Valerie Aylmer
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ]C H RIST T IAKN R EI D. A woman's will dies bard, In the hall, or on the sward. . B. B3. Bnowmue. NEW YORK: *D. A PP LET ON ANdD CO MA NY 90, 92&O 4 GRANDBTREET. 1870. 4 A NOVEL. BY .- page: (Table of Contents) [View Page (Table of Contents) ] I A C O NT EXNTS. BO00K 1. CHA. I.-Striking the Flag, .. 1.-A Son of Neptune, . 1HI.-Putting it to the '1'ouch, . IV.--On the Wing, .' . ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, BY D. APPLETON & COMPANY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. CuAP. L-"My Pretty Page," . . . 1.-A Free Lance of To-day, . .- 11.-The General gives a Warning, .. IV.-A Wilful Woman, . . . V.-Derring-do, . . . . . VI.-Those who dance must pay the Piper, V1.-A Declaration-not of Love, .. CHAP. L.-A Test of Power, .-. 11.-Overtures of Peace, . 111-The Diamond of the Desert, IV.-On the Heights, . V.-Out of the Depths,. . VI.-Reaplng the Harvest, . . PAGE , 5 12 .17 23 29 83 41 48 57 62 70 .81 .91 .99 .105 .111 .114 BOOK IV. CHA. 1.-Sir Artegall, .. I.-Radegunde, . . . 11.-Fetters of Roses, .. IV.-The Forfeit Pledge, . . V.-Faee to Face, . . VL.-Paying his Debt, .. YH.'-Tout'est perdu, . . ROOK V. CHAI'. L-Le Bean Confddre, .- 11.-Sursum Cords, -. . - HL-SThe liver Lining,.. IV.--The Hidden Skeleton, . V.-The Hero of Sadowa, . Vt.-Who laughed last? . . BOOK VI. CAP. 1.-The Shadow of Blood, .. 11.-The Right of Reparation, .. 111-Out of the Jaws of Death, y IV.-The Sunlight from the Sea, .* , PAGE 120 127 132 138 146 153 159 . .163 .109 r 178 .179 . .189 .194 . 205 209 .213 217 N 'I page: 0[View Page 0] VALERIE AYLMEIR. -4**---. BOOKL CHAPTER I. STRIKING THE rLA~Q. "BEAD that, Valerie! "said General Ayl- mer, as he strode hastily to his daughter's side, and tossed an open letter into her lap. Now, being* a man little addicted to choleric impulses, the passionate tone in which he spoke-the very act itself-were so different from his usual voice and man- ner, that the girl whom he addressed start- ed perceptibly. Then, instead of touching the letter, she looked up with evident aston- ishment into his face. "Why, papa! " she said, after an instant -and her tone of surprisespoke volumes for her father's usual amiability-" what can the matter be? Nothing about Eugene, I h6pe?" she added, anxiously. "No-nothing about Eugene." "Something about the New-Orleans business, then?" "No;. certainly not." "Then what-" "Suppose you read the letter 3" inter- rupted her father, with an impatient acerbi- ty altogether new to him. And as she pro- ceeded to obey a suggestion,' the tone of which made it a command, he turned from her, and began to walk restlessly up and down the long piazza, with a very flushed and angry counteliance. It was plain that something of more than ordinary importance had gone wrong with thegexe~al; since, under ordinary, and even ~xtraordhiary inisforttu~es, his philosophy / was invariably that of the Stoic, with a strong dash of the Epicurean. "Grieving over a loss never yet helped a man to* bear it," the general was wont to say; and few people ever reduced theory to more perfect practice. C/he sard, *ar4 had been his life- long motto; resignation, strongly tinctured with indifference, his life-long mode of. meeting danger or di~lculty; and this de. bonsir creed had borne him lightly. ~and scatlilessly through mai~y a peril, ~and ever many a misfortune which would utterly have wrecked ordinary men. There had been more than enough of these peril~'a~d misfortunes in their time, yet they had scarcely marked a line on his, fra&ik~ ha~id- some face, or tempered by a shade his genial, pleasant manner.~ So~ it followed that in all the gay and hospitaWe country- side of St. Stephen's Parish; L~iiisiaua, ~io man was more popular, ormo~'e ~3.eservingof popularity, than GeiieralAyImero!~Ayliner~. No man understood half so well the art of pleasing all men-and nil women~ too-wi~1i hardly an effort ~eyo~xa th~t~ot the ~wiU~ ~zto man better united knowledge of ~thQ wQ~r~d with the ~onAomie of his open-hs~ided,*p~u- hearted race; no'man lived~ faster; and yet few men ever suffered less in the. opinion of~ society. Indeed, he wasone ofthoezcep- ti4nal people wh6seeinbornto rule~opinion, instead of being ruled by it-.4hough why this was sQit would be hard toi~y. The sources of power are almost afrays inyst~.. rious,'and If we'atte~npted to'an1y~e1~Jz0*- which Heaven forbid we should~ 4~d~44s page: 6-7[View Page 6-7] 6 VALERIE AYLMER. should be apt to find ourselves sadly at a open in their hospitable welcome, and the mm to nooonnt fov mnnv o1oviithin~ to n'r~.nt- old thlp of lifo hid to flow hank R~aiTL ii ness, social or otherwise, unless we accept as a