a loadof litigation, he at length quietly departed in the regular stage, until he reached a point where two strap rails proclaimed the newmethod of conveyance. Wedged in the small compartment of a little cardirectly behind a smoking monster, with an enormous chimney, fed withcord-wood, he was borne over the land, and another puffing marvel ofdifferent construction carried him over the water. Reaching theCrescent City some time before the strollers--his progress expeditedby a locomotive that ran full twenty miles an hour!--the land baronfound among the latest floating population, comprised of all sorts andconditions, the Marquis de Ligne. The blood of the patroons flowedsluggishly through the land baron's veins, but his French extractiondanced in every fiber of his being. After learning the more importantand not altogether discreditable circumstances about the land baron'sancestors--for if every gentleman were whipped for godlessness, howmany striped backs would there be!--the marquis, who declined intimacywith Tom, Dick and Harry, and their honest butchers, bakers andcandlestick-makers of forefathers, permitted an acquaintance thataccorded with his views governing social intercourse. 

"This is a genuine pleasure, Monsieur le Marquis, " observed the landbaron suavely, when the two found themselves seated in a card roomwith brandy and soda before them. "To meet a nobleman of the oldschool is indeed welcome in these days when New Orleans harbors therefugees of the world, for, strive as we will, outsiders are creepingin and corrupting our best circles. "

"Soon we shall all be corrupt, " croaked the old man. "France--but whatcan you expect of a nation that exiles kings!"

"Ah, Louis Philippe! My father once entertained him here in NewOrleans, " said Mauville. 

"Indeed?" remarked the marquis with interest. 

"It was when he visited the city in 1798 with his brothers, the Dukeof Montpensier and the Count of Beaujolais. New Orleans then did notbelong to America. France was not so eager to sell her fairpossessions in those days. I remember my father often speaking of theroyal visit. The king even borrowed money, which"--laughing--"heforgot to pay!"

The marquis' face was a study, as he returned stiffly: "Sir, it is aking's privilege to borrow. "

"It is his immortal prerogative, " answered Mauville easily. "I onlymentioned it to show how highly he honored my father. "

The nobleman lifted his eyebrows, steadily regarding his companion. 

"It was a great honor, " he said softly. "One does not lend to a king. When Louis Philippe borrowed from your father he lent luster to yourancestry. "

"Yes; I doubt not my father regarded himself as the debtor. Again, wehad another distinguished compatriot of yours at our house--GeneralLafayette. "

"Lafayette!" repeated the marquis. "Ah, that's another matter! A man, born to rank and condition, voluntarily sinking to the level of thecommonalty! A person of breeding choosing the cause of the rout andrabble! How was he received?"

"Like a king!" laughed Mauville. "A vast concourse of people assembledbefore the river when he embarked on the 'Natchez' for St. Louis. "

Muttering something about "_bourgeoisie!--épicier!_" the noblemanpartook of the liquid consolation before him, which seemed to brightenhis spirits. 

"If my doctors could see me now! Dolts! Quacks!"

"It's a good joke on them, " said Mauville, ironically. 

"Isn't it? They forbid me touching stimulants. Said they would befatal! Impostors! Frauds! They haven't killed me yet, have they?"

"If so, you are a most agreeable and amiable ghost, " returnedMauville. 

"An amiable ghost!" cackled the old man. "Ha! Ha! you must have yourjoke! But don't let me have such a ghastly one again. I don'tlike"--in a lower tone--"jests about the spirits of the other world. "

"What! A well-seasoned materialist like you!"

"An idle prejudice!" answered the marquis. "Only when you compared meto a ghost"--in a half whisper--"it seemed as though I were one, aghost of myself looking back through years of pleasure--years ofpleasure!"

"A pleasant perspective such memories make, I am sure, " observed theland baron. 

"Memories, " repeated the marquis, wagging his head. "Existence isfirst a memory and then a blank. But you have been absent from NewOrleans, Monsieur?"

"I have been north to look after certain properties left me by adistant relative--peace to his ashes!"

"Only on business?" leered the marquis. "No affair of the heart? Youknow the saying: 'Love makes time pass--'"

"'And time makes love pass, '" laughed Mauville, somewhat unnaturally, his cynicism fraught with a twinge. "Nothing of the kind, I assureyou! But you, Marquis, are not the only exile. "

The nobleman raised his brows interrogatively. 

"You fled from France; I fled from the ancestral manor. The tenantsclaimed the farms were theirs. I attempted to turn them out and--theyturned me out! I might as well have inherited a hornet's nest. It wasa legacy-of hate! The old patroon must have chuckled in his grave! Onenight they called with the intention of hanging me. "

"My dear sir, I congratulate you!" exclaimed the noblemanenthusiastically. 

"Thanks!" Dryly. 

"It is the test of gentility. They only hang or cut off the heads ofpeople of distinction nowadays. "

"Gad! then I came near joining the ranks of the well-born angels. Butfor an accident I should now be a cherub of quality. "

"And how, Monsieur, did you escape such a felicitous fate?"

The land baron's face clouded. "Through a stranger--a Frenchman--asilent, taciturn fellow--more or less an adventurer, I take it. Hecalled himself Saint-Prosper--"

"Saint-Prosper!"

The marquis gazed at Mauville with amazement and incredulity. He mighteven have flushed or turned pale, but such a possible exhibition ofemotion was lost beneath an artificial bloom, painted by his valet. His eyes, however, gleamed like candles in a death's head. 

"This Saint-Prosper you met was a soldier?" he asked, and his voicetrembled. "Ernest Saint-Prosper?"

"Yes; he was a soldier; served in Africa, I believe. You knew him?"Turning to the marquis in surprise. 

"Knew him! He was my ward, the rascal!" cried the other violently. "Hewas, but now--ingrate!--traitor!--better if he were dead!"

"You speak bitterly, Monsieur le Marquis?" said the patrooncuriously. 

"Bitterly!--after his conduct!--he is no longer anything to me! He isdead to me--dead!"

"How did he deviate from the line of duty?" asked Mauville, withincreasing interest, and an eagerness his light manner did notdisguise. "A sin of omission or commission?"

"Eh? What?" mumbled the old nobleman, staring at his questioner, and, on a sudden, becoming taciturn. "A family affair!" he added finally, with dignity. "Not worth repeating! But what was he doing there?"

"He had joined a strolling band of players, " said the other, concealing his disappointment as best he might at his companion'sevasive reply. 

"A Saint-Prosper become an actor!" shouted the marquis, his angeragain breaking forth. "Has he not already dragged an honored name inthe dust? A stroller! A player!" The marquis fairly gasped at theenormity of the offense; for a moment he was speechless, and thenasked feebly: "What caused him to take such a humiliating step?"

"He is playing the hero of a romance, " said the land baron, moodily. "I confess he has excellent taste, though! The figure of a Juno--eyeslike stars on an August night--features proud as Diana--the voice of asiren--in a word, picture to yourself your fairest conquest, Monsieurle Marquis, and you will have a worthy counterpart of this rose of thewilderness!"

"My fairest conquest!" piped the listener. With lack-luster eyes heremained motionless like a traveler in the desert who gazes upon amirage. "You have described her well. The features of Diana! It wasat a revival of Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' I first met her, dressed afterthe fashion of the Countess of Ossory. Who would not worship beforethe figures of Lely?"

He half closed his eyes, as though gazing in fancy upon the glossydraperies and rosy flesh of those voluptuous court beauties. 

"The wooing, begun in the wings, ended in an ivy-covered villa--aretired nook--solitary walks by day--nightingales and moonshine bynight. It was a pleasing romance while it lasted, but joy palls onone. Nature abhors sameness. The heart is like Mother Earth--evervarying. I wearied of this surfeit of Paradise and--left her!"

"A mere incident in an eventful life, " said his companion, thoughtfully. 

"Yes; only an incident!" repeated the marquis. "Only an incident! Ihad almost forgotten it, but your conversation about players and yourdescription of the actress brought it to mind. It had quite passedaway; it had quite passed away! But the cards, Monsieur Mauville; thecards!"

CHAPTER III

AT THE RACES

For several days, after rehearsals were over, the strollers werefree to amuse themselves as they pleased. Their engagement at thetheater did not begin for about a week, and meanwhile they managedto combine recreation with labor in nearly equal proportions. Assiduously they devoted themselves to a round of drives andrambles: through pastures and wood-land to Carrolton; along the shellroad to Lake Pontchartrain; to Biloxi, the first settlement of theFrench; and to the battle grounds, once known as the plains ofChalmette, where volunteer soldiers were now encamped, awaitingorders to go to the front in the Mexican campaign. For those whocraved greater excitement, the three race-courses--the Louisiana, the Metairie and the Carrolton offered stimulating diversion. 

Within sight of the Metairie were the old dueling grounds, underthe oaks, where, it is related, on one Sunday in '39 ten duelsoccurred; where the contestants frequently fought on horseback withsabers; and, where the cowherds, says a chronicler, became soaccustomed to seeing honor satisfied in this manner that they paidlittle attention to these meetings, pursuing their own humbleduties, indifferent to the follies of fashionable society. Thefencing schools flourished--what memories cluster around that odd, strange master of the blade, Spedella, a melancholy enigma of aman, whose art embodied much of the finest shading and phrasingpeculiar to himself; from whom even many of Bonaparte's discardedveterans were not above acquiring new technique and temperament!Men in those days were most punctilious about reputation, butpermitted a sufficiently wide latitude in its interpretation not tohamper themselves or seriously interfere with their desires orpleasures. Thus, virtue did not become a burden, nor honor amillstone. Both, like epaulets or tassels, were worn lightly andbefittingly. 

Shortly after the players' arrival began the celebrated Leduc matches, attracting noted men and women from all over the South. The hotelswere crowded, the lodging-houses filled, while many of the large homeshospitably opened their doors to visiting friends. The afternoonsfound the city almost deserted; the bartenders discontentedly smokedin solitude; the legion of waiters in the hotels and resorts becamereduced to a thinly scattered array; while even the street venders had"folded their tents" and silently stolen to the races. On one suchmemorable occasion most of the members of Barnes' company repaired tothe Metairie. 

Below the grand stand, brilliant with color, strutted the dandiesattending to their bets; above they played a winning or losing gamewith the fair sex. Intrigue and love-making were the order of thehour, and these daughters of the South beguiled time--and mortals!--ina heyday of pleasure. In that mixed gathering burly cotton plantersfrom the country rubbed elbows with aristocratic creoles, whose attirewas distinguishable by enormous ruffles and light boots of cloth. Theprofessional follower of these events, the importunate tout, alsomingled with the crowd, plainly in evidence by the pronouncedcharacter of his dress, the size of his diamond studs or cravat pin, and the massive dimensions of his finger rings. No paltry, scrubbytrack cadger was this resplendent gentleman, but a picturesque rogue, with impudence as pronounced as his jewels!

Surrounded by a bevy of admirers, Susan, sprightly and sparkling, was an example of that "frippery one of her sex is made up with, apasticcio of gauzes, pins and ribbons that go to compound thatmultifarious thing, a well-dressed woman. " Ever ready with aquick retort, she bestowed her favors generously, to the evidentdiscomfiture of a young officer in her retinue whom she had metseveral days before, and who, ever since, had coveted a fullharvest of smiles, liking not a little the first sample he hadgathered. However, it was not Susan's way to entrust herself fullyto any one; it was all very interesting to play one againstanother; to intercept angry gleams; to hold in check clashingsuitors--this was exciting and diverting--but she exercised carenot to transgress those bounds where she ceased to be mistress ofthe situation. Perhaps her limits in coquetry were further setthan most women would have ventured to place them, but withoutthis temerity and daring, the pastime would have lost its charm forher. She might play with edged tools, but she also knew how touse them. 

Near her was seated Kate, indolent as of yore, now watching her sisterwith an indulgent, enigmatic expression, anon permitting a scornfulglance to stray toward Adonis, who, for his part, had eyes only forhis companion, a distinct change from country hoidens, taverndemoiselles and dainty wenches, with their rough hands and rosycheeks. This lady's hands were like milk; her cheeks, ivory, andAdonis in bestowing his attentions upon her, had a two-fold purpose:to return tit for tat for Kate's flaunting ways, and to gratify hisown ever-fleeting fancy. 

In a box, half the length of the grand stand removed, some distanceback and to the left of Susan's gay party, Constance, Mrs. Adams andthe soldier were also observers of this scene of animation. 

Since the manager's successful flight from the landlord and theconstables, the relations of the young girl and Saint-Prosper hadundergone little change. At first, it is true, with the memory ofthe wild ride to the river fresh in her mind, and the more or lessdisturbing recollections of that strange, dark night, a certainreticence had marked her manner toward the soldier; but, as timewent by, this touch of reserve wore off, and was succeeded by herusual frankness or gaiety. In her eyes appeared, at times, a newthoughtfulness, but for no longer period than the quick passing ofa summer cloud over a sunny meadow. This half-light of briefconjecture or vague retrospection only mellowed the depths of hergaze, and Barnes alone noted and wondered. 

But to-day no partial shadows lay under the black, shading lashes; theexhilarating scene, the rapidly succeeding events, the turbulence andflutter around her, were calculated to dispel the most pronouncedabstraction. Beneath a protecting parasol--for the sunlight shot belowthe roof at the back and touched that part of the grand stand--a faintglow warmed her cheeks, while her eyes shone with the gladness of themoment. Many of the dandies, regarding her with marked persistency, asked who she was, and none knew, until finally Editor-Rhymster Strawswas appealed to. Straws, informed on all matters, was able to satisfyhis questioners. 

"She is an actress, " said Straws. "So we are told. We shall find outnext week. She is a beauty. We can tell that now. "

"You're right, Straws!" exclaimed a pitch-and-toss youngster. "If sheshows as well at the wire--"

"You'd take a long chance on her winning?" laughed the philosopher. 

"I'll play you odds on it!" cried the juvenile. "Four to one, damme!I'll risk that on her eyes. "

"Four to one on a lady's eyes, child! Say forty to one, and take thehazard of the die. "

Standing near the rhymster, story-writer and journalist, was a tallyoung man, dressed in creole fashion. He followed the glances ofStraws' questioners and a pallor overspread his dark complexion as helooked at the object of their attention. 

"The stroller!" he exclaimed half audibly. "Her counterpart doesn'texist. "

He stepped back where he could see her more plainly. In that sea offaces, her features alone shone before him, clearly, insistently. 

"Do you know her, Mr. Mauville?" asked the rhymster, observing thatsteadfast glance. 

"Know her?" repeated the land baron, starting. "Oh, I've seen heract. "

"Tip me off her points and I'll tip my readers. "

"She is going to play here then?" said the patroon. 

"Yes. What is she like? Does tragedy or comedy favor her most?You see, " he added apologetically, "when people begin to talkabout anybody, we Grubstreet hacks thrive on the gossip. It isdeplorable"--with regret--"but small talk and tattle bring morethan a choice lyric or sonnet. And, heaven help us!"--shaking hishead--"what a vendible article a fine scandal is! It sells fast, like goods at a Dutch auction. Penny a line? More nearly sixpence! If I could only bring myself to deal in such merchandise!If I were only a good rag picker, instead of a bad poet!" And Strawswalked away, forgetting the questions he had asked in his ownmore interesting cogitations. 

Without definite purpose, the patroon, who had listened with scantattention to the poet, began to move slowly toward the actress, and atthat moment, the eyes of the soldier, turning to the saddling paddock, where the horses were being led out, fell upon the figure drawingnear, recognizing in him the heir to the manor, Edward Mauville. Construing in his approach a deliberate intention, a flush of quickanger overspread Saint-Prosper's face and he glanced at the girl byhis side. But her manner assured him she had not observed the landbaron, for at that moment she was looking in the opposite direction, endeavoring to discover Barnes or the others of the company in theimmense throng. 

Murmuring some excuse to his unconscious companion and cutting shortthe wiry old lady's reminiscences of the first public trotting race in1818, the soldier left the box, and, moving with some difficultythrough the crowd, met Mauville in the aisle near the stairway. Thelatter's face expressed surprise, not altogether of an agreeablenature, at the encounter, but he immediately regained his composure. 

"Ah, Monsieur Saint-Prosper, " he observed easily, "I little thought tosee you here. "

"Nor I you!" said the other bluntly. 

The patroon gazed in seeming carelessness from the soldier to theyoung girl. Saint-Prosper's presence in New Orleans could be accountedfor; he had followed her from the Shadengo Valley across thecontinent; the drive begun at the country inn--he looking down fromthe dormer window to witness the start--had been a long one; verydifferent from his own brief flight, with its wretched end. Thesethoughts coursed rapidly through the land baron's brain; herappearance rekindled the ashes of the past; the fire in his breastflamed from his eyes, but otherwise he made no display of feeling. Heglanced out upon the many faces below them, bowing to one woman andsmiling at another. 

"Oh, I couldn't stand a winter in the North, " resumed the patroon, turning once more to the soldier. "Although the barn-burners promisedto make it warm for me!"

Offering no reply to this sally, Saint-Prosper's gaze continued torest coldly and expectantly upon the other. Goaded by that arbitraryregard, an implied barrier between him and the young girl, the landbaron sought to press forward; his glittering eyes met the other's;the glances they exchanged were like the thrust and parry of swords. Without wishing to address the actress--and thereby risk a publicrebuff--it was, nevertheless, impossible for the hot-bloodedSoutherner to submit to peremptory restraint. Who had made the soldierhis taskmaster? He read Saint-Prosper's purpose and was not slow toretaliate. 

"If I am not mistaken, yonder is our divinity of the lane, " said thepatroon softly. "Permit me. " And he strove to pass. 

The soldier did not move. 

"You are blocking my way, Monsieur, " continued the other, sharply. 

"Not if it lies the other way. "

"This way, or that way, how does it concern you?" retorted the landbaron. 

"If you seek further to annoy a lady whom you have already sufficientlywronged, it is any man's concern. "

"Especially if he has followed her across the country, " sneeredMauville. "Besides, since when have actresses become so chary of theirfavors?" In his anger the land baron threw out intimations he wouldhave challenged from other lips. "Has the stage then become a holyconvent?"

"You stamped yourself a scoundrel some time ago, " said the soldierslowly, as though weighing each word, "and now show yourself a cowardwhen you malign a young girl, without father, brother--"

"Or lover!" interrupted the land baron. "Perhaps, however, you wereonly traveling to see the country! A grand tour, enlivened withstudies of human nature, as well as glimpses of scenery!"

"Have you anything further with me?" interjected Saint-Prosper, curtly. 

The patroon's blood coursed, burning, through his veins; the other'scontemptuous manner stung him more fiercely than language. 

"Yes, " he said, meaningly, his eyes challenging Saint-Prosper's. "Haveyou been at Spedella's fencing rooms? Are you in practice?"

Saint-Prosper hesitated a moment and the land baron's face fell. Wasit possible the other would refuse to meet him? But he would not lethim off easily; there were ways to force--and suddenly the words ofthe marquis recurring to him, he surveyed the soldier, disdainfully. 

"Gad! you must come of a family of cowards and traitors! But you shallfight or--the public becomes arbiter!" And he half raised his armthreateningly. 

The soldier's tanned cheek was now as pale as a moment before it hadbeen flushed; his mouth set resolutely, as though fighting back someweakness. With lowering brows and darkening glance he regarded theland baron. 

"I was thinking, " he said at length, with an effort, "that if I killedyou, people would want to know the reason. "

The patroon laughed. "How solicitous you are for her welfare--andmine! Do you then measure skill only by inches? If so, I confess youwould stand a fair chance of despatching me. But your address? The St. Charles, I presume. " The soldier nodded curtly, and, havingaccomplished his purpose, Mauville had turned to leave, when loudvoices, in a front box near the right aisle, attracted generalattention from those occupying that part of the grand stand. The youngofficer who had accompanied Susan to the races was angrily confrontinga thick-set man, the latest recruit to her corps of willing captives. The lad had assumed the arduous task of guarding the object of hisfancy from all comers, simply because she had been kind. And whyshould she not have been?--he was only a boy--she was old enough tobe--well, an adviser! When, after a brief but pointed altercation, heflung himself away with a last reproachful look in the direction ofhis enslaver, Susan looked hurt. That was her reward for being nice toa child!

"A fractious young cub!" said the thick-set man, complacently. 

"Well, I like cubs better than bears!" retorted Susan, pointedly. 

Not long, however, could the interest of the spectators be divertedfrom the amusement of the day and soon all eyes were drawn once moreto the track where the horses' hoofs resounded with exciting patter, as they struggled toward the wire, urged by the stimulating voices ofthe jockeys. 

But even when Leduc won the race, beating the best heat on record;when the ladies in the grand stand arose in a body, like a thousandbutterflies, disturbed by a sudden footfall in a sunlit field; whenthe jockey became the hero of the hour; when the small boys outsidenearly fell from the trees in their exuberance of ecstasy, and the menthrew their hats in the air and shouted themselves hoarse--even theseexhilarating circumstances failed to reawaken the land baron's concernin the scene around him. His efforts at indifference were chafing hisinmost being; the cloak of _insouciance_ was stifling him; theprimeval man was struggling for expression, that brute-like rage whoseonly limits are its own fury and violence. 

A quavering voice, near at hand, recalled him to himself, and turning, he beheld the marquis approaching with mincing manner, the paint andpigments cracked by the artificial smiles wreathing his wrinkled face. In that vast assemblage, amid all the energy, youth and surfeit ofvitality, he seemed like a dried and crackling leaf, tossedhelplessly, which any foot might crush to dust. The roar of themultitude subsided, a storm dying in the distance; the ladies sank intheir seats--butterflies settling once more in the fields--and Leduc, with drooping head, was led to the paddock, followed by a few fairadorers. 

"I placed the winner, Monsieur Mauville, " piped the marquis. "Thoughthe doctors told me the excitement would kill me! What folly! Everynew sensation adds a day to life. "

"In your case, certainly, Marquis, for I never saw you lookingyounger, " answered the land baron, with an effort. 

"You are too amiable, my dear friend! The ladies would not think so, "he added, mournfully wagging his head with anile melancholy. 

"Nonsense!" protested the other. "With your spirit, animation--"

"If I thought you were right, " interrupted the delighted marquis, taking his young friend's arm, "I would ask you to present me to thelady over there--the one you just bowed to. "

"The deuce!" said Mauville to himself. "The marquis is becoming abore. "

"You rascal! I saw the smile she gave you, " continued the otherplayfully. "And you ran away from her. What are the young men made ofnowadays? In the old days they were tinder; women sparks. But who isshe?"

"You mean Susan Duran, the actress?"

"An actress!" exclaimed the nobleman. "A charming creature at anyrate!"

"All froth; a bubble!" added Mauville impatiently. 

"How entertaining! Any lovers?" leered the nobleman. 

"A dozen; a baker's dozen, for all I know!"

"What is her history?" said the marquis eagerly. 

"I never inquired. "

"Sometimes it's just as well, " murmured the other vaguely. "How old isshe?"

"How can you tell?" answered Mauville. 

"In Paris I kept a little book wherein was entered the _passe-parole_of every pretty woman; age; lovers platonic! When a woman became agrandmother, I put a black mark against her name, for I have alwaysheld, " continued the nobleman, wagging his head, "that a woman who isa grandmother has no business to deceive a younger generation of men. But present me to Miss Susan at once, my dear friend. I am allimpatience to meet her. "

His eagerness permitted no refusal; besides, Mauville was not in themood to enjoy the nobleman's society, and was but too pleased to turnhim over to the tender care of Susan. 

"How do you do, Miss Duran, " he said, having made his way to her box. 

"Where did you drop from?" she asked, in surprise, giving him herhand. 

"The skies, " he returned, with forced lightness. 

"A fallen angel!" commented Susan. 

"Good! Charming!" cried the marquis, clapping his withered hands. 

"Miss Duran, the Marquis de Ligne has requested the pleasure ofmeeting you. "

She flashed a smile at him. He bent over her hand; held it a moment inhis icy grasp. 

"The pleasure, " said Susan, prettily, not shirking the ordeal, "ismine. "

"In which case, " added Mauville, half ironically, "I will leave youtogether to enjoy your happiness. "

Eagerly availing himself of the place offered at her side, soon themarquis was cackling after the manner of a senile beau of the oldschool; relating spicy anecdotes of dames who had long departed thisrealm of scandal; and mingling witticism and wickedness in onecontinual flow, until like a panorama another age was revived in hiswords--an age when bedizened women wore patches and their perfumedgallants wrote verses on the demise of their lap-dogs; when "theirvirtue resembled a statesman's religion, the Quaker's word, thegamester's oath and the great man's honor--but to cheat those thattrusted them!"

The day's events, however, were soon over; the city of pleasurefinally capitulated; its people began rapidly to depart. That suddenmovement resembled the migration of a swarm of bees to form a newcolony, when, if the day be bright, the expedition issues forth withwondrous rapidity. So this human hive commenced to empty itself ofqueens, drones and workers. It was an outgoing wave of such life andanimation as is apparent in the flight of a swarm of cell-dwellers, giving out a loud and sharp-toned hum from the action of their wingsas they soar over the blooming heather and the "bright consummateflowers. " And these human bees had their passions, too! theirmassacres; their tragedies; their "Rival Queens"; their combats; theirsentinels; their dreams of that Utopian form of government realized inthe communistic society of insects. 

"How did you enjoy it, my dear?" asked Barnes, suddenly reappearing atConstance's box. "A grand heat, that! Though I did bet on the wronghorse! But don't wait for us, Saint-Prosper. Mrs. Adams and I willtake our time getting through the crowd. I will see you at the hotel, my dear!" he added, as the soldier and Constance moved away. 

Only the merry home-going remained, and the culmination, a dinner atMoreau's, Victor's, or Miguel's, the natural epilogue to the day'spastime, the tag to the comedy! In the returning throng were creoleswith sky-blue costumes and palmetto hats; the Lafourche or Attakapasplanter; representatives of the older régime and the varied newerpopulace. Superb equipages mingled in democratic confusion with cartsand wagons; the broken-winded nag and spavined crowbait--veterans atthe bugle call!--pricked up their ears and kicked up their heels likecolts in pasture, while the delighted darkies thumped their bonyshanks to encourage this brief rejuvenescence. 

Those who had lost felt the money well spent; those who had won wouldbe the more lavish in the spending. They had simply won a few morepleasures. "Quick come; quick go!" sang the whirling wheels. "Theniggard in pound and pence is a usurer in happiness; a miser driving ahard bargain with pleasure. Better burn the candle at both ends thannot burn it at all! In one case, you get light; in the other nothingbut darkness. Laughter is cheap at any price. A castle in the air isalmost as durable as Solomon's temple. How soon--how soon both fadeaway!"

Thus ran the song of the wheels before them and behind them, as thesoldier and Constance joined the desultory fag-end of the procession. On either side of the road waved the mournful cypress, draped by thehoary tillandsia, and from the somber depths of foliage came the chirpof the tree-crickets and the note of the swamp owl. Faint music, inmeasured rhythm, a foil to disconnected wood-sound, was wafted from adistant plantation. 

"Wait!" said Constance. 

He drew in the horses and silently they listened. Or, was helistening? His glance seemed bent so moodily--almost!--on space sheconcluded he was not. She stole a sidelong look at him. 

"A penny for your thoughts!" she said gaily. 

He started. "I was thinking how soon I might leave New Orleans. "

"Leave New Orleans!" she repeated in surprise. "But I thought youintended staying here. Why have you changed your mind?"

Did he detect a subtle accent of regret in her voice? A deep flushmounted to his brow. He bent over her suddenly, eagerly. 

"Would it matter--if I went?"

She drew back at the abruptness of his words. 

"How unfair to answer one question with another!" she said lightly. 

A pause fell between them. Perhaps she, too, felt the sudden repulseof her own answer and the ensuing constraint. Perhaps some compunctionmoved her to add in a voice not entirely steady:

"And so you think--of going back to France?"

"To France!" he repeated, quickly. "No"--and stopped. 

Looking up, a half-questioning light in her eyes took flight to his, until suddenly arrested by the hard, set expression of his features. Abruptly chilled by she knew not what, her lashes fell. The horseschamped their bits and tugged at the reins, impatient of the prolongedpause. 

"Let us go!" she said in a low, constrained voice. 

At her words he turned, the harshness dropping from his face like adiscarded mask; the lines of determination wavering. 

"Let us go!" she said again, without looking up. 

He made no motion to obey, until the sound of a vehicle behind themseemed to break the spell and mechanically he touched the horses withthe whip. 

CHAPTER IV

LEAR AND JULIET

Susan dismissed her admirers at the races with some difficulty, especially the tenacious marquis, who tenderly squeezed her hand, saying:

"Were I twenty years younger, I would not thus be set aside. "

"Fie, Marquis!" she returned. "These other people are dull, while youare charmingly wicked. "

"You flatter me, " he cackled, detaining her, to the impatience of thethick-set man who was waiting to escort the young woman back to town. "But do you notice the gentleman over there with the medals?"

"The distinguished-looking man?" asked Susan. 

"Yes; that is the Count de Propriac. It was he who was one of theagents of Louis Philippe in the Spanish double marriage plot. It wasarranged the queen should marry her cousin, and her sister the son ofLouis Philippe. The queen and her cousin were not expected to havechildren--but had them, to spite us all, and Louis Philippe's projectsfor the throne of Spain failed disastrously. "

"How inconsiderate of the queen! Good afternoon, marquis! I have beenvastly entertained. "

"And I"--kissing her hand--"enamored!" Then, chuckling: "A week ago mystupid doctors had me laid out in funereal dignity, and now I ammaking love to a fine woman. Pretty pouting lips!"--tapping her chinplayfully--"Like rose-buds! Happy the lover who shall gather the dew!But we meet again, Mistress Susan?"

"That will depend upon you, marquis, " answered Susan, coquettishly, asa thought flashed through her mind that it would not be unpleasant tobe called "Marquise, " or "Marchioness"--she did not quite know whichwould be the proper title. It was nearly vesper-time with the oldnobleman; he seemed but a procrastinating presence in the evening ofmortal life; a chateau and carriage--

"Then we will meet again, " said the marquis, interrupting thesenew-born ambitions. 

"In that case you would soon get tired of me, " laughed Susan. 

"Never!" Tenderly. "When may I see you?"

"How importunate you are! Call when you will. "

"But if you are out"--he insisted. 

"That will make it the more delightfully uncertain, " she said gaily. 

"So it will!" Rubbing his hands. "Delightfully uncertain!" herepeated. And he departed with many protestations, taking no morenotice of the thick-set man than if he were a block of wood. 

"What an old ape!" growled the latter, viciously, as the marquisambled from their stall. 

"Do you think so?" answered Susan, tossing her head. "He has that airof distinction which only persons of rank and title can command. "

"Distinction!" said the other, who was but a well-to-do merchant. "Ishould call it bad manners. "

"Because he never noticed you!" laughed Susan, spitefully. "But whyare we standing here? I believe you expect to take me home, don'tyou?"

Although she chattered like a magpie on the road, he was silent andsullen, nursing his injured pride and wounded self-sufficiency. Susan, who was interested in him for the novel reason she disliked him soheartily, parted from him with the air of a duchess, and entered thehotel, holding her head so high that he swore under his breath as hedrove away. And, as a result of the quarrel with the lad, he wouldprobably have to risk being "pinked" for this jade! Susan, on theother hand, was as happy as a lark when she entered the dining-room ofthe St. Charles, that great eating-place and meeting-place of allclasses of people. 

As she seated herself at a table, a smile lurked around the corners ofher mouth and flickered faintly upon the waiter who forthwith became aMercury for expedition and a prodigal for variety. Her quarrel on theroad with her companion had in nowise interfered with that appetitewhich the fresh air and the lateness of the hour had provoked, norwere her thoughts of a character to deter from the zest of eating. 

From the present to the past was but an instant's flight of themind--thus may the once august years swiftly and unceremoniously bemarshaled by!--and she dwelt in not unpleasing retrospection on anendless field of investigation and discovery and the variousexperiences which had befallen her in arriving at the present periodof mature knowledge; a proficiency which converted her chosenresearches into an exact science. 

Thus meditating and dining--counting on her fingers twice overthe fair actresses who had become titled ladies, and enviouslydisbelieving she would join that triumphant company--Susan wasstill seated at the table some time later when the soldier glancedin. Imperatively she motioned him to her side and he obeyed withnot entirely concealed reluctance, and was so preoccupied, sherallied him upon his reserve. 

"I believe you and Constance had a quarrel on the road. " Maliciously. "I hope you were more amiable than my companion. He hardly spoke aword, and, when I left him"--her voice sank to a whisper--"I heard himswear. "

"He pleased you so much earlier in the day that a duel will probablybe the outcome. "

Susan laughed gaily. 

"A duel! Then my fortune is made. All the newspapers will containparagraphs. It is too good to be true. " And she clapped her hands. "When is it to take place? Tell me about it!"

Then noting his manner, she continued with an assumption ofplaintiveness: "Now you are cross with me! You think me heartless. Isit my fault? I care nothing for either of them and I am not to beblamed if they are so foolish. It might be different if either hadtouched my heart. " And she assumed a coquettish demeanor, whileSaint-Prosper coolly studied her through the wreaths of smoke from hisweed. 

"You are wondering what sort of a person I am!" she continued, merrily, raising her glass of wine with: "To unrequited passion!"

Her roguish face sparkled as he asked; "Whose?"

She drained the glass and set it down demurely. "Mine!"

The cigar was suspended; the veil cleared between them. 

"For whom?" he said. 

"You!" Offering him the limpid depths of her blue eyes. "Is my likingreturned?"

"Liking? Perhaps!"

"My love?"

"Love? No. " Coldly. 

"You do not fear a woman scorned?" Her lips curved in a smile, displaying her faultless teeth. 

"Not when the avenging angel is so charming and so heartless!" headded satirically. 

Her lashes veiled the azure orbs. 

"You think to disarm her with a compliment? How well you understandwomen!" And, as he rose, the pressure of the hand she gave him atparting was lingering. 

 * * * * *

Above in his room, Barnes, with plays and manuscripts scattered aroundhim, was engaged in writing in his note and date book, whereinautobiography, ledger and journal accounts, and such miscellaneousmatter mingled indiscriminately. "To-day she said to me: 'I am goingto the races with Mr. Saint-Prosper. ' What did I say? 'Yes, ' ofcourse. What can there be in common between Lear and Juliet?Naturally, she sometimes turns from an old fellow like me--now, if shewere only a slip of a girl again--with her short frock--her disorderof long ringlets--running and romping--

"A thousand details pass through my mind, reminiscences of hergirlhood, lightening a lonesome life like glimmerings of sunshine in asecluded wood; memories of her mother and the old days when she playedin my New York theater--for Barnes, the stroller, was once ametropolitan manager! Her fame had preceded her and every admirer ofhistrionic art eagerly awaited her arrival. 

"But the temple of art is a lottery. The town that had welcomed her sowildly now went Elssler-mad. The gossamer floatings of this French_danseuse_ possessed everyone. People courted trash and trumpery. Greatness gave way to triviality. This pitiful condition preyed uponher. The flame of genius never for a moment became less dim, but hereyes grew larger, brighter, more melancholy. Sometimes she would fallinto a painful reverie and I knew too well the subject of herthoughts. With tender solicitude she would regard her daughter, thinking, thinking! She was her only hope, her only joy!

"'The town wants dancers, not tragedians, Mr. Barnes, ' she said sadlyone day. 

"'Nonsense, ' I replied. 'The town wants a change of bill. We will puton a new piece next week. '

"'It will be but substituting one tragedy for another, ' she retorted. 'One misfortune for a different one! You should import a rival dancer. You are going down; down hill! I will leave you; perhaps you willdiscover your dancer, and your fortune is made!'

"'And you? What would you do?' I demanded. 'And your child?'

"At this her eyes filled and she could not answer. 'And now, Madam, ' Isaid firmly, 'I refuse once and for all to permit you to break yourcontract. Pooh! The tide will change. Men and women are sometimesfools; but they are not fools all the time. The dancer will have hadher day. She will twirl her toes to the empty seats and throw herkisses into unresponsive space. Our patrons will gradually return;they will grow tired of wriggling and twisting, and look again for amore substantial diet. '

"Matters did, indeed, begin to mend somewhat, when to bring the wholefabric tumbling down on our heads, this incomparable woman fell ill. 

"'You see? I have ruined you, ' she said sadly. 

"'I am honored, Madam, ' was all I could reply. 

"She placed her hand softly on mine and let her luminous eyes rest onme. 

"'Dear old friend!' she murmured. 

"Then she closed her eyes and I thought she was sleeping. Some timeelapsed when she again opened them. 

"'Death will break our contract, Mr. Barnes, ' she said softly. 

"I suppose my hand trembled, for she tightened her grasp and continuedfirmly: 'It is not so terrible, after all, or would not be, but forone thing. '

"'You will soon get well, Madam, ' I managed to stammer. 

"'No! Do you care? It is pleasant to have one true, kind friend in theworld; one who makes a woman believe again in the nobility of humannature. My life has been sad as you know. I should not regret givingit up. Nor should I fear to die. I can not think that God will beunkind to one who has done her best; at least, has tried to. Yet thereis one thing that makes me crave for life. My child--what will shedo--poor, motherless, fatherless girl--all alone, all alone--. 

"'Madam, if I may--will you permit me to care for her? If I mightregard her as my child!'

"How tightly she held my hand at that! Her eyes seemed to blazewith heavenly fire. But let me not dwell further upon the sadevents that led to the end of her noble career. Something of her lifeI had heard; something, I surmised. Unhappy as a woman, she wasmajestic as an actress; the fire of her voice struck every ear; itssweetness had a charm, never to be forgotten. But only to those whoknew her well were revealed the unvarying truth and simplicity of hernature. Even as I write, her spirit, tender and steadfast, seemsstanding by my side; I feel her eyes in the darkness of night, and, when the time comes--and often of late, it has seemed not far--to gofrom this mere dressing-room, the earth, into the higher life--"

A knock at the door rudely dispelled these memories. For a moment themanager looked startled, as one abruptly called back to his immediatesurroundings; then the pen fell from his hand, and he pushed the bookfrom him to the center of the table. 

"Come in, " he said. 

The door opened and Saint-Prosper entered. 

"Am I interrupting you?" asked the soldier, glancing at the litteredtable. 

"Not at all, " answered the manager, recovering himself, and settlingback in his chair. "Make yourself at home. You'll find some cigars onthe mantel, or if you prefer your pipe, there's a jar of tobacco onthe trunk. Do you find it? I haven't had time yet to bring order outof chaos. A manager's trunks are like a junk-shop, with everythingfrom a needle to an anchor. "

Filling his pipe from the receptacle indicated, which lay among oldcostumes and wigs, the soldier seated himself near an open window thatlooked out upon a balcony. Through a door at the far end of thebalcony a light streamed from a chandelier within, playing upon thebalustrade. Once the figure of the young actress stepped for a momentout upon the balcony; she leaned upon the balustrade, looked acrossthe city, breathed the perfume of the flowers, and then quicklyvanished. 

"Can you spare me a little time to-morrow morning--early--beforerehearsal?" said Saint-Prosper, finally. 

"Yes, " returned the manager, in surprise. "What is it?"

"A foolish piece of business! The patroon is in New Orleans. "

Barnes uttered an exclamation of annoyance and apprehension. "Here!What is he doing here?" he said. "I thought we had seen the last ofhim. Has he followed--Constance?"

"I don't know. We met yesterday at the races. "

"It is strange she did not tell me about it, " remarked the manager, without endeavoring to conceal the anxiety this unexpected informationafforded him. 

"She does not know he is here. " And Saint-Prosper briefly related thecircumstances of his meeting with the land baron, to which the managerlistened attentively. 

"And so she must be dragged into it?" exclaimed Barnes at length, resentfully. "Her name must become public property in a broil?"

A frown darkened the soldier's face, but he replied quickly: "Need anyone know? The land baron has not been seen with her. "

"No; but you have, " returned the manager, suddenly pausing and lookingdown at the other. 

The silence between them lasted for some moments. Barnes stood withhis hands in his pockets, his face downcast and moody. He felt thatevents were happening over which he had no control, but which wereshaping the destiny of all he loved best. In the dim light the ruggedlines of his countenance were strongly, decisively outlined. Turningto the trunk, with a quick, nervous step, he filled a pipe himself. After he had lighted it, he once more contemplated the soldier, thinking deeply, reviewing the past. 

"We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint-Prosper, " he said, atlength. "We have gone through fair and rough weather, and"--he pauseda moment before continuing--"should understand each other. You askedme when you came in if you were interrupting me, and I told you thatyou were not. As a matter of fact, you were. "

And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the notebook. 

"A garrulous, single man must tell his little secrets somewhere, " hecontinued. "Will you look at the pages I was writing when you camein?"

Saint-Prosper took the book, and, while he was turning the leaves thatwere hardly dry, the manager relighted his pipe, over which he glancednervously from time to time at his companion. Finally, when thesoldier had finished the perusal of the diary, Barnes turned to himexpectantly, but the other silently laid down the little volume, and, after waiting some moments for him to speak, the manager, as thoughdisappointed by his reticence, breathed a sigh. Then, clearing histhroat, in a voice somewhat husky, he went on, simply:

"You will understand now why she is so much to me. I have alwayswanted to keep her from the world as much as possible; to have herworld, her art! I have tried to keep the shadow of the past from her. An actress has a pretty face; and there's a hue and cry! It is notnotoriety she seeks, but fame; fame, bright and pure as sunlight!"

"The land baron will not cry abroad the cause of the meeting, " saidthe soldier, gravely. "These fashionable affairs need but flimsypretexts. "

"Flimsy pretexts!" cried Barnes. "A woman's reputation--her goodname--"

"Hush!" said Saint-Prosper. 

From the door at the far end of the balcony Constance had againemerged and now approached their room. A flowing gown of an earlyperiod surrounded her like a cloud as she paused before Barnes'apartment. At the throat a deep-falling collar was closely fastened;the sleeves were gathered in at elbow and wrist, and from a"coverchief, " set upon the dusky hair, fell a long veil of ampleproportions. With the light shimmering on the folds of her raiment, she stood looking through the open door, regarding the manager andSaint-Prosper. 

"Oh, you are not alone?" she said to the former. "You look as thoughyou were talking together very seriously?" she added, turning toSaint-Prosper. 

"Nothing of consequence, Miss Carew!" he replied, flushing beneath herclear eyes. 

"Only about some scenery!" interposed the manager, so hastily that sheglanced, slightly surprised, from the one to the other. "Some setsthat are--"

"'Flimsy pretexts!' I caught that much! I only wanted to ask you aboutthis costume. Is it appropriate, do you think, for the part we weretalking about?" Turning around slowly, with arms half-raised. 

"Charming, my dear; charming!" he answered, enthusiastically. 

"If I only thought that an unbiased criticism!" Her dark lasheslowered; she looked toward the soldier, half shyly, half mockingly. "What do you think, Mr. Saint-Prosper?"

At that moment her girlish grace was irresistible. 

"I think it is not only appropriate, but"--looking at her and not atthe costume--"beautiful!"

A gleam like laughter came into her eyes; nor did she shun hiskindling gaze. 

"Thank you!" she said, and courtesied low. 

 * * * * *

That same evening Spedella's fencing rooms were fairly thronged withdevotees of the ancient art of puncturing. The master of the place wasa tall Italian, lank and lean, all bone and muscle, with a Don Quixotevisage, barring a certain villainous expression of the eyes, irreconcilable with the chivalrous knight-errant of distressedDulcineas. But every man with a bad eye is not necessarily arascallion, and Spedella, perhaps, was better than he looked. With amost melancholy glance he was now watching two combatants, novices infeats of arms. Dejection sat upon his brow; he yawned over a clumsy_feinte seconde_, when his sinister eyes fell on a figure that hadjust entered the hall. Immediately his melancholy vanished, and headvanced to meet the newcomer with stately cordiality. 

"Well met, Mr. Mauville, " he exclaimed, extending a bony hand that hadfingers like the grip of death. "What good fortune brought you here?"

"An ill wind, Spedella, rather!"

"It's like a breath of the old days to see you; the old days beforeyou began your wanderings!"

"Get the foils, Spedella; I'll have a bout with the master. Gad, you're as ill-looking as ever! It's some time since I've touched afoil. I want to test myself. I have a little affair to-morrow. Harkyou, my old brigand; I wish to see if I can kill him!"

"A lad of spirit!" chuckled the master, a gleam of interest illumininghis cavernous eyes. "Young!--frisky!--an affair of honor to-day is butnursery sport. Two children with tin swords are more diverting. Theworld goes backward! A counter-jumper thinks he can lunge, because heis spry, that he can touch a button because he sells them. And I amwasting my genius with ribbon-venders--"

"I see the wolf growls as much as ever!" said the patroon. "Here's aquiet corner. Come; tell me what I've forgotten. "

"Good!" returned the other. "You can tell me about your travels as wefence. "

"Hang my travels!" replied the patroon, as they leisurely engaged. "They've brought me nothing but regrets. "

"_Feinte flanconnade_--well done!" murmured Spedella. "So it was nothoney you brought home from your rambles? _Feinte seconde_ anddecisive tierce! It's long since I've touched a good blade. Theseglove-sellers and perfume-dealers--"

"You are bitter against trade, my bravo, " remarked the land baron. 

"I was spoiling with languor when you came. Not bad, that feint--butdangerous, because of the possibility of misjudging the attack. Learnthe paroles he affects to-morrow by quick, simple thrusts, and thenyou will know what feints to attack him with. Time in octave--youquitted the blade in a dangerous position. Cluck; cluck, my game cock!Intemperance has befogged your judgment; high-living has dimmedyour--"

"You have it!" laughed the land baron. 

The button of his foil touched the old bravo's breast; the steel wasbent like a bow. 

Spedella forgot his English and swore in soft and liquid Italian. "Ilooked around to see how those ribbon-venders were getting on, " hesaid after this euphonious, foreign prelude. "They pay me; I have tokeep an eye on them. All the same, " he added, generously, "there isn'tanother man in New Orleans could have stopped that stroke--exceptmyself!"

"Will I do--for to-morrow?" asked the patroon, moodily. 

The master cocked his head quizzically; his deep-set eyes were softand friendly. 

"The devil's with him, if you don't put your spur in him, my bantam!"

CHAPTER V

THE MEETING BENEATH THE OAKS

The mist was lifting from the earth and nature lay wrapped in the rosypeace of daybreak as the sun's shafts of gold pierced the foliage, illumining the historic ground of the Oaks. Like shining lances, theygleamed from the interstices in the leafy roof to the dew-bejeweledsward. From this stronghold of glistening arms, however, thesurrounding country stretched tranquil and serene. Upon a neighboringbank sheep were browsing; in the distance cow-bells tinkled, and thedrowsy cowherds followed the cattle, faithful as the shepherds whotended their flocks on the Judean hills. 

Beneath the spreading trees were assembled a group of personsvariously disposed. A little dapper man was bending over a case ofinstruments, as merry a soul as ever adjusted a ligature or sewed awound. Be-ribboned and be-medaled, the Count de Propriac, acting forthe land baron, and Barnes, who had accompanied the soldier, wereconsulting over the weapons, a magnificent pair of rapiers with costlysteel guards, set with initials and a coronet. Member of an ancientsociety of France which yet sought to perpetuate the memory of the oldjudicial combat and the more modern duel, the count was one of thosepersons who think they are in honor bound to bear a challenge, withoutquestioning the cause, or asking the "color of a reason. "

"A superb pair of weapons, count!" observed the doctor, rising. 

"Yes, " said the person addressed, holding the blade so that thesunlight ran along the steel; "the same Jacques Legres and I foughtwith!"

Here the count smiled in a melancholy manner, which left no doubtregarding the fate of the hapless Jacques. But after a moment hesupplemented this indubitable assurance by adding specifically:

"The left artery of the left lung!"

"Bless my soul!" commented the medical man. "But what is this head ingold beneath the guard?"

"Saint Michael, the patron saint of duelists!" answered the count. 

"Patron!" exclaimed the doctor. "Well, all I have to say is, it is asaintless business for Michael. "

The count laughed and turned away with a business-like air. 

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

At his words the contestants immediately took their positions. Theland baron, lithe and supple, presented a picture of insolent andconscious pride, his glance lighted by disdain, but smoldering withfiercer passions as he examined and tested his blade. 

"Engage!" exclaimed the count. 

With ill-concealed eagerness, Mauville began a vigorous, althoughguarded attack, as if asserting his supremacy, and at the same timetesting his man. The buzzing switch of the steel became angrier; theweapons glinted and gleamed, intertwining silently and separating witha swish. The patroon's features glowed; his movements became quicker, and, executing a rapid parry, he lunged with a thrust so stealthy hisblade was beaten down only as it touched the soldier's breast. 

Mauville smiled, but Barnes groaned inwardly, feeling his courage andconfidence fast oozing from him. Neither he nor the other spectatorsdoubted the result. Strength would count but little against suchagility; the land baron was an incomparable swordsman. 

"Gad!" muttered the count to himself. "It promises to be short andsweet. "

As if to demonstrate the verity of this assertion, Mauville suddenlyfollowed his momentary advantage with a dangerous lunge from below. Involuntarily Barnes looked away, but his wandering attention wasimmediately recalled. From the lips of the land baron burst anexclamation of mingled pain and anger. Saint-Prosper had not onlyparried the thrust, but his own blade, by a rapid _riposte_, hadgrazed the shoulder of his foe. 

Nor was the manager's surprise greater than that of the count. Thelatter, amazed this unusual strategem should have failed when directedby a wrist as trained and an eye as quick as Mauville's, nowinterposed. 

"Enough!" he exclaimed, separating the contestants. "Demme! it wassuperb. Honor has been satisfied. "

"It is nothing!" cried the land baron, fiercely. "His blade hardlytouched me. " In his exasperation and disappointment over his failure, Mauville was scarcely conscious of his wound. "I tell you it isnothing, " he repeated. 

"What do you say, Mr. Saint-Prosper?" asked the count. 

"I am satisfied, " returned the young man, coldly. 

"But I'm not!" reiterated the patroon, restraining himself withdifficulty. "It was understood we should continue until _both_ werewilling to stop!"

"No, " interrupted the count, suavely; "it was understood you shouldcontinue, if both were willing!"

"And you're not!" exclaimed the land baron, wheeling on Saint-Prosper. "Did you leave the army because--"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen! let us observe the proprieties!" expostulatedthe count. "Is it your intention, sir"--to Saint-Prosper--"not togrant my principal's request?"

A fierce new anger gleamed from the soldier's eyes, completelytransforming his expression and bearing. His glance quickly swept fromthe count to Mauville at the studied insult of the latter's words; onhis cheek burned a dark red spot. 

"Let it go on!"

The count stepped nimbly from his position between the two men. Againthe swords crossed. The count's glance bent itself more closely on thefigure of the soldier; noting now how superbly poised was his body;what reserves of strength were suggested by the white, muscular arm!His wrist moved like a machine, lightly brushing aside the thrusts. Had it been but accident that Mauville's unlooked-for expedient hadfailed?

"The devil!" thought the count, watching the soldier. "Here is afellow who has deceived us all. "

But the land baron's zest only appeared to grow in proportion to theresistance he encountered; the lust for fighting increased with themusic of the blades. For some moments he feinted and lunged, seekingan opening, however slight. Again he appeared bent upon forcing aquick conclusion, for suddenly with a rush he sought to break overSaint-Prosper's guard, and succeeded in wounding the other slightly inthe forehead. Now sure of his man, Mauville sprang at him savagely. 

But dashing the blood from his eyes with his free hand, and withoutgiving way, Saint-Prosper met the assault with a wrist of iron, andthe land baron failed to profit by what had seemed a certainadvantage. The wound had the effect of making the soldier morecautious, and eye, foot and hand were equally true. Mauville wasbreathing heavily from his exertions, but the appearance of both men, the supple movements of the one contrasting with the perfect precisionof the other, would have delighted those members of the count'ssociety, who regarded these matches as leading to a renaissance ofchivalry. 

In his fury that his chance had slipped away, after wounding, and, ashe supposed, blinding his opponent, Mauville, throwing prudence to thewinds, recklessly attempted to repeat his rash expedient, and thistime the steel of his antagonist gleamed like quicksilver, passingbeneath his arm and inflicting a slight flesh wound. Somethingresembling a look of apprehension crossed the land baron's face. "Ihave underestimated him!" he thought. "The next stroke will be drivennearer home. "

He felt no fear, however; only mute, helpless rage. In the soldier'shand the dainty weapon was a thing of marvelous cunning; his vastlysuperior strength made him practically tireless in this play. Not onlytireless; he suddenly accelerated the tempo of the exercise, butbehind this unexpected, even passionate, awakening, the spectatorsfelt an unvarying accuracy, a steely coldness of purpose. The bladesclicked faster; they met and parted more viciously; the hard light inSaint-Prosper's eyes grew brighter as he slowly thrust back hisantagonist. 

Mauville became aware his own vigor was slowly failing him; instead ofpressing the other he was now obliged to defend himself. He strove tothrow off the lethargy irresistibly stealing over him; to shake theleaden movements from his limbs. He vainly endeavored to penetrate themist falling before his eyes and to overcome the dizziness that madehis foeman seem like a figure in a dream. Was it through loss ofblood, or weariness, or both?--but he was cognizant his thrusts hadlost force, his plunges vitality, and that even an element of chanceprevailed in his parries. But he uttered no sound. When would thatmist become dark, and the golden day fuse into inky night?

Before the mist totally eclipsed his sight he determined to make onemore supreme effort, and again sprang forward, but was driven backwith ease. The knowledge that he was continuing a futile strugglesmote him to the soul. Gladly would he have welcomed the fatal thrust, if first he could have sent his blade through that breast which so farhad been impervious to his efforts. Now the scene went round andround; the golden day became crimson, scarlet; then gray, leaden, somber. Incautiously he bent his arm to counter an imaginary lunge, and his antagonist thrust out his rapier like a thing of life, transfixing Mauville's sword arm. He stood his ground bravely for amoment, playing feebly into space, expecting the fatal stroke! Whenwould it come? Then the slate-colored hues were swallowed in a blackcloud. But while his mind passed into unconsciousness, his breast wasopenly presented to his antagonist, and even the count shuddered. 

With his blade at guard, Saint-Prosper remained motionless; the landbaron staggered feebly and then sank softly to the earth. That fatallook, the expression of a duelist, vanished from the soldier's face, and, allowing the point of his weapon to drop to the ground, hesurveyed his prostrate antagonist. 

"Done like a gentleman!" cried the count, breathing more freely. "Youhad him at your mercy, sir"--to Saint-Prosper--"and spared him. "

A cold glance was the soldier's only response, as without a word heturned brusquely away. Meanwhile the doctor, hastening to Mauville'sside, opened his shirt. 

"He is badly hurt?" asked Barnes, anxiously, of the surgeon. 

"No; only fainted from loss of blood, " replied that gentleman, cheerfully. "He will be around again in a day or two. "

The count put away his blades as carefully as a mother would deposither babe in the cradle. 

"Another page of history, my chicks!" he observed. "Worthy of the songof Pindar!"

"Why not Straws or Phazma?" queried the surgeon, looking up from histask. 

"Would you have the press take up the affair? There are already peoplewho talk of abolishing dueling. When they do they will abolishreputation with it. And what's a gentleman got but his honor--demme!"And the royal emissary carefully brushed a crimson stain from thebespattered saint. 

By this time the land baron had regained consciousness, and, hiswounds temporarily bandaged, walked, with the assistance of the count, to his carriage. As they were about to drive away the sound of avehicle was heard drawing near, and soon it appeared followed byanother equipage. Both stopped at the confines of the Oaks and thefriends of the thick-set man--Susan's admirer--and the young lad, onwhom she had smiled, alighted. 

"Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, who had accompanied the count and hiscompanion to the carriage. "Number two!"

"Yes, " laughed the count, as he leaned back against the soft cushions, "it promises to be a busy day at the Oaks! Really"--as the equipagerolled on--"New Orleans is fast becoming a civilized center--demme!"

CHAPTER VI

A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON

The land baron's injuries did not long keep him indoors, for it washis pride rather than his body that had received deep and bitterwounds. He chafed and fumed when he thought how, in all likelihood, the details of his defeat could not be suppressed in the clubs and_cafés_. This anticipated publicity he took in ill part, fanning hismental disorder with brandy, mellow and insidious with age. Butbeneath the dregs of indulgence lay an image which preyed upon hismind more than his defeat beneath the Oaks: a figure, on the crudestage of a country tavern; in the manor window, with an aureole aroundher from the sinking sun; in the grand stand at the races, the gaydandies singling her out in all that seraglio of beauty. 

"I played him too freely, " he groaned to the Count de Propriac, as thelatter sat contemplatively nursing the ivory handle of his cane andoffering the land baron such poor solace as his company afforded. "Imisjudged the attack, besides exposing myself too much. If I couldonly meet him again!"

The visitor reflectively took the handle of the stick from his lips, thrust out his legs and yawned. The count was sleepy, having drowneddull care the night before, and had little sympathy with such spiritedtalk so early in the day. His lack-luster gaze wandered to thepictures on the wall, the duel between two court ladies for thepossession of the Duc de Richelieu and an old print of the deadlypublic contest of François de Vivonne and Guy de Jarnac and thenstrayed languidly to the other paraphernalia of a high-spiritedbachelor's rooms--foils, dueling pistols and masks--trappings that butserved to recall to the land baron his defeat. 

"It would be like running against a stone wall, " said the count, finally; "demme if it wouldn't! He could have killed you!"

"Why didn't he do it, then?" demanded the land baron, fiercely. 

The count shrugged his shoulders, drank his brandy, and handed thebottle to his companion, who helped himself, as though not averse tothat sort of medicine for his physical and mental ailments. 

"What's the news?" he asked abruptly, sinking back on his pillow. 

"The levees are flooded. "

"Hanged if I care if it's another deluge!" said Mauville. "I mean newsof the town, not news of the river. "

"There's a new beauty come to town--a brunette; all the bloods aretalking about her. Where did she come from? Who is she? These aresome of the questions asked. But she's a Peri, at any rate! shy, hardto get acquainted with--at first! An actress--Miss Carew!"

The glass trembled in the patroon's hand. "Do you know her?" he askedunsteadily. 

Smiling, the visitor returned the cane to his lips and gazed intovacancy, as though communing with agreeable thoughts. 

"I have met her, " he said finally. "Yes; I may say I have met her. Ged! Next to a duel with rapiers is one with eyes. They thrust atyou; you parry; they return, and, demme! you're stabbed! But don't askme any more--discretion--you understand--between men of theworld--demme!"--and the count relapsed into a vacuous dream. 

"What a precious liar he is!" commented the land baron to himself. Buthis mind soon reverted to the duel once more. "If I had only followedSpedella's advice and studied his favorite parades!" he muttered, regretfully. 

"It would have been the same, " retorted the count, brutally. "When youlost your temper, you lost your cause. Your work was brilliant; but heis one of the best swordsmen I ever saw. Who is he, anyway?"

"All I know is, he served in Algiers, " said Mauville, moodily. 

"A demmed adventurer, probably!" exclaimed the other. 

"I'd give a good deal to know his record, " remarked the patroon, contemplatively. "You should be pretty well acquainted with thepersonnel of the army?"

"It includes everybody nowadays, " replied the diplomat. "I have alarge acquaintance, but I am not a directory. A person who knowseverybody usually knows nobody--worth knowing! But it seems to me Idid know of a Saint-Prosper at the military college at Saumur; or wasit at the _Ecole d'application d'état-major_? Demmed scapegrace, if Iam not mistaken; sent to Algiers; must be the same. A hell-rakehole!--full of German and French outcasts! Knaves, adventureres, readyfor plunder and loot!"

Here the count, after this outburst, closed his eyes and seemed almoston the point of dropping off, but suddenly straightened himself. 

"Let's get the cards, or the dice, Mauville, " he said, "or I'll fallinto a doze. Such a demmed sleepy climate!"

Soon the count was shuffling and the land baron and he were playingbezique, but in spite of the latter's drowsiness, he won steadily fromhis inattentive companion, and, although the noble visitor had somedifficulty in keeping his eyes open, what there was of his glance wasvigilantly concentrated on his little pile of the coin of the realm. His watchfulness did not relax nor his success desert him, untilMauville finally threw down the cards in disgust, weary alike of suchpoor luck and the half-nodding automaton confronting him; whereuponthe count thrust every piece of gold carefully away in his pocket, absently reached for his hat, drawled a perfunctory farewell anddeparted in a brown study. 

The count's company, of which he had enjoyed a good deal during thepast forty-eight hours, did not improve Mauville's temper, and he borehis own reflections so grudgingly that inaction became intolerable. Besides, certain words of his caller concerning Saint-Prosper hadstimulated his curiosity, and, in casting about for a way to confirmhis suspicions, he had suddenly determined in what wise to proceed. Accordingly, the next day he left his rooms, his first visit being toa spacious, substantial residence of stone and lime, with greenveranda palings and windows that opened as doors, with a profusion ofgauzy curtains hanging behind them. This house, the present home ofthe Marquis de Ligne, stood in the French quarter, contrastingarchitecturally with the newer brick buildings erected for theAmerican population. The land baron was ushered into a large receptionroom, sending his card to the marquis by the neat-appearing coloredmaid who answered the door. 

If surroundings indicate the man, the apartments in which the visitorstood spoke eloquently of the marquis' taste. Eschewing the stiff, affected classicalism of the Empire style, the furniture was the bestwork of André Boule and Riesener; tables, with fine marquetry of thelast century, made of tulip wood and mahogany; mirrors fromTourlaville; couches with tapestry woven in fanciful designs afterFragonard, in the looms of Beauvais--couches that were made forconversation, not repose; cabinets exemplifying agreeable dispositionof lines and masses in the inlaid adornment, containing tiny drawersthat fitted with old-time exactness, and, without jamming, opened andshut at the touch. The marquis' character was stamped by thesedetails; it was old, not new France, to which he belonged. 

Soon the marquis' servant, a stolid, sober man, of virtuousdeportment, came down stairs to inform the land baron his master hadsuffered a relapse and was unable to see any one. 

"Last night his temperature was very high, " said the valet. "My masteris very ill; more so than I have known him to be in twenty years. "

"You have served the marquis so long?" said the visitor, pausing as hewas leaving the room. "Do you remember the Saint-Prosper family?"

"Well, Monsieur. General Saint-Prosper and my master were distantkinsmen and had adjoining lands. "

"Surely the marquis did not pass his time in the country?" observedMauville. 

"He preferred it to Paris--when my lady was there!" added François, softly. 

In spite of his ill-humor, the shadow of a smile gleamed in the landbaron's gaze, and, encouraged by that questioning look, the mancontinued: "The marquis and General Saint-Prosper were alwaystogether. My lady had her own friends. "

"So I've heard, " commented the listener. 

François' discreet eyes were downcast. Why did the visitor wish tolearn about the Saint-Prosper family? Why, instead of going, did helinger and eye the man half-dubiously? François had sold so many ofhis master's secrets he scented his opportunities with a sixth sense. 

"The marquis and General Saint-Prosper were warm friends?" asked theland baron at length. 

"Yes, Monsieur; the death of the latter was a severe shock to theMarquis de Ligne, but, _mon Dieu_!"--lifting his eyes--"it was as wellhe did not live to witness the disgrace of his son. "

"His son's disgrace, " repeated the land baron, eagerly. "Oh, you meanrunning in debt--gaming--some such fashionable virtue?"

"If betraying his country is a fashionable virtue, " replied the valet. "He is a traitor. "

Incredulity overspread the land baron's features; then, coincidentwith the assertion, came remembrance of his conversation with themarquis. 

"He certainly called him that, " ruminated the visitor. Not only thewords, but the expression of the old nobleman's face recurred to him. What did it mean unless it confirmed the deliberate charge of thevalet? The land baron forgot his disappointment over his inability tosee the marquis, and began to look with more favor on the man. 

"He surrendered a French stronghold, " continued the servant, softly. "Not through fear; oh, no; but for ambition, power, underAbd-el-Kader, the Moorish leader. "

"How do you know this?" said the patroon, sharply. 

"My master has the report of the military board of inquiry, " repliedthe man, steadily. 

"Why has the matter attracted no public attention, if a board ofinquiry was appointed?"

"The board was a secret one, and the report was suppressed. Few haveseen it, except the late King of France and my master. "

"And yourself, François?" said the patroon, his manner changing. 

"Oh, Monsieur!" Deprecatorily. 

"Since it has been inspected by such good company, I confess curiosityto look at it myself. But your master is ill; I can not speak withhim; perhaps you--"

"I, Monsieur!" Indignantly. 

"For five hundred francs, François?"

Like oil upon the troubled waters, this assurance wrought a swiftchange in the valet's manner. 

"To oblige Monsieur!" he answered, softly, but his eyes gleamed like alynx's. His stateliness was a sham; his perfidy and hypocrisysurprised even the land baron. 

"You have no compunctions about selling a reputation, François?"

"Reputation is that!" said the man, contemptuously snapping hisfingers, emboldened by his compact with the caller. "Francs and sousare everything. "

"Lord, how servants imbibe the ideas of their betters!" quoth thepatroon, as he left the house and strode down the graveled walk, decapitating the begonias with his cane. 

Furtively the valet watched his departing figure. "Why does he wantit?" he thought. 

Then he shrugged his shoulders. "What do I care!"

"François!" piped a shrill and querulous treble from above, dispellingthe servant's conjectures. 

"Coming, my lord!" And the valet slowly mounted the broad stairwayamid a fusillade of epithets from the sick chamber. An hour before themarquis had ordered him out of his sight as vehemently as now hesummoned him, all of which François endured with infinite patience andbecoming humility. 

Passing into the Rue Royale, the favorite promenade of theCreole-French, the land baron went on through various thoroughfareswith French-English nomenclature into St. Charles Street, reaching hisapartments, which adjoined a well-known club. He was glad to stretchhimself once more on his couch, feeling fatigued from his efforts, andhaving rather overtaxed his strength. 

But if his body was now inert, his mind was active. His thoughtsdwelt upon the soldier's reticence, his disinclination to makeacquaintances, and the coldness with which he had received his, Mauville's, advances in the Shadengo Valley. Why, asked Mauville, lying there and putting the pieces of the tale together, did notSaint-Prosper remain with his new-found friends, the enemies of hiscountry? Because, came the answer, Abd-el-Kader, the patriot ofAlgerian independence, had been captured and the subjection of thecountry had followed. Since Algeria had become a French colony, where could Saint-Prosper have found a safer asylum than inAmerica? Where more secure from "that chosen curse" for the man whoowes his weal to his country's woe?

In his impatience to possess the promised proof, the day passed alltoo slowly. He even hoped the count would call, although that worthybrought with him all the "flattering devils, sweet poison and deadlysins" of inebriation. But the count, like a poor friend, was absentwhen wanted, and it was a distinct relief to the land baron whenFrançois appeared at his apartments in the evening with a buff-coloredenvelope, which he handed to him. 

"The suppressed report?" asked the latter, weighing it in his hand. 

"No, Monsieur; I could not find that. My master must have destroyedit. "

The land baron made a gesture of disappointment and irritation. 

"But this, " François hastened to add, "is a letter from the Ducd'Aumale, governor of Algeria, to the Marquis de Ligne, describing theaffair. Monsieur will find it equally as satisfactory, I am sure. "

"How did you get it?" said the patroon, thoughtfully. 

"My master left the keys on the dresser. "

"And if he misses this letter--"

"Oh, Monsieur, I grieve my master is so ill he could not miss anythingbut his ailments! Those he would willingly dispense with. My poormaster!"

"There! Take your long, hypocritical face out of my sight!" saidMauville, curtly, at the same time handing him the promised reward, which François calmly accepted. A moment later, however, he drewhimself up. 

"Monsieur has not paid for the right to libel my character, " he said. 

"Your character!"

"My character, Monsieur!" the valet replied firmly, and bowed in thestateliest fashion of the old school as he backed out of the room withgrand obsequiousness. Deliberately, heavily and solidly, resounded theechoing footsteps of François upon the stairway, like the going ofsome substantial personage of unimpeachable rectitude. 

As the front door closed sharply the land baron threw the envelope onthe table and quietly surveyed it, the remnants of his pride rising inrevolt. 

"Have I then sunk so low as to read private communications or pry intofamily secrets? Is it a family secret, though? Should it not becomecommon property? Why have they protected him? Did the marquis wish tospare the son of an old friend? Besides"--his glance again seeking theenvelope--"it is my privilege to learn whether I have fought with agentleman or a renegade. " But even as he meditated, he felt thesophistry of this last argument, while through his brain ran theundercurrent: "He has wooed her--won her, perhaps!" Passion, ratherthan injured hauteur, stirred him. At the same time a greatindignation filled his breast; how Saint-Prosper had tricked her andturned her from himself!

And moving from the mantel upon which he was leaning, Mauville strodeto the table and untied the envelope. 

CHAPTER VII

A CYNICAL BARD

A dusty window looking out upon a dusty thoroughfare; a dusty room, lighted by the dusty window, and revealing a dusty chair, a dustycarpet and--probably--a dusty bed! Over the foot and the head of thebed the lodger's wardrobe lay carelessly thrown. He had but to reachup, and lo! his shirt was at hand; to reach down, and there werecollar and necktie! Presto, he was dressed, without getting out ofbed, running no risk from cold floors for cold feet, lurking tacks orstray needles and pins! On every side appeared evidence of confusion, or a bachelor's idea of order. 

Fastened to the head-board of the bed was a box, wherein were storedvarious and divers articles and things. With as little inconvenienceas might be imagined the lodger could plunge his hand into hiscupboard and pull out a pipe, a box of matches, a bottle of ink, abottle of something else, paper and pins, and, last but not least, hisbeloved tin whistle of three holes, variously dignified a _fretiau_, a_frestele_, or a _galoubet_, upon which he played ravishing tunes. 

Oh, a wonderful box was Straws' little bedstead cupboard! As Phazmasaid of it, it contained everything it should not, and nothing itshould contain. But that was why it was a poet's box. If it had held aHarpagon's Interest Computer, instead of a well-thumbed Virgil, orOldcodger's Commercial Statistics for 184--, instead of an antique, leather-covered Montaigne, Straws would have had no use for thecupboard. It was at once his library--a scanty one, for the poet heldtenaciously to but a few books--his sideboard, his _secrétaire_, hismusic cabinet--giving lodgment in this last capacity to a single work, "The Complete and Classical Preceptor for Galoubet, Containing Tunes, Polkas and Military Pieces. "

Suspended from the ceiling hung a wooden cage, confining a mockingbird that had become acclimated to the death-dealing atmosphere oftobacco smoke, alcoholic fumes and poetry. All these the songster hadendured and survived, nay, thriven upon, lifting up its voice in happycadence and blithely hopping about its prison, the door of whichStraws sometimes opened, permitting the feathered captive the dubiousfreedom of the room. Pasted on the foot-board of the bed was an oldengraving of a wandering musician mountebank, playing a galoubet as anaccompaniment to a dancing dog and a cock on stilts, a never-wearyingpicture for Straws, with his migratory, vagabond proclivities. 

A bracket on the wall looked as though it might have been intended fora piece of statuary, or a bit of porcelain or china decoration, buthad really been set there for his ink-pot, when he was mindful to workin bed, although how the Muse could be induced to set foot in that oldnookery of a room could only be explained through the whims andcrotchets of that odd young person's character. 

Yet come she would and did, although she got dust on her flowingskirts when she swept across the threshold; dust on her snow-whitegown--if the writers are to be believed in regard to its hue!--whenshe sat down in the only chair, and dust in her eyes when she flirtedher fan. Fortunate was it for Straws that the Muse is a wayward, freakish gipsy; a straggler in attics; a vagrant of the streets;fortunately for him she is not at all the fine lady she has beendepicted! Doubtless she has her own reasons for her vagaries; perhapsbecause it is so easy to soar from the hovel to fairy-land, but tosoar from a palace--that is obviously impossible; it is a height initself! So this itinerant maiden ever yawns amid scenes of splendor, and, from time immemorial, has sighed for lofts, garrets, and suchhumble places as Straws' earthly abode. 

At the present time, however, Straws was alone. This eccentric butlovely young lady had not deigned to visit him that day. Once, indeed, she had just looked in, but whisked back again into the hall, slammingthe door after her, and the pen, momentarily grasped, had fallen fromStraws' hand. Instead of reaching for the ink-bottle he reached in thecupboard for the other bottle. Again she came near entering throughthe window--having many unconventional ways of coming into aroom!--but after looking in for a moment, changed her mind after herfashion and floated away into thin space like the giddy, volatilemistress that she was. After that she appeared no more--probablymaking a friendly call on some one else!--and Straws resigned himselfto her heartless perfidy, having become accustomed to her frivolous, fantastic moods. 

Indeed, what else could he have done; what can any man do when hislady-love deserts him, save to make the best of it? But he found hisconsolation in a pipe; not a pipe of tobacco, nor yet a pipe of oldmadeira, which, figuratively, most disappointed lovers seek; but apipe of melody, a pipe of flowing tunes and stirring marches; a pipeof three holes, vulgarly termed by those who know not its high classicorigin from the Grecian reeds and its relation to the Pandian pipes, atin whistle! Thus was Straws classic in his taste, affecting theinstrument wherein Acis sighed his soul and breath away for fairGalatea!

It had been a lazy, purposeless day. He had awakened at noon; hadcoffee and rolls in bed; had dressed, got up, looked out, lain downagain, read, and vainly essayed original composition. Now, lying onhis back, with the Complete and Classic Preceptor before him, hesoothed himself with such music "as washes the every-day dust from thesoul. " For a pipe of three holes, his instrument had a remarkablecompass; melody followed melody--"The Harp that Once through Tara'sHall, " "She is Far from the Land, " "In Death I shall Calm Recline, "and other popular pieces. When Straws missed a note he went back tofind it; when he erred in a phrase, he patiently repeated it. Thecadence in the last mournful selection, "Bid her not shed a tear ofsorrow, " was, on his first attempt, fraught with exceeding discord, and he was preparing once more to assault the citadel of grief, entrenched with bristling high notes, when an abrupt knocking at thedoor, followed by the appearance of a face marred by wrath and adornedwith an enormous pair of whiskers, interrupted his attack. 

"Sair, " said this person, excitedly, with no more than his head in theroom, like a Punch and Judy figure peering from behind a curtain, "youare ze one gran' nuisance! Eet is zat--what you call eet?--whistle! Iam crazee--crazee!"

"Yes; you look it!" replied Straws, sympathetically. "Perhaps, if youhad a keep--"

"I am not crazee!" vociferated the man. 

"No? Perhaps I could tell better, if I could see more of you. Judgingfrom the sample, I confess to curiosity for a full-length view. If youwill step in--"

"I will not step in! I will step out! I will leave zis house! I willleave--forever!"

And the head vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, to be followedby hasty footsteps down the stairway. 

"Now I can understand why Orpheus was torn to pieces, " ruminatedStraws, mournfully surveying the offending pipe. "He played on thelyre! Return to thy cupboard, O reed divine!"--putting the whistle backin the box--"a vile world, as Falstaff says! Heigho!"--yawning--"lifeis an empty void--which reminds me I have a most poetic appetite. Whatshall I do"--and Straws sat up relinquishing his lounging attitude--"goout, or have pot-luck in the room? Tortier's bouillabaisse would abouttickle the jaded palate. A most poetic dish, that bouillabaisse!Containing all the fish that swim in the sea and all the herbs that growon the land! Thus speaks gluttony! Get thee behind me, odoriferoustemptation of garlic! succulent combination of broth and stew!"

So saying, Straws sprang from his bed, lighted a charcoal fire in histiny grate; rummaged a bureau drawer and drew forth an end of bacon, apotato or two, a few apples, an onion and the minor part of a loaf ofbread, all of which, except the bread, he sliced and thrustindiscriminately into the frying-pan and placed over the blue flame. Next from behind the mirror he produced a diminutive coffee pot intowhich he measured, with extreme care, just so much of the groundberry, being rather over-nice about his demitasse. Having progressedthus far in his preparation for pot, or frying-pan luck--and indeed itseemed a matter of luck, or good fortune, how that mixture would turnout--he rapped on the floor with the heel of his boot, like the princein the fairy tale, summoning his attendant good genii, and in a fewmoments a light tapping on the door announced the coming of aservitor. 

Not a mighty wraith nor spook of Arabian fancy, but a very small girl, or child, with very black hair, very white skin and very dark, beautiful eyes. A daughter of mixed ancestry, yet with her daintyhands and little feet, she seemed descended from sprites or sylphs. 

"Monsieur called, " she said in her pretty dialect. 

"Yes, my dear. Go to Monsieur Tortier's, Celestina, and tell him togive you a bottle of the kind Monsieur Straws always takes. "

"At once, Monsieur, " she answered, very gravely, very seriously. AndCelestina vanished like a butterfly that flutters quickly away. 

"Now this won't be bad after all, " thought Straws, sniffing at thefrying-pan which had begun to sputter bravely over the coals, whilethe coffee pot gave forth a fragrant steam. "A good bottle of winewill transform a snack into a collation; turn pot-luck into a feast!"

As thus he meditated the first of night's outriders, its fast-comingshadows, stole through the window; following these swift van-couriers, night's chariot came galloping across the heavens; in the sky severallittle clouds melted like Cleopatra's pearls. Musing before his firethe poet sat, not dreaming thoughts no mortal ever dreamed before, butturning the bacon and apples and stirring in a few herbs, for noother particular reason than that he had them and thought he might aswell use them. 

"Celestina is taking longer than usual, " he mused. "Perhaps, though, Monsieur Tortier intends to surprise me with an unusually fine bottle. Yes; that is undoubtedly the reason for the delay. He is hunting aboutin the cellar for something a little out of the ordinary. But here isCelestina now!" as the child reappeared, with footsteps so noiselessthe poet saw before he heard her. "Where is the bottle, my littleAriel? It must be an extra fine vintage. Bless old Tortier's nobleheart!"

"There isn't any bottle, " said the child. "Monsieur said that youraccount--"

"The miserable old hunks! His heart's no bigger than a pin-head!"

"Please, I'm so sorry!" spoke up Celestina, a suspicious moisture inher eyes. 

"I know it, my dear, " returned Straws. "Your heart is as big as hiswhole body. One of your tears is more precious than his most pricelessnectar. "

"I beg-ged him--that's why I--I stayed so--long!" half-sobbedCelestina. 