solution the plausible theory of a spe- cial ruling faculty. If there be such a thing, General Aylmer undoubtedly possessed it in singular degree. It had made him a man of mark andinfluence all his life; it had ren- dered him foremost in every enterprise in which he engaged, from his college esca- pades and early social triumphs, to the po- litical successes and military renoWn of later life; and yet, in what it consisted, his near- est friend could not have told. "He had a wonderful way with him," they all said; and there they stopped. The secret of his fascination seemed as subtle as the charm of his hospitality-a hospitality which had been quite famous during the anoiem re'- gime, and' still held its own bravely,' even under the changed aspect of affairs. For affairs had changed very much in the year eighteen hundred and sixty-five, when our story opens; and General Aylmer, like the rest of his class and geuei~ation, had paid, in subjection to wholesale robbery, the penalty of being a gentleman by birth, and an aristo- crat ~y position. Yet it chanced that For- tune had been a degree kinder to him than to many of his compeers. After that terri- ble end-that end full of bitterness and deg- radation unutterable !-which came with the earlyroses of the fair Southern April, he returned to the home from which for four long years he had 'been an exile, and found that this home had fared somewhat better than ha had dared either to hope or expect. Defaced and injured it was, un- doubtedly, but in less degree than most of the habitations near at hand, and certainly~ not irreparably, since1 in a short time, some- thing of the old beauty began to appear again-something of Eden to bloom once more out of Sahara. The general was not a man to sit down in useless refining, and still less was he a man to tolerate, even for a day, the least discomfort which effort could re- move. So, the plundered rooms were refur- nished; the empty stables and cellars at least inoderatelyrefilled; thetrampledshrubberies trained into order; 'the barren fields put under cultivation; the great doors thrown STRUNG T~E FLAG. 7 In view of these facts, it was not singu- lar that St. Stephen's Parish returned quick- ly enough to its old allegiance-swearing as cordially by the general's wine and the general's horses as it had ever done in the past. And yet it was not singular, either, that, once safely out of the domain of Ayl- mers, the parish did not hesitate to shrug its shoulders, and ask very injuredly, how the deuce he managed it. He was a man whose apparent sources of wealth were no greater than those of his~ neighbors; but, while they were daily forced into closer re- trenchment, 1'he had resumed a mode of life which bordered closely on extra~ragance. It was very pleasant, of course, to know that one house at least was yet open, where a capital dinner 'and a good mount were al- ways ready for a friend, where the best of Hochheimer and the best of cigars were things at command, and the brightest of eyes smiled a welcome; but still that did not solve the puzzle as to how he managed it; and this rendered the pleasure something of a discomfort also. "To be sure, it is none of my business," everybody said; but then everybody felt that he or she would very much like to know~ True, the general was the lucky possessor of a rich father-in-law, to whose fortune his daughter was sole heir- ess; but this father-in-law, so far from being an~ old man, likely to step off the scene at any moment, was a man of little more than middle-age, who, not long before, had taken unto himself a new wife, and apparently a new lease of life; so his existence was scarcely to be assumed a solution of the enigma. Then, although Gerald Aylmer was the most "steady'~ of young men, and really an excellent planter, there was Eugene, the handsome scapegrace, whose dissipation and recklessness were known to all the parish, and who had gone to Europe immediately after the close of the war, where of course he was spending any amount of money. While, as for Valerie- but the extravagance of General Aylmer's only daughter had been known to her friends and neighbors ~o long that they had ceased to marvel over any fresh manifesta- tion of it, and indeed considered it rather a commendable quality in the presumptive heiress and beauty-regnant, who was chief among the charms of Aylmers. For other men might possess horses as good, and wine as unexceptionable, but no other man could possibly boast, as head of his household, the loveliest girl of the Mississippi Yalley, the queen of a hundred loyal hearts, the toast of a hundred gallant lips, from the Potomac to the Rio Grande. All of these things, Valerie Aylmer made good her claim to be esteemed, and yet her head was not absolutely giddy-a fact which in itself entitles her to respectful consideration. She had been a beauty and an heiress from her cradle; she was clever enough to hold her own in any fair intel- lectual tilt without falling under the terrible odium of being blue; and she was, besides, thorough mistress of all the thousand fas- cinations which some exceptional women possess, and which are more charming than the beauty of Helen, or the dower of a prin- cess; and yet, if it is impossible to saythatehe was quite unspoiled (for that would be saying she was an angel, and no woman at all), it is at least possible to say that the spoiling had not done her much harm. It had made her wilful and daring, and fond of her pow- er, perhaps; but it had not darkened over the sweet, frank charm of her girlhood with even so much as a shade ~f that intense self- appreciation, that offensive vanity, and more offensive affectation, which make bellehood a thing to be dreaded rather than desired for any girl. "A shameful coquette," people called Miss Aylmer; but they said it half in jest; and never a man or woman of them all loved her the less for her gay flirtations. She amused herself with the admiration of- fered her, and broke hearts, as it is called, by the dozen; but it was so much as a child accepts sugar-plums and demolishes play- things, that even the very victims would not have had the heart to deny her the en- joyment, "It is so pleasant to be pretty and to be admired," she said once to an in- timat~ friend; and the sentence embodied her whole opinion on the subject. It was so pleasant to feel that, whoever looked on her, desired to look agaiu-so pleasant to know that, go where she would, she carried a talisman, potent ever to win kindness and service-.-so pleasant that men strove with each other which of them should do most to gain even such a trifling favor as her hand for a dance-so pleasant that the roses of life and love were all scattered, as it were, under her very feet! She exulted in it, and enjoyed it, with the pull, glad exultation, the keen, fresh enjoyment of youth, when youth has known few troubles. And her troubles had been very few; for even the war, with its attendant horrors, had fallen lightly on her 1~ead. She had seen havoc and death around, but it had not been brought home to her, since her father and brothers came safely through the baptism of blood. She had been exiled from her birthplace, but she had roughed it very gayly in camps and beleaguered cities, shedding the glory of her youth and beauty wherever she went. Con- sidering her many attractions, it was scarcely wonderful that her fame spread far and wide, or that few women of her day and genera- tion counted more loyal subjects. Yet her beauty was only the beauty of her country- women intensified to superlative degr~e- only the graceful features, the pearly com- plexion, the soft, dark eyes, and silken-dark hair, which we meet in every wayside vil- lage, from Maryland to Mexico, making a type of loveliness that is to be found under no other sky. Of all of these personal gifts, Miss Aylmer possessed a trifle more than her due share, together with something which rendered them specially and entirely her own. It is very hard to draw the exact line where prettiness-which is so common -ends, and where beauty-which is so rare -begins. And the effort to do so is nQt made more easy by the fact that a great many people never draw such a line at alj; never trouble themselves to remember that there is any higher standard than that of their own individual~ taste; or that a face which seems to them all loveliness may, without losing a tittle of this loveliness; fall outside the magic circle of beauty, because its tints lack harmony or its fetitures fall in proportion. Yet, nevertheless, there are certain plain rules of art, which, if we choose to call. them in, settle' the matter page: 8-9[View Page 8-9] 8 VALEIIIE AYLM1~R. very summarily. One of these rules-4he J over with sunny lights and soft languors most absolute, perhaps, among them-de- clares thatperfection of physical beautycon- sists, above all things, in finish of detail; and, judged by this test, Valerie Aylmer's beauty was perfect. From head to foot she was without a flaw, and in her own style (of course it was a matter of taste whether or not one admired that style) quite faultless. She wa~ tall-taller than the medium height of her sex-but with nothing what: ever "grand" or Amazonian abouther. On the contrary, her figure, which was exqui- sitely proportioned and rounded, had a charming womanliness all its own, and was daintily slender-though straight as a palm, and flexible as a water-lily. From the