"There! there!" said Straws, wiping her eyes. "Of course it's verytragic, but there's no use crying over spilled milk. Dear me, dear me;what can we do? It's terrible, but you know the proverb: 'Every cloudhas a silver lining. ' Perhaps this one has. I wish it had; or a goldenone! Think of a cloud of gold, Celestina! Wouldn't we be rich? Whatwould you do with it?"

"I'd go to--Monsieur Tortier's and--and get the bottle, " said thechild in an agony of distress. 

He lifted her on his knee, soothed her and held her in his arms, stroking her dark hair. 

"I believe you would, " he said. "And now, as we haven't got the goldencloud, let us see how we can get on without it. How shall we conquerthat ogre, Monsieur Tortier? What would you suggest, Celestina?"

The child looked into the fire, with eyes wide-open. 

"Come, be a good fairy now, " urged Straws, "and tell me. "

"Why don't you write him a poem?" said Celestina, turning her eyes, bright with excitement, upon him. 

"A poem! Non--by Jove, you're right! An inspiration, my dear! Peoplelike to be thought what they are not. They want to be praised forvirtues foreign to themselves. The ass wants to masquerade as thelion. 'Tis the law of nature. Now Monsieur Tortier is a Jew; a scrimp;a usurer! Very well, we will celebrate the virtues he hath not inverse and publish the stanza in the Straws' column. After all, we areonly following the example of the historians, and they're an eminentlyrespectable lot of people. Celestina! You watch the coffee pot, andI'll grind out the panegyric!"

The child knelt before the fire, but her glance strayed from thesteaming spout to the poet's face, as he sat on the edge of his bedand rapidly scribbled. By the time the bacon was fairly done and theother condiments in the frying-pan had turned to a dark hue, theproduction was finished and triumphantly waved in mid air by the nowhopeful Straws. 

"I'll just read you a part of it, my dear!" he said. "It's not halfbad. But perhaps it would--bore you?" With exaggerated modesty. 

"Oh, I just love your poetry!" cried the girl, enthusiastically. 

"If everybody were only like you now! Isn't it too bad you've got togrow up and grow wiser? But here's the refrain. There are six stanzas, but I won't trouble you with all of them, my dear. One mustn't drive awilling horse, or a willing auditor. "

And in a voice he endeavored to render melodious, with her rapt glancefixed upon him, Straws read:

 "Sing, my Muse, the lay of the prodigal host! Who enters here leaveth behind not hope. Course follows course; entrée, relevé, ragoût, Ambrosial sauces, pungent, after luscious soup. The landlord spurs his guests to fresh attack, With fricassee, réchauffé and omelets; A toothsome feast that Apicius would fain have served, While wine, divine, new zeal in all begets. Who is this host, my Muse, pray say? Who but that prodigal, Tortier!

"There, my dear, " concluded Straws, "those feet are pretty wobbly towalk, but flattery moves on lame legs faster than truth will travelon two good ones. Besides, I haven't time to polish them properly, orthe mess in the frying-pan will spoil. Better spoil the poem than thecontents of the flesh pots! Now if--dear me, Celestina, if you haven'tlet the coffee pot boil over!"

"Oh, Monsieur, " cried the child, almost weeping again. "I forgot towatch it! I just couldn't while you were writing poetry. "

"The excuse more than condones the offense, " continued the other. "Butas I was about to say, you take this poem to Monsieur Tortier, makeyour prettiest bow and courtesy--let me see you make a courtesy. "

The girl bowed as dainty as a little duchess. 

"That should melt a heart of stone in itself, " commented Straws. "ButTortier's is flint! After that charming bow, you will give him mycompliments; Mr. Straws' compliments, remember; and, would he be kindenough just to glance over this poem which Mr. Straws, with muchmental effort, has prepared, and which, if it be acceptable toMonsieur Tortier, will appear in Mr. Straws' famous and much-talked-ofcolumn in the paper?"

"Oh, Monsieur, I can't remember all that!" said the girl. 

"Do it your own way then. Besides, it will be better than mine. "

With the poem hugged to her breast, the child fairly flew out of theroom, leaving Straws a prey to conflicting emotions. He experiencedin those moments of suspense all the doubts and fears of the nestlingbard or the tadpole litterateur, awaiting the pleasure and sentence ofthe august editor or the puissant publisher. Tortier had been suddenlyexalted to the judge's lofty pedestal. Would he forthwith be animperial autocrat; turn tyrant or Thersites; or become critic, one of"those graminivorous animals which gain subsistence by gorging uponbuds and leaves of the young shrubs of the forest, robbing them oftheir verdure and retarding their progress to maturity"?

Straws' anxiety was trouble's labor lost. Celestina appeared, the gladmessenger of success, and now, as she came dancing into the room, borein her arms the fruits of victory which she laid before the poet withsparkling eyes and laughing lips. 

"So the poem was accepted?" murmured Straws. "Discerning Tortier!Excellent dilettante! Let him henceforth be known as a man of taste!"Here the poet critically examined the bottle. "Nothing vapid, thin orcharacterless there!" he added, holding it before the blaze in thegrate. "Positively I'll dedicate my forthcoming book to him. 'To thatworshipful master and patron, the tasteful Tortier!' What did he say, Celestina, when you tendered him the poem?"

"At first he frowned and then he looked thoughtful. And then he gaveme some orange syrup. And then--O, I don't want to say!" A look ofunutterable concern displacing the happiness on her features. 

"Say on, my dear!" cried Straws. 

"He--he said he--he didn't think much of it as--O, I can't tell you; Ican't! I can't!"

"Celestina, " said the poet sternly, "tell me at once. I command you. "

"He said he didn't think much of it as poetry, but that people wouldread it and come to his _café_ and--O dear, O dear!"

"Beast! Brute! Parvenu! But there, don't cry, my dear. We have much tobe thankful for--we have the bottle. "

"Oh, yes, " she said with conviction, and brightening a bit. "We havethe bottle. " And as she spoke, "pop" it went, and Celestina laughed. "May I set your table?" she asked. 

"After your inestimable service to me, my dear, I find it impossibleto refuse, " he replied gravely. 

"How good you are!" she remarked, placing a rather soiled cloth, whichshe found somewhere, over a battered trunk. 

"I try not to be, but I can't help it!" answered the poet modestly. 

"No; that's it; you can't help it!" she returned, moving lightlyaround the room, emptying the contents of the frying-pan--now anaromatic jumble--on to a cracked blue platter, and setting knife andfork, and a plate, also blue, before him! "And may I wait on you, too?"

"Well, as a special favor--" He paused, appearing to ponder deeply anddarkly. 

Her eyes were bent upon his face with mute appeal, her suspense sogreat she stood stock-still in the middle of the floor, frying-pan inhand. 

"Yes; you may wait on me, " he said finally, after perplexed andweighty rumination. 

At that her little feet fairly twinkled, but her hand was ever socareful as she took the coffee pot from the fire and put it near theblue plate. A glass--how well she knew where everything was!--shefound in some mysterious corner and, sitting down on the floor, cross-legged like a little Turk, a mere mite almost lost in thesemi-obscurity of the room, she polished it assiduously upon thecorner of the table cloth until it shone free from specks of dust; allthe time humming very lightly like a bird, or a housewife whose heartis in her work. A strange song, a curious bit of melody that seemed tospring from some dark past and to presage a future, equally sunless. 

"Your supper is ready, Monsieur, " she said, rising. 

"And I am ready for it. Why, how nicely the table looks! Really, whenwe both grow up, I think we should take a silver ship and sail to somesilver shore and live together there forever and evermore. How wouldyou like it?"

Celestina's lips were mute, but her eyes were full of rapturousresponse, and then became suddenly shy, as though afraid of their ownhappiness. 

"May I pour your wine?" she asked, with downcast lashes. 

"Can you manage it and not spill a drop? Remember Cratinus wept anddied of grief seeing his wine--no doubt, this same vintage--spilt!"

But Straws was not called upon to emulate this classic example. Thefeat of filling his glass was deftly accomplished, and a moment laterthe poet raised it with, "'Drink to me only with thine eyes!'" Anappropriate sentiment for Celestina who had nothing else to drink tohim with. "Won't you have some of this--what shall I call it?--hash, stew or ration?"

"Oh, I've had my supper, " she answered. 

"How fortunate for you, my dear! It isn't exactly a company bill offare! But everything is what I call snug and cozy. Here we are high upin the world--right under the roof--all by ourselves, with nobody todisturb us--"

A heavy footfall without; rap, rap, rap, on the door; no timid, faltering knock, but a firm application of somebody's knuckles!

"It's that Jack-in-the-box Frenchman, " muttered the writer. "Go to thedevil!" he called out. 

The door opened. 

"You have an original way of receiving visitors!" drawled a languidvoice, and the glance of the surprised poet fell upon Edward Mauville. "Really, I don't know whether to come in or not, " continued the latterat the threshold. 

"I beg your pardon, " murmured Straws. "I thought it was a--"

"Creditor?" suggested Mauville, with an amused smile. "I know theclass. Don't apologize! I am intruding. Quite a family party!" he wenton, his gaze resting upon Celestina and the interrupted repast. 

With his elegant attire, satin waistcoat and fine ruffles, he seemedout of place in the attic nook of the Muse; a lordling who hadwandered by mistake into the wrong room. But he bore himself with theeasy assurance of a man who could adapt himself to any surroundings;even to Calliope's shabby boudoir!

"My dear, " remarked the disconcerted bard, "get a chair for Mr. Mauville. Or--I beg your pardon--would you mind sitting on the bed?Won't you have some wine? Celestina, bring another glass. "

But the girl only stood and stared at the dark, courtly being who thusunexpectedly had burst in upon them. 

"There isn't any more, " she finally managed to say. "You've got theonly glass there is, please!"

"Dear me; dear me!" exclaimed Straws. "How glasses do get broken! Ihave so few occasions to use them, too, for I don't very often havevisitors. "

"You are surprised to see me?" continued Mauville, pleasantly, seatinghimself on the edge of the bed. "Go on with your supper. You don'tmind my smoking while you eat?"

[Illustration]

"No; the odor of onions is a little strong, isn't it?" laughed theother. "Rather strange, by the by, some of nature's best restorativesshould be rank and noisome, while her poisons, like the Upas tree, areoften sweet-smelling and agreeable?"

"Yes, " commented the land baron; "we make the worst faces over themedicines that do us the most good. "

"I presume, " said Straws, delighted at the prospect of an argument, and forgetting his curiosity over the other's visit in this briefinterchange of words, "nature but calls our attention to the fact thatwe may know our truest friends are not those with the sweetestmanners. "

"Heaven forbid!" remarked Mauville. "But how are you getting on withyour column? A surfeit of news and gossip, I presume? What a busyfellow you are, to be sure! Nothing escapes through your seine. Bigfish or little fish, it is all one. You dress them up with alluringsauce. "

The bard shook his head. 

"The net has been coming in dry, " he said gloomily. "But that's theway with the fish. Sometimes you catch a good haul, and then they alldisappear. It's been bad luck lately. "

"Perhaps I can make a cast for you, " cried the patroon eagerly. 

"And bring up what?" asked the hack. 

"Something everybody will read; that will set the gossips talking. "

"A woman's reputation?"

"No; a man's. "

"That is to be regretted, " said Straws. "If, now, it were only awoman's--. However, it's the next best thing to start the towna-gossiping. I am much obliged to you for taking the trouble ofcalling. All those stairs to climb, too!"

"I was sure you would be glad to hear of it, " remarked the patroon, slowly, studying with his bright, insolent glance, the pale, intellectual face of the scribbler. 

"Yes; there's only one thing stands in the way. "

"And that?"

"I never publish anything I don't believe. Don't misunderstand me, please. " Pouring out a glass of wine. "Unfortunately I am soincredulous! Isn't it a pity? I am such a carping cynic; a regularskeptic that follows the old adage, 'Believe that story false thatought not to be true. ' It's such a detriment to my work, too! A prettyscandal at the top of my column would make me famous, while asprinkling of libels and lampoons would enable me to move down a storyor two. But, after all, I'd feel lost in the luxury of a first floorfront chamber. So, you see, nature adjusts herself to our needs. "

"Makes the shell to fit the snail, as it were, " commented the landbaron, patronizingly, gazing around the little cupboard of a room. "Atany rate, " he added, in an effort to hide his dissatisfaction, "it's apleasure to become better acquainted with such a--what shall Isay?--whimsical fellow as yourself?"

"That's it, " returned the bard. "Whimsical!"

"I dare say you have had many a chance to turn an honest penny or two, if you had not been so skeptical, as you call it?" remarked thepatroon, significantly. "People, I presume, have even offered to payyou for publishing the compliments of the season about theirneighbors?"

"Well, " answered the scribbler, laughing, "I may have Midas' longingfor gold, but I also have his ears. And the ears predominate. I amsuch an ass I have even returned a fair petitioner's perfumed note!Such a dainty little hand! How good the paper smelt! How devilish itread! The world's idea about the devil always smelling of sulphur andbrimstone is a slander on that much abused person. I can positivelyaffirm that he smells of musk, attar, myrrh; as though he had lainsomewhere with a lady's sachet or scent-bag. "

"Really you should revise Milton, " murmured the land baron, carelessly, his interest quite gone. "But I must be moving on. " And hearose. "Good evening. "

"Good night!" said Straws, going to the door after his departingguest. "Can you see your way down? Look out for the turn! And don'tdepend too much on the bannisters--they're rather shaky. Well, he'sgone!" Returning once more to the room. "We're coming up in the world, my dear, when such fashionable callers visit us! What do you think ofhim?"

"He is very--handsome!" replied the child. 

"Oh, the vanity of the sex! Is he--is he handsomer than I?"

"Are you--handsome?" she asked. 

"Eh? Don't you think so?"

"No-o, " she cried, in a passion of distressed truthfulness. 

"Thank you, my dear! What a flattering creature you'll become, if youkeep on as you've begun! How you'll wheedle the men, to be sure!"

"But mustn't I say what I think?"

"Always! I'm a bad adviser! Think of bringing up a young person, especially a girl, to speak the truth! What a time she'll have!"

"But I couldn't do anything else!" she continued, with absorbing andpainful anxiety. 

"Don't, then! I'm instructing you to your destruction, but--don't! I'ma philosopher in the School for Making Simpletons. What will you dowhen you go out into the broad world with truth for your banner andyour heart on your sleeve?"

"How could I have my heart on my sleeve?" asked Celestina. 

"Because you couldn't help it!"

"Really and truly on my sleeve?"

"Really and truly!" he affirmed, gravely. 

"How funny!" answered the girl. 

"No; tragic! But what shall we do now, Celestina?"

"Wash the dishes, " said the child, practically. 

"But, my dear, we won't need them until to-morrow, " expostulated thepoet. "Precipitancy is a bad fault. Now, if you had proposed a littlemusic, or a fairy tale--"

"Oh, I could wash them while you played, or told me a story, "suggested the child, eagerly. 

"That isn't such a bad idea, " commented Straws, reflectively. 

"Then you will let me?" she asked. 

"Go ahead!" said the bard, and he reached for the whistle. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE SWEETEST THING IN NATURE

The city, bustling and animated by day, like an energetic housewife, was at night a gay demoiselle, awakening to new life and excitement. The clerk betook himself to his bowling or billiards and the mechanicto the circus, while beauty and fashion repaired to the concert roomor to the Opéra Français, to listen to Halévy or Donizetti. RestlessAmericans or Irishmen rubbed elbows with the hurrying Frenchman orSpaniard, and the dignified creole gentleman of leisure alone waswrapped in a plenitude of dignity, computing probably the interest hedrew on money loaned these assiduous foreigners. 

Soldiers who had been granted leave of absence or had slipped theguard at the camp on Andrew Jackson's battle-ground swaggered throughthe streets. The change from a diet of pork and beans and army hardtack was so marked that Uncle Sam's young men threw restraint to thewinds, took the mask balls by storm and gallantly assailed and madewilling prisoners of the fair sex. Eager to exchange their irksomelife in camp for the active campaign in Mexico, it was small wonderthey relieved their impatience by many a valiant dash into thehospitable town. 

Carriages drove by with a rumble and a clatter, revealing a fleetingglimpse of some beauty with full, dark eye. Venders of flowersimportuned the passers-by, doing a brisk business; the oyster andcoffee stands reminded the spectator of a thoroughfare in London on aSaturday night, with the people congregating about the street stalls;but the brilliantly illumined places of amusement, with their carelesspatrons plainly apparent to all from without, resembled rather aboulevard scene in the metropolis of France. "Probably, " says askeptical chronicler, "here and there are quiet drawing-rooms, andtranquil firesides, where domestic love is a chaste, presidinggoddess. " But the writer merely presumes such might have been thecase, and it is evident from his manner of expression, he offers thesuggestion, or afterthought, charitably, with some doubts in his mind. Certainly he never personally encountered the chaste goddess of thehearth, or he would have qualified his words and made his statementmore positive. 

From the life of the streets, the land baron turned into a well-lightedentrance, passing into a large, luxuriously furnished saloon, at oneend of which stood a table somewhat resembling a roulette board. Seated on one side was the phlegmatic cashier, and, opposite him, thedealer, equally impassive. Unlike faro--the popular New Orleansgame--no deal box was needed, the dealer holding the cards in hishand, while a cavity in the center of the table contained a basket, where the cards, once used, were thrown. A large chandelier cast abrilliant light upon the scene. 

"_Messieurs, faites vos jeux_, " drawled the monotonous voice of thedealer, and expectation was keenly written on the faces of the doublecircle of players--variously disclosed, but, nevertheless, apparent inall; a transformation of the natural expression of the features; anobvious nervousness of manner, or where the countenance was impassive, controlled by a strong will, a peculiar glitter of the eyes, betokening the most insatiable species of the gambler. As the dealerbegan to shuffle together six packs of cards and place them in a rowon the table, he called out:

"Nothing more goes, gentlemen!"

The rapidity with which the cashier counted the winnings at a distanceand shoved them here and there with the long rake was amazing andbewildering to the novice risking a few gold pieces for the first timeon the altar of chance. Sorting the gold pieces in even bunches, thecashier estimated them in a moment; shoved them together; counted anequal amount of fives with his fingers; made a little twirl in thepile on the table; pushed it toward the winning pieces and left themtumbled up together in pleasing confusion. 

"_Messieurs, faites vos_--"

And the clinking went on, growing louder and louder, the clinking ofgold, which has a particularly musical sound, penetrating, crystalline as the golden bells of Exodus, tinkling in the twilight ofthe temple on the priest's raiment. The clinking, clinking, thatlingers in the brain long after, drawing the players to it night afternight; an intoxicating murmur, singing the desires that dominate theworld; the jingling that makes all men kin!

"Oh, dear!" said a light feminine voice, as the rapacious rakeunceremoniously drew in a poor, diminutive pile of gold. "Why did Iplay? Isn't it provoking?"

"You have my sympathy, Mistress Susan, " breathed a voice near her. 

Looking around, she had the grace to blush becomingly, and approachedMauville with an expressive gesture, leaving Adonis and Kate at thetable. 

"Don't be shocked, Mr. Mauville, " she began, hurriedly. "We were toldit was among the sights, and, having natural curiosity--"

"I understand. Armed with righteousness, why should not one goanywhere?"

"Why, indeed?" she murmured. 

"But I'm afraid I'm taking you from your play?"

"I'm not going to play any more to-night. "

"Tired, already?"

"No; but--but I haven't a cent. That miserable table has robbed me ofeverything. All I have left"--piteously--"are the clothes on myback. "

"Something must have been the matter with your 'system. ' But if atemporary loan--"

Susan was tempted, gazing longingly at the table, with the feverburning in her. 

"No, " she said, finally. "I _think_ I would win, but, of course, I_might_ lose. "

"A wise reservation! Never place your fortune on the hazard of thedie. "

"But I have! What's the use of making good resolutions now? It's likeclosing the barn-door after--"

"Just so!" he agreed. "But it might have been worse. "

"How?" In dismay. "Didn't that stony-looking man rake in my last goldpiece? He didn't even look sorry, either. But what is the matter withyour arm?" The land baron's expression became ominous. "You shookhands with your left hand. Oh, I see; the duel!" Lightly. 

"How did you hear about it?" asked Mauville, irritably. 

"Oh, in a roundabout way. Murder will out! And Constance--she was sosolicitous about Mr. Saint-Prosper, but rather proud, I believe, because he"--with a laugh--"came off victorious. "

Susan's prattle, although accompanied by innocent glances from herblue eyes, was sometimes the most irritating thing in the world, andthe land baron, goaded beyond endurance, now threw off his carelessmanner and swore in an undertone by "every devil in Satan'scalendar. "

"Can you not reserve your soliloquy until you leave me?" observedSusan, sweetly. "Otherwise--"

"I regret to have shocked your ladyship, " he murmured, satirically. 

"I forgive you. " Raising her guileless eyes. "When I think of theprovocation, I do not blame you--so much!"

"That is more than people do in your case, " muttered the land baronsavagely. 

Susan's hand trembled. "What do you mean?" she asked, not withoutapprehension regarding his answer. 

"Oh, that affair with the young officer--the lad who was killed in theduel, you know--"

Her composure forsook her for the moment and she bit her lip cruelly. 

"Don't!" she whispered. "I am not to blame. I never dreamed it wouldgo so far! Why should people--"

"Why?" he interposed, ironically. 

Susan pulled herself together. "Yes, why?" she repeated, defiantly. "Can women prevent men from making fools of themselves any more thanthey can prevent them from amusing themselves as they will? To-day itis this toy; to-morrow, another. At length"--bitterly--"a woman comesto consider herself only a toy. "

Her companion regarded her curiously. "Well, well!" he ejaculated, finally. "Losing at cards doesn't agree with your temper. "

"Nor being worsted by Saint-Prosper with yours!" she retortedquickly. 

Mauville looked virulent, but Susan, feeling that she had retaliatedin ample measure, recovered her usual equanimity of temper and placeda conciliatory hand sympathetically on his arm. 

"We have both had a good deal to try us, haven't we? But how stupidmen are!" she added suddenly. "As if you could not find otherconsolation!"

He directed toward her an inquiring glance. 

"Some time ago, while I was acting in London, " resumed Susan, thoughtfully, "the leading lady refused to receive the attentions of acertain odious English lord. She was to make her appearance in a pieceupon which her reputation was staked. Mark what happened! She washissed! Hissed from the stage! My lord led this hostile demonstrationand all his hired claqueurs joined in. She was ruined; ruined!"concluded Susan, smiling amiably. 

"You are ingenious, Mistress Susan--not to say a trifle diabolical. Your plan--"

She opened her eyes widely. "I have suggested no plan, " sheinterrupted, hurriedly. 

"Well, let us sit down and I will tell you about a French officerwho--But here is a quiet corner, Mistress Susan, and if you willpromise not to repeat it, I will regale you with a bit of interestinggossip. "

"I promise--they always do!" she laughed. 

For such a frivolous lady, Susan was an excellent listener. She, whoon occasions chattered like a magpie, was now silent as a mouse, drinking in the other's words with parted lips and sparkling eyes. First he showed her the letter François had brought him. Unmarked bypostal indications, the missive had evidently been intrusted to aprivate messenger of the governor whose seal it bore. Dated aboutthree years previously, it was written in a somewhat illegible, butnot unintelligible, scrawl, the duke's own handwriting. 

"I send you, my dear marquis, " began the duke, "a copy of the secretreport of the military tribunal appointed to investigate the chargesagainst your kinsman, Lieut. Saint-Prosper, and regret the finding ofthe court should have been one of guilty of treason. 

"Saint-Prosper and Abd-el-Kader met near the tomb of a marabout. Fromhim the French officer received a famous ruby which he thrust beneathhis zaboot--the first fee of their compact. That night when the townlay sleeping, a turbaned host, armed with yataghans, stole through theflowering cactuses. Sesame! The gate opened to them; they swarmedwithin! The soldiers, surprised, could render little resistance; theruthless invaders cut them down while they were sleeping or beforethey could sound the alarm. The bravest blood of France flowedlavishly in the face of the treacherous onslaught; blood of men whohad been his fastest friends, among whom he had been so popular forhis dauntless courage and devil-may-care temerity! But a period, fearfully brief, and the beloved tri-color was trampled in the dust;the barbarian flag of the Emir floated in its place. 

"All these particulars, and the part Saint-Prosper played in theterrible drama, Abd-el-Kader, who is now our prisoner, has himselfconfessed. The necessity for secrecy, you, my dear Marquis, willappreciate. The publicity of the affair now would work incalculableinjury to the nation. It is imperative to preserve the army from thetaint of scandal. The nation hangs on a thread. God knows there isiniquity abroad. I, who have labored for the honor of France andplanted her flag in distant lands, look for defeat, not through wantof bravery, but from internal causes. A matter like this might lead toa popular uprising against the army. Therefore, the king wills itshall be buried by his faithful servants. "

As Mauville proceeded Susan remained motionless, her eyes growinglarger and larger, until they shone like two lovely sapphires, butwhen he concluded she gave a little sigh of pleasure and leaned backwith a pleased smile. 

"Well?" he said, finally, after waiting some moments for her tospeak. 

"How piquantly wicked he is!" she exclaimed, softly. 

"Piquantly, indeed!" repeated the land baron, dryly. 

"And he carries it without a twinge! What a petrified conscience!"

"I believe you find him more interesting than ever?" said Mauville, impatiently. 

"Possibly!" Languidly. "An exceptional moral ailment sometimes makes aman more attractive--like a--an interesting subject in a hospital, youknow! But I have always felt, " she continued, with sudden seriousness, "there was something wrong with him. When I first saw him, I was surehe had had no ordinary past, but I did not dream it was quite so--whatshall we call it--"

"Unsavory?" suggested her companion. 

"That accounts for his unwillingness to talk about Africa, " went onSusan. "Soldiers, as a rule, you know, like to tell all about theirsanguinary exploits. But the tented field was a forbidden topic withhim. And once when I asked him about Algiers he was almost rudelyevasive. "

"He probably lives in constant fear his secret will become known, "said Mauville, thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact, the law providesthat no person is to be indicted for treason unless within three yearsafter the offense. The tribunal did not return an indictment; thethree years have just expired. Did he come to America to make sure ofthese three years?"

But Susan's thoughts had flitted to another feature of the story. 

"How strange my marquis should be connected with the case! What an oldcompliment-monger he was! He vowed he was deeply smitten with me. "

"And then went home and took to his bed!" added Mauville, grimly. 

"You wretch!" said the young woman, playfully. "So that is the reasonthe dear old molly-coddle did not take me to any of the gay suppers hepromised? Is it not strange Saint-Prosper has not met him?"

"You forget the marquis has been confined to his room since his brief, but disastrous, courtship of you. His infatuation seems to havebrought him to the verge of dissolution. "

"Was it not worth the price?" she retorted, rising. "But I see mysister and Adonis are going, so I must be off, too. So glad to havemet you!"

"You are no longer angry with me?"

"No; you are very nice, " she said. "And you have forgiven me?"

"Need you ask?" Pressing her hand. "Good evening, Mistress Susan!"

"Good evening. Oh, by the way, I have an appointment with Constance torehearse a little scene together this evening. Would you mind loaningme that letter?"

"With pleasure; but remember your promise. "

"Promise?" repeated the young woman. 

"Not to tell. "

"Oh, of course, " said Susan. 

"But if you shouldn't--"

"Then?"

"Then you might say the marquis, your friend and admirer, gave youthe letter. It would, perhaps, be easier for you to account for itthan for me. "

"But if the marquis should learn--" began the other, half-dubiously. 

"He is too ill for anything except the grave. "

"Oh, the poor old dear!"

She looked at the gaming table with its indefatigable players and thenturned to Kate and Adonis who approached at that moment. "How did youcome out, Adonis?"

"Out, " he said, curtly. 

"Lucky in love, unlucky at"--began Kate. 

"Then you must be very unlucky in love, " he retorted, "for you were agood winner at cards. "

"Oh, there are exceptions to that rule, " said Kate lazily, with ayawn. "I'm lucky at both--in New Orleans!"

"I have perceived it, " retorted Adonis, bitterly. 

"Don't quarrel, " Susan implored. Regarding the table once more, shesighed: "I'm so sorry I came!"

But her feet fairly danced as she flew towards the St. Charles. Sheentered, airy as a saucy craft, with "all sails in full chase, ribbonsand gauzes streaming at the top, " and, with a frou-frou of skirts, burst into Constance's room, brimful of news and importance. Sheremained there for some time, and when she left, it was noteworthy herspirits were still high. In crossing the hall, her red stockingsbecame a fitting color accompaniment to her sprightly step, as shemoved over the heavy carpet, skirts raised coquettishly, humming withthe gaiety of a young girl who has just left boarding school. 

"A blooming, innocent creature!" growled an up-the-river planter, surveying her from one of the landings. "Lord love me, if she wereonly a quadroon, I'd buy her!"

CHAPTER IX

A DEBUT IN THE CRESCENT CITY

A versatile dramatic poet is grim Destiny, making with equal facilitytragedy, farce, burletta, masque or mystery. The world is his inn, and, like the wandering master of interludes, he sets up his stage inthe court-yard, beneath the windows of mortals, takes out his figuresand evolves charming comedies, stirring melodramas, spiritedharlequinades and moving divertissement. But it is in tragedy hisconstructive ability is especially apparent, and his characters, tripping along unsuspectingly in the sunny byways, are suddenlyconfronted by the terrifying mask and realize life is not all pleasantpastime and that the Greek philosophy of retribution is nature's law, preserving the unities. When the time comes, the Master of events, adjusting them in prescribed lines, reaches by stern obligation theavoidless conclusion. 

Consulting no law but his own will, the Marquis de Ligne had lived asthough he were the autocrat of fate itself instead of one of itsservants, and therefore was surprised when the venerable playwrightprepared the unexpected dénouement. In pursuance of this end, it wasdecreed by the imperious and incontrovertible dramatist of the humanfamily that this crabbed, vicious, antiquated marionette should wendhis way to the St. Charles on a particular evening. Since the day atthe races, the eccentric nobleman had been ill and confined to hisroom, but now he was beginning to hobble around, and, immediately withreturning strength, sought diversion. 

"François, " he said, "what is there at the theater to-night?"

"Comic opera, my lord?"

The marquis made a grimace. "Comic opera outside of Paris!" heexclaimed, with a shrug of the shoulders. 

"A new actress makes her début at the St. Charles. "

"Let it be the début, then! Perhaps she will fail, and that will amuseme. "

"Yes, my lord. "

"And, by the way, François, did you see anything of a large envelope, a buff-colored envelope, I thought I left in my secretary?"

"No, my lord. " But François became just a shade paler. 

"It is strange, " said the marquis, half to himself, "what could havebecome of it! I destroyed other papers, but not that. You are sure, François, you did not steal it?"

By this time the servant's knees began to tremble, and, had themarquis' eyesight been better, he could not have failed to detect theother's agitation. But the valet assumed a bold front, as he asked:

"Why should I have stolen it?"

"True, why?" grumbled the marquis. "It would be of no service to you. No; you didn't take it. I believe you honest--in this case!"

"Thank you, my lord!"

"After all, what does it matter?" muttered the nobleman to himself. "What's in a good name to-day--with traitors within and traitorswithout? 'Tis love's labor lost to have protected it! We've fostered amilitary nest of traitors. The scorpions will be faithful to nothingbut their own ends. They'll fight for any master. "

Recalled to his purpose of attending the play by François' bringingfrom the wardrobe sundry articles of attire, the marquis underwent anelaborate toilet, recovering his good humor as this complicatedoperation proceeded. Indeed, by the time it had reached a triumphantend and the valet set the marquis before a mirror, the latter hadforgotten his dissatisfaction at the government in his pleasure withhimself. 

"Too much excitement is dangerous, is it?" he mumbled. "I am afraidthere will be none at all. A stage-struck young woman; a doll-likeface, probably; a milk-and-water performance! Now, in the old daysactors were artists. Yes, artists!" he repeated, as though he hadstruck a chord that vibrated in his memory. 

Arriving at the theater, he was surprised at the scene of animation;the line of carriages; the crowd about the doors and in the entrancehall! Evidently the city eagerly sought novelty, and Barnes' company, offering new diversion after many weeks of opera, drew a fairproportion of pleasure-seekers to the portals of the drama. The noiseof rattling wheels and the banging of carriage doors; the aspect ofmany fair ladies, irreproachably gowned; the confusion of voices fromvenders hovering near the gallery entrance--imparted a cosmopolitanatmosphere to the surroundings. 

"You'd think some well-known player was going to appear, François!"grumbled the marquis, as he thrust his head out of his carriage. "Looks like a theater off the Strand! And there's an orange-girl! Adusky Peggy!"

The vehicle of the nobleman drew up before the brilliantly-lightedentrance. Mincingly, the marquis dismounted, assisted by the valet;within he was met by a _loge_ director who, with the airs of aChesterfield, bowed the people in and out. 

"Your ticket, sir!" said this courteous individual, scraping unusuallylow. 

The marquis waved his hand toward his man, and François produced thebits of pasteboard. Escorted to his box, the nobleman settled himselfin an easy chair, after which he stared impudently and inquisitivelyaround him. 

And what a heterogeneous assemblage it was; of how many nationalitiesmade up; gay bachelors, representatives of the western trade andeastern manufacturers; a fair sprinkling of the military element, seeking amusement before departing for the front, their brass buttonsand striking new uniforms a grim reminder of the conflict wagingbetween the United States and Mexico; cotton brokers, banking agents, sugar, tobacco and flour dealers; some evidently English with theirrosy complexions, and others French by their gesticulations! And amongthe women, dashing belles from Saratoga, proud beauties fromLouisville, "milliner-martyred" daughters of interior planters, andhandsome creole matrons, in black gowns that set off their whiteshoulders!

In this stately assemblage--to particularize for a moment!--was seatedthe (erstwhile!) saintly Madame Etalage, still proud in her bearing, although white as an angel, and by her side, her carpet knight, anextravagant, preposterous fop. A few seats in front of her prattledthe lovely _ingenue_, little Fantoccini, a biting libeller of otheractresses, with her pitiless tongue. To her left was a shaggy-lookinggentleman, the Addison of New Orleans' letters, a most tolerantcritic, who never spoke to a woman if he could avoid doing so, butwho, from his philosophical stool, viewed the sex with a conviction itcould do no wrong; a judgment in perspective, as it were!

The marquis paid little attention to the men; it was the feminineportion of the audience that interested him, and he regarded it with agloating leer, the expression of a senile satyr. Albeit a little onthe seamy side of life, his rank and wealth were such that he himselfattracted a good deal of attention, matronly eyes being turned in hisdirection with not unkindly purport. The marquis perceived the stirhis presence occasioned and was not at all displeased; on thecontrary, his manner denoted gratification, smiling and smirking frombud to blossom and from blossom to bud!

How fascinating it was to revel in the sight of so much youth andbeauty from the brink of the grave whereon he stood; how young it madehim feel again! He rubbed his withered hands together in childishdelight, while he contemplated the lively charms of Fantoccini ordevoted himself to the no less diverting scrutiny of certain otherdark-haired ladies. 

While occupied in this agreeable pastime the nobleman became dimlyconscious the debutante had appeared and was greeted with the moderateapplause of an audience that is reserving its opinion. "Gad, " said oneof the dandies who was keenly observing the nobleman, "it'sfashionable to look at the people and not at the actors!" And hestraightway stared at the boxes, assuming a lackadaisical, languishingair. Having taken note of his surroundings to his satisfaction, themarquis at length condescended to turn his eye-glass deliberately andquizzically to the stage. His sight was not the best, and he gazed forsome time before discerning a graceful figure and a pure, oval face, with dark hair and eyes. 

"Humph, not a bad stage presence!" he thought. "Probably plenty ofbeauty, with a paucity of talent! That's the way nowadays. Thevoice--why, where have I heard it before? A beautiful voice! Whatmelody, what power, what richness! And the face--" Here he wiped themoisture from his glasses--"if the face is equal to the voice, she hasan unusual combination in an artist. "

Again he elevated the glass. Suddenly his attenuated frame straightened, his hand shook violently and, the glasses fell from his nervelessfingers. 

"Impossible!" he murmured. But the melody of those tones continued tofall upon his ears like a voice from the past. 

When the curtain went down on the first act there was a storm ofapplause. In New Orleans nothing was done by halves, and Constance, as Adrienne Lecouvreur, radiant in youth and the knowledge ofsuccess, was called out several times. The creoles made a vigorousdemonstration; the Americans were as pleased in their less impulsiveway; and in the loges all the lattices were pushed up, "a complimentto any player, " said Straws. To the marquis, the ladies in the_loges_ were only reminiscent of the fashionable dames, with bareshoulders and glittering jewels, in the side boxes of old DruryLane, leaning from their high tribunals to applaud the Adrienne oftwenty years ago!

He did not sit in a theater in New Orleans now, but in London town, with a woman by his side who bent beneath the storm of words she knewwere directed at her. As in a dream he lingered, plunged in thought, with no longer the cynical, carping expression on his face as helooked at the stage, but awed and wonder-stricken, transported toanother scene through the lapse of years that folded their shadowywings and made the past to-day. Two vivid pictures floated before himas though they belonged to the present: Adrienne, bright, smiling andhappy, as she rushed into the green room, with the plaudits of themultitude heard outside; Adrienne, in her last moments, betrayed todeath!

They were applauding now, or was it but the mocking echo of the past?The curtain had descended, but went up again, and the actress stoodwith flowers showered around her. Save that she was in the springtimeof life, while the other had entered summer's season; that her art wastender and romantic, rather than overwhelming and tragic, she was thecounterpart of the actress he had deserted in London; a faithfulprototype, bearing the mother's eyes, brow and features; a moving, living picture of the dead, as though the grave had rolled back itsstone and she had stepped forth, young once more, trusting andinnocent. 

The musical bell rang in the wine room, where the worshipers ofBacchus were assembled, the signal that the drop would rise again infive minutes. At the bar the imbibers were passing judgment. 

"What elegance, deah boy! But cold--give me Fantoccini!" cried thecarpet knight. 

"Fantoccini's a doll to her!" retorted the worldly young sparkaddressed. 

"A wicked French doll, then! What do you think?" Turning to the localAddison. 

"Sir, she 'snatches a grace beyond the reach of art'!" replied thatworthy. 

"You ask for a criticism, and he answers in poetry!" retorted thefirst speaker. 

"'Tis only the expression of the audience!" interposed another voice. 

"Oh, of course, Mr. Mauville, if you, too, take her part, that is theend of it!"

The land baron's smile revealed withering contempt, as with eyesbright with suppressed excitement, and his face unusually sallow, hejoined the group. 

"The end of it!" he repeated, fixing his glance upon the captiousdandy. "The beginning, you mean! The beginning of her triumphs!"

"Oh, have your own way!" answered the disconcerted critic. 

Mauville deliberately turned his back. "And such dunces sit injudgment!" he muttered to the scholar. 

"Curse me, Mauville's in a temper to-night!" said the spark in a lowvoice. "Been drinking, I reckon! But it's time for the next act!"

Punches and juleps were hastily disposed of, and the imbibers quicklysought their places. This sudden influx, with its accompanyinglaughter and chattering, aroused the marquis from his lethargy. Hestarted and looked around him in bewilderment. The noise and the lightconversation, however, soon recalled his mind to a sense of hissurroundings, and he endeavored to recover his self-possession. 

Could it be possible it was but a likeness his imagination hadconverted into such vivid resemblance? A sudden thought seized him andhe looked around toward the door of the box. 

"François!" he called, and the valet, who had been waiting hismaster's pleasure without, immediately appeared. 

"Sit down, François!" commanded the marquis. "I am not feeling well. Imay conclude to leave soon, and may need your arm. "

The servant obeyed, and the nobleman, under pretense of finding moreair near the door, drew back his chair, where he could furtively watchhis man's face. The orchestra ceased; the curtain rose, and the valetgazed mechanically at the stage. In his way, François was as _blasé_as his master, only, of course, he understood his position too well toreveal that lassitude and ennui, the expression of which was theparticular privilege of his betters. He had seen many great actressesand heard many peerless singers; he had delved after his fashion intosundry problems, and had earned as great a right as any of thenobility to satiety and defatigation in his old age, but unfortunatelyhe was born in a class which may feel but not reveal, and mask alikecontent and discontent. 

Again those tones floated out from the past; musical, soft! Themarquis trembled. Did not the man notice? No; he was still lookinggravely before him. Dolt; did he not remember? Could he not recall thetimes beyond number when he had heard that voice; in the ivy-coveredcottage; in the garden of English roses?

Suddenly the valet uttered an exclamation; the stolid aspect of hisface gave way to an obvious thrill of interest. 

"My lord!" he cried. 

"An excellent actress, François; an excellent actress!" said themarquis, rising. "Is that my coat? Get it for me. What are youstanding there for? Your arm! Don't you see I am waiting?"

Overwrought and excitable, he did not dare remain for the latterportion of the drama; better leave before the last act, he toldhimself, and, dazed by the reappearance of that vision, the old manfairly staggered from the box. 

The curtain fell for the last time, and Barnes, with exultation, stoodwatching in the wings. She had triumphed, his little girl; she had wonthe great, generous heart of New Orleans. He clapped his handsfuriously, joining in the evidences of approval, and, when the ovationfinally ceased and she approached, the old manager was so overcome hehad not a word to say. She looked at him questioningly, and he who hadalways been her instructor folded her fondly to his breast. 

"I owe it all to you, " she whispered. 

"Pooh!" he answered. "You stole fire from heaven. I am but atheatrical, bombastic, barnstorming Thespian. "

"Would you spoil me?" she interrupted, tenderly. 

"You are your mother over again, my dear! If she were only here now!But where is Saint-Prosper? He has not yet congratulated you? He, ourgood genius, whose generosity has made all this possible!" And Barneshalf-turned, when she placed a detaining hand on his arm. 

"No, no!"

"Why, my dear, have you and he--"

"Is it not enough that you are pleased?" replied Constance, hastily, with a glance so shining he forgot all further remonstrances. 

"Pleased!" exclaimed Barnes. "Why, I feel as gay as Momus! But we'llsing Te Deum later at the festive board. Go now and get ready!"

CHAPTER X

LAUGHTER AND TEARS

A supper was given the company after the performance by the manager, to which representatives of the press--artful Barnes!--had beeninvited. Of all the merry evenings in the bohemian world, that was oneof the merriest. Next to the young girl sat the Count de Propriac, hisbreast covered with a double row of medals. Of the toasts drunk toConstance, the manager, poets Straws and Phazma, etc. , unfortunatelyno record remains. Of the recollections of the wiry old lady; theimpromptu verse of the rhymsters; the roaring speech of Mr. Barnes;the song and dainty flower dance by Susan and Kate--only the barefacts have descended to the chronicler. 

So fancy must picture the wreaths of smoke; the superabundance offlowers, the fragrance of cigars mingling with the perfume of fadingfloral beauties; the pale dark-eyed girl presiding, upon her duskyhair a crown of laurel, set there, despite her protestations, byPhazma and Straws; the devotion of the count to his fair neighbor; thealmost superhuman pride of noisy Barnes; the attention bestowed bySusan upon Saint-Prosper, while through his mind wandered the words ofa French song:

 "Adieu, la cour, adieu les dames; Adieu les filles et les femmes--"

Intermixed with this sad refrain the soldier's thoughts reverted tothe performance, and amidst the chatter of Susan, he reviewed againand again the details of that evening. Was this the young girl whoplayed in school-houses, inns or town halls, he had asked himself, seated in the rear of the theater? How coldly critical had been herauditors; some of the faces about him ironical; the bored, tired facesof men who had well-nigh drained life's novelties; the artificiallyvivacious faces of women who played at light-heartedness and gaiety!Yet how free from concern had she been, as natural and composed asthough her future had not depended upon that night! When she won anovation, he had himself forgotten to applaud, but had sat there, looking from her to the auditors, to whom she was now bound by ties ofadmiration and friendliness. 

"Don't you like her?" a voice next to him had asked. 

Like her? He had looked at the man, blankly. 

"Yes, " he had replied. 

Then the past had seemed to roll between them: the burning sands; thevoices of the troops; the bugle call! In his brain wild thoughts hadsurged and flowed--as they were surging and flowing now. 

"Is he not handsome, Constance's new admirer?" whispered Susan. "Whatcan he be saying? She looks so pleased! He is very rich, isn't he?"

"I don't know, " answered Saint-Prosper, brusquely. 

Again the thoughts surged and surged, and the past intruded itself!Reaching for his glass, he drank quickly. 

"Don't you ever feel the effects of wine?" asked the young woman. 

His glance chilled her, it seemed so strange and steely!

"I believe you are so--so strong you don't even notice it, " addedSusan, with conviction. "But you don't have half as good a time!"

"Perhaps I enjoy myself in my way, " he answered. 

"What is your way?" she asked quickly. "You don't appear to be wildlyhilarious in your pleasures. " And Susan's bright eyes rested on himcuriously. "But we were speaking about the count and Constance. Don'tyou think it would be a good match?" she continued with enthusiasm. "Alas, my titled admirer got no further than the beginning. But menare deceivers ever! When they _do_ reach the Songs of Solomon, theypass on to Exodus!"

"And leave the fair ones to Lamentations, " said Straws, who had caughther last remarks. 

"Or Revelations!" added Phazma. 

At the sound of their laughter, Constance looked coldly their way, until a remark from the count at her right, and, "As I was saying, mydear, " from the old lady at her left, engrossed the young girl'sattention once more. But finally the great enemy of joy--the grimguardian of human pleasure--the reaper whose iron hands move ever in acircle, symbolical of eternity--finally, Time reminded Barnes that thehour had surely arrived when the curtain should descend upon thesefestivities. So he roared out a last blithe farewell, and the guestsdeparted one by one, taking with them flowers in memory of theoccasion, until all had left save Constance, the count, Saint-Prosperand the manager. Barnes was talking somewhat incoherently, holding thesoldier by the coat and plunging into successive anecdotes about stagefolk, while Saint-Prosper, apparently listening, observed the diplomatand Constance, whose conversation he could overhear. 

"As I said to the Royal Infanta of Spain, flattery flies before truthin your presence, Mademoiselle, " sighed the count. And then raisingher hand to his lips, "_Ah, ma chere Mademoiselle, que je vousadore!_" he whispered. 

She withdrew it hastily, and, ogling and gesticulating, he bowedhimself out, followed by the manager. 

Leaning against the chair, her figure outlined by the glow from thecrystal chandelier, her face in shadow, the hand the diplomat hadpressed to his lips resting in the exposed light on the mahogany, thegaiety went out of her face, and the young girl wearily brushed thehair from her brow. As if unaware of the soldier's presence, sheglanced absently at the table in its wrecked glory, and, throwing herlace wrap over her arm, was moving toward the door, when he spoke. 

"Miss Carew!"

She paused, standing with clasped hands before him, while the scarfslipped from her arm and fell at her feet. 

"May I not also tell you how glad I am--that you succeeded to-night?"

"I dislike congratulations!" she said, indifferently. 

He looked at her quickly, but her eyes expressed only apathy. In his asudden gleam of light appeared. 

"From me, you mean?" The light became brighter. 

She did not answer. His self-control was fast ebbing. 

"You underestimate your favors, if you fancy they are easilyforgotten!"

A crimson flush extended to her brow; the unconcern died out of hereyes. 

"I do not understand, " she answered, slowly. 

"When a woman says 'I do not understand, ' she means 'I wish toforget'. "

Her wide-open glance flashed ominously to his; she clasped andunclasped her fingers. 

"Forget what?" she said, coldly. 

"Nameless nothings!" he returned. "A smile--a glance--nothing to you, perhaps, but"--the set expression of his face giving way to abruptpassion!--"everything to me! Perhaps I had not meant to say this, butit seems as though the words must come out to-night. It may be"--hisvoice vibrating with strange earnestness--"for once I want to bemyself. For weeks we have been--friends--and then suddenly you beginto treat me--how? As though I no longer existed! Why did you deceiveme--let me drift on? Because I was mute, did you think I was blind?Why did I join the strollers--the land baron accused me of followingyou across the country. He was right; I was following you. I would notconfess it to myself before. But I confess it now! It was a fool'sparadise, " he ended, bitterly. 

She shrank back before his vehement words; something within herappeared violated; as though his plea had penetrated the sanctity ofher reserve. 

"Would it not be well to say nothing about deception?" she replied, and her dark eyes swept his face. Then, turning from him abruptly, shestepped to the window, and, drawing aside the lace curtainsmechanically, looked out. 

The city below was yet teeming with life, lights gleaming everywhereand shadowy figures passing. Suddenly out of the darkness came acompany of soldiers who had just landed, marching through the streetstoward the camping ground and singing as they went. 

The chorus, like a mighty breath of patriotism, filled her heart tooverflowing. It seemed as though she had heard it for the first time;had never before felt its potency. All the tragedy of war swept beforeher; all that inspiring, strange affection for country, kith and kin, suddenly exalted her. 

[Illustration]

Above the tramping of feet, the melody rose and fell on the distantair, dying away as the figures vanished in the gloom. With its love ofnative land, its expression of the unity of comradeship and tiesstronger than death, the song appeared to challenge an answer; and, when the music ceased, and only the drum-beats still seemed to makethemselves heard, she raised her head without moving from her positionand looked at him to see if he understood. But though she glanced athim, she hardly saw him. In her mind was another picture--the betrayedgarrison; the soldiers slain!--and the horror of it threw such a filmover her gaze that he became as a figure in some distressing dream. 

An inkling of her meaning--the mute questioning of her eyes--the dreadevoked by that revolting vision of the past--were reflected in hisglance. 

"Deceived you?" he began, and his voice, to her, sounded as from afar. "How--what--"

"Must it be--could it be put into words?"

The deepest shadows dwelt in her eyes; shadows he could not penetrate, although he still doggedly, yet apprehensively, regarded her! Watchingher, his brow grew darker. 

"Why not?" he continued, stubbornly. 

Why? The dimness that had obscured her vision lifted. Now she saw himvery plainly, indeed; tall and powerful; his face, harsh, intense, asthough by the vigor of physical and mental force he would override anycharge or imputation. 

Why? She drew herself up, as he quickly searched her eyes, bright withthe passions that stirred her breast. 

"You told me part of your story that day in the property wagon, " shebegan, repugnance, scorn and anger all mingling in her tones. "Why didyou not tell me the rest?"

His glance, too, flashed. Would he still profess not to understandher? His lips parted; he spoke with an effort. 

"The rest?" he said, his brow lowering. 

"Yes, " she answered quickly; "the stain upon your name!--the garrisonsold!--the soldiers killed!--murdered!--"

She had turned to him swiftly, fiercely, with her last words, butbefore the look of sudden shame and dread on his face, her eyesabruptly fell as though a portion of his dishonor had inexplicablytouched her. He made no attempt to defend himself--motionless he stoodan instant--then, without a word, he moved away. At the threshold hepaused, but she did not look up--could not! A moment; an eternity!

"Why don't you go?" she cried. "Why don't you go?"

The door opened, closed; she was alone. 

Pale as the dying lilies on the table, she stepped toward thethreshold, when Barnes, chipper and still indefatigable, entered byanother door. He was too inspired with festal intoxication to observeher agitation. 

"What, my dear!" he exclaimed cheerily. "Has he gone? Did you make upyour little differences? Did you settle your quarrel before he leavesfor Mexico?"

"For Mexico!" she repeated, mechanically. 

"Of course. He has his commission in the army and leaves early in themorning. But you look tired, my dear. I declare you are quitepale"--pinching her cheek--"rest will bring back the roses, though. "

Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. 

"Why, why, what's this?" he said, patting her head. 

"I only care for you, " she whispered. "My dear! My dear!"

CHAPTER XI

THE PASSING OF A FINE GENTLEMAN

"'Perhaps she will fail, and that will amuse me, '" ruminated Françoison his high seat next to the coachman, repeating the marquis' words, as they drove home after the nobleman's precipitous retreat from thetheater. "Well, he didn't look as though he had been particularlyamused. But no wonder he was startled! It even"--reviewing theimpression first made upon him at sight of the actress--"sent a shiverthrough me!" Here the carriage drew up sharply before the marquis'home, and François, hastily alighting, threw open the door. 

"Eh? What? Are we here?" muttered the marquis, starting from thecorner where he had been reclining. 

He arose with some difficulty; traversed the sidewalk and theshell-strewn path to the house which loomed darkly before them; pausedat the foot of the stairs where he breathed heavily, complaining ofthe oppressiveness of the air; and finally, with the assistance of thevalet, found himself once more in his room, the sick chamber he hadgrown to detest! Here alone--having dismissed the servant as soon aspossible--he moved restlessly to and fro, pondering deeply. Since themoment when he had seen and recognized his daughter, all the buoyancywhich had given his wasted figure a sort of galvanic vitality seemedto vanish. It was like the exhaustion of a battery, the collapse ofthe sustaining power. 

"That resemblance can not be coincidence!" he thought. "Oh, errors ofthe past, you come home in our old age when the limbs are falteringand life is failing!"

Going to the _secrétaire_, he took out a box that had not been openedin years, and, with trembling fingers, turned over many papers. Heshivered, and, thinking it was cold, stirred the fire. Returning tothe secretary, he took from the box a package tied with a ribbonstill, after the lapse of these many years, slightly fragrant, and hebreathed that perfume, so faint, so subtle, while recollections smotehim like a knife. 

Its scent was familiar to him; it seemed to bring life to the dead, and for the moment in his mind's eye he saw her glowing figure, thelove of his youth, with flashing, revengeful eyes and noble mien. Hecowered over the desk, as if shrinking from an avenging spirit, whilethe perfume, like opium, filled his brain with strange fantasies. Hestrove to drown remembrance, but some force--it seemed not hisown!--drove him irresistibly to untie that ribbon, to scrutinize manyold theater programs and to gaze upon a miniature in ivory depicting awoman in the loveliness of her charms, but whose striking likeness tothe young actress he had just seen filled his heart with strange fear. Some power--surely it could not have been his will which rebelledstrenuously!--impelled him to open those letters and to read them wordfor word. The tenderness of the epistles fell on his heart as thoughto scorch it, and he quivered like a guilty wretch. His eyes werefascinated by these words in her last letter: "Should you desert meand your unborn child, your end will be miserable. As I believe inretribution, I am sure you will reap as you have sown. "

Suddenly the reader in a frenzy threw the letter to the floor andtrampled on it. He regarded the face in the miniature with fear andhatred, and dashing it into the drawer, called down maledictions onher. He ceased abruptly, weak and wavering. 

"I am going insane, " he said, laughing harshly. "Fool! To let thatwoman's memory disturb me. So much for her dire prophecy!" And hesnapped his fingers and dropped the letter in the fire. 

"What can her curse avail?" he said aloud. "She is gone, turned toashes like that paper and there is no life after this one. All then isnothing--emptiness--a blank! I need rest. It is this cursed dyspepsiawhich has made me nervous. Something to compose me, and then to bed!"

In spite of soothing powders, however, he passed a restless night andarose unrefreshed, but ordered his valet to bring one of his lightestsuits, and, having dressed, he set a white flower upon his coat, whilethe servant proceeded to apply various pigments to the wrinkled face, until it took on a mocking semblance to the countenance of a manfifteen years younger. The marquis leered at himself in the pier-glassand assumed a jauntiness of demeanor he was far from feeling. 

"I do not look tired or worried, François?"

"Not at all, my lord, " replied the obsequious valet. "I never saw you, my lord, appear so young and well. "

"Beneath the surface, François, there is age and weakness, " answeredthe marquis in a melancholy tone. 

"It is but a passing indisposition, my lord, " asserted the servant, soothingly. 

"Perhaps. But, François"--peering around--"as I look over my shoulder, do you know what I see?"

The almost hideous expression of the roué's face alarmed the servant. 

"No, my lord, what is it?"

"A figure stands there in black and is touching me. It is the spiritof death, François. You can not see it, but there it is--"

"My lord, you speak wildly. "

"I have seen some strange things, François. The dead have arisen. AndI have received my warning. Soon I shall join those dark specterswhich once gaily traversed this bright world. A little brandy andsoda, François. "

The servant brought it to him. The marquis leered awfully over hisshoulder once more. "Your health, my guest!" he exclaimed, laughingharshly. "But my hat, François; I have business to perform, importantbusiness!"

He ambled out of the room. On the street he was all politeness, removing his hat to a dark brunette who rolled by in her carriage, andpausing to chat with another representative of the sex of the blondtype. Then he gaily sauntered on, until reaching the theater hestopped and made a number of inquiries. Who was the manager ofConstance Carew? Where was he to be found? "At the St. Charles hotel?"He was obliged to Monsieur, the ticket-seller, and wished himgood-day. 

Entering the hotel, he sent his card to Barnes, requesting aninterview, and the manager, overcome by the honor of such a visit, responded with alacrity. The customary formalities over, the noblemancongratulated Barnes on the performance and led the conversation tothe young actress. 

"Pardon my curiosity, " he said, with apparent carelessness, "but I'msure I remember an actress of the same name in London--many yearsago?"

"Her mother, undoubtedly, " replied the manager, proudly. 

"She was married, was she not, to--"

"A scoundrel who took her for his wife in one church and repudiatedthe ties through another denomination!"

"Ah, a French-English marriage!" said the marquis, blandly. "An olddevice! But what was this lover's name?"

"This husband's, my lord!"

"Lover or husband, I fancy it is all the same to her now, " sneered thecaller. "She has passed the point where reputation matters. "

"Her reputation is my concern, Monsieur le Marquis!"

"You knew her?" asked the nobleman, as though the conversation weariedhim. "And she was faithful to his memory? No scandals--none of thoselittle affairs women of her class are prone to? There"--as Barnesstarted up indignantly--"spare me your reproaches! I'm too feeble toquarrel. Besides, what is it to me? I was only curious about her--thatis all! But she never spoke the name of her husband?"

"Not even to her own child!"

"She does not know her father's name?" repeated the marquis. "But Ithank you; Mademoiselle Constance is so charming I must needs call toask if she were related to the London actress! Good-day, Monsieur! Youare severe on the lover. Was it not the fashion of the day for theactresses to take lovers, or for the fops to have an opera girl or acomedienne? Did your most popular performers disdain such diversions?"he sneered. "_Pardie_, the world has suddenly become moral! Agentleman can no longer, it would seem, indulge in gentlemanlyfollies. "

Mumbling about the decadence of fashion, the marquis departed, hismanner so strange the manager gazed after him in surprise. 

With no thought of direction, his lips moving, talking to himself inadynamic fashion, the nobleman walked mechanically on until he reachedthe great cathedral. The organ was rolling and voices arose sweet asthose of seraphim. He hesitated at the portal and then laughed tohimself. "Well has Voltaire said: 'Pleasure has its time; so, too, haswisdom. Make love in thy youth, and in old age, attend to thysalvation. '" He repeated the latter words, but, although he paused atthe threshold and listened, he did not enter. 

As he stood there, uncertain and trembling, a figure replete withyouth and vigor approached, and, glancing at her, an exclamationescaped him that caused her to pause and turn. 

"You are not well, " she said, solicitously. "Can I help you?"

"It is nothing, nothing!" answered the marquis, ashy pale at the sightof her and the proximity of that face which regarded him with womanlysympathy. "Go away. "

"At least, let me assist you. You were going to the cathedral? Come!"

His hand rested upon her strong young arm; he felt himself too weak toresist, so, together--father and daughter!--they entered thecathedral. Side by side they knelt--he to keep up the farce, fearingto undeceive her--while yet only mocking words came to the old man'sheart, as the bitterness of the situation overwhelmed him. She was adaughter in whom a prince might have found pride, but he remainedthere mute, not daring to speak, experiencing all the tortures ofremorse and retribution. Of what avail had been ambition? How had itoverleaped content and ease of mind! Into what a nest of stings andthorns his loveless marriage had plunged him! And now but the blackshadow remained; he walked in the darkness of unending isolation. Sohe should continue to walk straight to the door of death. 

He scarcely heard the organ or the voice of the priest. The highaltar, with its many symbols, suggested the thousands that hadworshiped there and gone away comforted. Here was abundant testimonyof the blessings of divine mercy in the numerous costly gifts and inthe discarded crutches, and here faith had manifested itself forgenerations. 

The marquis' throat was hoarse; he could have spoken no words if hehad tried. He laughed in his heart at the gifts of the grateful ones;those crosses of ivory and handsome lamps were but symbols ofbarbarism and superstition. The tablets, with their inscriptions, _"Merci"_ and _"Ex voto, "_ were to him absurd, and he gibed at thesimple credulity of the people who could thus be misled. All theseevidences of thanksgiving were but cumulative testimony that men andwomen are like little children, who will be pleased over fairy talesor frightened over ghost stories. The promise of paradise, but thefairy tale told by priests to men and women; the threats ofpunishment, the ghost stories to awe them! A malicious delight creptinto his diseased imagination that he alone in the cathedral possessedthe extreme divination, enabling him to perceive the emptiness of allthese signs and symbols. He labored in a fever of mental excitementand was only recalled to himself as his glance once more rested uponthe young girl. 

He became dimly conscious that people were moving past them, and hesuddenly longed to cry out, "My child!" but he fought down theimpulse. There could be no turning back now at the eleventh hour; themarquis was a philosopher, and did not believe that, in a twinkling ofan eye, a man may set behind all that has transpired and regard it asnaught. Something within held him from speaking to her--perhaps hisown inherent sense of the consistency of things; his appreciation ofthe legitimate finale to a miserable order of circumstances! Evenpride forbade departure from long-established habit. But while thistrain of thought passed through his mind, he realized she wasregarding him with clear, compassionate eyes, and he heard her voice:

"Shall we go now? The services are over. "

He obeyed without question. 

"Over!"

Those moments by her side would never return! They were about to partto meet no more on earth. He leaned heavily upon her arm and his stepswere faltering. Out into the warm sunshine they passed, the lightrevealing more plainly the ravages of time in his face. 

"You must take a carriage, " she said to the old man. 

"Thank you, thank you, " he replied. "Leave me here on the bench. Ishall soon be myself. I am only a little weak. You are good to an oldman. May I not"--asking solely for the pleasure of hearing herspeak--"may I not know the name of one who is kind to an old man?"

"My name is Constance Carew. "

He shook as with the palsy. "A good name, a good name!" he repeated. "I remember years ago another of that name--an actress in London. Avery beautiful woman, and good! But even she had her detractors andnone more bitter than the man who wronged her. You--you resemble her!But there, don't let me detain you. I shall do very well here. You arebusy, I dare say. "

"Yes, I should be at rehearsal, " she replied regretfully. 

"At rehearsal!" he repeated. "Yes!--yes!--. But the stage is no placefor you!" he added, suddenly. "You should leave it--leave it!"

She looked at him wonderingly. "Is there nothing more I can do foryou?"

"Nothing! Nothing! Except--no, nothing!"

"You were about to ask something?" she observed with more sympathy. 

"If you would not think me presuming--if you would not deem it anoffense--you remind me of one I loved and lost--it is so long agosince I felt her kiss for the last time--I am so near the grave--"

With tears in her eyes, she bent her head and her fresh young lipsjust touched his withered brow. 

"Good-by, " she said. "I am so sorry for you!" And she was gone, leaving him sitting there motionless as though life had departed. 

A rattling cab that clattered noisily past the cabildo and calaboza, and swung around the square, aroused the marquis. He arose, stoppedthe driver, and entered the rickety vehicle. 

"The law office of Marks and Culver, " said the marquis. 

The man lashed his horse and the attenuated quadruped flew like awinged Pegasus, soon drawing up before the attorneys' office. Fortunately Culver was in, and, although averse to business on anyday--thinking more of his court-yard and his fountain than of his lawbooks--this botanist-solicitor made shift to comply with the marquis'instructions and reluctantly earned a modest fee. He even refused toexpress surprise at my lord's story; one wife in London, another inParis; why, many a southern gentleman had two families--quadroonsbeing plentiful, why not? Culver unobtrusively yawned, and, with finecourtesy, bowed the marquis out. 

Slowly the latter retraced his steps to his home; his feet were heavyas lead; his smile was forced; he glanced frequently over hisshoulder, possessed by a strange fantasy. 

"I think I will lie down a little, " he said to his valet. "In thiseasy chair; that will do. I am feeling well; only tired. How that massis repeated in my mind! That is because it is Palestrina, François;not because it is a vehicle to salvation, employed by the gibberingpriests. Never let your heart rule your head, boy. Don't mistakeanything for reality. 'What have you seen in your travels?' was askedof Sage Evemere. 'Follies!' was the reply. 'Follies, follieseverywhere!' We never live; we are always in the expectation ofliving. "

He made an effort to smile which was little more than a grimace. 

"A cigar, François!"

"My lord, are you well?--"

The marquis flew into a rage and the valet placed an imported weed inhis master's hand. 

"A light, François!"

The valet obeyed. For a moment the strong cigar seemed to soothe theold man, although his hand shook like an aspen as he held it. 

"Now, bring me my Voltaire, " commanded the marquis. "The volume on thetable, idiot! Ah! here is what I wish: 'It takes twenty years to bringman from the state of embryo, and from that of a mere criminal, as heis in his first infancy, to the point when his reason begins to dawn. It has taken thirty centuries to know his structure; it would takeeternity to know something of the soul; it takes but an instant tokill him. ' But an instant; but an instant!" he repeated. 

He puffed feebly at the cigar. 

"It is cold here, François. "

The servant consulted the thermometer. 

"It is five degrees warmer than you are accustomed to, my lord, " hereplied. 

"Bring me the thermometer, " commanded the old man. "You should notlie, François. It is a bad fault in servants. Leave it to yourmasters; it is a polite vice. The privilege of the world's potentates, diplomats and great people. Never fall into the rut of lying, François, or you will soon outlive your usefulness as a valet. "

"You can see that I speak the truth, my lord, " was the response, ascalm as ever, for nothing disturbed or ruffled this ideal servant. 

He held out the thermometer for the marquis' inspection and the latterexamined it carefully. The cigar fell from his fingers to the floor. The attentive valet picked it up and threw it into the grate. 

"I believe, François, " stammered the marquis, "that the fault lieswith me. It is I--I, who am growing cold like death. "

"Yes, my lord, " answered the calm and imperturbable servant. 

"'Yes?' you blockhead!" shrieked the master. "Do you know what you aresaying?"

"Well, no, then, my lord, " responded the unmoved valet. 

"Yes and no!" shouted the marquis in a voice that was wildlydiscordant. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever my lord pleases, " was the quiet response. 

"_Mon Dieu_! I'll discharge you. "

The servant only smiled. 

"Why did you smile?"

"Oh, my lord--"

"Was it not that you thought it a good joke for a dying man todischarge his servant?"

"My lord is quick to catch the humorous side of anything, " returnedFrançois. 

"Begone, idiot! You are waiting for my death to discharge you. I cansee it in your eyes. Yet stay, François, for, if you leave me, I shallbe alone. You will not leave me?"

"As my lord desires, " was François' response. 

"I imagine I should feel better if I had my footbath. "

The servant removed the shoes and silken stockings from his master'sfeet and propped him up in a chair, throwing a blanket over hisshoulders and heaping more wood upon the fire in the grate. 

"More fire, you idiot!" cried the marquis, peevishly. "Do you not seethat I am freezing?"

"It is ten degrees above the temperature my lord always ordered, "retorted François, coolly. 

"Ten degrees! Oh, you wish to remind me that the end is approaching?You do not dare deny it!" The valet shrugged his shoulders. 

"But I am not gone yet. " He wagged his head cunningly and began tolaugh to himself. His mind apparently rambled, for he started to chanta French love song in a voice that had long since lost its capacityfor a sustained tone. The words were distinct, although the melody wasbroken, and the spectacle was gruesome enough. As he concluded helooked at the valet as if for approbation and began to mumble abouthis early love affairs. 

"Bah, François, " he said shrilly, "I'll be up to-morrow as gay asever. _Vive l'amour! vive la joie!_ It was a merry life we led, eh, François?"

"Merry indeed, my lord. "

"It kept you busy, François. There was the little peasant girl on theRhine. What flaxen hair she had and eyes like the sky! Yet a word ofpraise--a little flattery--"

"My lord was irresistible, " said the valet with mild sarcasm. 

"Let me see, François, what became of her?"

"She drowned herself in the river. "

"That is true. I had forgotten. Well, life is measured by pleasures, not by years, and I was the prince of coxcombs. Up at ten o'clock;no sooner on account of the complexion; then visits from thetradespeople and a drive in the park to look at the ladies. It wasthere I used to meet the English actress. 'Twas there, with her, Ivowed the park was a garden of Eden! What a scene, when my barristertried to settle the case! Fortunately a marriage in England was nota marriage in France. I saw her last night, François"--with aninsane look--"in the flesh and blood; as life-like as the nightbefore we took the stage for Brighton!" Suddenly he shrieked and alook of terror replaced the vain, simpering expression. 

"There, François!" Glancing with awe behind him. And truly there stooda dark shadow; a gruesome presence. His face became distorted and helapsed into unconsciousness. 

The valet gazed at him with indifference. Then he went to an innerroom and brought a valise which he began packing carefully andmethodically. After he had completed this operation he approached thedressing table and took up a magnificent jeweled watch, which heexamined for a moment before thrusting it into his pocket. A snuffbox, set with diamonds, and several rings followed. François with thesame deliberation opened a drawer and took out a small box which hetried to open, and, failing, forced the lid with the poker. At this, my lord opened his eyes, and, in a weak voice, for his strength hadnearly deserted him, demanded:

"What are you doing, François?"

"Robbing you, my lord, " was the slow and dignified response. 

The marquis' eyes gleamed with rage. He endeavored to call out, buthis voice failed him and he fell back, trembling and overcome. 

"Thief! Ingrate!" he hissed, hoarsely. 

"I beg you not to excite yourself, my lord, " said the stately valet. "You are already very weak and it will hasten the end. "

"Is this the way you repay me?"

"My lord will not need these things soon. "

"Have you no gratitude?" stammered the marquis, whose physical andmental condition was truly pitiable. 

"Gratitude for having been called 'idiot, ' 'dog, ' and 'blockhead'nearly all my life! I am somewhat lacking in that quality, I fear. "

"Is there no shame in you?"

"Shame?" repeated François, as he proceeded to ransack another drawer. "There might have been before I went into your service, my lord. Yes;once I felt shame for you. It was years ago, in London, when youdeserted your beautiful wife. When I saw how she worshiped you andwhat a noble woman she was, I confess I felt ashamed that I served oneof the greatest blackguards in Europe--"

"Oh, you scoundrel--" exclaimed the marquis, his face becoming aghastly hue. 

"Be calm, my lord. You really are in need of all your energy. Foryears I have submitted to your shameful service. I have been at thebeck and call of one of the greatest roués and villains in France. Years of such association would somewhat soil any nature. Anotherthing, my lord, I must tell you, since you and I are settling our lastaccounts. For years I have endured your miserable King Louis Philippe. A king? Bah! He fled from the back door! A coward, who shaved hiswhiskers for a disguise. "

"No more, rascal!"

"Rascal yourself, you worn-out, driveling breath of corruption! It isso pleasant to exercise a gentleman's privilege of invective! Ah, hereis the purse. _Au revoir_, my lord. A pleasant dissolution!"

But by this time the marquis was speechless, and François, taking thevalise in hand, deferentially left the room. He locked the door behindhim and thrust the key into his pocket. 

CHAPTER XII

IN THE OLD CEMETERY

The engagement at the new St. Charles was both memorable andprofitable, The Picayune, before the fifties, an audacious sheet, being especially kind to the players. "This paper, " said a writer ofthe day, "was as full of witticisms as one of Thackeray's dreams aftera light supper, and, as for Editors Straws and Phazma, they are poetswho eat, talk and think rhyme. " The Picayune contained a poemaddressed to Miss Carew, written by Straws in a cozy nook in theveranda at the Lake End, with his absinthe before him and the remainsof an elaborate repast about him. It was then quite the fashion towrite stanzas to actresses; the world was not so prosaic as it is now, and even the president of the United States, John Quincy Adams, pennedgraceful verses to a fair ward of Thalia. 

One noon, a few days after the opening performance, several members ofthe company were late for rehearsal and Barnes strode impatiently toand fro, glancing at his watch and frowning darkly. To avenge himselffor the remissness of the players, he roared at the stage carpenterswho were constructing a balcony and to the supers who were shiftingflats to the scenery room. The light from an open door at the back ofthe stage dimly illumined the scene; overhead, in the flies, wasintense darkness; while in front, the auditorium yawned like a chasm, in no wise suggestive of the brilliant transformation at night. 

"Ugh!" said Susan, standing in one of the entrances. "It is likeplaying to ghosts! Fancy performing to an audience of specters!Perhaps the phantoms of the past really do assemble in their oldplaces on occasions like this. Only you can't hear them applaud orlaugh. "

"Are you looking for admirers among ghosts?" remarked Hawkes, ironically. 

"Don't, " she returned, with a little shiver. 

"So, ladies and gentlemen, you are all here at last?" exclaimedBarnes, interrupting this cheerful conversation. "Some of you are lateagain to-day. It must not happen again. Go to Victor's, Moreau's, orMiguel's, as much as you please. If you have a headache or a heartachein consequence, that is your own affair, but I am not to be keptwaiting the next day. "

"Victor's, indeed!" retorted the elastic old lady. "As if--"

"No one supposed, Madam, that at your age"--began the manager. 

"At my age! If you think--"

"Are you all ready?" interrupted Barnes, hastily, knowing he would beworsted in any argument with this veteran player. "Then clear thestage! Act first!" And the rehearsal began. 

If the audience were specters, the performers moved, apparentlywithout rhyme or reason, mere shadows on the dimly lighted stage;enacting some semblance to scenes of mortal life; their jests andgibes, unnatural in that comparatively empty place; their voices, outof the semi-darkness, like those of spirits rehearsing acts of longago. In the evening it would all become an amusing, bright-coloredreality, but now the barrenness of the scenes was forcibly apparent. 

"That will do for to-day, " said the manager at the conclusion of thelast act. "To-morrow, ladies and gentlemen, at the same time. And anyone who is late--will be fined!"

"Changing the piece every few nights is all work and no play, "complained Susan. 

"It will keep you out of mischief, my dear, " replied Barnes, gatheringup his manuscripts. 

"Oh, I don't know about that!" returned Miss Susan, with a defianttoss of the head, as she moved toward the dressing-room where theyhad left their wraps. It was a small apartment, fairly bright andcheery, with here and there a portrait against the wall. Above thedressing-table hung a mirror, diamond-scratched with hieroglyphicscrawls, among which could be discerned a transfixed heart, spittedlike a lark on an arrow, and an etching of Lady Gay Spanker, withcork-screw curls. Taglioni, in pencil caricature, her limbs"divinely slender, " gyrated on her toes in reckless abandon abovethis mute record of names now forgotten. 

"What lovely roses, Constance!" exclaimed Susan, as she entered, bending over a large bouquet on one of the chairs. "From the count, Ipresume?"

"Yes, " indifferently answered the young girl, who was adjusting herhat before the mirror. 

"How attentive he is!" cooed Susan, her tones floating in a higherregister. "Poor man! Enjoy yourself while you may, my dear, " she wenton. "When youth is gone, what is left? Women should sow their wildoats as well as men. I don't call them wild oats, though, butparadisaical oats. The Elysian fields are strewn with them. "

As she spoke, her glance swept her companion searchingly, and, in thatbrief scrutiny, Susan observed with inward complacency how pale theother was, and how listless her manner! Their common secret, however, made Susan's outward demeanor sweetly solicitous and gentlysympathetic. Her mind, passing in rapid review over recent events, dwelt not without certain satisfaction upon results. True, every nightshe was still forced to witness Constance's success, which of itselfwas wormwood and gall to Susan, to stand in the wings and listen tothe hateful applause; but the conviction that the sweets of popularfavor brought not what they were expected to bring, was, in a way, anantidote to Susan's dissatisfaction. 

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and can sometimes be madeannoying; in Susan's case it was a weapon sharpened with honeyedphrase and consolatory bearing, for she was not slow to discover norto avail herself of the irritating power this knowledge gave her. Constance's pride and reticence, however, made it difficult for Susanto discern when her shafts went true. Moreover, although harboring nosuspicion of Susan's dissimulation, she instinctively held aloof fromher and remained coldly unresponsive. Perhaps in the depths of Susan'spast lurked something indefinable which threw its shadow between them, an inscrutable impediment; and her inability to penetrate the youngactress' reserve, however she might wound her, awakened Susan'sresentment. But she was too world-wise to display her irritation. Sheeven smiled sweetly now, as confidante to confidante, and, turning toher impulsively, said:

"Let me help you on with your cloak, dear?"

Out of the quiet, deserted theater, isolated from external din, to thebusy streets, where drays went thundering by, and industry manifesteditself in resounding clatter, was a sudden, but not altogetherunwelcome, change to Constance. Without waiting for the manager, whopaused at the rear entrance to impress his final instructions upon astolid-looking property-man, she turned quickly into the noisythoroughfares. 

On and on her restlessness led her, conscious of the clangor ofvehicles and voices and yet remote from them; past those picturesquesuggestions of the one-time Spanish rulers in which the antiquariancould detect evidence of remote Oriental infusion; past the silkenseductions of shops, where ladies swarmed and hummed like bees aroundthe luscious hive; past the idlers' resorts, from whence came therat-a-tat of clinking billiard balls and the louder rumble of fallingten-pins. 

In a window of one of these places, a club with a reputation forexclusiveness, a young man was seated, newspaper in hand, a cup ofblack coffee on a small table before him, and the end of a cigarsmoking on the tray where he had placed it. With a yawn, he had justthrown aside the paper and was reaching for the thick, darkbeverage--his hand thin and nervous--when, glancing without, he caughtsight of the actress in the crowd. Obeying a sudden impulse, he arose, picking up his hat which lay on a chair beside him. 

"Yo' order am ready in a moment, Mr. Mauville, " said a coloredservant, hurrying toward the land baron as the latter was leaving. 

"I've changed my mind and don't want it, " replied the other curtly. 

And sauntering down the steps of the club with ill-concealedimpatience, he turned in the direction the young girl had taken, keeping her retreating figure in view; now, so near her in the crowdedstreet, he could almost touch her; then, as they left the deviousways, more distant, but ever with his eyes bent upon her. He hadalmost spoken, when in the throng he approached within arm's length, but something--he knew not what--restrained him, and a press of peopleseparated them. Only for a moment, and then he continued thequestionable pleasure of following her. 