small neck, down to the shapely feet, there was not an angular line about her, not a curve which was not the ourve of beauty, o1~ on which an artist's eye would not have de- lighted to rest.' Consequent upon this, she possessed that gift which is even more rare than beauty-superlative grace. One could not, imagine her doing an awkward thing. In all her moods-and they were many-in all her alternations of bearing and manner, she never lost this distinction; and was charming always, principally because' she was graceful always. Her face was ln'une, possessing a complexion clear enough to show every pulsation of the blood beneath, and smooth as a camellia petab-a complex- ion that lay like ivory on the brow and tem- ples, but seemed charged with a flush of rosy color, covered, as it were, with a sort of roseate veil, on the lower part of the face. It is not often that such a complexion is seen; and the difficulty of finding is only equalled by the difficulty of describing it. It is more brunette than blond, for its tints are all rich and warm; butt it is absolutely neither-it is something between the two, and more beautiful than either. When the flush deepened on Valerie's fare, she 'was positively dazzling, for it was as vivid and clearas the hue of the pon~egranate; but, even in her hours of lassitude, she was never wholly without color-only then it pervaded the skin like the delicate' pink that lines a sea-shell. Her eyes'were large and dark and lustrous; magnificent eyes, all flooding -eyes that would have lifted into the splendor of beauty the plainest face alive. The brow above them was very fine' and pure of outline; exquisitely finished about the setting of the eyes, and, where the slen- der, dark line' ~of 'the eyebrows ran, broad, somewhat square, and framed in abundant masses of rich, dark hair. Her nose gave all the distinction to the face which it is in the power of a feature of perfect symmetry to bestow. It was Greek, as far as a nose per- fectly straight in itself, yet not straight from the brow, can be held to appertain to the Greek type; and about the delicate, arched nostril there was a look of pride, only re- deemed by the sweetness of the mouth, whose crimson lips made a Cupid's bow beneath it. Looking at Miss Aylmer, it was impossible not to perceive the physical traces of French blood; and in listening to her voice, or watching her manner, you caught many a token in which, even through the lapse of two generations, fair Provence claimed her child. There was all the gift of ready wit and fancy, the saucy eerve and soft tendresse, which appertain to the wom- en of France above all other women, and which had already ensnared more willing captives than even the light of her lustrous eyes. Those eyes looked up at her father now with something more than surprise in their depths-a shadow of unusual gravity was gathering in them. "I am afraid this decision is very disap-. pointing to you, papa.," she said. "Disappointing!" cried General Ayl- me; almost fiercely. "It is-" He stopped and swallowed the remainder of his sen- tence-not without a considerable gulp. "It does seem hard-when grandpapa has always taught us to regard his fortune as our own. But then, I suppose, we ought to remember that he has a right to dispose as he pleases of his own property; and-" "A man has no right to sacrifice his pos- itive duties to Quixotic sentiment," inter- rupted her father, impatiently. "In disin- heriting his rightful heirs, to endow a stran- ger with his wealth, he is guilty of nothing less than fraud!', STRIKING THE FLAG. 9 "But he did not disinherit mamma," said Valerie, simply. "What else is he virtually doing now? Her marriage-portion was a mere bagatefle compared to the magnificent fortune which he is about to will away from her represent- atives." - "But this boy-our cousin-does not his claim seem to be at least equal to ours?" "Equal to ours!" repeated the general, too angry to be quite as punctilious as usual in the proprieties of conversation-" why, he is only XE. Vacquant's nephew, and you are the daughter of his only child. And even the claim of relationship itself was for- feited by the conduct of his mother, who married some fortune-hunting adventurer- an Irish painter, I believe-in open opposi- tion to the wishes of her brother. Why your grandfather should suddenly have tak- en up her son in this manner, is beyond my ~~~prehension.i~ "He was in our army, was he not?" "Yes-but what has that to do with it?" Miss Aylmer's glance fell on the open page of time letter again, some part of which seemed to attract her attention; for, after a pause, she said: "Grandpapa seems to feel great remorse for his treatment of his sister." "He is late in