Had she turned, she would probably have seen her pursuer, but absorbedin thought, she continued on her way, unconscious of his presence. Onand on she hurried, until she reached the tranquil outskirts andlingered before the gate of one of the cemeteries. At the same timethe land baron slackened his footsteps, hesitating whether to advanceor turn back. After a moment's indecision, she entered the cemetery;her figure, receding in the distance, was becoming more and moreindistinct, when he started forward quickly and also passed throughthe gate. 

The annual festival of the dead, following All Saint's day, was beingobserved in the burial ground. This commemoration of those who havedeparted in the communion--described by Tertullian in the secondcentury as an "apostolic tradition, " so old was the sacrifice!--wascelebrated with much pomp and variety in the Crescent City. In thevicinity of the cemetery gathered many colored _marchandes_, theirheads and shoulders draped in shawls and fichus of bright, diversifiedhues; before them, perambulating booths with baskets of molasses candyor _pain-patate_. Women, dressed in mourning, bore to the tomb flowersand plants, trays of images, wreaths, crosses, anchors of driedimmortelles and artificial roses. Some were accompanied by priests andacolytes with censers, the former intoning the service:

 Fidelium Deus omnium conditor--

A solemn peace fell upon the young girl as she entered and she seemedto leave behind her all disturbing emotions, finding refuge in thesupreme tranquillity of this ancient city of the dead. She wassurrounded by a resigned grief, a sorrow so dignified that it did notclash with the sweeter influences of nature. The monotonous sound ofthe words of the priests harmonized with the scene. The tongue of anation that had been resolved into the elements was fitting in thisplace, where time and desolation had left their imprint in discoloredmarble, inscriptions almost effaced, and clambering vines. 

 --Animabus famulorum--

To many the words so mournfully intoned brought solace and surceasefrom sorrow. The sisters of charity moved among the throng with grave, pale faces, mere shadows of their earthly selves, as though they hadundergone the first stage of the great metamorphosis which ispromised. To them, who had already buried health, vitality andpassion, was not this chant to the dead, this strange intoning ofwords, sweeter than the lullaby crooned by a nurse to a child, morestirring than the patriotic hymn to a soldier, and fraught with morefervor than the romantic dream of a lover?

 Ut indulgentiam, quam semper optaverunt--

The little orphan children heard and heeded no more than the butterflywhich lighted upon the engraven words, "Dust to dust, " and poisedgracefully, as it bathed in the sunshine, stretching its wings inwantonness of beauty. 

 Piis supplicationibus consequantur--

Now Constance smiled to see the little ones playing on the steps of amonument. It was the tomb of a great jurist, a man of dignity duringhis mundane existence, his head crammed with those precepts which aredevised for the temporal well-being of that fabric, sometimes termedsociety, and again, civilization. The poor waifs, with suppressedlaughter--they dared not give full vent to their merriment with theblack-robed sisters not far away--ran around the steps, unmindful ofthe inscription which might have been written by a Johnson, and asunconscious of unseemly conduct as the insects that hummed in thegrass. 

"Hush!" whispered one of the sisters, as a funeral cortège approached. 

The children, wide-eyed in awe and wonder, desisted in their play. 

"It is an old man who died last night, " said a nun in a low voice toConstance, noticing her look of inquiry. 

The silver crucifix shone fitfully ahead, while the chanting of thepriests, winding in and out after the holy symbol, fell upon the ear. And the young girl gazed with pity as the remains of the Marquis deLigne, her father, were borne by. 

 Qui vivis et regnas. Glorificamus te. 

CHAPTER XIII

AN INCONGRUOUS RÔLE

Longer and longer trailed the shadow of a tall tombstone until, as thesun went down, it merged into the general twilight like a lifelengthening out and out and finally blending in restful darkness. Withthat transition came a sudden sense of isolation and loneliness; thelittle burial ground seemed the world; the sky, its walls andceiling. 

From the neighborhood of the gates had vanished the dusky venders, trundling their booths and stalls citywards. As abruptly haddisappeared the bearers of flowers and artificial roses with basketspoised upon their heads, imparting to their figures dignity anderectness. The sad-eyed nuns had wended their way out of the littlekingdom of the departed, surrounded by the laughing children andpreceded by the priests and acolytes. All the sounds and activities ofthe day--the merriment of the little ones, the oblations of thepriests, the greetings of friends--were followed by inertness andlanguor. Motionless against the sky spread the branches of the trees, like lines etched there; still were the clambering vines that claspedmonolith and column. 

But suddenly that death-like lull in nature's animation and unrest wasabruptly broken, and an uproarious vociferation dispelled thevoiceless peace. 

 "For Jack ashore's a Croesus, lads, With a Jill for every Jack--"

sang a hoarse voice as its owner came staggering along one of thewalks of the cemetery; for all his song, no blue-water sailor-man, buta boisterous denizen of the great river, a raftsman or a keel-boatman, who had somehow found himself in the burial ground and now was beatingaimlessly about. How this rollicking waif of the grog shop came towander so far from the convivial haunts of his kind and to choose thisspot for a ramble, can only be explained by the vagaries ofinebriety. 

 "With a Jill in your wake, A fair port you'll make--"

he continued, when his eye fell upon the figure of a woman, somedistance ahead, and fairly discernible in the gathering twilight. Immediately the song ceased and he steadied himself, gazingincredulously after the form that had attracted his attention. 

"Hello!" he said. "Avast, my dear!" he called out. 

Echoing in that still place, his harsh tones produced a startlingeffect, and the figure before him moved faster and faster, casting aglance behind her at the man from the river, who with snatches ofsong, started in uncertain but determined pursuit. As the heavyfootsteps sounded nearer, she increased her pace, with eyes bent uponthe distant gate; darker seemed to grow the way; more menacing theshadows outstretched across the path. Louder crunched the boots on theshell walk; more audible became the words of the song that flowed fromhis lips, when the sound of a sudden and violent altercation replacedthe hoarse-toned cadence, an altercation that was of brief duration, characterized by longshoreman oaths, and followed by silence; and thena figure, not that of the tuneful waterman, sprang to the side of thestartled girl. 

"Miss Carew!" exclaimed a well-remembered voice. 

Bewildered, breathing quickly, she gazed from Edward Mauville, whothus unexpectedly accosted her, to the prostrate form, lyingmotionless on the road. The rude awakening from her day-dream in thehush of that peaceful place, and the surprising sequence had dazed hersenses, and, for the moment, it seemed something tragic must havehappened. 

"Is he dead?" she asked quickly, unable to withdraw her glance fromthe immovable figure, stretched out in the dim light on the path. 

"No fear!" said Mauville, quietly, almost thoughtfully, although hiseyes were yet bright from the encounter. "You can't kill his kind, " headded, contemptuously. "Brutes from coal barges, or raftsmen from thehead waters! He struck against a stone when he fell, and what withthat, and the liquor in him, will rest there awhile. He'll come towithout remembering what has happened. "

Turning moodily, the land baron walked slowly down the road, away fromthe gate; she thought he was about to leave her, when he paused, asthough looking for something, stooped to the ground, and returned, holding out a garment. 

"You dropped your wrap, Miss Carew, " he said, awkwardly. "The night iscold and you will need it. " She offered no resistance when he placedit over her shoulders; indeed, seemed unconscious of the attention. 

"Don't you think we had better go?" he went on. "It won't hurthim"--indicating the motionless body--"to stay here--the brute!"

But as he spoke, with some constraint, her eyes, full of doubts, methis, and he felt a flush mantle his face. The incongruity of hisposition appealed forcibly to him. Had he not been watching andfollowing her himself? Seeing her helpless, alone, in the silent spot, where she had unconsciously lingered too long, had he not been almoston the point of addressing her? Moved by vague desires, had he notalready started impetuously toward her, when the man from the riverhad come rollicking along and insinuated himself after his fashion inthe other's rôle?

And at the sight--the fleeing girl, the drunken, profane waterman!--howhis heart had leaped and his body had become steel for the encounter;an excess of vigor for a paltry task! Jack, as he called himself, mighthave been a fighting-man earlier in the day, but now he had gone downlike straw. When the excitement of this brief collision was over, however, the land baron found his position as unexpected as puzzling. 

As these thoughts swiftly crossed his mind, he could not forbear abitter laugh, and she, walking more quickly toward the gate, regardedhim with inquiry, not perhaps unmingled with apprehension. A pictureof events, gone by, arose before her like a menacing shadow over thepresent. He interpreted her glance for what it meant, and angry thatshe doubted him, angry with himself, said roughly:

"Oh, you haven't anything to fear!"

Her answering look was so gentle, so sad, an unwonted feeling ofcompunction seized him; he repented of his harshness, and added lessbrusquely:

"Why did you remain so late?"

"I did not realize how late it had become. "

"Your thoughts must have been very absorbing!" he exclaimed quickly, his brow once more overcast. 

Not difficult was it for him to surmise upon whom her mind had beenbent, and involuntarily his jaw set disagreeably, while he looked ather resentfully. In that light he could but dimly discern her face. Her bonnet had fallen from her head; her eyes were bent before her, asthough striving to penetrate the gathering darkness. With his suddenspell of jealousy came the temptation to clasp her in his arms in thatsilent, isolated place, but the figure of the sailor came between himand the desire, while pride, the heritage of the gentleman, foughtdown the longing. This self-conquest was not accomplished, however, without a sacrifice of temper, for after a pause, he observed:

"There is no accounting for a woman's taste!"

She did not controvert this statement, but the start she gave told himthe shaft had sped home. 

"An outlaw! An outcast!" exclaimed the patroon, stung beyond enduranceby his thoughts. 

Still no reply; only more hurried footsteps! Around them sounded agentle rustling; a lizard scrambled out of their path through thecrackling leaves; a bat, or some other winged creature, suddenlywhirred before them and vanished. They had now approached the gate, through which they passed and found themselves on the road leadingdirectly to the city, whose lights had already begun to twinkle in thedusk. 

The cheering rumble of a carriage and the aspect of the notfar-distant town quickened her spirits and imparted elasticity to herfootsteps. Upon the land baron they produced an opposite effect, forhe was obviously reluctant to abandon the interview, howeverunsatisfactory it might be. There was nothing to say, and yet he wasloath to leave her; there was nothing to accomplish, and yet he wishedto remain with her. For this reason, as they drew near the city, hismood became darker, like the night around them. Instinctively, shefelt the turbulent passions stirring in his bosom; his sudden silence, his dogged footsteps reawakened her misgivings. Furtively she regardedhim, but his eyes were fixed straight before him on the soft lusterabove the city, the reflection of the lights, and she knew andmistrusted his thoughts. Although she found his silence more menacingthan his words, she could think of nothing to say to break the spell, and so they continued to walk mutely side by side. An observer, seeingthem beneath the cypress, a lovers' promenade, with its soft, enfolding shadows, would have taken them for a well-matched couple, who had no need for language. 

But when they had emerged from that romantic lane and entered thecity, the land baron breathed more freely. She was now surrounded bymovement and din; the seclusion of the country gave way to the stir ofthe city; she was no longer dependent on his good offices; his rôle ofprotector had ended when they left the cypress walk behind them. 

His brow cleared; he glanced at her with ill-concealed admiration; henoticed with secret pride the attention she attracted from passers-by, the sidelong looks of approval that followed her through the busystreets. The land baron expanded into his old self; he strode at herside, gratified by the scrutiny she invited; assurance radiated fromhis eyes like some magnetic heat; he played at possession wilfully, perversely. "Why not, " whispered Hope. "A woman's mind is shiftingever. Her fancy--a breath! The other is gone. Why--"

"It was not accident my being in the cemetery, Miss Carew, " saidMauville, suddenly covering her with his glance. Meeting her look ofsurprise unflinchingly, he continued: "I followed you there; throughthe streets, into the country! My seeing you first was chance; mypresence in the burial ground the result of that chance. Theinevitable result!" he repeated softly. "As inevitable as life! Life;what is it? Influences which control us; forces which bind us! It isyou, or all; you or nothing!"

She did not reply; his voice, vibrating with feeling, touched noanswering chord. Nevertheless, a new, inexplicable wave of sorrowmoved her. It might be he had cared for her as sincerely as it waspossible for his wayward heart to care for any one. Perhaps time wouldyet soften his faults, and temper his rashness. With that shade ofsorrow for him there came compassion as well; compassion thatoverlooked the past and dwelt on the future. 

She raised her steady eyes. "Why should it be 'I or nothing, ' as youput it?" she finally answered slowly. "Influences may control us in ameasure, but we may also strive for something. We can always strive. "

"For what? For what we don't want? That's the philosophy of yourmoralists, Miss Carew, " he exclaimed. "That's your modern ethics ofduty. Playing tricks with happiness! The game isn't worth the candle. Or, if you believe in striving, " he added, half resentfully, halfimploringly, "strive to care for me but a little. But a little!" hesaid again. "I who once wanted all, and would have nothing but all, amcontent to ask, to plead, for but a little. "

"I see no reason, " she replied, wearily, yet not unkindly, "why weshould not be friends. "

"Friends!" he answered, bitterly. "I do not beg for a loaf, buta crumb. Yet you refuse me that! I will wait! Only a word ofencouragement! Will you not give it?"

She turned and looked into his eyes, and, before she spoke, he knewwhat her answer would be. 

"How can I?" she said, simply. "Why should I promise something I cannever fulfil?"

He held her glance as though loath to have it leave him. 

"May I see you again?" he asked, abruptly. 

She shook her head. His gaze fell, seeing no softening in her clearlook. 

"You are well named, " he repeated, more to himself than to her. "Constance! You are constant in your dislikes as well as your likes. "

"I have no dislike for you, " she replied. "It seems to have been leftbehind me somewhere. "

"Only indifference, then!" he said, dully. 

"No; not indifference!"

"You do care what--may become of me?"

"You should do so much--be so much in the world, " she answered, thoughtfully. 

"_Sans peur et sans reproche!_" he cried, half-amused, half-cheerlessly. "What a pity I met you--too late!"

They were now at the broad entrance of the brilliantly-lighted hotel. Several loungers, smoking their after-dinner cigars, gazed at thecouple curiously. 

"Mauville's a lucky dog, " said one. 

"Yes; he was born with a silver spoon, " replied the person addressed. 

As he passed through the envious throng, the land baron had regainedhis self-command, although his face was marked with an unusual pallor. In his mind one thought was paramount--that the walk begun at theburial-ground was drawing to an end; their last walk; the finale ofall between them! Yet he could call to mind nothing further to say. His story had been told; the conclusion reached. She, too, had spoken, and he knew she would never speak differently. Bewildered and unableto adjust his new and strange feelings, it dawned upon him he hadnever understood himself and her; that he had never really known whatlove was, and he stood abashed, confronted by his own ignorance. Passion, caprice, fancy, he had seen depth in their shallows, but nowlooked down and discerned the pebbly bottom. All this and much moresurged through his brain as he made his way through the crowd, and, entering the corridor of the hotel, took formal leave of the younggirl at the stairway. 

"Good-night, Miss Carew, " he said, gravely. 

"Good-night, " she replied. And then, on the steps, she turned andlooked down at him, extending her hand: "Thank you!"

That half-timid, low "thank you!" he knew was all he would everreceive from her. He hardly felt the hand-clasp; he was hardlyconscious when she turned away. A heavier hand fell upon hisshoulder. 

"You sly dog!" said a thick voice. "Well, a judge of a good horse is ajudge of a handsome woman! We're making up a few bets on the horsesto-morrow. Colonel Ogelby will ride Dolly D, and I'm to ride myGladiator. It'll be a gentlemen's race. "

"Aren't we gentlemen?" growled a professional turfsman. 

"Gad! it's the first time I ever heard a jockey pretend to be one!"chuckled the first speaker. "What do you say, Mauville?"

"What do I say?" repeated the land baron, striving to collect histhoughts. "What--why, I'll make it an even thousand, if you ride yourown horse, you'll--"

"Win?" interrupted the proud owner. 

"No; fall off before he's at the second quarter!"

"Done!" said the man, immediately. 

"Huzza!" shouted the crowd. 

"That's the way they bet on a gentlemen's race!" jeered the gleefuljockey. 

"Drinks on Gladiator!" exclaimed some one. And as no southerngentleman was ever known to refuse to drink to a horse or a woman, theparty carried the discussion to the bar-room. 

BOOK III

THE FINAL CUE

CHAPTER I

OVERLOOKING THE COURT-YARD

"In the will of the Marquis de Ligne, probated yesterday, all of theproperty, real and personal, is left to his daughter, Constance, "wrote Straws in his paper shortly after the passing of the Frenchnobleman. "The document states this disposition of property is made as'an act of atonement and justice to my daughter, whose mother Ideserted, taking advantage of the French law to annul my marriage inEngland. ' The legitimacy of the birth of this, his only child, isthereupon fully acknowledged by the marquis after a lapse of manyyears and long after the heretofore unrecognized wife had died, deserted and forgotten. Thrown on her own resources, the young child, with no other friend than Manager Barnes, battled with the world; nowplaying in taverns or barns, like the players of interludes, thestrollers of old, or 'vagabonds', as the great and mighty Junius, fromhis lofty plane, termed them. The story of that period of 'vagrant'life adds one more chapter to the annals of strolling players whichalready include such names as Kemble, Siddons and Kean. 

"From the Junius category to a public favorite of New Orleans has beenno slight transition, and now, to appear in the rôle of daughter of amarquis and heiress to a considerable estate--truly man--andwoman--play many parts in this brief span called life! But in makingher sole heir the marquis specifies a condition which will bringregrets to many of the admirers of the actress. He robs her of herbirthright from her mother. The will stipulates that the recipientgive up her profession, not because it is other than a noble one, but'that she may the better devote herself to the duties of her newposition and by her beneficence and charity remove the stain left uponan honored name by my second wife, the Duchesse D'Argens'. "

The marquis' reference to "charity" and "beneficence" was in suchill-accord with his character that it might be suspected an adroitattorney, in drawing up the document, had surreptitiously inserted it. His proud allusion to his honored name and slurring suggestion of thetaint put upon it by his second wife demonstrated the marquis was notabove the foibles of his kind, overlooking his own light conduct anddwelling on that of his noble helpmate. It was the final taunt, and, as the lady had long since been laid in God's Acre, where there isonly silence divine, it received no answer, and the world was welcometo digest and gorge it and make the most of it. 

But although the marquis and his lady had no further interest insubsequent events, growing out of their brief sojourn on earth, thecontents of the will afforded a theme of gossip for the living andmolded the affairs of one in new shape and manner. On the same daythis public exposition appeared, Barnes and the young actress wereseated in the law office of Marks and Culver, a room overlooking acourt-yard, brightened by statues and urns of flowers. A plaster bustof Justinian gazed benignly through the window at a fountain; a steelengraving of Jeremy Bentham watched the butterflies, and Hobbes andJohn Austin, austere in portraiture, frowned darkly down upon theflowering garden. While the manager and Constance waited for theattorney to appear, they were discussing, not for the first time, theproviso of the will to which Straws had regretfully alluded. 

"Yes, " said Barnes, folding the newspaper which contained Straws'article and placing it in his pocket; "you should certainly give upthe stage. We must think of the disappointments, the possible failure, the slender reward. There was your mother--such an actress!--yettoward the last the people flocked to a younger rival. I have oftenthought anxiously of your future, for I am old--yes, there is nodenying it!--and any day I may leave you, dependent solely uponyourself. "

"Do not speak like that, " she answered, tenderly. "We shall betogether many, many years. "

"Always, if I had my way, " he returned, heartily. 

"But with this legacy you are superior to the fickle public. In fact, you are now a part of the capricious public, my dear, " he added in ajocular tone, "and may applaud the 'heavy father, ' myself, or prattleabout prevailing styles while the buskined tragedian is struttingbelow your box. Why turn to a blind bargain? Fame is a jade, onlycaught after our illusions are gone and she seems not half so sweet aswhen pursuing her in our dreams!"

But as he spoke, with forced lightness, beneath which, however, theyoung girl could readily detect the vein of anxiety and regret, shewas regarding him with the clear eyes of affection. His face, seamedwith many lines and bearing the deeply engraved handwriting of time, spoke plainly of declining years; every lineament was eloquent withvicissitudes endured; and as she discerningly read that varied past ofwhich her own brief career had been a part, there entered her mind abrighter picture of a tranquil life for him at last, where in old agehe could exchange uncertainty and activity for security and rest. Howcould she refuse to do as he desired? How often since fate had wroughtthis change in her life had she asked herself the question?

Her work, it is true, had grown dearer to her than ever; of late shehad thrown herself into her task with an ardor and earnestness liftingeach portrayal to a higher plane. Is it that only with sorrow comesthe fulness of art; that its golden gates are never swung entirelyopen to the soul bearing no burden?

Closed to ruder buffetings, is it only to the sesame of a sad voicethose portals spring magically back? But for his sake she must needspause on the threshold of attainment, and stifle that ambition whichof itself precluded consideration of a calm, uneventful existence. Shewas young and full of courage, but the pathos of his years smote herheart; something inexplicable had awakened her fears for him; shebelieved him far from well of late, although he laughed at herapprehensions and protested he had never been better in his life. 

Now, reading the anxiety in his face as he watched her, she smiledreassuringly, her glance, full of love, meeting his. 

"Everything shall be as you wish, " she said, softly. "You know what isbest!"

The manager's face lighted perceptibly, but before he could answer, the door opened, and Culver, the attorney, entered. With ruddycountenance and youthful bearing, in antithesis to the hair, silvered with white, he was one of those southern gentlemen who growold gracefully. The law was his taskmaster; he practised from a senseof duty, but ever held that those who rushed to court were likelyto repeat the experience of Voltaire, who had twice been ruined:once when he lost a law suit; the second time, when he won one!Nevertheless, people persisted in coming to Culver wantonly welcomingunknown ills. 

"Well, Miss Carew, " he now exclaimed, after warmly greeting hisvisitors, "have you disburdened yourself of prejudice against thisestate? Wealth may be a little hardship at first, but soon you won'tmind it. "

"Not a bit!" spoke up Barnes. "It's as easy to get used to as--poverty, and we've had plenty of that!"

"You know the other condition?" she said, half-defiantly, half-sadly. "You are to be with me always. "

"How can you teach an old dog new tricks?" protested Barnes. "How canyou make a fine man about town out of a 'heavy father?'"

"The 'heavy father' is my father. I never knew any other. I am glad Inever did. "

"Hoity-toity!" he exclaimed scoffingly, but pleased nevertheless. 

"You can't put me off that way, " she said, decisively, with a suddenflash in her eyes he knew too well to cross. "Either you leave thestage, too, or--"

"Of course, my dear, of course--"

"Then it's all settled you will accept the encumbrance to which youhave fallen heir, " resumed Culver. "Even if there had been no will inyour favor, the State of Louisiana follows the French law, and thetestator can under no circumstances alienate more than half hisproperty, if he leave issue or descendants. Had the old will remained, its provisions could not have been legally carried out. "

"The old will?" said Barnes. "Then there was another will?"

"One made before he was aware of your existence, Miss Carew, in favorof his ward, Ernest Saint-Prosper. "

"Ernest Saint-Prosper!"

Constance's cheeks flamed crimson, and her quick start of surprise didnot escape the observant lawyer. Barnes, too, looked amazed over thisunexpected intelligence. 

"Saint-Prosper was the marquis' ward?" he cried. 

The attorney transferred his gaze from the expressive features of hisfair client to the open countenance of the manager. "Yes, " he said. 

"And would have inherited this property but for Constance?"

"Exactly! But you knew him, Mr. Barnes?"

"He was an occupant of the chariot, sir, " replied the manager, withsome feeling. "We met in the Shadengo Valley; the company was in sorestraits, and--and--to make a long story short!--he joined our band andtraversed the continent with us. And so he was the marquis' ward! Itseems almost incredible!"

"Yes, " affirmed Culver; "when General Saint-Prosper, his father, died, Ernest Saint-Prosper, who was then but a boy, became the marquis' wardand a member of his household. "

"Well, well, how things do come about!" ruminated Barnes. "To think heshould have been the prospective heir, and Constance, the real one!"

"Where is he now?" asked the attorney, thoughtfully. 

"He has gone to Mexico; enlisted! But how do you know he--"

"Had expectations? The marquis told me about a quarrel they had had;he was a staunch imperialist; the young man as firm a republican! Whatwould be the natural outcome? They parted in bitter anger. "

"And then the marquis made him his heir?" exclaimed the manager, incredulously. "How do you reconcile that?"

The attorney smiled. "Through the oddity of my client! 'Draw up mywill, ' said the marquis to me one day, 'leaving all my property tothis republican young dog. That will cut off the distant relatives whomade the sign of the cross behind my back as though I were the evilone. They expect it all; he expects nothing! It will be a rare joke. Ileave them my affection--and the privilege of having masses said formy soul. ' The marquis was always of a satirical temperament. "

"So it seems, " commented the manager. "But he changed his mind and hiswill again?"

"After he met Miss Carew. "

"Met me!" exclaimed Constance, aroused from a maze of reflection. 

"Near the cathedral! He walked and talked with you. "

"That poor old man--"

"And then came here, acknowledged you as his daughter, and drew up thefinal document. "

"That accounts for a call I had from him!" cried Barnes, telling thestory of the marquis' visit. "Strange, I did not suspect something ofthe truth at the time, " he concluded, "for his manner was certainlyunusual. "

A perplexed light shone in the girl's eyes; she clasped and unclaspedher hands quickly, turning to the lawyer. 

"Their quarrel was only a political difference?" she asked at length. 

"Yes, " said the other, slowly. "Saint-Prosper refused to support thefugitive king. Throughout the parliamentary government, therestoration under Louis XVIII, and the reign of King Charles X, themarquis had ever a devout faith in the divine right of monarchs. Heannulled his marriage in England with your mother to marry theDuchesse D'Argens, a relative of the royal princess. But Charlesabdicated and the duchesse died. All this, however, is painful to you, Miss Carew?"

"Only such as relates to my mother, " she replied in a clear tone. "Isuppose I should feel grateful for this fortune, but I am afraid I donot. Please go on. "

Culver leaned back in his chair, his glance bent upon a discoloredstatue of Psyche in the court-yard. "Had the marquis attended to hisgarden, like Candide, or your humble servant, and eschewed thecompany of kings he might have been as care-free as he was wretched. His monarchs were knocked down like nine-pins. Louis XVIII was a manof straw; Charles X, a feather-top, and Louis Philippe, a toy ruler. The marquis' domestic life was as unblest as his political career. Thefrail duchesse left him a progeny of scandals. These, the onlyoffspring of the iniquitous dame, were piquantly dressed in thejournals for public parade. Fancy, then, his delight in disinheritinghis wife's relatives, and leaving you, his daughter, his fortune andhis name!"

"His name?" she repeated, sadly. With averted face she watched thefountain in the garden. "If he had given it to my mother, " shecontinued, "but now--I do not care for it. Her name is all I want. "Her voice trembled and she exclaimed passionately: "I should ratherMr. Saint-Prosper would keep the property and I--my work! Afterdenying my mother and deserting her, how can I accept anything fromhim?"

"Under the new will, " said Culver, "the estate does not revert to Mr. Saint-Prosper in any event. But you might divide it with him?" headded, suddenly. 

"How could I do that?" she asked, without looking up. 

"Marry him!" laughed the attorney. 

But the jest met with scant response, his fair client remainingmotionless as a statue, while Barnes gazed at her furtively. Culver'ssmile gradually faded; uncertain how to proceed, realizing his humorhad somehow miscarried, he was not sorry when the manager arose, saying:

"Well, my dear, it is time we were at the theater. "

"Won't you accept this nosegay from my garden, Miss Carew?" urged thelawyer in a propitiatory tone as they were leaving. 

And the attorney not only accompanied them to the door, butdown-stairs to the street, where he stood for a moment watching themdrive down the thoroughfare. Then he slowly returned, breathingheavily--invidious contradiction of his youthful assumption!--andshaking his head, as he mounted to his room. 

"Culver, you certainly put your foot in it that time!" he muttered. "How she froze at my suggestion! Has there been some passage of armsbetween them? Apparently! But here am I, pondering over romances withall this legal business staring me in the face!" His glance swept achaos of declarations, bills, affidavits and claims. "Confound themusty old courthouse and the bustling Yankee lawyers who set such adisturbing pace! There is no longer gentlemanly leisure in NewOrleans. "

He seated himself with a sigh before a neglected brief. In thedistance the towers of the cathedral could be seen, reminding theattorney of the adjacent halls of justice in the scraggy-lookingsquare, with its turmoil, its beggars, and apple women in the lobbies;its ancient, offensive smell, its rickety stairs, its labyrinth ofpassages and its Babel of tongues. Above him, however, the plasterbust of Justinian, out of those blank, sightless eyes, continued thecontemplation of the garden as though turning from the complexjurisprudence of the ancients and moderns to the simple existence ofbutterflies and flowers. 

CHAPTER II

ONLY A SHADOW

There is an aphorism to the effect that one can not spend and have;also, a saying about the whirlwind, both of which in time came home tothe land baron. For several generations the Mauville family, bearingone of the proudest names in Louisiana, had held marked prestige underSpanish and French rule, while extensive plantations indicated thecommercial ascendency of the patroon's ancestors. The thrift of hisforefathers, however, passed lightly over Edward Mauville. Sent toParis by his mother, a widow, who could deny him nothing, in thecourse of a few years he had squandered two plantations and severalhundred negroes. Her death placed him in undisputed possession of theresidue of the estate, when finding the exacting details of commerceirksome, in a moment of weakness, he was induced to dispose of some ofhis possessions to Yankee speculators who had come in with the floodof northern energy. Most of the money thus realized he placed in looseinvestments, while the remainder gradually disappeared in indulginghis pleasures. 

At this critical stage in his fortunes--or misfortunes--the patroon'slegacy had seemed timely, and his trip to the North followed. But froma swarm of creditors, to a nest of anti-renters, was out of thefrying-pan into the fire, hastening his return to the Crescent City, where he was soon forced to make an assignment of the remainingproperty. A score of hungry lawyers hovered around the sinking estate, greedily jealous lest some one of their number should batten toogluttonously at this general collation. It was the one topic ofinterest in the musty, dusty courthouse until the end appeared withthe following announcement in the local papers:

"_Annonce! Vente importante de Nègres!_ Mauville estate in bankruptcy!"

And thereafter were specified the different lots of negroes to besold. 

Coincident with these disasters came news from the North regardinghis supposedly immense interests in New York State. A constitutionalconvention had abolished all feudal tenures and freed the fieldsfrom baronial burdens. At a breath--like a house of cards--thenorthern heritage was swept away and about all that remained ofthe principality was the worthless ancient deed itself, representingone of the largest colonial grants. 

But even the sale of the negroes and his other merchandise andproperty failed to satisfy his clamorous creditors or to pay hisgambling debts. Those obligations at cards it was necessary to meet, so he moved out of his bachelor apartments, turned over his expensivefurnishings and bric-à-brac to the gamblers and snapped his fingers atthe over-anxious constables and lawyers. 

As time went by evidence of his reverses insidiously crept into hispersonal appearance. He who had been the leader now clung to thetail-ends of style, and it was a novel sensation when one day henoticed a friend scrutinizing his garments much in the samecritical manner that he had himself erstwhile affected. Thisglance rested casually on the hat; strayed carelessly to thewaistcoat; wandered absently to the trousers, down one leg and upthe other; superciliously jumped over the waistcoat and paused theinfinitesimal part of a second on the necktie. Mauville learned inthat moment how the eye may wither and humble, without giving anyostensible reason for offense. The attitude of this mincing fribble, as he danced twittingly away, was the first intimation Mauville hadreceived that he would soon be relegated to the ranks of gayadventurers thronging the city. He who had watched his estatesvanish with an unruffled countenance now became disconcerted overthe width of his trousers and the shape of his hat. 

His new home was in the house of an aged quadroon who had been aservant in his family many years ago--how long no one seemed toremember!--and who had been his nurse before she had received herfreedom. She enjoyed the distinction of being feared in theneighborhood; her fetishes had a power no other witch's possessed, andmany of the negroes would have done anything to have possessed theseinfallible charms, save crossing her threshold to get them. Mauville, when he found fortune slipping away from him and ruin staring him inthe face, had been glad to transfer his abode to this unhallowedplace; going into hiding, as it were, until the storm should blow by, when he expected to emerge, confident as ever. 

But inaction soon chafed his restless nature, and drove him forth inspite of himself from the streets in that quarter of the town wherethe roofs of various-colored houses formed strange geometrical figuresand the windows were bright with flaring head-dresses, beneath whichlooked out curious visages of ebony. Returning one day from such aperegrination, he determined to end a routine of existence sohumiliating to his pride. 

Pausing before a doorway, the land baron looked this way and that, andseeing only the rotating eyes of a pickaninny fastened upon him, hurried through the entrance. Hanging upon the walls were red andgreen pods and bunches of dried herbs of unquestionable virtuebelonging to the old crone's pharmacopoeia. Mauville slowly ascendedthe dark stairs and reached his retreat, a small apartment, withfurniture of cane-work and floor covered with sea-grass; the ceilinglow and the windows narrow, opening upon a miniature balcony thatoffered space for one and no more. 

"Is dat yo', honey?" said an adoring voice on the landing. 

"Yes, auntie, " replied the land baron, as an old crone emerged from anill-lighted recess and stood before him. 

Now the light from the doorway fell upon her, and surely five scoreyears were written on her curiously wrinkled face--five score, ormore, for even the negroes did not profess to know how old she was. Her bent figure, watery eyes and high shrill voice bore additionaltestimony to her age. 

"Yo's home earlier dan usual, dearie?" she resumed. "But yo' supper'sall ready. Sit down here. "

"I'm not hungry, auntie, " he returned. 

"Not hungry, honey?" she cried, laughing shrilly. "Yo' wait!" And shedisappeared into an adjoining room, soon to emerge with a steamingplatter, which she set on the snow-white cover of the little table. Removing the lid from the dish, she hobbled back a few steps to regardher guest with triumphant expectation. "Dat make yo' eat. "

"What a cook you are, mammy!" he said, lightly. "You would give alonging tooth to satiety. "

"De debil blow de fire, " she answered, chuckling. 

"Then the devil is a _chef de cuisine_. This sauce is bewitching. "

"Yo' like it?" Delighted. 

"Tis a spell in itself. Confess, mammy, Old Nick mixed it?"

"No, he only blow de fire, " she reiterated, with a grin. 

"Any one been to see me, mammy?"

"Only dat Mexican gemmen; dat gemmen been here befo' who take yo'message about de troops; when dey go from New Orleans; how many deyam!"

"You know that, auntie?" he asked quickly. "You know that I--"

"Yes, honey, " she answered, shaking her head. "Yo' be berry careful, Mar's'r Edward. "

"What did he want?" said the land baron, quickly. 

"He gib me dis. " And the crone handed her visitor a slip of paper onwhich a few words were written. "What dat mean?"

"It means I am going away, mammy, " pushing back his chair. 

"Gwine away!" she repeated. "When's yo' gwine?"

"To-morrow; perhaps to-night even; down the river, auntie!" Rising andsurveying himself in a mirror. 

"How long yo' gwine away foh?"

"Perhaps forever, auntie!"

"Not foh good, Mar's'r Edward? Not foh good?" He nodded and she brokeinto loud wailings. "Yo's gwine and yo' old mammy'll see yo' nomoh--no moh! I knows why yo's gwine, Mar's'r Edward. I's heard yo'talkin' about her in yo' sleep. But yo' stay and yo' mammy has alove-charm foh yo'; den she's yo's, foh suah. "

This offer, coming from one of her uncanny reputation, would have beenaccepted with implicit faith by most of the dwellers in that locality, superstitious to the last degree, but Mauville laughed carelessly. 

"Pshaw, mammy! Do you think I would fly from a woman? Do I look asthough I needed a charm?"

"No; she mus' worship yo'!" cried the infatuated crone. 

Then a change passed over her puckered face and she lifted her armsdespairingly, rocking her body to and fro, while she mumbledunintelligible words which would have caused the negroes to draw awayfrom her with awe, for the spell was on her. But the land baron onlyregarded her carelessly as she muttered something pertaining to spellsand omens. 

"Come, auntie, " he said impatiently at last, "you know I don't believein this tom-foolery. "

She turned to him vehemently. "Don't go whar yo' thinkin' ob gwine, honey, " she implored. "Yo'll nebber come back, foh suah--foh suah! Isee yo' lyin' dar, honey, in de dark valley--whar de mists amrisin'--and I hears a bugle soundin'--and de tramp of horses. Dey amall gone, honey--and de mists come back--but yo' am dar--lying dar--demountains around yo'--yo' am dar fo'ebber and ebber and--" Here shebroke into wild sobbing and moaning, tossing her white hair with hertrembling withered arms, a moving picture of an inspired dusky sibyl. Mauville shrugged his shoulders. 

"We're losing time, mammy, " he exclaimed. "Stop this nonsense and gopack a few things for me. I have some letters to write. "

The old woman reluctantly obeyed, and the land baron penned a somewhatlengthy epistle to his one-time master in Paris, the Abbé Moneau, whose disapproval of the Anglo-Saxon encroachments--witnessLouisiana!--and zeal for the colonization of the Latin races arematters of history. Having completed his epistle, the land baronplaced it in the old crone's hand to mail with: "If that man callsagain, tell him I'll meet him to-night, " and, leaving the room, shotthrough the doorway, once more rapidly walking down the shabbythoroughfare. The aged negro woman stumbled out upon the balcony andgazed after the departing figure still moaning softly to herself andshaking her head in anguish. 

"Fo'ebber and ebber, " she repeated in a wailing tone. Below a coloredboy gazed at her in wonderment. 

"What debblement am she up to now?" he said to a girl seated in adoorway. "When de old witch am like dat--"

"Come in dar, yo' black imp!" And a vigorous arm pulled the ladabruptly through the opening. "Ef she sees yo', she can strike yo'dead, foh suah!"

The crone could no longer distinguish Mauville--her eyes were nearlysightless--but she continued to look in the direction he had taken, sobbing as before: "Fo'ebber and ebber! Fo'ebber and ebber!"

Once more upon a fashionable thoroughfare, the land baron's footsteprelaxed and he relapsed into his languorous, indolent air. Theshadows of twilight were darkening the streets and a Caribbee-scentedbreeze was wafted from the gulf across the city. It swept throughthe broad avenues and narrow highways, and sighed among the trees ofthe old garden. Seating himself absently on one of the publicbenches, Mauville removed his hat to allow the cool air to fan hisbrow. Presently he moved on; up Canal Street, where the long rows ofgas lights now gleamed through the foliage; thence into a sidethoroughfare, as dark as the other street was bright, pausing beforea doorway, illumined by a single yellow flame that flickered inthe draft and threatened to leave the entrance in total obscurity. Mounting two flights of stairs, no better lighted than the hallbelow, the land baron reached a doorway, where he paused andknocked. In answer to his summons a slide was quickly slipped back, and through the aperture floated an alcoholic breath. 

"Who is it?"

"A Knight of the Golden Square, " said the caller, impatiently. "Openthe door. "

The man obeyed and the land baron was admitted to the hall of anorganization which had its inception in Texas; a society not unlikethe Secret Session Legation of the Civil War, having for its objectthe overthrow of the government, the carrying of mails and despatchesand other like business. Here was gathered a choice aggregation ofMexican sympathizers, a conclave hostile to the North. Composed ofmany nationalities, the polished continental adventurer rubbedshoulders with the Spanish politicians; the swarthy agents of SantaAnna brushed against the secret enemies of northern aggression. Asmall bar, unpretentious but convenient, occupied a portion of one endof the room, and a brisk manipulator of juleps presided over thispopular corner. 

Half-disdainfully, the land baron mingled with the heterogeneousassembly; half-ironically, his eye swept the group at the bar--thepaid spy, the needy black-sheep; the patriot, the swashbuckler; menwith and without a career. As Mauville stepped forward, a quiet, dark-looking man, obviously a Mexican, not without a certaindistinguished carriage, immediately approached the newcomer. 

"You have come? Good!" he said, and drew Mauville aside. Theyconversed in low tones, occasionally glancing about them at theothers. 

In the hall below the rhythm of a waltz now made itself heard, and theland baron, having received certain papers which committed him to ahazardous service, prepared to leave. 

"Here's luck!" said a man on his left, raising his glass. At thesewords several of the company turned. 

"Send it south!" roared a Texan Furioso, emptying his tumbler. 

"Send it south!" echoed the others, and "south" the fragrant julepswere "sent, " as the land baron unceremoniously tore himself away fromthe group. 

"They say the floods are rising, " said the man with whom Mauville hadconferred, at the door. 

"All the better if the river's running wild!" answered the other. "Itwill be easier running the guard. "

"Yes, " returned the Mexican, extending his hand, with a smile; "inthis case, there's safety in danger!"

"That's reassuring!" replied the land baron, lightly, as he descendedthe stairs. 

On reaching the floor below he was afforded a view through an opendoor into a large room, lighted with many lamps, where a quadroondance, or "society ball, " was in progress. After a moment's hesitationhe entered and stood in the glare, watching the waltzers. Aroundthe wall were dusky chaperons, guarding their charges with thewatchfulness of old dowagers protecting their daughters from theadvances of younger sons. Soft eyes flashed invitingly, gracefulfigures passed, and the revelry momentarily attracted Mauville, ashe followed the movements of the waltzers and heard the strains ofmusic. Impulsively he approached a young woman whose complexion wasas light as his own and asked her to dance. The next moment theywere gliding to the dreamy rhythm around the room. 

By a fatal trick of imagination, his thoughts wandered to thedark-haired girl he had met in the Shadengo Valley. If this now wereshe, the partner he had so unceremoniously summoned to his side. Howlight were her feet; what poetry of motion was her dancing; whatpleasure the abandonment to which she had resigned herself!Involuntarily he clasped more tightly the slender waist, and the darkeyes, moved by that palpable caress, looked not unkindly into his own. But at the glance he experienced a strange repulsion and started, asif awakening from a fevered sleep, abruptly stopping in the dance, hisarm falling to his side. The girl looked at him half-shyly, half-boldly, and the very beauty of her eyes--the deep, lustrous orbsof a quadroon--smote him mockingly. He felt as though some light hesought shone far beyond his ken; a light he saw, but could neverreach; ever before him, but always receding. 

"Monsieur is tired?" said the girl, in a puzzled tone. 

"Yes, " he answered bluntly, leading her to a seat. "Good-night. "

"Good-night, " she replied, following his retreating figure withsomething like regret. 

The evening bells, distinct and mysterious, were sounding as heemerged from New Orleans' _Mabille_, and their crystalline tones, rising and falling on the solemn night, brought to mind his boyhood. Pictures long forgotten passed before him, as his footsteps led himfar from the brightly-lighted streets to a sequestered thoroughfarethat lay peacefully on the confines of the busy city; a spot invitingrest from the turmoil yonder and in accord with the melancholyvibrations of the bells. He stood, unseen in the shadow of greattrees, before a low rambling mansion; not so remote but that theperfume from the garden was wafted to him over the hedge. 

"A troubadour!" he said scornfully to himself. "Edward Mauvillesighing at a lady's window like some sentimental serenader! There's alight yonder. Now to play my despairing part, I must watch for herimage. If I were some one else, I should say my heart beats fasterthan usual. She comes--the fair lady! Now the curtain's down. All thatmay be seen is her shadow. So, despairing lover, hug that shadow toyour breast!"

He plucked a rose from a bush in her garden, laughing at himself thewhile for doing so, and as he moved away he repeated with conviction:

"A shadow! That is all she ever could have been to me!"

CHAPTER III

FROM GARRET TO GARDEN

"Celestina, what do you think this is?" Waving something that crackledin mid air. 

"A piece of paper, " said Celestina from her place on the hearth. 

"Paper!" scoffed Straws. "It's that which Horace calls a handmaid, ifyou know how to use it; a mistress, if you do not--money! Itis--success, the thing which wrecks more lives than cyclones, firesand floods! We were happy enough before this came, weren't we, Celestina?"

The girl nodded her head, a look of deep anxiety in her eyes. 

"Oh, why did the critics so damn the book it fairly leaped topopularity!" went on the bard. "Why did they advise me to learn atrade? to spoil no more reams of paper? To spoil reams of paper andget what--this little bit in return!"

"Is it so very much money?" asked Celestina. 

"An enormous amount--one thousand dollars! And the worst of it is, mypublishers write there may be more to come. "

"Well, " said the child, after a long, thoughtful pause, "why don't yougive it away?"

"Hum! Your suggestion, my dear--"

"But, perhaps, no one would take it?" interrupted Celestina. 

"Perhaps they wouldn't!" agreed Straws, rubbing his hands. "So, underthe circumstances, let us consider how we may cultivate some of thevices of the rich. It is a foregone conclusion, set down by thephilosophers, that misery assails riches. The philosophers were neverrich and therefore they know. Besides, they are unanimous on thesubject. It only remains to make the best of it and cultivate thevanities of our class. Where shall I begin? 'Riches betray man intoarrogance, ' saith Addison. Therefore will I be arrogant; while you, mydear, shall be proud. "

"That will be lovely!" assented Celestina, as a matter of habit. Shewent to the bed and began smoothing the sheets deftly. 

"My dear!" expostulated Straws. "You mustn't do that. "

"Not make the bed!" she asked, in surprise. 

"No. "

"Nor bring your charcoal?"

"No. "

"Nor wash your dishes?"

"Certainly not!"

Celestina dropped on the floor, a picture of misery. 

"Too bad, isn't it?" commented Straws. "But it can't be helped, canit?"

"No, " she said, shaking her head, wofully; "it can't be helped! Butwhy--why did you publish it?"

"Just what the critics asked, my dear! Why? Who knows? Who can tellwhy the gods invented madness? But it's done; for bad, or worse!"

"For bad, or worse!" she repeated, gazing wistfully toward the rumpledbed. 

"If somebody tells you fine feathers don't make fine birds, don'tbelieve him, " continued the poet. "It's envy that speaks! But what doyou suppose I have here?" Producing a slip of paper from his vestpocket. "No; it's not another draft! An advertisement! Listen:'Mademoiselle de Castiglione's select seminary. Young ladiesinstructed in the arts of the _bon ton_. Finesse, repose, literature!Fashions, etiquette, languages! P. S. Polkas a specialty!' Celestina, your destiny lies at Mademoiselle de Castiglione's. They will teachyou to float into a drawing room--but you won't forget the garret?They will instruct you how to sit on gilt chairs--you will thinksometimes of the box, or the place by the hearth? You will become amistress of the piano--'By the Coral Strands I Wander, ' 'The SweetYoung Bachelor'--but I trust you will not learn to despise altogetherthe attic pipe?"

"You mean, " said Celestina, slowly, her face expressing bewilderment, "I must go away somewhere?"

Straws nodded. "That's it; somewhere!"

The girl's eyes flashed; her little hands clenched. "I won't; Iwon't!"

"Then that's the end on't!" retorted the bard. "I had bought yousome new dresses, a trunk with your name on it, and had madearrangements with Mademoiselle de Castiglione (who had read 'Straws'Strophes'), but perhaps I could give the dresses away to some otherlittle girl who will be glad to drink at the Pierian--I mean, theCastiglione--spring. "

Celestina's eyes were an agony of jealousy; not that she wasmercenary, or cared for the dresses, but that Straws should give themto another little girl. Her pride, however, held her in check and shedrew herself up with composure. 

"That would be nice--for the other little girl!" she said. 

"The only difficulty is, " resumed Straws, "there isn't any otherlittle girl. "

At that, Celestina gave a glad cry and flew to him, throwing her armsaround his neck. 

"Oh, I will go anywhere you want!" she exclaimed. 

"Get on your bonnet then--before you change your mind, my dear!"

"And aunt?" asked Celestina, lingering doubtfully on the threshold. 

"Your aunt, as you call that shriveled-up shrew, consented at once, "answered Straws. "Her parental heart was filled with thanksgiving atthe prospect of one less mouth to fill. Go and say good-by, however, to the old harridan; I think she has a few conventional tears to shed. But do not let her prolong her grief inordinately, and meet me at thefront door. "

A few moments later, Straws and the child, hand-in-hand, started ontheir way to the Castiglione temple of learning and culture. IfCelestina appeared thoughtful, even sad, the poet was never so merry, and sought to entertain the abstracted girl with sparkling chit-chatabout the people they met in the crowded streets. A striking littleman was a composer of ability, whose operas, "Cosimo, " "Les Pontons deCadiz, " and other works had been produced at the Opéra Comique inParis. He was now director of the French opera in New Orleans and hadbrought out the charming Mademoiselle Capriccioso and the sublimeSignor Staccato. The lady by his side, a dark brunette with featuresthat were still beautiful, was the nimble-footed Madame Feu-de-joie, whose shapely limbs and graceful motions had delighted two generationsand were like to appeal to a third. Men who at twenty had thrownFeu-de-joie posies, now bald but young as ever, tossed her roses. 

"I don't like that lady, " said Celestina, emphatically, when thedancer had passed on, after petting her and kissing her on the cheek. 

"Now, it's curious, " commented the bard, "but your sex never did. "

"Do men like her?" asked the child, with premature penetration. 

"They did; they do; they will!" answered Straws, epigrammatically. 

"Do you like her?"

"Oh, that's different! Poets, you know, are the exception to anyrule. "

"Why?"

"Because--Really, my dear, you ask too many questions!"

Although Straws and Celestina had left the house early in the day, itwas noon before they reached the attractive garden, wherein wassequestered the "select seminary. "

In this charming prison, whose walls were overrun with floweringvines, and whose cells were pretty vestal bowers, entered the bard andthe young girl, to be met on the front porch by the wardeness herself, a mite of a woman, with wavy yellow hair, fine complexion andwashed-out blue eyes. Sensitive almost to shyness, Mademoiselle deCastiglione appeared more adapted for the seclusion of the veil in theUrsuline Church than for the varied responsibilities of a youngladies' institute. At the approach of the poet, she turned, lookedstartled, but finally came forward bravely. 

"Oh, I've read it again, Mr. Straws!" she exclaimed, impetuously. 

"What?" he returned, sternly, pausing at the foot of the steps. 

"Your--your lovely Strophes!" she continued, timidly. 

The bard frowned. "All great men profess to scowl at flattery, "thought Straws. "She will have but a poor opinion of me, if I do notappear an offended Hector!"

"Mademoiselle, I excessively dislike compliments, " he began aloud, buthaving gone thus far, his courage and lack of chivalry failed him inthe presence of her dismay; he forgot his greatness, and hastened toadd, with an ingratiating smile: "Except when delivered by such acharming person!"

"Oh, Mr. Straws!"

"This, Mademoiselle, " resumed the bard, "is the young girl I spokeabout. Her mother, " he added in a low voice, "was a beautifulquadroon; her father"--here Straws mentioned a name. The wardenessflushed furiously. "Father died; always meant to make it right;didn't; crime of good intentions! Virago of an aunt; regulartermagant; hates the girl! Where was a home to be found for her?Where"--gazing around him--"save this--Eden? Where a mother--save inone whose heart is the tenderest?"

Diplomatic Straws! Impulsively the wardeness crossed to Celestina; herblue eyes beamed with sentiment and friendliness. "I will give her mypersonal attention, " she said. And then to the young girl: "We will befriends, won't we?"

"Yes, " replied Celestina, slowly, after a moment's discreethesitation. She was glad the other did not kiss her like Feu-de-joie. 

"I always like, " said the wardeness, "to feel my little girls are allmy little friends. "

"Mademoiselle, " exclaimed the bard, "I'll--I'll dedicate my nextvolume of poems to you!"

"Really, Mr. Straws!"

"For every kindness to her, you shall have a verse, " he furtherdeclared. 

"Then your dedication would be as long as Homer!" she suddenly flashedout, her arm around the child. 

Straws looked at her quickly. It was too bad of him! And that borrowedDon Juan smile! Nothing could excuse it. 

Castiglione busied herself with Celestina's ribbons. "Whoever did tiethat bow-knot?" she observed. 

"Good-by, Celestina, " said Straws. 

Celestina put her arms gravely about his neck and he pressed his lipsto her cheek. Then he strode quickly toward the gate. Just beforepassing out, he looked back. The wardeness had finished adjusting theribbon and was contemplatively inspecting it. Celestina, as thoughunconscious of the attention, was gazing after the poet, and when heturned into the road, her glance continued to rest upon the gate. 

CHAPTER IV

"THE BEST OF LIFE"

On a certain evening about a month later, the tropical rains hadflooded the thoroughfares, until St. Charles Street needed but aRialto and a little imagination to convert it into a watery highway ofanother Venice, while as for Canal Street, its name was as applicableas though it were spanned by a Bridge of Sighs. In the narrow streetsthe projecting eaves poured the water from the roof to the sidewalks, deluging the pedestrians. These minor thoroughfares were tributary tothe main avenues and gushed their rippling currents into them, asstreams supply a river, until the principal streets flowed swiftlywith the dirty water that choked their gutters. The rain splashed andspattered on the sidewalks, fairly flooding out the fruit venders andstreet merchants who withstood the deluge for a time and then wereforced to vanish with their portable stores. The cabby, phlegmatic towind and weather, sat on his box, shedding the moisture from hisoil-skin coat and facing a cloud of steam which presumably concealed ahorse. 

The dark night and the downpour made the _cafés_ look brighter. Umbrellas flitted here and there, skilfully piloted beneath swingingsigns and low balconies, evading awning posts and high hats as bestthey might. There were as many people out as usual, but they werehurrying to their destinations, even the languid creole beauty, alllace and alabaster, moved with the sprightliness of a maid of Gotham. 

Straws, editor and rhymster, was seated on the semi-Oriental, semi-French gallery of the little _café_, called the Veranda, sippinghis absinthe, smoking a cheroot and watching the rain drip from theroof of the balcony, spatter on the iron railing and form a showerbath for the pedestrians who ventured from beneath the protectingshelter. Before him was paper, partly covered with well-nigh illegibleversification, and a bottle of ink, while a goose-quill, tool of thetuneful Nine, was expectantly poised in mid air. 

"Confound it!" he said to himself. "I can't write in the attic anymore, since Celestina has gone, and apparently I can't write away fromit. Since she left, the dishes haven't been washed; my work has rundown at the heels, and everything is going to the dogs generally. Andnow this last thing has upset me quite. 'In the twinkling of an eye, 'says the sacred Book. But I must stop thinking, or I'll never completethis poem. Now to make my mind a blank; a fitting receptacle toreceive inspiration!"

The bard's figure swayed uncertainly on the stool. In the lively racethrough a sonnet, it was often, of late, a matter of doubt withStraws, whether Bacchus or Calliope would prevail at the finish, andto-night the jocund god had had a perceptible start. "Was ever a poetso rhyme-fuddled?" muttered the impatient versifier. "An inebriatingtrade, this poetizing!"--and he reached for the absinthe. "If I am notcareful, these rhymes will put me under the table!"

"Nappy, eh?" said a voice at his elbow, as a dripping figureapproached, deposited his hat on one chair and himself in another. Thenewcomer had a long, Gothic face and a merry-wise expression. 

The left hand of the poet waved mechanically, imposing silence; thequill dived suddenly to paper, trailed twice across it, and then wascast aside, as Straws looked up. 

"Yes, " he replied to the other's interrogation. "It's all on accountof Celestina's leaving me. You ought to see my room. Even a poet'ssoul revolts against it. So what can I do, save make my home amidconvivial haunts?" The poet sighed. "And you, Phazma; how are youfeeling?"

"Sober as a judge!"

"Then you shall judge of this last couplet, " exclaimed Straws quickly. "It has cost me much effort. The editor wanted it. It seemed almosttoo sad a subject for my halting muse. There are some things whichshould be sacred even from us, Phazma. But what is to be done when theeditor-in-chief commands? 'Ours not to reason why!' The poem is amonody on the tragedy at the theater. "

"At the St. Charles?" said Phazma, musingly. "As I passed, it wasclosed. It seemed early for the performance to be over. Yet thetheater was dark; all the lights had gone out. "

"More than the lights went out, " answered Straws, gravely; "a lifewent out!"

"I don't exactly--Oh, you refer to Miss Carew's farewell?"

"No; to Barnes'!"

"Barnes'!" exclaimed his surprised listener. 

"Yes; he is dead; gone out like the snuff of a candle! Died inharness, before the footlights!"

"During the performance!" cried the wondering Phazma. "Why, only thisafternoon I met him, apparently hale and hearty, and now--you tell mehe has paid the debt of nature?"

"As we must all pay it, " returned Straws. "He acted as if he weredazed while the play was in progress and I could not but notice it, standing in the wings. The prompter spoke of it to me. 'I don't knowwhat is the matter with Mr. Barnes, ' he said, 'I have had to keepthrowing him his lines. ' Even Miss Carew rallied him gently betweenacts on his subdued manner. 

"'This is our last performance together, ' he said absently. She gavehim a reproachful look and he added, quickly: 'Do I appear gloomy, mydear? I never felt happier. '

"At the end of the second act he seemed to arouse himself, when she, as Isabella, said: 'I'll fit his mind to death, for his soul's rest. 'He gazed at her long and earnestly, his look caressing her wherevershe moved. Beginning the prison scene with spirit, he had proceededto, "'Reason thus with life; If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep--'

When suddenly he threw up his arms and fell upon the stage, his facetoward the audience. With a cry I shall never forget, Miss Carewrushed to him and took his head in her arms, gazing at him wildly, andcalling to him piteously. The curtain went down, but nothing could bedone, and life quickly ebbed. Once, only, his lips moved: 'Yourmother--there!--where the play never ends!' and it was over. "

"It is like a romance, " said Phazma, finally, at the conclusion ofthis narration. 

"Say, rather, reality! The masque is over! In that final sleep JackPudding lies with Roscius; the tragedian does not disdain the mummer, and beautiful Columbine, all silver spangles and lace, is company forthe clown. 'Tis the only true republic, Phazma; death's Utopia!"

"But to think he should have died with those words of the poet on hislips?"

"A coincidence!" answered Straws. "No more notable than the death ofEdmund Kean, who, when he reached the passage 'Farewell, Othello'soccupation's gone!' fell back unconscious; or that of John Palmer, who, after reciting 'There is another and a better world, ' passed awaywithout a pang. "

A silence fell between the two poets; around them shadows appeared andvanished. Phazma finished his syrup and arose. 

"Don't go, " said Straws. "My own thoughts are poor company. Recitesome of your madrigals, that's a good fellow! What a wretched night!These rain-drops are like the pattering feet of the invisible host. Some simple song, Phazma!"

"As many as you please!" cried his flattered brother-bard. "What shallit be?"

"One of your Rhymes for Children. Your 'Boy's Kingdom, ' beginning:

 "When I was young, I dreamed of knights And dames with silken trains. "

"Thou shalt have it, _mon ami_!"

And Phazma gaily caught up the refrain, while Straws beat time to thetinkling measures. 

 * * * * *

The last entry in the date-book, or diary, of Barnes seems curiouslysignificant as indicating a knowledge that his end was near. For thefirst time in the volume he rambles on in a reminiscent mood about hisboyhood days:

"The first bit of good fortune I ever enjoyed was when as a lad insweeping a crossing in the neighborhood of the Strand I found abright, shining sovereign. How tightly I grasped it in my little fistthat night when I slept in a doorway! I dared not trust it in mypocket. The next night I walked to the ticket-seller at Drury Lane, and demanded a seat down stairs. 'Gallery seats sold around thecorner, ' said this imposing gentleman with a prodigious frown, and, abashed, I slunk away. My dream of being near the grand peoplevanished and I climbed once more to my place directly under the roof. 

"My next bit of good fortune happened in this wise. Sheridan, theplaywright-orator, attracted my attention on Piccadilly one day, and, for the delight of gazing upon him, I followed. When he stopped, Istopped; when he advanced, I did likewise. I felt that I was treadingin the footsteps of a king. Suddenly he paused, wheeled about andconfronted me, a raw-boned, ragged, awkward lad of fourteen. 'What oneof my creditors has set you following me?' he demanded. 'None, sir, ' Istammered. 'I only wanted to look at the author of "The Rivals. "' Heappeared much amused and said: 'Egad! So you are a patron of thedrama, my boy?' I muttered something in the affirmative. He regardedmy appearance critically. 'I presume you would not be averse togenteel employment, my lad?' he asked. With that he scribbled a momentand handed me a note to the property man of Drury Lane. My heart wastoo full; I had no words to thank him. The tears were in my eyes, which, noting, he remarked, with an assumption of sternness: 'Are yousure, boy, you are not a bailiff in disguise?' At this I laughed andhe left me. The note procured me an engagement as errand boy at thestage-door and later I rose to the dignity of scene-shifter. How trulytypical of this man's greatness, to help lift a homeless lad out ofthe gutters of London town!

"But I am rambling on as though writing an autobiography, to be readwhen I am gone--"

Here the entry ceases and the rest of the pages in the old date-bookare blank. 

CHAPTER V

THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS

The sudden and tragic death of Constance's foster-father--whichoccurred virtually as narrated by Straws--set a seal of profoundsadness on the heart of the young girl. "Good sir, adieu!" she hadsaid in the nunnery scene and the eternal parting had shortlyfollowed. Her affection for the old manager had been that of a lovingdaughter; the grief she should have experienced over the passing ofthe marquis was transferred to the memory of one who had been a fatherthrough love's kinship. In the far-away past, standing at the bier ofher mother, the manager it was who had held her childish hand, consoling her and sharing her affliction, and, in those distant butunforgotten days of trouble, the young girl and the homeless old manbecame all in all to each other. 

Years had rolled by; the child that prattled by his side became thestately girl, but the hand-clasp at that grave had never beenrelinquished. She could not pretend to mourn the death of the marquis, her own father; had he not ever been dead to her; as dead as the goodwife (or bad wife) of that nobleman; as dead as Gross George, and allthe other honored and dishonored figures of that misty past? ButBarnes' death was the abrupt severing of ties, strengthened by yearsof tender association, and, when his last summons came, she feltherself truly alone. 

In an old cemetery, amid the crumbling bricks, Barnes was buried, hissealed tomb above ground bearing in its inscription the answer to theduke's query: "Thy Best of Life is Sleep. " After the manager's deathand Constance's retirement from the stage, it naturally followed thatthe passengers of the chariot became separated. Mrs. Adams continuedto play old woman parts throughout the country, remaining springy andbuoyant to the last. Susan transferred herself and her talents toanother stock company performing in New Orleans, while Kate procuredan engagement with a traveling organization. Adonis followed in hertrain. It had become like second nature to quarrel with Kate, and atthe mere prospect of separation, he forthwith was driven to ask herfor her hand, and was accepted--on probation, thus departing inleading strings. Hawkes, melancholy as of old, drifted into a comicpart in a "variety show, " acquiring new laurels as a dry comedian ofthe old school. But he continued to live alone in the world, mournfully sufficient unto himself. 

Constance remained in New Orleans. There the old manager had found hisfinal resting place and she had no definite desire to go elsewhere. Adrift in the darkness of the present, the young girl was tooperplexed to plan for the future. So she remained in the house Barneshad rented shortly before his death. An elderly gentlewoman of fallenfortunes, to whom this semi-rural establishment belonged, Constanceretained as a companion, passing her time quietly, soberly, almost insolitude. This mansion, last remnant of its owner's earthly estate, was roomy and spacious, nestling among the oranges and invitingseclusion with its pretentious wall surrounding the grounds. 

The old-fashioned gentlewoman, poor and proud, was a fitting figure inthat ancient house, where in former days gay parties had assembled. But now the principal callers at the old house were the little fatpriest, with a rosy smile, who looked after the aged lady's soul, ofwhich she was most solicitous in these later days, and the Count dePropriac, who came ostensibly to see the elderly woman and chat aboutgenealogy and extraction, but was obviously not unmindful of thepresence of the young girl nor averse to seeking to mitigate hersorrow. Culver, the lawyer, too, came occasionally, to talk about heraffairs, but often her mind turned impatiently from figures andmarkets to the subtle rhythm of Shakespeare. She regretted having leftthe stage, feeling the loneliness of this simple existence; yet averseto seeking diversion, and shunning rather than inviting society. Asthe inert hours crept by, she longed for the forced wakefulness andstir of other days--happy days of insecurity; fleeting, joyous days, gone now beyond recall!

But while she was striving to solve these new problems of her lifethey were all being settled for her by Fate, that arrogant meddler. Calling one morning, Culver, nosegay in hand, was obliged to waitlonger than usual and employed the interval in casually examining hissurroundings--and, incidentally, himself. First, with the vanity ofyoungish old gentlemen, he gazed into a tall mirror, framed in thefantastic style of the early Venetians; a glass which had belonged tothe marquis and had erstwhile reflected the light beauty of his noblespouse. Pausing about as long as it would have taken a lady to adjusta curl, he peeped into a Dutch cabinet of ebony and mother-of-pearland was studying a charming creature painted on ivory, whose head likethat of Bluebeard's wife was subsequently separated from her lovelyshoulders, when a light footstep behind him interrupted his scrutiny. Turning, he greeted the young girl, and, with stately gallantry, presented the nosegay. 

"How well you are looking!" he said. "Though there might be a littlemore color, perhaps, like some of these flowers. If I were a doctor, Ishould prescribe: Less cloister; more city!"

She took the flowers, meeting his kindly gaze with a faint smile. 

"Most patients would like such prescriptions, " he went on. "I shouldsoon become a popular society physician. "

But although he spoke lightly, his manner was partly forced and heregarded her furtively. Their brief acquaintance had awakened in himan interest, half-paternal, half-curious. Women were an unknown, butbeautiful quantity; from the vantage point of a life of singleblessedness, he vaguely, but quixotically placed them in the samecategory with flowers, and his curiosity was no harsher than that of agardener studying some new variety of bud or blossom. Therefore hehesitated in what he was about to say, shifting in his chair uneasilywhen they were seated, but finally coming to the point with:

"Have you read the account of the engagement between the Mexican andthe American forces at Vera Cruz?"

"No; not yet, " she admitted. 

"Nor the list of--of casualties?" he continued, hesitatingly. 

"The casualties!" she repeated. "Why--"

"Saint-Prosper has no further interest in the marquis' sous, " he saidquickly. 

She gazed straight before her, calm and composed. This absence of anyexhibition of feeling reassured the attorney. 

"He is--dead?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes. "

"How did he die?"

"Gallantly, " replied the caller, now convinced she had no interest inthe matter, save that of a mere acquaintance. "His death is describedin half a column. You see he did not live in vain!"

"Was he--killed in battle?"

"In a skirmish. His company was sent to break up a band of guerillarancheros at Antigua. They ambushed him; he drove them out of thethicket but fell--You have dropped your flowers. Allow me!--at thehead of his men. "

"At the head of his men!" She drew in her breath. 

"There passed the last of an ill-fated line, " said the lawyer, reflectively. "Poor fellow! He started with such bright prospects, graduating from the military college with unusual honors. Ambitious, light-hearted, he went to Africa to carve out a name in the army. Butfate was against him. The same ship that took him over carried back, to the marquis, the story of his brother's disgrace--"

"His brother's disgrace!" she exclaimed. 

Culver nodded. "He sold a French stronghold in Africa, Miss Carew. "

Had the attorney been closely observing her he would have noticed thesudden look of bewilderment that crossed her face. She stared at himwith her soul in her eyes. 

"Ernest Saint-Prosper's--brother?"

The turmoil of her thoughts held her as by a spell; in the disruptionof a fixed conclusion her brain was filled with new and poignantreflections. Unconsciously she placed a nervous hand upon his arm. 

"Then Ernest Saint-Prosper who was--killed in Mexico was not thetraitor?"

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Culver, quickly, "Owing to the disgrace, Iam sure, more than to any other reason, he bade farewell to hiscountry--and now lies unmourned in some mountain ravine. It is truethe marquis quarreled with him, disliking not a little the young man'srepublican ideas, but--my dear young lady!--you are ill?"

"No, no!" she returned, hastily, striving to maintain her self-possession. "How--do you know this?"

"Through the marquis, himself, " he replied, somewhat uneasy beneathher steady gaze. "He told me the story in order to protect the estatefrom any possible pretensions on the part of the traitor. The renegadewas reported dead, but the marquis, nevertheless remained skeptical. He did not believe in the old saw about the devil being dead. '_Lediable_ lives always, ' he said. "

The visitor observed a perceptible change in the young girl, just whathe could not define, but to him it seemed mostly to lie in her eyeswhere something that baffled him looked out and met his glance. 

"His brother was an officer in the French army?" she asked, as thoughforcing herself to speak. 

"Yes; ten years older than Ernest Saint-Prosper, he had already made acareer for himself. How eagerly, then, must the younger brother havelooked forward to meeting him; to serving with one who, in his youngeyes, was all that was brave and noble! What a bitter awakening fromthe dream! It is not those we hate who can injure us most--only thosewe love can stab us so deeply!"

Mechanically she answered the lawyer, and, when he prepared to leave, the hand, given him at parting, was as cold as ice. 

"Remember, " he said, admonishingly; "less cloister, more city!"

Some hours later, the old lady, dressed in her heavy silk and brocadeand with snow-white hair done up in imposing fashion, rapped onConstance's door, but received no answer. Knocking again, with likeresult, she entered the room, discovering the young girl on the bed, her cheeks tinted like the rose, her eyes with no gleam of recognitionin them, and her lips moving, uttering snatches of old plays. Takingher hand, the old lady found it hot and dry. 

"Bless me!" she exclaimed. "She is down with a fever. " And at onceprepared a simple remedy which soon silenced the babbling lips inslumber, after which she sent for the doctor. 

CHAPTER VI

THE COUNCIL OF WAR

"Adjutant, tell Colonel Saint-Prosper I wish to see him. "

The adjutant saluted and turned on his heel, while General Scott bentover the papers before him, studying a number of rough penciltracings. Absorbed in his task, the light of two candles on the tablebrought into relief, against the dark shadows, a face of ruggedcharacter and marked determination. Save for a slight contraction ofthe brow, he gave no evidence of the mental concentration he bestowedupon the matter in hand, which was to lead to the culmination of thestruggle and to vindicate the wisdom and boldness of his policy. 

"You sent for me, General?"

An erect, martial figure stood respectfully at the entrance of thetent. 

"Yes, " said the General, pushing the papers from him. "I have beenstudying your drawings of the defensive works at San Antonio Garitaand find them entirely comprehensive. A council of officers has beencalled, and perhaps it will be as well for you to remain. "

"At what time shall I be here, General?"

"It is about time now, " answered the commander-in-chief, consultinghis watch. "You have quite recovered from your wounds?" he added, kindly. 

"Yes, thank you, General. "

"I see by the newspapers you were reported dead. If your friends readthat it will cause them needless anxiety. You had better see that thematter is corrected. "

"It is hardly worth while, " returned the young man, slowly. 

The commanding general glanced at him in some surprise. "A strangefellow!" he thought. "Has he reasons for wishing to be considereddead? However, that is none of my business. At any rate, he is a goodsoldier. " And, after a moment, he continued: "Cerro Gordo was warmwork, but there is warmer yet in store for us. Only Providence, notthe Mexicans, can stop us. But here are the officers, " as GeneralPillow, Brevet-General Twiggs and a number of other officers entered. 

The commander-in-chief proceeded to give such information as he had, touching the approaches to the city. Many of the officers favoredoperating against San Antonio Garita, others attacking Chapultepec. Saint-Prosper, when called on, stated that the ground before the SanAntonio gate was intersected by many irrigating ditches and that muchof the approach was under water. 

"Then you would prefer storming a fortress to taking a ditch?" saidone of the generals, satirically. 

"A series of ditches, " replied the other. 

"Colonel Saint-Prosper is right, " exclaimed the commanding general. "Ihad already made up my mind. Let it be the western gate, then. "

And thus was brought to a close one of the most memorable councils ofwar, for it determined the fate of the City of Mexico. 

Saint-Prosper looked older than when seen in New Orleans, as though hehad endured much in that brief but hard campaign. His wound hadincapacitated him for only a few months, and in spite of the climateand a woful lack of medical attendance and nourishing supplies, hishardy constitution stood him in such stead he was on his feet and inthe saddle, while his comrades languished and died in the fierce heatof the temporary hospitals. His fellow-officers knew him as a fearlesssoldier, but a man reticent about himself, who made a confidant of noone. Liked for his ready, broad military qualities, it was a matter ofcomment, nevertheless, that no one knew anything about him except thathe had served in the French army and was highly esteemed by GeneralScott as a daring and proficient engineer. 

One evening shortly before the skirmish of Antigua, a small Mexicantown had been ransacked, where were found cattle, bales of tobacco, pulque and wine. At the rare feast which followed a veteran drank tohis wife; a young man toasted his sweetheart, and a third, with moisteyes, sang the praises of his mother. In the heart of the enemy'sland, amid the uncertainties of war, remembrance carried them back totheir native soil, rugged New England, the hills of Vermont, theprairies of Illinois, the blue grass of Kentucky. 

"Saint-Prosper!" they cried, calling on him, when the festivities wereat their height. 

"To you, gentlemen, " he replied, rising, glass in hand. "I drink toyour loved ones!"

"To your own!" cried a young man, flushed with the wine. 

Saint-Prosper gazed around that rough company, brave hearts softenedto tenderness, and, lifting his canteen, said, after a moment'shesitation:

"To a princess on a tattered throne!"

They looked at him in surprise. Who was this adventurer who toastedprincesses? The Mexican war had brought many soldiers of fortune andtitled gentlemen from Europe to the new world, men who took up thecause more to be fighting than that they cared what the struggle wasabout. Was the "tattered throne" Louis Philippe's chair of state, tornby the mob in the Tuileries? And what foreign princess was the lady ofthe throne? But they took up the refrain promptly, good-naturedly, anda chorus rolled out:

"To the princess!"

Little they knew she was but a poor stroller; an "impudent, unwomanish, graceless monster, " according to Master Prynne. 

After leaving the commanding general's tent, Saint-Prosper retired torest in that wilderness which had once been a monarch's pleasuregrounds. Now overhead the mighty cypresses whispered their tales ofancient glory and faded renown; the wind waved those trailing beards, hoary with age; a gathering of venerable giants, murmuring the dayswhen the Aztec monarch had once held courtly revels under the gratefulshadows of their branches. The moaning breeze seemed the wild chant ofthe Indian priest in honor of the war-god of Anahuac. It told ofbattles to come and conflicts which would level to the dust thedescendants of the conquerors of that ill-starred country. And so thesoldier finally fell asleep, with that requiem ringing in his ears. 

When daybreak again penetrated the mountain recesses and fell upon thevalley, Saint-Prosper arose to shake off a troubled slumber. Anunhealthy mist hung over the earth, like a miasma, and the officershivered as he walked in that depressing and noxious atmosphere. Itlay like a deleterious veil before the glades where myrtles mingledwith the wild limes. It concealed from view a cross, said to have beenplanted by Cortez--the cross he worshiped because of its resemblanceto the hilt of a sword!--and enveloped the hoary trees that were oldwhen Montezuma was a boy or when Marina was beloved by the mightyfree-booter. 

The shade resting on the valley appeared that of a mighty, virulenthand. Out of the depths arose a flock of dark-hued birds, soaringtoward the morbific fog; not moving like other winged creatures, withharmony of motion, but rising without unity, and filling the vale withdiscordant sounds. Nowhere could these sable birds have appeared moreunearthly than in the "dark valley, " as it was called by the natives, where the mists moved capriciously, yet remained persistently withinthe circumference of this natural cauldron, now falling like a palland again hovering in mid air. Suddenly the uncanny birds vanishedamong the trees as quickly as they had arisen, and there was somethingmysterious about their unwarranted disappearance and the abruptcessation of clamorous cries. 

While viewing this somber scene, Saint-Prosper had made his way to alittle adobe house which the natives had built near the trail that ledthrough the valley. As he approached this hut he encountered a dismalbut loquacious sentinel, tramping before the partly opened door. 

"This is chilly work, guard?" said the young man, pausing. 

"Yis, Colonel, " replied the soldier, apparently grateful for theinterruption; "it's a hot foight I prefer to this cool dooty. "

"Whom are you guarding?" continued the officer. 

"A spy, taken in the lines a few days ago. He's to be executed thismorning at six. But I don't think he will moind that, for it's out ofhis head he is, with the malaria. "

"He should have had medical attendance, " observed the officer, stepping to the door. 

"Faith, they'll cure him at daybreak, " replied the guard. "It's amedicine that niver fails. "

Saint-Prosper pushed open the door. The interior was so dim that atfirst he could not distinguish the occupant, but when his eyes becameaccustomed to the darkness, he discovered the figure of the prisoner, who was lying with his back toward him on the ground of the little hutwith nothing but a thin blanket beneath him. The only light revealingthe barren details of this Indian residence sifted through the smalldoorway or peered timorously down through a narrow aperture in theroof that served for a chimney. As Saint-Prosper gazed at theprostrate man, the latter moved uneasily, and from the parched lipsfell a few words:

"Lock the doors, Oly-koeks! Hear the songsters, Mynheer TenBreecheses! Birds of prey, you Dutch varlet! What do you think of themistress of the manor? The serenading anti-renters have come for her. "Then he repeated more slowly: "The squaw Pewasch! For seventeen andone-half ells of duffels! A rare principality for the scornful minx!Lord! how the birds sing now around the manor--screech owls, cat-birds, bobolinks!"

The soldier started back, vivid memories assailing his mind. Who wasthis man whose brain, independent of the corporeal shell, playedwaywardly with scenes, characters and events, indissolubly associatedwith his own life?

"Do you know, Little Thunder, the Lord only rebuked the Pharisees?"continued the prostrate man. "Though the Pharisee triumphs after all!But it was the stroller I wanted, not the principality. "

He stirred quickly, as if suddenly aware of the presence of another inthe hut, and, turning, lifted his head in a startled manner, surveyingthe figure near the doorway with conflicting emotions written on hispallid countenance. Perhaps some fragment of a dream yet lingered inhis brain; perhaps he was confused at the sight of a face that met hisexcited look with one of doubt and bewilderment, but only partialrealization of the identity of the intruder came to him in his feveredcondition. 

Arising deliberately, his body, like a machine, obeying automaticallysome unconscious power, he confronted the officer, who recognized inhim, despite his thin, worn face and eyes, unnaturally bright, theonce pretentious land baron, Edward Mauville. Moving toward the door, gazing on Saint-Prosper as though he was one of the figures of adisturbing phantasm, he reached the threshold, and, lifting his handabove his head, the prisoner placed it against one of the supports ofthe hut and stood leaning there. From the creation of his mind's eye, as he doubtlessly, half-conscious of his weakness, designated thefamiliar form, he glanced at the sentinel and shook as thoughabruptly conscious of his situation. Across the valley the soldiersshowed signs of bestirring themselves, the smoke of many fireshovering earthward beneath the mist. Drawing his thin frame proudly toits full height, with a gesture of disdain for physical weakness, andsetting his keen, wild eyes upon the soldier, Mauville said in ahollow tone:

"Is that really you, Mr. Saint-Prosper? At first I thought you but atrick of the imagination. Well, look your fill upon me! You are myNemesis come to see the end. "

"I am here by chance, Edward Mauville; an officer in the Americanarmy!"