manifesting it," said Gen- eral Aylmer, with a sneer. "She has been dead nearly thirty years." "AhI So long? Then this nephew of grandpapa's must be quite old." "Old enough to be a very clever saliemer, I should say; or he could not have suc- ceeded, as he has d9ne, in ingratiating him- self into the confidence of your grandfather, who is not a fool; or, perhaps I ought to say, was not a fool when I saw him last. He may be in his dotage now. Certainly his conduct justifies such a suspicion," he added bitterly. "It is very provoking," said Valerie, thoughtfully. "I don't wonder you are vexed, papa. But it is some consolation, is it not, that we don't need this money very much? I have often congratulated myself that we are not so poor as most of our friends-for poverty is dreadful I-and I re- joico still more now that this is so-4or your sake, papa. You are not fit to be a poor man. But we are not poor-compara- tively speaking," she went on-" and so we ought to be resigned, even if grandpapa does not give us his money. We can do without it." "Do you know what doing without it means?" said her father, in a tone so al- tered from the merely impatient and irri- tated one in which he had before spoken, that she looked up with a startled expression of face. "It means ruin-that is all I-irretrieva- ble ruin," he responded, in answer to the look. He had been standing beside her as they talked, leaning against the pillar nearest the steps on which she sat; hut now he re- sumed his restless promenade of the piazza, while she remained ashehadleft her, but very still-the hand which had been toying idly* with the silver bells decorating the collar of a little spaniel, that was crouched at her side, now rested motionless on Sprite'ssilken coat, and her large eyes were full of a new- ly-awakened surprise and consternation. After a few turns, General Aylmer paused, and took up the thread ~f conversation where he had dropped it. "Yes-ruin!" he said, gloomily. "You think I have suf- fered less in fortune than most of our friends. You are mistaken. I have not thought it necessary to retrench in my style of living, as they have done, because I natu- - rally looked to the fortune you would in- herit as security against any difficulty about the debt I have been incurring. Failing this inheritance, thave no means of meeting my liabilities, excepting by the sale of my landed esti~te; and, if I de- cided to sacrifice that to-morrow, I should only be beggaring myself without materi- ally benefiting my creditors. I suppose Eugene shares your own delusion on the subject of my fortune, for he is as reck- lessly extravagant as ever; seems to consid- er himself still the son of the rich man I was; and the demands he has made on me, since he has been in Europe, have contrib- uted in no slight degree to involve me so deeply, that if I sold every acre of land I. page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 VALERIE AYLMETh STRIKING THI~ FLAG. 121 possess-even the very soil around "-he waved his hand toward the prospect before them-" the very roof that shelters us-I should not, at the present nominal prices of propertyrealize half the amount of my in- debtedness." Valerie's eye had followed the motion of his hand as he was speaking, and still dwelt with wistful sadness on the familiar scene which was now enwrapped in the soft Octo- ber gloaming. Manyof the marks of wanton destruction, so painfully apparent by day- light, were concealed by this kindly veil; and something of its old serene beauty was in the scene. The rich sweep of emerald lawn (emerald now, although, not twelve months back, squadrons had charged, and men had bled and died there!) -the stately trees, whose tops rustled above the roof beneath which her eyes had first seen the light, as her mother's closed to it forever -the winding depths of shrubbery-the luxuriant garden all overgrown with wild beauty-the swelling fields that, alternating with woodlands, stretched as far as the eye could reach-and, on the other side, the rushing flood of the mighty Father of Waters! When she . looked again toward her father, her eyes were swimming in tears. "Oh, papa!'~ she cried, with mingled reproach and distress, "why did you not tell Eugene all this long ago? Why did you not tell both of us I-for I, too, have been very extravagant! If you had only told us, we should, like every one else, have learned economy." "Hum! ~ said the general, incredulously, "' it is very easy to talk of economy. Prac- tising it is a different thing-as you will soon find, if yott make the trial. It would be economy, for instance, not to order an expensive new dress for Mrs. Hautaine's par- ty next week-but-ha! "he gave a short, saroactic laugh, as his daughter's face changed perceptibly at the latter part of his sen- tence.-" there - you see now that theory and practice are by no means the same." It was true that Valerie's face bad fallen 'when the matter was brought thus directly and feelingly home to her. She looked very 'blank, indae~, for an instant; but then she rallied-and the light laugh of amusement that burst from her lips contrasted strangely with her father's cynical mirth of the mo- ment before. "It is not pleasant to practise economy, I admit," she said, becoming serious again. "We had enough of it during the war. But it can be done. You shall see, papa, that I can do it! Not only will I dispense with a new toilet for Mrs. Hautaine's party, but I will not order a single new dress this sea- son. I can do very well with what ~ "My dear, you are talking nonsense," interposed her father, coldly. "Why so, papal You think I am incapa- ble of acquiring the art of economy: I want to convince you to the contrary. I have been very thoughtless, very inconsiderate- even selfish, I fear-not to have remembered that it was impossible you should not have some difficulty about money at such a time as this. Now, that I am aware-why, papa, what is the matter? What have I said to displease you?" The question was a pertinent one. Gen- eral Aylmer was looking very much dis- pleased, and also not a little embarrassed. "You are talking nonsense, as I told you a minute ago. Like a woman-or like a child, rather-to the utter disregard of all common-sense. Keep to the subject under discussion, if you please. The question is not of future economy, but of impending ruin.~~ Her attempts at consolation having been so ill received thus far, Valerie did not at first hazard a response, but waited for her father to proceed. This he did not seem in- clined to do; and, after a silence of some minutes, it was she who spoke again. "Surely," she said, a little hesitatbigly -" surely grandpapa does not mean to leave the whole of his fortune to his nephew. I should think he would give us something, papa-enough to pay this debt, perhaps." General Aylmer drew a deep breath-a sigh of relief, Valerie thought, at the pros- pect suggested by her remark. Yet he an- swered, dryly enough: "Do not flatter yourself with any such expectation. I see but one way out of.the difficulty-and that, I am afraid, you will not be sensible enough to adopt." "I! Does it depend on. me?" "Entirely." "Then, you know, papa, that I would do any thing possible to relieve you from this burden. What is required of me?" "Did you not read that letter?" "Yes-part of it, that is. The first page." "Read the remainder" said General Aylmer, and, for the third time, he returned to his sentinel-like walk. Miss Aylmer endeavored to obey; but the twilight had deepened since her last at- tempt. She held the paper close before her face for several minutes, but finally shook her head, and suffered her hand to drop upon her knee, as she said: "It is too dark to decipher these hieroglyphics. Cannot you tell me what it is, papa?" "Your grandfather,, Frenchman-like, suggests that what he calls the conflicting claims of yourself and this nephew he has taken up, may be reconciled in the most sat- isfactory manner, by a family arrangement -that is, alliance. He has already been urging you to spend the winter in Baltimore, you know, and he now presses his request still more earnestly. This-what is the man's name I-this Darcy, is to be there; and M. Vacquant is sure that, with the op- portunity of familiar association, which a residence in the same house would afford, you could not fail to be mutually attracted etc., etc." General Aylmer spoke with sneering sarcasm. Nevertheless, he waited anxious- ly to hear what his daughter would say to a proposal which might amuse, but which, he feared, would more probably excite her anger. "Well," he said, as she did not speak, "what do you think of this fine proposal of your grandfather's?" "That, if it came from any one else, I should resent it as an insult," she replied, in a tone so chilling that her father frowned -for he understood perfectly the nature with which he had to deal, and this did not look promising. "Fiddlesticks!" he said, impatiently. "The idea of your marrying this Irishman is quite absurd, I grant-but you can let your grandfather make that discovery him- self in due time. What he~ asks of you now is not a consent to the proposed 'alliance,' but merely that you will go to Baltimore and pay him a visit." She turned passionately. "Go to Baltimore! That is, accede to this insulting-yes, insulting proposal, to place myself on exhibition before-papa, you surely are not serious! You surely do not wish me to compromise my own dignity and yours, by doing such a thing!'