"And I, a spy in the Mexican army. So are we authorized foes. "

Rubbing his trembling hands together, his eyes shifted from the darkbirds to the mists, then from the phantom forests back to the hut, finally resting on his shabby boots of yellow leather. The sunlightpenetrating a rift in the mist settled upon him as he moved feebly anduncertainly through the doorway and seated himself upon a stool. Thissudden glow brought into relief his ragged, unkempt condition, thesallowness of his face, and his wasted form, and Saint-Prosper couldnot but contrast pityingly this cheerless object, in the garb of aranchero, with the prepossessing, sportive heir who had driven throughthe Shadengo Valley. 

Apparently now the sun was grateful to his bent, stricken figure, and, basking in it, he recalled his distress of the previous night:

"This is better. Not long ago I awoke with chattering teeth. 'This, ' Isaid, 'is life; a miasma, cold, discomfort, ' Yes, yes; a fever, amiasma, with phantoms fighting you--struggling to choke you--butnow"--he paused, and fumbling in his pocket, drew out a cigarettecase, which he opened, but found empty. A cigar the other handed himhe took mechanically and lighted with scrupulous care. Near at handthe guard, more cheerful under the prospect of speedy relief from hisduties, could be heard humming to himself:

 "Oh, Teady-foley, you are my darling, You are my looking-glass night and morning--"

Watching the smoker, Saint-Prosper asked himself how came Mauville tobe serving against his own country, or why he should have enlisted atall, this pleasure-seeking man of the world, to whom the hardships ofa campaign must have been as novel as distasteful. 

"Are you satisfied with your trial?" said the soldier at length. 

"Yes, " returned Mauville, as if breaking from a reverie. "I confess Iam the secret agent of Santa Anna and would have carried informationfrom your lines. I am here because there is more of the Latin than theAnglo-Saxon in me. Many of the old families"--with a touch of insanepride--"did not regard the purchase of Louisiana by the United Statesas a transaction alienating them from other ties. Fealty is not acommercial commodity. But this, " he added, scornfully, "is somethingyou can not understand. You soldiers of fortune draw your swords forany master who pays you. "

The wind moaned down the mountain side, and the slender trees swayedand bent; only the heavy and ponderous cactus remained motionless, aformidable monarch receiving obeisance from supple courtiers. Likecymbals, the leaves clashed around this armament of power with itsthousand spears out-thrust in all directions. 

The ash fell from the cigar as Mauville held the weed before hiseyes. 

"It is an hour-glass, " he muttered. "When smoked--Oh, for the power ofJupiter to order four nights in one, the better to pursue his lovefollies! Love follies, " he repeated, and, as a new train of fancy wasawakened, he regarded Saint-Prosper venomously. 

"Do you know she is the daughter of a marquis?" said Mauville, suddenly. 

"Who?" asked the soldier. 

"The stroller, of course. You can never win her, " he added, contemptuously. "She knows all about that African affair. "

Saint-Prosper started violently, but in a moment Mauville'sexpression changed, and he appeared plunged in thought. 

"The last time I saw her, " he said, half to himself, "she was dressedin black--her face as noonday--her hair black as midnight--crowningher with languorous allurement!"

He repeated the last word several times like a man in a dream. 

"Allurement! allurement!" and again relapsed into a silence that washalf-stupor. 

By this time the valley, with the growing of the day, began to losemuch of its evil aspect, and the eye, tempted through glades andvistas, lingered upon gorgeous forms of inflorescence. The landbaron slowly blew a wreath of smoke in the air--a circle, mutereminder of eternity!--and threw the end of the cigar into thebushes. Looking long and earnestly at the surrounding scene, hestarted involuntarily. "The dark valley--whar de mists am risin'--Isee yo' da, honey--fo'ebber and fo'ebber--"

As he surveyed this prospect, with these words ringing in his ears, the brief silence was broken by a bugle call and the trampling offeet. 

"The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall arise, " said the prisoner, turning and facing the soldiers calmly. "You have come for me?" heasked, quietly. 

"Yes, " said the officer in command. "General Scott has granted yourrequest in view of certain circumstances, and you will be shot, instead of hanged. "

The face of the prisoner lighted wonderfully. He drew himself erectand smiled with some of the assumption of the old insolence, thatexpression Saint-Prosper so well remembered! His features took on asemblance to the careless, dashing look they had borne when thesoldier crossed weapons with him at the Oaks, and he neither asked norintended to give quarter. 

"I thank you, " he observed, courteously. "At least, I shall die like agentleman. I am ready, sir! Do not fasten my hands. A Mauville can diewithout being tied or bound. "

The officer hesitated: "As to that--" he began. 

"It is a reasonable request, " said Saint-Prosper, in a low tone. 

Mauville abruptly wheeled; his face, dark and sinister, was lightedwith envenomed malignity; an unnaturally clear perception replaced thestupor of his brain, and, bending toward Saint-Prosper, his eye restedupon him with such rancor and malevolence the soldier involuntarilydrew away. But one word fell from the land baron's lips, low, vibrating, full of inexpressible bitterness. "Traitor!"

"Come, come!" interrupted the officer in command of the executionparty; "time is up. As I was told not to fasten your hands, you shallhave your wish. Confess now, that is accommodating?"

"Thanks, " returned Mauville carelessly, relapsing into his old manner. "You are an obliging fellow! I would do as much for you. "

"Not much danger of that, " growled the other. "But we'll take the willfor the deed. Forward, march!"

 * * * * *

After the reverberations, carried from rock to rock with menacingreiteration, had ceased, the stillness was absolute. Even thesong-bird remained frightened into silence by those awful echoes. Thenthe sun rested like a benediction on the land and the white cross ofCortez was distinctly outlined against the blue sky. But soon the longroll of drums followed this interval of quiet. 

"Fall in!" "Attention; shoulder arms!" And the sleeping spirit of theAztec war-god floated in the murmur which, increasing in volume, aroseto tumultuous shout. 

"On to Chapultepec! On to Chapultepec!" came from a thousandthroats; arms glistened in the sun, bugles sounded resonant in theair, and the pattering noise of horses' hoofs mingled with thestentorian voices of the rough teamsters and the cracking of thewhips. Like an irresistible, all-compelling wave, the troops swept outof the valley to hurl themselves against castle and fortress and toplant their colors in the heart of the capital city. 

CHAPTER VII

A MEETING ON THE MOUNT

Clothed at its base in a misty raiment of purple, the royal hilllifted above the valley an Olympian crest of porphyritic rock into thefathomless blue. Here not Jupiter and his court looked serenely downupon the struggling race, "indifferent from their awful height, " but adark-hued god, in Aztec vestments, gazed beyond the meadows to thefloating flower beds, the gardens with their baths, and the sensuousdancing girls. All this, but a panorama between naps, soon faded away;the god yawned, drew his cloak of humming bird feathers more closelyabout him and sank back to rest. An uproar then disturbed hispaleozoic dreams; like fluttering spirits of the garish past, thebutterflies arose in the forest glades; and the voices of old seemedto chant the Aztec psalm: "The horrors of the tomb are but the cradleof the sun, and the dark shadows of death the brilliant lights for thestars. " Even so they had chanted when the early free-booters burstupon the scene and beheld the valley with its frame-work of mountainsand two guardian volcanoes, the Gog and Magog of the table-land. 

Now again, from the towering column of Montezuma's cypress, to thecity marked by spires, the thunder rolled and echoed onward even tothe pine-clad cliffs and snow-crowned summits of the rocky giants. Puffs of smoke dotted the valley beneath the mount, and, as theanswering reports reverberated across space, nature's mortars in theinclosure of mountains sent forth threatening wreaths of white insympathy with the eight-inch howitzers and sixteen-pounders turnedupon the crest of the royal hill. 

When the trees were yet wet with their bath of dew the booming ofartillery and the clattering of small arms dispelled that peace whichpartook of no harsher discord than the purling of streams and thestill, small voices of the forest. Through the groves where thespirit of Donna Marina--the lost love of the marauder--was said towander, shrieked the round shot, shells and grape. Through tangledshrubberies, bright with flowers and colored berries, pierced thedischarge of canister; the air, fragrant at the dawn with orangeblossom and starry jessamine, was noisome with suffocating, sulphurous fumes, and, beneath the fetid shroud, figures in a fogheedlessly trampled the lilies, the red roses and "flowers of theheart. "

From the castle on the summit--mortal trespass upon the immortal paleof the gods!--the upward shower was answered by an iron downpour, andtwo storming parties, with ladders, pick-axes and crows, advanced, one on each side of the hill, to the attack. Boom! boom! before one ofthe parties, climbing and scrambling to the peak, belched the ironmissives of destruction from the concealed mouths of heavy guns, followed by the rattling shower from small arms. 

Surprised, they paused, panting from the swift ascent, some throwingthemselves prone upon the earth, while the grape and canister passedharmlessly over them, others seeking such shelter as rocks, trees andshrubs afforded. Here and there a man fell, but was not suffered tolie long exposed to the fire of the redoubt which, strongly manned, held them in check midway to the summit. Doggedly their comradesrescued the wounded and quickly conveyed them to the rear. 

"They've set out their watch-dogs, " remarked the general commandingthe assault on that side of the hill, to one of his officers, as hecritically surveyed the formidable defense through the tangledshrubbery. "Here is a battery we hadn't reckoned on. "

"It was to be expected, sir, " responded the officer. "They were sureto have some strong point we couldn't locate. "

"Yes, " grumbled the general; "in such a jumble of foliage androcks it would take an eagle's eye to pick out all their miserableambuscades. "

"I have no doubt, sir, the men are rested now, " ventured the other. 

"No doubt they are, " chuckled the general, still studying thesituation, glancing to the right and the left of the redoubt. "Themore fighting they get the more they want. They are not so band-boxyas they were, but remind me of an old, mongrel dog I once owned. Hewasn't much to look at--but I'll tell you the story later. " A suddenquick decision appearing on his face. Evidently the working of hismind had been foreign to his words. 

"Saint-Prosper, " he said, "I suppose the boys on the other side aregoing up all the time? I promised our troops the honor of pulling downthat flag. I'm a man of my word; go ahead and take the batteriesand"--stroking his long gray goatee--"beat Pillow to the top. "

A word; a command; they rushed forward; not a laggard in the ranks;not a man who shirked the leaden shower; not one who failed to offerhis breast openly and fearlessly to the red death which to them mightcome when it would. Unwaveringly over rocks, chasms and mines, theyfollowed the tall figure of their leader; death underfoot, deathoverhead! What would courage avail against concealed mines? Yet like apack of hounds that reck naught while the scent is warm, they pressedforward, ever forward; across the level opening, where some droppedout of the race, and over the ramparts! A brief struggle; confusion, turmoil; something fearful occurring that no eye could see in itsentirety through the smoke; afterwards, a great shout that announcedto the palace on the mount the fate of the intermediary batteries!

But there was sharper and more arduous work to come; this, merely aforetaste of the last, fierce stand of the besieged; a stand in whichthey knew they were fighting for everything, where defeat meant thesecond conquest of Mexico! From the batteries the assailants hadcaptured to the foot of the castle seemed but a little way to them intheir zeal; no one thought of weariness, or the toil of the ascent. But one determination possessed them--to end it all quickly; to carryeverything before them! Their victory at the redoubt gave them suchsudden, wild confidence that castles seemed no more than ant-hills--tobe trampled on! Instinctively every man felt sure of the day andalready experienced the glory of conquering that historic hill; thatinvincible fortress! Over the great valley, so beautiful in itsphysical features, so inspiring in its associations, should hang thestars of the North, with the stars of heaven!

The scaling ladders were brought up and planted by the storming party;the first to mount were hurled back, killed or wounded, to the rocksbelow, but others took their places; a lodgment was effected, and, like the water bursting over a dike, a tide of besiegers foundingress. 

Under a galling fire, with shouts that rang above the noise of rifles, they drove the masses of the enemy from their guns; all save one, nota Mexican from his fair skin, who stood confidently beside his piece, an ancient machine, made of copper and strengthened by bands of iron. A handsome face; dead to morality, alive to pleasure; the face of aman past thirty, the expression of immortal one-and-twenty! A figurefrom the pages of Ovid, metamorphosed to a gunner of Santa Anna! Thebright radiance from a cloudless sky, the smoke having driftedwestward from the summit, fell upon him and his gun. 

With inscrutable calmness, one hand fondling the breech, he regardedthe fleeting figures and the hoarse-throated pursuers; then, as if totime the opportunity to the moment, he bent over the gun. 

"I wonder if this first-born can still bark!" he muttered. 

But an instant's hesitation, friend and foe being fairly intermingled, was fatal to his purpose; the venerable culverin remained silent, andthe gunner met hand-to-hand a figure that sprang from the incominghost. Simultaneously the rapid firing of a new wave of besiegers fromthe other side of the castle threw once more a pall of smoke over thescene, and, beneath its mantle, the two men were like figuresstruggling in a fog, feeling rather than seeing each other's blade, divining by touch the cut, pass or aggressive thrust. 

"Faugh!" laughed the gunner. "They'll kill us with smoke. "

The discharge of small arms gradually ceased; the fresh breeze againcleared the crest of the mount, showing the white walls of thestructure which had been so obstinately defended; the valley, wherethe batteries now lay silent, having spoken their thundering prologue, and the alien flag, the regimental colors of the invaders, floatingfrom the upper walls. Below on the road toward the city, a band ofwhite across the table land, successive spots of smoke momentarilyappeared and were succeeded, after a considerable interval, by therub-a-dub of rifles. From the disenchanting distance the charge of abody of men, in the attempt to dislodge a party entrenched in a ditch, lost the tragic aspect of warfare, and the soldiers who fell seemed nolarger than the toy figures of a nursery game. 

With the brightening of the summit to the light of day, eagerly thetwo combatants near the copper gun gazed for the first time into eachother's eyes, and, at that trenchant glance, a tremor crossed thefeatures of the gunner, and his arm, with its muscles of steel, suddenly became inert, powerless. 

"_Mon Dieu!_--'Tis Ernest--little Ernest!" he exclaimed, wonderingly. 

For all that his opponent's sword, ominously red from the fierce firstassault at the wall, was at his breast, he made no effort to opposeits threatening point, when a grape-shot, swifter than the blade, fairly struck the gunner. With blood streaming from his shoulder, heswayed from side to side, passing his hand before his eyes as one whoquestions oracular evidence, and then sank to the earth with an armthrown over the tube of copper. Above his bronzed face the light curlswaved like those of a Viking; though his clothes were dyed with thesanguinary hue and his chest rose and fell with labored breathing, itwas with an almost quizzical glance he regarded the other who stood asif turned to stone. 

"That was not so easily done, Ernest, " he said, not unkindly, "butsurprise broke down my guard. "

"Before God, it was not I!" cried the soldier, starting from atrance. 

"And if it were!" With his free arm he felt his shoulder. "I believeyou are right, " he observed, coolly. "Swords break no bones. "

"I will get a surgeon, " said the other, as he turned. 

"What for? To shake his head? Get no one, or if--for boyish days!--youwant to serve me, lend me your canteen. "

Saint-Prosper held it to his lips, and he drank thirstily. 

"That was a draught in an oasis. I had the desert in my throat--thedesert, the wild desert! What a place to meet! But they caughtAbd-el-Kader, and there was nothing for it but to flee! Besides, I ama rolling stone. "

To hear him who had betrayed his country and shed the blood of hiscomrades, characterize himself by no harsher term was an amazingrevelation of the man's character. 

The space around them had become almost deserted; here and there layfigures on the ground among which might be distinguished asub-lieutenant and other students of the military college, the castlehaving been both academy and garrison. Their tuition barely over, soearly had they given up their lives beneath the classic walls of their_alma mater_! The exhilarating cheering and shouting had subsided; thesad after-flavor succeeded the lust of conquest. 

"Yes, " continued the gunner, though the words came with an effort. "First, it was the desert. What a place to roll and rove! I couldn'thelp it for the life of me! When I was a boy I ran away from school; alad, I ran away from college! If I had been a sailor I would havedeserted the ship. After they captured the prophet, I deserted thedesert. So, hey for Mexico, a hilly place for a rolling stone!"

He gasped, held his hand to his shoulder and brought it away coveredwith red. But that Saint-Prosper knelt swiftly, sustaining andsupporting him, he would have slid to the ground. He smiled--sweetlyenough--on the stern soldier and placed his moist and stained handcaressingly on that of his companion. Seeing them thus, it was notdifficult to trace a family likeness--a similarity in their verydissimilarity. The older was younger; the younger, older. The gunner'shair was light, his face wild as a gerfalcon beneath; the other'sdark, with a countenance, habitually repressed, but now, at the touchof that dishonored hand, grown cold and harsh; yet despite the totaldifference of expression, the hereditary resemblance could not bestamped out. Even the smile of the wounded man was singularly likethat of his brother--a rare transformation that seldom failed tocharm. 

"That's my story, " he said, smiling now, as though all the problems oflife and death could be thus dismissed. "As the prophet said: 'I haveurged my camel through every desert!' You see I know my Koran well. But how came you here, Ernest? I thought you were in Africa, colonizing--us!"

"It was impossible to stay there long, " replied Saint-Prosper, slowly. 

"There's that cloud of smoke again, " muttered the wounded man, apparently oblivious to the other's response. As he spoke he withdrewhis hand from that of his brother. At that moment the tropic sun wasbathing him in its light and the white walls shone with luster. "No;it's like the desert; the dark hour before the sand-storm. " Upon hisbrow the perspiration gathered, but his lip curled half-scornfully, half-defiantly. "Turn me toward the valley, Ernest. There's morespace; more light!"

The soldier, an automaton in passive compliance, placed him where hecommanded the outlook cityward; the open plain, protected by thebreast-works of mountains; the distant spires trembling on thehorizon; the lakes which once marked the Western Venice, a city ofperfume and song. Striking a body of water, the sun converted it intoa glowing shield, a silver escutcheon of the land of silver, and, incontrast with this polished splendor, the shadows, trailing on thefar-away mountains, were soft, deep and velvety. But the freedom ofthe outlook afforded the wounded man little comfort. 

"The storm!" he said. 

A change passed over his face, as of a shadow drawn before it. Hegroped helplessly with his hand. 

"Feel in my burnoose, Ernest. A bag--around my neck--open it!"

Saint-Prosper thrust his hand within the coat, shuddering at thecontact with the ebbing life's blood, and drew forth a leather bagwhich he placed in the other's trembling fingers. With an effort, breathing laboriously, and staring hard, as though striving topenetrate a gathering film, the wounded man finally managed to displaythe contents of the bag, emptying them in his palm, where they glintedand gleamed in the sun's rays. Sapphires, of delicate blue; emeraldswith vitreous luster; opals of brilliant iridescence--but, above all, a ruby of perfect color and extraordinary size, cut _en cabachon_, andexhibiting a marvelous star of many rays; the ruby of Abd-el-Kader!

With a venal expression of delight, the gunner regarded the contentsof the bag, feeling the gems one by one. "The rarest stone--from theSagyin hills, Ernest!" he whispered, as his trembling fingers playedwith the ruby. 

But even as he fondled it, a great pain crossed his breast; he grippedhis shoulder tight with his free hand, clutching the precious stoneshard in his clenched fist. Thus he remained, how long the other neverknew, panting, growing paler, as the veins that carried life to hisheart were being slowly emptied. 

His head dropped. "How dark!" he murmured. "Like a _m'chacha_ wherethe hashish-smokers dream!"

The younger brother thought his energy was spent when he looked upsharply. 

"The lamp's out, you Devil Jew!" he cried. "The pipe, too--spawn ofhell!"

And he dropped back like stone, the gems falling from his hand, whichtwitched spasmodically on the ground and then was still. Saint-Prosperbent over him, but the heart, famished for nourishment, had ceased tobeat; the restless, wayward soul had fled from its tabernacle of dust. Save for the stain on his breast and the fixedness of his eyes, hemight have been sleeping. 

Mechanically the soldier gathered the sapphires, emeralds and othergems--flashing testimony of that thankless past--and, leaningagainst the wall, gazed afar to the snow-capped volcanoes. Even as helooked, the vapors arose from the solfataras of the "smokingmountain" and a vast shower of cinders and stones was thrown into theair. Unnoticed passed the eruption before the gaze of Saint-Prosper, whose mind in a torpor swept dully back to youth's roseate season, recalling the homage of the younger for the elder brother, aworship as natural as pagan adoration of the sun. From the sanguinefore-time to the dead present lay a bridge of darkness. With honorwithin grasp, deliberately he had sought dishonor, little reckingof shame and murder, and childishly husbanding green, red and bluepebbles!

Weighing the stones in his hand now, Ernest Saint-Prosper looked atthem long and bitterly. For these the honor and pride of an old familyhad been sold. For these he himself had endured the reflecteddisgrace; isolation from comradeship; distrust which had blighted hismilitary career at the outset. How different had been the reality fromhis expectations; the buoyant hopes of youth; the fond anticipation ofglory, succeeded by stigma and stain! And, as the miserable, perplexing panorama of these later years pictured itself in his brainhe threw, with a sudden gesture, the gems far from him, over the wall, out toward the valley!

Like dancing beams of color, they flashed a moment in mid air; thenmingled their hues with the rainbow tints of a falling stream. Lost tosight, they sank in the crystal waters which leaped with a caressingmurmur toward the table-land; only the tiny spectrum, vivid reminderof their color, still waved and wavered from rock to rock above apellucid pool. 

"I beg your pardon, Colonel, " said a voice at his elbow, breaking inupon his reflections; "are you wounded?"

With drawn features, the officer turned. 

"No; I am not wounded. "

"The general directs you to take this message to the commandinggeneral, " continued the little aide. "I believe I may congratulateyou, sir, for you will have the honor of bearing the news of thevictory. " He handed Saint-Prosper a sealed message. "It's been aglorious day, sir, but"--gazing carelessly around him--"has cost manya brave life!"

"Yes, many a life!" answered the other, placing the message in hisbreast and steadfastly regarding for the last time the figure beneaththe gun. 

"We ought to be in the City of Mexico in a day or two, sir, " resumedthe aide. "Won't it be jolly though, after forced marches and all thatsort of thing! Fandangos; tambourines; cymbals! And the pulque! Whatcreatures of the moment we are, sir!" he added, with suddenthoughtfulness. "'Twill be, after all, like dancing over the graves ofour dear comrades!"

CHAPTER VIII

A FAIR PENITENT

The reception to General Zachary Taylor, on his return from Mexico, and the inauguration of the carnival combined to the observance of adual festival day in the Crescent City. Up the river, past the ricefields, disturbing the ducks and pelicans, ploughed the noisy craftbearing "Old Rough and Ready" to the open port of the merry-makingtown. When near the barracks, the welcoming cannon boomed, and theaffrighted darkies on the remote plantations shook with direforebodings of a Mexican invasion. 

The boat rounded at the Place d'Armes, where, beneath a triumphal arch, General Taylor received the crown and chaplet of the people--popularapplause--and a salvo of eloquence from the mayor. With flying colorsand nourish of trumpets, a procession of civic and military bodies wasthen formed, the parade finally halting at the St. Charles, where thefatted calf had been killed and the succulent ox roasted. Sounding aretreat, the veteran commander fell back upon a private parlor torecuperate his forces in anticipation of the forthcoming banquet. 

From this stronghold, where, however, not all of the enemy--hisfriends--could be excluded, there escaped an officer, with: "I'll lookaround town a little, General. "

"Look around!" said the commander at the door. "I should think we hadlooked around! Well, don't fall foul of too many juleps. "

With a laughing response, the young man pushed his way through thejostling crowd near the door, traversed the animated corridor, andsoon found himself out on the busy street. Amid the variegated colorsand motley throng, he walked, not, however, in King Carnival's gaydomains, but in a city of recollections. The tavern he had just leftwas associated with an unforgotten presence; the stores, the windows, the thoroughfares themselves were fraught with retrospectivesuggestion of the strollers. 

Even now--and he came to an abrupt standstill--he was staring at thebill-board of the theater where she had played, the familiar entrancebedecked with bunting and festival inscriptions. Before its classicportals appeared the black-letter announcement of an act by"Impecunious Jordan, Ethiopian artist, followed by a Tableau ofGeneral Scott's Capture of the City of Mexico. " Mechanically hestepped within and approached the box office. From the littlecupboard, a strange face looked forth; even the ticket vender of oldhad been swallowed up by the irony of fate, and, instead of thewell-remembered blond mustache of the erstwhile seller of seats, adark-bearded man, with sallow complexion, inquired:

"How many?"

"One, " said Saint-Prosper, depositing a Mexican piece on the counterbefore the cubby-hole. 

"We've taken in plenty of this kind of money to-day, " remarked theman, holding up the coin. "I reckon you come to town with old Zach?"

"Yes. " The soldier was about to turn away, when he changed his mindand observed: "You used to give legitimate drama here. "

"That was some time ago, " said the man in the box, reflectively. "Thesoldiers like vaudeville. Ever hear Impecunious Jordan?"

"I never did. "

"Then you've got a treat, " continued the vender. "He's the best in hisline. Hope you'll enjoy it, sir, " he concluded, with the courtesydisplayed toward one and all of "Old Rough and Ready's" men that day. "It's the best seat left in the house. You come a little late, youknow. " And as the other moved away:

"How different they look before and after! They went to Mexico freshas daisies, and come back--those that do--dead beat, done up!"

[Illustration]

Passing through the door, Saint-Prosper was ushered to his seat in arenovated auditorium; new curtain, re-decorated stalls, mirrors andgilt in profusion; the old restfulness gone, replaced by glitter andshow. Amid changed conditions, the derangement of fixed external formand outline, the sight of a broad face in the orchestra and the aspectof a colossal form riveted his attention. This person was neitherstouter nor thinner than before; he perspired neither more nor less;he was neither older nor younger--seemingly; he played on hisinstrument neither better nor worse. Youth might fade, honors takewing, the face of nature change, but Hans, Gargantuan Hans, appearedbut a figure in an eternal present! Gazing at that substantiallandmark, the soldier was carried back in thought over the long periodof separation to a forest idyl; a face in the firelight; the song ofthe katydid; the drumming of the woodpecker. Dreams; vain dreams! Theyhad assailed him before, but seldom so sharply as now in a placeconsecrated to the past. 

 "Look out for the dandies, Girls, beware; Look out for their blandishments, Dears, take care! For they're always ready--remember this!-- To pilfer from maids an unwilling kiss. Oh, me! Oh, my! There! There!" (_Imaginary slaps. _)

sang and gesticulated a lady in abbreviated skirts and low-cut dress, winking and blinking in ironical shyness, and concluding with aflaunting of her gown, a toe pointed ceilingward, and a lively"breakdown. " Then she vanished with a hop, skip and a bow, reappearedwith a ravishing smile and threw a generous assortment of kisses amongthe audience, and disappeared with another hop, skip and a bow, asImpecunious Jordan burst upon the spectators from the opposite side ofthe stage. 

Even the sight of Hans, a finger-post pointing to ways long sincetraversed, could not reconcile the soldier to his surroundings; thehumor of the burnt-cork artist seemed inappropriate to the place; hisgrotesque dancing inadmissible in that atmosphere once consecrated tothe comedy of manners and the stately march of the classic drama. Where Hamlet had moralized, a loutish clown now beguiled the time withsome tom-foolery, his wit so broad, his quips were cannon-balls, andhis audience, for the most part soldiers from Mexico, open-mouthedswallowed the entire bombardment. But Saint-Prosper, finding theperformance dull, finally rose and went out, not waiting for thethrilling Tableaux of the Entrance into the City of Mexico of ahundred American troops (impersonated by young ladies in tropicalattire) and the submission of Santa Anna's forces (more young ladies)by sinking gracefully to their bended knees. 

Fun and frolic were now in full swing on the thoroughfares;Democritus, the rollicker, had commanded his subjects to drive dullcare away and they obeyed the jovial lord of laughter. Animal spiritsran high; mischief beguiled the time; mummery romped and rioted. Marshaled by disorder, armed with drollery and divers-hued banners, they marched to the Castle of Chaos, where the wise are fools, the oldare young and topsy-turvy is the order of the day. 

As Saint-Prosper stood watching the versicolored concourse swarm by, asudden rush of bystanders to view Faith on a golden pedestal, lookingmore like Coquetry, propelled a dainty figure against the soldier. Involuntarily he put out his arm which girded a slender waist; Faithdrove simpering by; the crowd melted like a receding wave, and thelady extricated herself, breathless as one of the maids in Lorenzo deMedici's Songs of the Carnival. 

"How awkward!" she murmured. "How--"

The sentence remained unfinished and an exclamation, "Mr. Saint-Prosper!"punctuated a gleam of recognition. 

"Miss Duran!" he exclaimed, equally surprised, for he had thought thestrollers scattered to the four winds. 

"Mrs. Service, if you please!" Demurely; at the same time extendingher hand with a faint flush. "Yes; I am really and truly married! Butit is so long since we met, I believe I--literally flew to yourarms!"

"That was before you recognized me, " he returned, in the same tone. 

Susan laughed. "But how do you happen to be here? I thought you weredead. No; only wounded? How fortunate! Of course you came with theothers. I should hardly know you. I declare you're as thin as a lathand gaunt as a ghost. You look older, too. Remorse, I suppose, forkilling so many poor Mexicans!"

"And you"--surveying her face, which had the freshness of morn--"lookyounger!"

"Of course!" Adjusting some fancied disorder of hair or bonnet. "Marriage is a fountain of youth for"--with a sigh--"old maids. SusanDuran, spinster! Horrible! Do you blame me?"

"For getting married? Not at all. Who is the fortunate man?" askedSaint-Prosper. 

"A minister; an orthodox minister; a most orthodox minister!"

"No?" His countenance expressed his sense of the incongruity of theunion. Susan one of the elect; the meek and lowly yokemate of--"Howdid it happen?" he said. 

"In a perverse moment, I--went to church, " answered Susan. "There, Imet him--I mean, I saw him--no, I mean, I heard him! It was enough. All the women were in love with him. How could I help it?"

"He must have been very persuasive. "

"Persuasive! He scolded us every minute. Dress and the devil!I"--casting down her eyes--"interested him from the first. He--hemarried me to reform me. "

"Ah, " commented the soldier, gazing doubtfully upon Susan's smartgown, which, with elaborate art, followed the contours of her figure. 

"But, of course, one must keep up appearances, you know, " shecontinued. "What's the use of being a minister's wife if you aren'tpopular with the congregation? At least, " she added, "with part ofthem!" And Susan tapped the pavement with a well-shod boot and showedher white teeth. "If you weren't popular, you couldn't fill theseats--I mean pews, " she added, evasively. "But you must come and seeme--us, I should say. "

"Unfortunately, I am leaving to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!" repeated Susan, reflectively. The pupils of her eyescontracted, something they did whenever she was thinking deeply, andher gaze passed quickly over his face, striving to read his impassivefeatures. "So soon? When the carnival is on! That is too bad, to stayonly one day, and not call on any of your old friends! Constance, I amsure, would be delighted to see you. "

Many women would have looked away under the circumstances, but Susan'seyes were innocently fixed upon his. Half the pleasure of theassurance was in the accompanying glance and the friendly smile thatwent with it. 

But a quiet question, "Miss Carew is living here?" was all thesatisfaction she received. 

"Yes. Have you not heard? She has a lovely home and an embarrassmentof riches. Sweet embarrassment! Health and wealth! What more could oneask? Although I forgot, she was taken ill shortly after you left. "

"Ill, " he said, starting. 

"Quite! But soon recovered!" And Susan launched into a narration ofthe events that had taken place while he was in Mexico, to which helistened with the composure of a man who, having had his share of thevagaries of fate, is not to be taken aback by new surprises, howeversingular or tragic. Susan expected an expression of regret--by look orword--over the loss of the marquis' fortune, but either he simulatedindifference or passed the matter by with philosophical fortitude. 

"Poor Barnes!" was his sole comment. 

"Yes; it was very lonely for Constance at first, " rattled on Susan. "But I fancy she will find a woman's solace for that ailment, " sheadded meaningly. 

"Marriage?" he asked soberly. 

"Well, the engagement is not yet announced, " said Susan, hesitatingly. "But you know how things get around? And the count has been soattentive! You remember him surely--the Count de Propriac? But I mustbe off. I have an appointment with my husband and am already half anhour late. "

"Don't let me detain you longer, then, I beg. "

"Oh, I don't mind. He's so delightfully jealous when I fail to appearon the stroke of the clock! Always imagines I am in some misch--but Imustn't tell tales out of school! So glad to have met you! Come andsee me--do!"

And Susan with friendly hand-clasp and lingering look, tore herselfaway, the carnival lightness in her feet and the carnival laughter inher eyes. 

"He is in love with her still, " she thought, "or he wouldn't haveacted so indifferent!" Her mind reverted to a cold little message shehad received from Constance. "And to think he was innocent after all!"she continued, mentally reviewing the contents of the letter in whichConstance had related the conversation with the lawyer. "I don'tbelieve he'll call on her now, though, after--Well, why shouldn't Ihave told him what every one is talking about? Why not, indeed?"

A toss of the head dismissed the matter and any doubts pertainingthereto, while her thoughts flew from past to present, as a fortresson a car, its occupants armed with pellets of festival conflict, droveby amid peals of laughter. Absorbed in this scene of merriment, Susanforgot her haste, and kept her apostolic half waiting at therendezvous with the patience of a Jacob tarrying for a Rachel. Butwhen she did finally appear, with hat not perfectly poised, her hairin a pretty disarray, she looked so waywardly charming, he forgave heron the spot, and the lamb led the stern shepherd with a crook fromEve's apple tree. 

"As thin as a lath and gaunt as a ghost!" repeated Saint-Prosper, asthe fair penitent vanished in a whirl of gaiety. "Susan always wasfrank. "

Smiling somewhat bitterly, he paused long enough to light a cigar, butit went out in his fingers as he strolled mechanically toward thewharves, through the gardens of a familiar square, where the wheezingof the distant steamers and the echoes of the cathedral clock markedthe hours of pleasure or pain to-day as it had tolled them offyesterday. Beyond the pale of the orange trees with their goldenwealth, the drays were rumbling in the streets and there were the samesigns of busy traffic--for the carnival had not yet become a legalholiday--that he had observed when the strollers had reached the cityand made their way to the St. Charles. He saw her anew, pale andthoughtful, leaning on the rail of the steamer looking toward thecity, where events, undreamed of, were to follow thick and fast. Hesaw her, a slender figure, earnest, self-possessed, enter the citygates, unheralded, unknown. He saw her as he had known her in thewilderness--not as fancy might now depict her, the daughter of amarquis--a strolling player, and as such he loved best to think ofher. 

Arising out of his physical weakness and the period of inactionfollowing the treaty of peace, he experienced a sudden homesicknessfor his native land; a desire to re-visit familiar scenes, to breathethe sweet air of the country, where his boyhood had been passed, tolisten to the thunder of the boulevards, to watch the endless, sad-joyful processions. 

Not far distant from the blossoming, redolent square was the office ofthe Trans-Atlantic Steamship Company, where a clerk, with a spray ofjessamine in his coat, bent cordially toward Saint-Prosper as thelatter entered, and, approaching the desk, inquired:

"The Dauphin is advertised to sail to-morrow for France?"

"Yes, sir; at twelve o'clock noon. "

"Book me for a berth. Ernest Saint-Prosper, " he added, in answer tothe other's questioning look. 

"Very good, sir. Would you like some labels for your baggage? Whereshall we send for it? The St. Charles? Very well, sir. Are you goingto the tableaux to-night?" he continued, with hospitable interest inone whom he rightly conceived a stranger in the city. "They say itwill be the fashionable event. Good-day. " As the prospective passengerpaid for and received his ticket. "A pleasant voyage! The Dauphin is anew ship and should cross in three weeks--barring bad weather! Don'tforget the tableaux. Everybody will be there. "

The soldier did not reply; his heart had given a sudden throb at theclerk's last words. Automatically he placed his ticket in hispocket, and randomly answered the employee's further inquiries forinstructions. He was not thinking of the Dauphin or her new engines, the forerunner of the modern quadruple-expansion arrangement, butthrough his brain rang the assurance: "Everybody will be there. " Andall the way up the street, it repeated itself again and again. 

CHAPTER IX

"COMUS' MISTICK WITCHERIES"

That elusive, nocturnal company, "The Mistick Krewe of Comus, " hadappeared--"Comus, deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries"--andthe dwellers in Phantasmagoria were joyfully numerous. Moreplentiful than at a modern spectacular performance, reveled gods, demons and fairies, while the children resembled a flight ofmasquerading butterflies. The ball at the theater, the RomanVeglioni, succeeded elaborate tableaux, the "Tartarus, " of theancients, and "Paradise Lost, " of Milton, in which the "Krewe"impersonated Pluto and Proserpine, the fates, harpies and othercharacters of the representation. In gallery, dress-circle andparquet, the theater was crowded, the spectacle, one of dazzlingtoilets, many of them from the ateliers of the Parisian modistes; awonderful evolution of Proserpine's toga and the mortal robes of theimmortal Fates. Picture followed picture: The expulsion fromParadise; the conference of the Gorgons, and the court of pandemonium, where gluttony, drunkenness, avarice and vanity were skilfully setforth in uncompromising colors. 

Availing themselves of the open-house of the unknown "Krewe, " acomposite host that vanished on the stroke of twelve, many of "OldRough and Ready's" retinue mingled with the gathering, their uniforms, well-worn, even shabby, unlike the spick and span regimentals from the_costumier_. With bronzed faces and the indubitable air of campaignsendured, they were the objects of lively interest to the fair maskers, nor were themselves indifferent to the complaisance of theirentertainers. Hands, burned by the sun, looked blacker that night, against the white gowns of waists they clasped; bearded faces moregrim visaged in contrast with delicate complexions; embroidery andbrocade whirled around with faded uniforms; and dancing aigretteswaved above frayed epaulets and shoulder straps. 

"Loog at 'im!" murmured a _fille à la cassette_, regarding one ofthese officers who, however, held aloof from the festivities; awell-built young man, but thin and worn, as though he, like hisuniform, had seen service. "If he would only carry my trunk!" shelaughed, relapsing into French and alluding to the small chest shebore under her arm. 

"Or my little white lamb!" gaily added her companion, a shepherdess. 

And they tripped by with sidelong looks and obvious challenge whichthe quarry of these sprightly huntresses of men either chose todisregard or was unconscious of, as he deliberately surveyed hissurroundings with more curiosity than pleasure and absently listenedto a mountebank from "The Belle's Strategem. "

"Who'll buy my nostrums?" cried the buffoon. 

"What are they?" asked Folly, cantering near on a hobby horse. 

"Different kinds for different people. Here's a powder for ladies--todispel the rage for intrigue. Here's a pill for politicians--to settlebad consciences. Here's an eye-water for jealous husbands--it thickensthe visual membrane. Here's something for the clergy--it eliminateswindy discourses. Here's an infusion for creditors--it createsresignation and teaches patience. "

"And what have you for lovers?"