~ "I thought I said, distinctly, that the proposal itself is absurd," answered the gen- eral, coldly. "It is, however, preposterous to take the view you are adopting. Your grandfather means well; and I am sur- prised," he went on, gravely, "that you, who pique yourself on your French blood, should be so much opposed to the most ordinary of French customs. You are as inconsistent as the rest of your sex, I perceive." "I never professed to fancy mcsragee do oomvonance, sir-and I am sure I never in- tended to make one." "Who is talking of manages do eonee. nanco? Not your grandfather, certainly. He asks you to come and see if you can like this adventurer well enough to marry him; and I ask you-to temporize." "That is what you always say, papa." "I could not say any thing better in eleven cases out of twelve. Now, listen to me: you will do as you please, for I have no intention of placing a single fetter on your freedom of action. But if you do what is wise, you will go to Baltimore. Long absence has weakened your' inflilence over your grandfather; and it is desirable that this influence should be recovered at once, by personal intercourse. Is there any harm in looking after your own interest inthis way?" "There is the harm that it would make me feel like a scheming iatnigante." The general shrugged his shoulders scornfully. Such scruples and niceties seemed to him, as to most worldly-wise peo- ple, so absurd that he could scarcely believe in their sincerity. "You are very foolish, then-that is all! "he said, shortly. "The truth of the matter lies just the 'other way-for you would be going to protect your rights .1 10 n page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 VALERIE AYLMER. A SON OF NEPTUNE. 13 against the schen~es of another person. However, it is not worth while to argue the question. As I said before, you may go or not, as you choose. It is, not likely that much depends on it for yourself. , There i8 a little wealth still left in our country here; and, with a word, you can marry the best fortune afloat. The rest of us-but that does not matter." The girl looked up quickly. "It is all that does matter," she said. "What about the rest of you I" "I thought I told you, a moment ago, that ruin is staring us in the face." "And I could prevent it?" "Your grandfather's fortune could pre- vent it, certainly." Valerie looked away again, absent and troubled. This last appeal had been quite a master-stroke of policy, and proved how well General Aylmer knew his daughter's character - a character th~t, with many faults, both natural and acquired, had yet enough of the heroic element to respond at once to that key-note of all noble natures, generosity. When she turned round again, it was quite abruptly. * "Papa" (a great gulp)-"papn-.-I will go to Baltimore." The general started. lIe had expected the concession, but not so soon, or with so little trouble. "You will go to Baltimore? '~' he repeat- ed, as if he did not quite trust the evidence of his own hearing. "Yes," said Valerie, swallowing some- thing in her throat, and speaking hastily but firmly, "I will go to Baltimore. But you know, of course, that I don't mean any thing of this-this sort "-she touched the letter., "I will go because you assure me that I can do good by going. But if grand- papa thinks that I entertain for a moment the proposal he has made, you must unde- ceive him." "But hold a moment? If you go, you must make up your mind not to irritate him by injudicious opposition to his scheme; but simply to suffer matters to take their course.. "He must be told that I cannot consent to it." "Yes--but not told in an offensive man- ner. Leave that to me; and do you avoid the subject as entirely as possible. Mind, I don't counsel any thing like deception- only reticence.~~ "Reticence is deception sometimes~ pa- pa." The general shrugged his shoulders again. He always did shrug them over moralities of this kind. "You have yet to learn that there is no wiser maxim in the world than Quieta non movere," he said. "You are young, how- ever. You will learn it in time, if you are sensible. Meanwhile, I consider the fact of the visit settled; and I am glad to be able "Don't praise or thank me, please,~~ said his daughter, who seemed to know what was coming. She rose hastily from her seat, and descended the steps-then paused a moment, with her foot on the low- er one, and turned to speak. "Excuse my having interrupted you, papa, but I don't feel as if I deserved either praise or thanks. I make this sacrifice so i~nwillingly, that it cannot be counted to my credit. I hate it bitterly, and I am no more reconciled to the necessity now than when you spoke first. I