"Nothing, " answered the clown; "love like fever and ague must run itscourse. Nostrums! Who'll buy my nostrums?"

"Oh, I'm so glad I came!" enthusiastically exclaimed a tall, supplegirl, laden with a mass of flowers. 

"Isn't it too bad, though, you can't polka with some of the militarygentlemen?" returned her companion who wore a toga and carried alantern. "Mademoiselle Castiglione wouldn't let you come, until Ipromised not to allow you out of my sight. "

"It was lovely of you to take me, " she said, "and I don't mind aboutthe military gentlemen. "

"My dear, if all women were like you, we poor civilians would not berelegated to the background! I wish, though, I had worn some othercostume. This--ahem, dress!--has a tendency to get between my legs anddisconcert my philosophical dignity. I can understand why Diogenesdidn't care about walking abroad. My only wonder is that everybodydidn't stay in his tub in those days. Don't talk to me about the'noble Roman!' Why, he wore skirts!"

"And Monsieur Intaglio lectured to us for an hour to-day about thewonderful drapery of the ancients!" laughed the girl. "The poetry ofdress, he called it!"

"Then I prefer prose. Hello!"--pausing and raising his lantern, asthey drew near the officer who had fallen under the observation of the_fille à la cassette_. "Colonel Saint-Prosper, or set me down for anass--or Plato, which is the same thing!"

"Straws!" said the soldier, as the bard frankly lifted his mask andtilted it back over his forehead. 

"Glad to see you!" continued the poet, extending his hand. "I haven'trun across you before since the night of the banquet; the début ofBarnes' company you remember? You must have left town shortlyafterward. Returned this morning, of course! By the way, there's oneof your old friends here to-night. "

Saint-Prosper felt the color mount to his face, and even Straws notedthe change. "Who is that?" asked the soldier, awkwardly. 

"Mrs. Service--Miss Duran that was--now one of our most dashing--Ishould say, charitable, ladies. Plenty of men at Service's church now. She's dressed in Watteau-fashion to-night, so if you see any oneskipping around, looking as though she had just stepped from theEmbarkation for the Island of Venus, set her down for the minister'spretty wife!"

"And the minister?" asked Saint-Prosper, mechanically. 

"He brought her; he compromised on a Roundhead costume, himself! Butwe must be off. _Au revoir_; don't be backward; the ladies are allmilitary-mad. It may be a field of arms"--casting his glance over theassemblage of fashionably dressed ladies, with a quizzical smile--"butnot hostile arms! Come, Celestina--Nydia, I mean!"

And Straws' arm stole about the waist of his companion, as Saint-Prosperwatched them disappearing in the throng of dancers. It was Celestina'sfirst ball, and after her long training at the Castiglione institute, shedanced divinely. Evidently, too, she was reconciled to the warden'sedict, denying her the freedom of the ball-room, for she showed nodisposition to escape from Straws' watchful care. On the contrary, though her glance wandered to the wonders around her, they quicklyreturned to the philosopher with the lamp, as though she courted therestraint to which she was subjected. Something like a pang shotthrough the soldier's breast as he followed the pair with his gaze; heseemed looking backward into a world of youth and pleasure, passed beyondrecall. 

"It is useless to deny it! I knew you when I first saw you!" exclaimeda familiar voice near by, and turning around sharply, the officerobserved approaching a masked lady, graceful of figure and lackingnothing in the numerical strength of her escort. It was to her thatthese words were addressed by an agile man of medium stature who hadapparently penetrated her disguise. The lady, who would haveattracted attention anywhere by her bearing, wore a pardessus ofwhite gauze, fitting close and bordered with a silver band; thesleeves, short; the skirt of white gauze and very ample, as thefashion of the day required; the feet shod in small white silk"_bottines_"; the hair in bands, ornamented with wild poppies. Altogether this costume was described by Phazma as "ravishing, thegown adorning the lady, and the lady the gown, her graces set forthagainst the sheen of voluminous satin folds, like those of someportrait by Sir Joshua or Gainsborough. "

"How could you expect any one not to know you?" continued the speaker, as this little coterie drew near, their masks a pretext for mystery. "You may impersonate, but you can not deceive. "

"That is a poor compliment, since you take me for an actress, " laughedthe lady. An hilarious outburst from an ill-assorted cluster ofmaskers behind them drowned his reply, and the lady and her attendantspassed on. 

Saint-Prosper drew his breath sharply. "She is here, after all, " hesaid to himself. 

"A nostrum for jilted beaux!" called out a mountebank, seeing himstanding there, preoccupied, alone, at the same time tendering a pillas large as a plum. A punchinello jarred against him with: "Pardonnez_moi, pardie!_" On the perfumed air the music swelled rapturously; awaltz, warm with the national life of Vienna; the swan song of Lanner!Softly, sweetly, breathed "Die Schönbrunner;" faster whirled themoving forms. Eyes flashed more brightly; little feet seemed born fordancing; cheeks, pale at midday, were flushed with excitement! Whydoesn't he dance, wondered the lady with the white lamb. Carnivalcomes but once a year; a mad, merry time; when gaiety should sweep allcares out of doors!

 "Said Strephon to Chloe: 'For a kiss, I'll give thee the choice of my flock. ' Said Chloe to Strephon: 'What bliss, If you'll add to the gift a new smock, '"

hummed the lively nymph, as she tripped by. 

 "Said Chloe to Strephon: 'For a kiss, I'll return thee the choice of your flock. Said Strephon to Chloe: 'What bliss, With it I'll buy Phyllis a new frock, '"

she concluded, throwing a glance over her shoulder. 

A sudden distaste for the festal ferment, the laughter and merriment;a desire to escape from the very exuberance of high spirits and cheerled the soldier to make his way slowly from the ball-room to thebalcony, where, although not removed from the echoes of livelinesswithin, he looked out upon the quietude of the night. Overheadstretched the sky, a measureless ocean, with here and there a silverystar like the light on a distant ship; an unfathomable sea of etherthat beat down upon him. Radiant and serene, in the boundless calm ofthe heavens, the splendent lanterns seemed suspended on stationarycraft peacefully rocked at anchor. Longings, suppressed through monthsof absence, once more found full sway; Susan's words were recalled bythe presence of the count. 

Suddenly the song of "Die Schönbrunner" ceased within, and, as itspulsations became hushed, many of the dancers, an elate, buoyantthrong, sought the balcony. Standing in the shadow near the entrance, aroused from a train of reflections by this abrupt exodus, the soldiersaw among the other merry-makers, Constance and the count, who passedthrough the door, so near he could almost have touched her. 

"Here she is, " said the count, as they approached an elderly lady, seated near the edge of the balcony. "Ah, Madam, " he continued to thelatter, "if you would only use your good offices in my behalf! MissCarew is cruelty itself. "

"Why, what has she done?" asked the good gentlewoman. 

"Insisted upon deserting the ball-room!"

"In my day, " said the elderly ally of the nobleman, "you could notdrag the young ladies from cotillion or minuet. And the men would staytill the dawn to toast them!"

"And I've no doubt, Madam, your name was often on their lips, "returned the count gallantly, who evidently believed in the Spanishproverb: "Woo the duenna, not the maid; then in love the game's wellplayed!"

The ally in his cause made some laughing response which the soldierdid not hear. Himself unseen, Saint-Prosper bent his eyes upon thefigure of the young girl, shadowy but obvious in the reflected lightof the bright constellations. Even as he gazed, her hand removed themask, revealing the face he knew so well. In the silence below, thefountain tinkled ever so loudly, as she stood, half-turned toward thegarden, a silken head-covering around her shoulders; the head outlinedwithout adornment, save the poppies in her hair. 

Her presence recalled scenes of other days: the drive from the races, when her eyes had beamed so softly beneath the starry luster. Did sheremember? He dared not hope so; he did not. To him, it brought, also, harsher memories; yet his mind was filled most with her beauty, whichappeared to gloss over all else and hold him, a not impassivespectator, to the place where she was standing. She seemed againJuliet--the Juliet of inns and school-house stages--the Juliet he hadknown before she had come to New Orleans, whose genius had transformedthe barren stage into a garden of her own creation. 

And yet something made her different; an indefinable new qualityappeared to rest upon her. He felt his heart beating faster; he wasglad he had come; for the moment he forgot his jealousy in watchingher, as with new wealth of perfume, the languid breeze stirred thetresses above her pallid, immovable features. But the expression ofconfidence with which the count was regarding her, although ostensiblydevoting himself to her companion, renewed his inquietude. 

Had she allowed herself to be drawn into a promised alliance with thattitled roué? Involuntarily the soldier's face grew hard and stern; thecount's tactics were so apparent--flattering attention to the elderlygentlewoman and a devoted, but reserved, bearing toward the young girlin which he would rely upon patience and perseverance for theconsummation of his wishes. But certainly Constance did not exhibitmarked preference for his society; on the contrary, she had hardlyspoken to him since they had left the ball-room. Now clasping the ironrailing of the balcony, she leaned farther out; the flowers of thevine, clambering up one of the supports, swayed gently around her, andshe started at the moist caress on her bare arm. 

"It is cold here, " she said, drawing back. 

"Allow me--your wrap!" exclaimed the count, springing to her side withgreat solicitude. 

But she adjusted the garment without his assistance. 

"You must be careful of your health--for the sake of your friends!"Accompanying the words with a significant glance. 

"The count is right!" interposed the elderly gentlewoman. "As heusually is!" she added, laughing. 

"Oh, Madam!" he said, bowing. "Miss Carew does not agree with you, Iam sure?" Turning to the girl. 

"I haven't given the matter any thought, " she replied, coldly. Sheshivered slightly, nervously, and looked around. 

At that moment the lights were turned on in the garden--anothersurprise arranged by the Mistick Krewe!--illuminating trees andshrubbery, and casting a sudden glare upon the balcony. 

"Bravo!" said the count. "It's like a _fête-champêtre_! And hear themandolins! Tra-la-la-la-la! Why, what is it?"

She had given a sudden cry and stood staring toward the right at theback of the balcony. Within, the orchestra once more began to play, and, as the strains of music were wafted to them, a host ofmasqueraders started toward the ball-room. When the inflow ofmerry-makers had ceased, bewildered, trembling, she looked withblanched face toward the spot where the soldier had been standing, buthe was gone. 

At that moment the cathedral clock began to strike--twelve times itsounded, and, at the last stroke, the Mistick Krewe, one by one beganto disappear, vanishing as mysteriously as they had come. Pluto, Proserpine, the Fates, fairies and harpies; Satan, Beelzebub; thedwellers in pandemonium; the aids to appetite--all took their quickdeparture, leaving the musicians and the guests of the evening, including the visiting military, to their own pleasures and devices. The first carnival had come to a close. 

CHAPTER X

CONSTANCE AND THE SOLDIER

"Are you the clerk?" A well-modulated voice; a silvery crown of hairleaning over the counter of the St. Charles; blue eyes, lighted withunobtrusive inquiry. 

The small, quiet-looking man addressed glanced up. "No, " he said; "Iam the proprietor. This"--waving his hand to a resplendent-appearingperson--"is the clerk. "

Whereupon the be-diamonded individual indicated (about whom an entirechapter has been written by an observing English traveler!) cameforward leisurely; a Brummell in attire; an Aristarchus for taste!Since his period--or reign--there have been many imitators; but he wasthe first; indeed, created the office, and is deserving of a permanentplace in American annals. "His formality just bordered on stiffness, "wrote the interested Briton, as though he were studying some newexample of the human species; "his conversation was elegant, butpointed, as he was gifted with a cultured economy of language. Heaccomplished by inflection what many people can only attain throughvolubility. "

"Yes?" he interrogatively remarked, gazing down at the caller in thepresent instance. 

"Is Colonel Saint-Prosper stopping here?"

"Yes. "

"Send this card to his room. "

"Yes?" Doubtfully. 

"Is there any reason why you shouldn't?"

"There was a military banquet last night, " interposed the quiet, little man. "Patriotism bubbled over until morning. "

"Ah, yes, " commented Culver--for it was he--"fought their battles overagain! Some of them in the hospital to-day! Well, well, they sufferedin a glorious cause, toasting the president, and the army, and theflag, and the girls they left behind them! I read the account of it inthe papers this morning. Grand speech of the bishop; glorious responseof 'Old Rough and Ready'! You are right to protect sleeping heroes, but I'm afraid I must run the guard, as my business is urgent. "

A few moments later the lawyer, breathing heavily, followed a coloredlad down a crimson-carpeted corridor, pausing before a door upon whichhis guide knocked vigorously and then vanished. 

"Colonel Saint-Prosper?" said the lawyer, as he obeyed the voicewithin and entered the room, where a tall young man in civilian attirewas engaged in packing a small trunk. "One moment, pray--let me catchmy breath. That lad accomplished the ascent two steps at a time, and, I fear, the spectacle stimulated me to unusual expedition. We're aptto forget we are old and can't keep up with boys and monkeys!"

During this somewhat playful introduction the attorney was studyingthe occupant of the room with keen, bright gaze; a glance which, withoutbeing offensive, was sufficiently penetrating and comprehensive toconvey a definite impression of the other's face and figure. Thesoldier returned his visitor's look deliberately, but with no surprise. 

"Won't you sit down?" he said. 

Culver availed himself of the invitation. "I am not disturbing you? Ihave long known of you, although this is our first meeting. "

"You have then the advantage of me, " returned Saint-Prosper, "forI--"

"You never heard of me?" laughed the lawyer. "Exactly! We attorneysare always getting our fingers in every one's affairs! I am acquaintedwith you, as it were, from the cradle to the--present!"

"I am unexpectedly honored!" remarked the listener, satirically. 

"First, I knew you through the Marquis de Ligne. "

Saint-Prosper started and regarded his visitor more closely. 

"I was the humble instrument of making a fortune for you; it was alsomy lot to draw up the papers depriving you of the same!" Culverlaughed amiably. "'Oft expectation fails, where most it promises. 'Pardon my levity! There were two wills; the first, in your favor; thelast, in his daughter's. I presume"--with a sudden, sharp look--"youhave no intention of contesting the final disposition? The paternityof the child is established beyond doubt. "

Artful Culver was not by any means so sure in his own mind that, ifthe other were disposed to make trouble, the legal proofs ofConstance's identity would be so easily forthcoming. Barnes was dead;her mother had passed away many years before; the child had been bornin London--where?--the marquis' rationality, just before his demise, was a debatable question. In fact, since he had learned Saint-Prosperwas in the city, the attorney's mind had been soaring among a cloud ofvague possibilities, and now, regarding his companion with a mostkindly, ingratiating smile, he added:

"Besides, when the marquis took you as a child into his household, there were, I understood, no legal papers drawn!"

"I don't see what your visit portends, " said Saint-Prosper, "unlessthere is some other matter?"

"Just so, " returned Culver, his doubts vanishing. "There was a smallmatter--a slight commission. Miss Carew requested me to hand you thismessage. " The visitor now detected a marked change in the soldier'simperturbable bearing, as the latter took the envelope which theattorney offered him. "The young lady saw you at the Mistick Kreweball last night, and, recognizing an old friend, "--with a slightaccent--"pressed me into her service. And now, having completed myerrand, I will wish you good-morning!" And the lawyer brisklydeparted. 

The young man's hand trembled as he tore open the envelope, but hesurveyed the contents of the brief message with tolerable firmness. 

 "COLONEL SAINT-PROSPER: Will you kindly call this morning to see me?

 CONSTANCE CAREW. "

That was all; nothing more, save the address and the date! How long heremained staring at it with mingled feelings he never knew, butfinally with a start, looked at his watch, thoughtfully regarded thehalf-filled trunk, donned his coat and left the room. Severalfellow-officers, the first of the sluggards to appear, spoke to him ashe crossed the hall below, but what they said or what he replied hecould not afterward remember. Some one detained him at the steps, agentleman with a longing for juleps, but finally he found himself in acarriage, driving somewhere, presumably to the address given in theletter. How long the drive seemed, and yet when the carriage finallystopped and he had paid his fare, he mentally determined it had beentoo short! The driver gazed in surprise after the gentleman, who didnot wait for his change, but, forbearing injudicious comment, gatheredup the reins and drove to the nearest _café_. 

From the carriage the house was some distance, and yet it appearedvery near the gate to the soldier, who dimly realized he was passingthrough a garden where were many flowering plants and where the airwas unusually heavy with perfume. Many other details, the constructionof the house, the size of the verandas, passed without attracting hisnotice. Soon, however, he was seated in a great room, an apartment ofold-fashioned height and breadth. He felt his heart beating fast. Howlong did he sit there? No inconsiderable period, surely. He examinedeverything carefully, without carrying a definite impression ofanything to his mind. The large, carved mirror; the quaint decorationof walls and frieze; the soft colors of the rug that covered thefloor; the hundred and one odd little things in the cabinet near thechair where he was seated, trifles in ivory, old silver and china; thepictures, a Van Dyke, Claude, and a few modern masters. After thisinterminable, but confused scrutiny of inanimate things, his heartbeat faster still, as a tall figure, robed in white, entered theroom!

He rose; they regarded each other with mutual constraint; her face hada bit of color, like the tinge of a rose-leaf; her eyes seemedagitated beneath the sweeping lashes, a sentiment in ill accord withthe stateliness of her presence. She gave him her hand; he held it heknew not how long; probably, for the conventional moment. They foundthemselves, each in a chair; at ease, yet not at ease; he studying herface, furtively, yet eagerly; she turning in her fancy the firststrong impression of how gaunt and haggard were his features, bearingthe traces of recent illness!

"I am glad you came, " she began, their eyes meeting once more. 

He bowed. "Mr. Culver brought me your message. "

"I heard that you--it was reported you were dead. "

"I was wounded; that was all, and soon took to the field again. "

The suspense that fell between them was oppressive. 

"You should have let your friends--know, " she said at length. 

He looked at her curiously, vivid memories of their last interviewrecurring to him. Indecisively she interlaced her fingers, and he, watching them, wondered why she had sent for him. Suddenly she rose, walked to the window, and stood, looking out. He, sitting in the dimlight, in a maze of uncertainty, was vaguely conscious of her figureoutlined against the brightness without; of the waving, yellow flowersof the vines on the veranda. 

"It is long since we have met, " he said, awkwardly. 

She did not answer. Had she heard? Yet he did not resent her silence. If he had ever felt anger for her it had all vanished now. He was onlyconscious of regarding her more attentively, as she still remained, gazing out into the sunlit garden. 

"Much has happened since I saw you, " he continued. 

She turned; her eyes were moist; her hand trembled a little againsther dress, but she held her head proudly, as she had always done, andit was the aspect of this weakness set against strength that appealedswiftly to him, softening his heart so that he longed to spring to herside. 

"Yes, much!" she replied. 

Was her voice tremulous, or was it but the thrill of his own heartwhich made it seem so?

"You have been here long?" she asked, still holding back what was onher mind or blindly endeavoring to approach the subject. 

"Only since yesterday. "

"And you remain some time?"

"I am leaving to-day--for France. "

At that a touch of color left her face, or was it that a darkeningshadow fell upon the house and garden, momentarily chastening theoutlook?

"For France?" she repeated. 

Her lips quivered. Something seemed to still the beating of hisheart. 

"Constance--what is it?" he half-whispered. 

She stepped forward suddenly, her hands outstretched. 

"I wronged you!" she cried. "I wronged you. I thought the disgrace wasyours. Oh, do not speak!" she added, passionately. "I have sufferedfor it--and now, would you mind--please--leaving me?"

"You thought the disgrace was mine!" he repeated, slowly. "Not my"--hebroke off abruptly. "And you suffered--for it?" he said, wonderingly. "Then you--" He arose quickly and approached her, a new expressiontransfiguring his bronzed and worn young face. 

Swiftly he sought her glance; her eyes gave irrefutable answer. Unresistingly, she abandoned herself to his arms, and he felt herbosom rise and fall with conflicting emotions. Closely he held her, inthe surprise and surpassing pleasure of the moment; then, bending, hekissed her lips. A wave of color flooded her face, though her eyesstill sought his. But even as he regarded her, the clear, open lookgradually changed, replaced by one of half-perplexity, half-reproach. 

"That night you went away--why did you not defend yourself?" sheasked, finally. 

"I never imagined--any mistake. Besides, what had I to offer? Yourfuture was bright; your name, on every one's lips!"

"Did you think you were responsible for another's sins?"

His dark features clouded. 

"I suppose I had become accustomed to cold looks. In Africa, by someof my comrades who had an inkling of the story! No matter what I did, I was his brother! And the bitterest part was that I loved him; lovedhim from my boyhood! He was the handsomest, most joyous fellow! Evenwhen he died in my arms in Mexico my heart could not absolutely turnfrom him. "

[Illustration]

She opened her lips as if to speak, but the shadow on his face kepther silent. 

"I was weak enough to keep the story from you in the first place--afoolish reticence, for these matters follow a man to the ends of theworld. "

"Oh, " she said, "to think it was I who made you feel this!"

He took her hand; his grasp hurt her fingers; yet she did not shrink. 

"You showed me a new world, " he answered, quickly. "Not the world Iexpected to find--where life would hold little of joy or zest--but amagical world; a beautiful world; yours!"

She half-hung her head. "But then--then--"

"It became a memory; bitter-sweet; yet more sweet than bitter!"

"And now?"

He did not answer immediately. 

The figure of the count, as he had seen him the night before, hadabruptly entered his mind. Did she understand? She smiled. 

"And now?"

At her question he dismissed all thought of jealousy. Looking into herclear, half-laughing eyes, he read of no entangling alliances; withoutwords from her, he understood. 

"Shall we go into the garden?" she said, and, opening the window, theystepped out upon the veranda. 

In the sky a single large cloud stretched itself in a dreamy torpor, too sluggish, apparently to move, while a brood of little cloudsnestled and slept around it. From the window, the count's ally watchedthem, among the plants and vines, pausing now and then; their interestmore in themselves than in the liveliest hues or forms that natureoffered. He stood still, regarding his shadow on the path seriously. 

"Nearly noon by the soldier's dial!" he said. 

She pushed back the hair the wind had blown about her brow. 

"My boat sails in an hour, " he continued. 

"But--you are not--going--now?"

"If I stay, it must be--"

"Forever!" she said. "Forever!"

 * * * * *

"Have you heard the news?" said Susan to the count. 

"Secular?" drawled the erstwhile emissary. He was in ill-humor, havingcalled three times on Constance, who had been excused on all theseoccasions. 

"Not necessarily, " replied she, with the old familiar toss of thehead. "Saint-Prosper has come back, and he's going to marryConstance!"

"Eh? What? I don't be--Who told you?" demanded the count, sharply. 

"Well, you needn't take my head off! She did, if you want to know. "

"Miss Carew?"

"Herself!"

The nobleman lolled back in his chair, a dark look on his face. Herewere fine hopes gone a-glimmering!

"_Pardie!_ the creditors will have to wait awhile, " he thought. "AndI--I have been a dunce, dancing attendance all these days! I had hopedto marry wealth and beauty. What did I come over here for? The demnedcountry's barren of everything!"

"Isn't it delightful they should meet after such a long time?" rattledon Susan, gaily. "So romantic! And then they were exactly suited foreach other. Dear me, "--enthusiastically--"I have taken such aninterest in them, I almost feel as if I had brought it all about. "

THE END

A LIST OF RECENT FICTION OF THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY

AN INTERESTING STORY OF FAMILY LIFE. 

THE FIGHTING BISHOP

By HERBERT M. HOPKINS

"The Fighting Bishop" is drawn with firm, bold strokes and with asufficiently scholarly atmosphere to make the picture life like. There iswisdom too, in the attitude of the author toward his characters; and theentire atmosphere of the book is of fine quality. The general accuracy andvividness of the portraiture are likely to impress everyone. * * * Itcontains passages and characterizations that some readers will find itdifficult to forget. --The Hartford Courant. 

The bishop's musical son, Stephen's, obstinate vanity, his irritablenervous nature, his impatience of advice and his wonderful confidence inhis own genius are admirably brought out in the course of the narrativeand the chapter containing his letters to his brother is one of the bestin the book. It shows his character humorously and without exaggeration, and this is typical of the whole story. The author sees his personageswith a human sympathetic eye. --New York Sun. 

12 mo. Cloth, ornamental, $1. 50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis. 

"NOTHING BUT PRAISE"

LAZARRE

By MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD

Glorified by a beautiful love story. --Chicago Tribune. 

We feel quite justified in predicting a wide-spread and prolongedpopularity for this latest comer into the ranks of historicalfiction. --The N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

After all the material for the story had been collected a year wasrequired for the writing of it. It is an historical romance of the bettersort, with stirring situations, good bits of character drawing and asatisfactory knowledge of the tone and atmosphere of the periodinvolved. --N. Y. Herald. 

Lazarre, is no less a person than the Dauphin, Louis XVII. Of France, anda right royal hero he makes. A prince who, for the sake of his lady, scorns perils in two hemispheres, facing the wrath of kings in Europe andthe bullets of savages in America; who at the last spurns a kingdom thathe may wed her freely--here is one to redeem the sins of even those who"never learn and never forget. "--Philadelphia. North American. 

With six Illustrations by André Castaigne

12 mo. Price, $1. 50. 

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A VIVACIOUS ROMANCE OF REVOLUTIONARY DAYS

ALICE of OLD VINCENNES

By MAURICE THOMPSON

The Atlanta Constitution says:

"Mr. Thompson, whose delightful writings in prose and verse have made hisreputation national, has achieved his master stroke of genius in thishistorical novel of revolutionary days in the West. "

The Denver Daily News says:

"There are three great chapters of fiction: Scott's tournament on Ashbyfield, General Wallace's chariot race, and now Maurice Thompson's duelscene and the raising of Alice's flag over old Fort Vincennes. "

The Chicago Times-Herald says:

"More original than 'Richard Carvel, ' more cohesive than 'To Have and ToHold, ' more vital than 'Janice Meredith, ' such is Maurice Thompson'ssuperb American romance, 'Alice of Old Vincennes. ' It is, in addition, more artistic and spontaneous than any of its rivals. "

VIRGINIA HARNED EDITION

12mo. , with six illustrations drawn by F. C. Yohn and a frontispiece incolor by Howard Chandler Christy

Price, $1. 50

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A STORY BY THE "MARCH KING"

THE FIFTH STRING

By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA

The "March King" has written much in a musical way, but "The FifthString" is his first published story. In the choice of his subject, asthe title indicates, Mr. Sousa has remained faithful to his art; and thegreat public, that has learned to love him for the marches he has made, will be as delighted with his pen as with his baton. 

"The Fifth String" has a strong and clearly defined plot which shows inits treatment the author's artistically sensitive temperament and histremendous dramatic power. It is a story of a marvelous violin, of awonderful love and of a strange temptation. 

A cover, especially designed, and six full-page illustrations by HowardChandler Christy, serve to give the distinguishing decorativeembellishments that this first book by Mr. Sousa so richly deserves. 

With Pictures by Howard Chandler Christy

12 mo. Price, $1. 25

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"A NOVEL THAT'S WORTH WHILE"

THE REDEMPTION OF DAVID CORSON

By CHARLES FREDERIC GOSS

A Mid-century American Novel of Intense Power and Interest

The Interior says:

"This is a book that is worth while. Though it tells of weakness andwickedness, of love and license, of revenge and remorse in an intenselyinteresting way, yet it is above all else a clean and pure story. No onecan read it and honestly ask 'what's the use. '"

Newell Dwight Hillis, Pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, says;

"'The Redemption of David Corson' strikes a strong, healthy, buoyantnote. "

Dr. F. W. Gunsaulus, President Armour Institute, says:

"Mr. Goss writes with the truthfulness of light. He has told a story inwhich the fact of sin is illuminated with the utmost truthfulness and thefact of redemption is portrayed with extraordinary power. There are linesof greatness in the book which I shall never forget. "

President M. W. Stryker, Hamilton College, says:

"It is a victory in writing for one whose head seems at last to havematched his big human heart. There is ten times as much of reality in itas there is in 'David Harum, ' which does not value lightly that admirablecharcoal sketch. "

Price, $1. 50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

"THE MERRIEST NOVEL OF MANY, MANY MOONS. "

MY LADY PEGGY GOES TO TOWN

By FRANCES AYMAR MATHEWS

The Daintiest and Most Delightful Book of the Season. 

A heroine almost too charming to be true is Peggy, and it were a churlishreader who is not, at the end of the first chapter, prostrate before herred slippers. --Washington Post. 

To make a comparison would be to rank "My Lady Peggy" with "MonsieurBeaucaire" in points of attraction, and to applaud as heartily as thatdelicate romance, this picture of the days "When patches nestled o'ersweet lips at chocolate times. "--N. Y. Mail and Express. 

12 mo. Beautifully illustrated and bound. 

Price, $1. 25 net

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"AS CRISP AND CLEAN CUT AS A NEW MINTAGE. "

THE PUPPET CROWN

BY HAROLD MacGRATH

A princess rarely beautiful; a duchess magnificent and heartless; avillain revengeful and courageous; a hero youthful, humorous, fearless andtruly American;--such are the principal characters of this delightfulstory. --Syracuse Post-Standard. 

Harold MacGrath has attained the highest point achievable in recentfiction. We have the climax of romance and adventure in "The PuppetCrown. "--The Philadelphia North American. 

Superior to most of the great successes. --St. Paul Pioneer Press. 

"The Puppet Crown" is a profusion of cleverness. --Baltimore American. 

Challenges comparison with authors whose names havebecome immortal--Chicago American. 

Latest entry in the list of winners. --Cleveland World. 

With illustrations by R. Martine Reay

12mo. Price, $1. 50. 

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"AN ADMIRABLE SOCIAL STUDY"

THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN

By HAROLD BEGBIE

The purpose of this brilliant story of modern English life is to show thata human being, well brought-up, carefully trained in the outwardobservances of religion, with a keen intellectual perception of thedifference between right and wrong, may still not have goodness, and thatambition may easily become the dominating force in such a character. Sothe book may be called a purpose novel, but in reading it, one no morethinks of applying so discredited an epithet to it than one would think ofapplying it to "Vanity Fair. "

The author possesses an admirable style, clear, unaffected, strong. To thediscriminating public, the book is certain to give far more pleasure thanthat public usually gets from a new novel. 

With a Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert

Cloth, 12 mo. Ornamental, $1. 25 Net. 

Postage, 12 Cents

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FULL OF INCIDENT, ACTION & COLOR

LIKE ANOTHER HELEN

By GEORGE HORTON

Mr. Horton's powerful romance stands in a new field and brings an almostunknown world in reality before the reader--the world of conflict betweenGreek and Turk. 

The island of Crete seems real and genuine after reading this book; not amere spot on the map. The tragic and pathetic troubles of this people aretold with sympathetic force. 

Mr. Horton employs a vivid style that keeps the interest alive and manypassages are filled with delicate poetic feeling. 

Things happen and the story moves. The characters are well conceived andare human and convincing. Beyond question Mr. Horton's fine story isdestined to take high rank among the books of the day. 

With illustrations by C. M. Relyea

12mo, Cloth bound

Price, $1. 50

The Chicago Times-Herald says:

"Here are chapters that are Stephen Crane plus sympathy; chapters ofilluminated description fragrant with the atmosphere of art. "

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

"A CHRONICLE OF MARVELS"

THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON

By H. G. WELLS

Author of "The War of the Worlds" and "Tales of Time and Space. "

Mr. Wells writes to entertain and in this tale of the invention of"cavorite, " and the subsequent remarkable journey made to the moon byits inventor, he has succeeded beyond measure in alternately astounding, convincing and delighting his readers. Told in a straightforward way, withan air of ingenuousness that disarms doubt, the story chronicles mostmarvelous discoveries and adventures on the mysterious planet. Mr. Hering's many illustrations are admirable. Altogether the book is one ofthe most original and entertaining volumes that has appeared in many aday. 

Profusely Illustrated by E. Hering

12mo. , cloth, $1. 50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

"AN INDIANA LOVE STORY"

ROSALYNDE'S LOVERS

By MAURICE THOMPSON

Author of "Alice of Old Vincennes"

As Mr. Thompson avers, this is "only a love story, " but it is a story ofsuch sweetness and wholesome life that it will at once claim a permanenthome in our affections. The love of nature, so prominent a characteristicof Mr. Thompson, is reflected throughout and the thunderstorm andfollowing gleam of sun, the country garden and southern lake are each inturn invested with a personality that wins our instant sympathy. RosalyndeBanderet is winsome and artless, her lovers are human and manly, and herfinal happiness is ours. Mr. Peirson's many pictures are entirely worthy. 

With many Illustrations and Decorations by G. Alden Peirson

Ornamental 12mo. Cloth Bound, $1. 50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL HISTORICAL NOVEL

THE BLACK WOLF'S BREED

By HARRIS DICKSON

From the Boston Globe:

"A vigorous tale of France in the old and new world during the reign ofLouis XIV. "

From the Philadelphia Press:

"As delightfully seductive as certain mint-flavored beverages they makedown South. "

From the Los Angeles Herald:

"The sword-play is great, even finer than the pictures in 'To Have and ToHold. '"

From the San Francisco Chronicle:

"As fine a piece of sustained adventure as has appeared in recentfiction. "

From the St. Louis Globe-Democrat:

"There is action, vivid description and intensely dramatic situations. "

From the Indianapolis News:

"So full of tender love-making, of gallant fighting, that one regretsit's no longer. "

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. Price $1. 50

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"IN LONDON OF LONG AGO"

THE FICKLE WHEEL

By HENRY THEW STEPHENSON

In this tale of merry England, of the time when Shakespeare jested and BenJohnson blustered, Mr. Stephenson has painted for us a picture informingand above all entertaining. His is not a story of counts and crowns, butof the ever interesting common people. Without seeming to do so the authorshows us many interesting bits of the life of the day. We go to Paul'swalk, we see Shakespeare play at the Globe theatre and other such glimpsesof old time London are deftly added to our experiences. Throughout thebook is an evanescent charm, a spirit of wholesome gaiety. It is wellworth while. 

With illustrations by C. M. Relyea

Cloth, Ornamental, 12 mo. Price, $1. 50

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A FINE STORY OF THE COWBOY AT HIS BEST

WITH HOOPS of STEEL

By FLORENCE FINCH KELLY

"The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thysoul with hoops of steel"

From the San Francisco Chronicle:

"Western men and women will read it because it paints faithfully the lifewhich they know so well, and because it gives us three big, manly fellows, fine types of the cowboy at his best. Eastern readers will be attracted byits splendid realism. "

From Julian Hawthorne:

"For my own part, I finished it all in one day, and dreamt it over againthat night. And I am an old hand, heaven knows. "

From the Denver Times:

"Mrs. Kelly's characters stand out from the background of the New Mexicanplains, desert and mountain with all the distinctness of a Remingtonsketch. "

With six illustrations, in color, by Dan Smith

Price, $1. 50

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

"DIFFICULT TO FORGET"

A FEARSOME RIDDLE

By MAX EHRMAN

This mystery story, based on the theory of the arithmetical rhythm oftime, contains much of the same fascination that attaches to the tales ofPoe. Simply told, yet dramatic and powerful in its unique conception, ithas a convincing ring that is most impressive. The reader can not evade ahaunting conviction that this wonderful experiment must in reality havetaken place. Delightful to read, difficult to forget, the book must evokea wide discussion. 

With Pictures by Virginia Keep

12 mo. Cloth, $1. 00

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A NOVEL OF EARLY NEW YORK

PATROON VAN VOLKENBERG

By HENRY THEW STEPHENSON

From the New York Press:

"Many will compare 'Patroon Van Volkenberg, ' with its dash, style andvirility, with 'Richard Carvel, ' and in that respect they will be right, as one would compare the strong, sturdy and spreading elm with a slendersapling. "

The action of this stirring story begins when New York was a little cityof less than 5, 000 inhabitants. 

The Governor has forbidden the port to the free traders or pirate ships, which sailed boldly under their own flag; while the Patroon and hismerchant colleagues not only traded openly with the buccaneers, but ownedand managed such illicit craft. The story of the clash of theseconflicting interests and the resulting exciting happenings is absorbing. 

The atmosphere of the tale is fresh in fiction, the plot is stirring andwell knit, and the author is possessed of the ability to write forceful, fragrant English. 

From the Brooklyn Standard-Union:

"The tale is one of vibrant quality. It can not be read at a leisurelypace. It bears the reader through piratical seas and buccaneeringadventures, through storm and stress of many sorts, but it lands himsafely, and leads him to peace. "

12mo, Illustrated in color by C. M. Relyea

Price, $1. 50

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A STORY OF THE MORGAN RAID, DURING THE WAR OF THE REBELLION

THE LEGIONARIES

By HENRY SCOTT CLARK

The Memphis Commercial-Appeal says:

"The backbone of the story is Morgan's great raid--one of the mostromantic and reckless pieces of adventure ever attempted in the history ofthe world. Mr. Clark's description of the Ride of the Three Thousand is apiece of literature that deserves to live; and is as fine in its way asthe chariot race from 'Ben Hur. '"

The Cincinnati Commercial-Tribune says:

"'The Legionaries' is pervaded with what seems to be the true spirit ofartistic impartiality. The author is simply a narrator. He stands aside, regarding with equal eye all the issues involved and the scales dip not inhis hands. To sum up, the first romance of the new day on the Ohio is aneminently readable one--a good yarn well spun. "

The Rochester Herald says:

"The appearance of a new novel in the West marks an epoch in fictionrelating to the war between the sections for the preservation of theUnion. 'The Legionaries' is a remarkable book, and we can scarcely creditthe assurance that it is the work of a new writer. "

12mo, illustrated, Price, $1. 50

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A STORY TOLD BY A REAL STORYTELLER

A SON OF AUSTERITY

By GEORGE KNIGHT

Mr. Knight has created a real atmosphere for his men and women to breathe, and his men and women take deep breaths. They are alive, they are human, they are real. 

He has a delightful story to tell and knows how to tell it. It is a storyof human life, of possible people in possible situations, living out theirlittle span of life in that state in which it has pleased God to callthem. 

The reader realizes at once that Mr. Knight is a man who served his sevenyears of apprenticeship before opening a shop on his own account. 

The deftness and charm of his literary style, combined with the absorbinginterest of the story, can not but prove a delight to every reader. 

With a frontispiece by Harrison Fisher

12mo, Cloth. Price, $1. 50

The Liverpool Mercury says:

"This is a book far removed from the ordinary mass of featurelessfiction. There is no gainsaying the strength of characterization and thecommand of English language. "

The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis

VIGOROUS, ELEMENTAL, DRAMATIC

A HEART OF FLAME

The story of a Master Passion

BY CHARLES FLEMING EMBREE

Author of "A Dream of a Throne. "

The men and women in this story are children of the soil. Their strengthis in their nearness to nature. Their minds are vigorous, their bodiespowerful, their passions elemental, their courage sublime. They are loyalin friendship, persistent in enmity, determined in purpose. 

The story is a story of great wrongs and of supreme love. It is done inblack and white, with few strokes, but they are masterly. The shadows atthe back are somber but the value of contrast is appreciated for the vividhigh light in the foreground. 

It is a work of art--powerful, convincing and abiding. Powerful, becausetrue to life; convincing, for it has the saving touch of humor; andabiding because love, like "A Heart of Flame, " prevails in the end. 

With illustrations by Dan Smith

12mo. Cloth. Price, $1. 50. 

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