tell you this, that you may perhaps overlook the ungracious manner in which it has been done." With the last words, and before her fa- ther had time to reply, she gave her pretty musical whistle for Sprite, and, attended by this satellite, walked away across the lawn. General Aylmer stood watching her, until the misty outline of her white dress van- ished in the soft purple dusk. Then he turned and entered the house, whistling soft- ly to himself, in a way he had when he was particularly well pleased. CHAPTER II. A SON OF NEPTUNE. As for Miss Aylmer, she bore away with her into the sweet gloaming as restless and disquieted a heart as it has often pleased our poor humanity to render itself uncom- portable with. In all her life, she had rare- ly, if ever, felt more angrily stirred than by the scene just passed-rarely, if ever, been called upon to place so great a constraint upon her own wishes and inclinations as she had just agreed to do. And, as she told her father, she did not accept the necessity at all gracefully; indeed, she rebelled against it with all her might, even while she volun- tarily bent her neck to endure it. Sacrifice, and the denial of her own will, were very fiew to her, and not at all pleasant. But still more new, still less pleasant, was the sense of positive insult tingling in every vein, as she realized the proposal her grand- father had made, and set her teeth and clinched her hands over it. "That he should think I would do such a thing!" she thought-and she was so indignant, that she felt her pulses beating with a rush, as she thought it. The longer she considered the proposition, the mora inexcusable it seemed, and the more she felt inclined to regret having struck her flag even as far as was implied in the consent to go to Balti- more. She was so strongly tempted to re- scind this resolution, that it required a very earnest consideration of all her father had told her, concerning his pecuniary difficul- ties, before she could entirely put aside the temptation, and resign herself to the ~inevi- table. "If I must, I must," she said, half aloud-and then she stopped short, for she found that she had walked much faster, and much farther, than she intended, and had reached the extremity of the grounds on that side. She stopped, and, as she stopped, she looked around. She had been so entirely, occupied with indignant thoughts, that she had not noticed how much the dusk had deepened, or that one by one the silver stars had gleamed into sight. The atmos- phere was heavy with fragrance, for an ar- bor covered by luxuriant creepers stood near; and where the shrubbery ended, and the outside domain began, there ran a hedge of orange and laurel; the air was so exquisitely clear, that, even through the shades -of evening, the fair picture of level fields, and distant, shadowy woodlands, was yet distinctly visible; and the low, far-off coo of the wood-pigeon was the only sound that broke the absolute stillness. A scene ore suggestive of repose could scarcely be conceived, and it was not without effect on the girl who gazed. She stood for some time where she had paused first, quite mo- tionless, with the flush gradually fading from her face, and the excitement dying down in her breast. She began to feel ashamed to remember how angry she had been-and all for what now seemed a very trifling cause! There was something of sanctuary quiet, something of sanctuary awe, in the subdued beauty, the deep, serene pathos-for when Nature is peaceful, she is always pathetic- of this twilight hour; and there came over her that hush of rest which only the sanc- tuary or Nature can bestow. She raised her face to the deep, steel-blue of the heav- ens, that looked down with glittering eyes upon her, and it seemed to shed peace, like a soft dew-peace that fell on her with the same subtle influence which had already touched the trees and the flowers, the broad plains, and the deep, shadowy woods, toning her spirit into unison with their repose. She was a girl not much habituated to serious moods-a girl who, at this period of her life, lived rather on the froth than in the depths of her own nature-but, just now, serious mood 1~ell on her, before she was well aware of what was coming. She sat down in the door of the arbor, and Sprite nestled close to her side, laying his little silken head on her knee, as the twi- light gathered deeper and deeper, wrapping them about, like a mantle. They had remained there for some time, and this friendly mantle cQncealed them effectually, when, after a while, there came a strain of music-very, sweet music, for a mellow whistle was executing deftly "Within a Mile of Edinboro' Town "-the click of a latch, as a gat& set in the hedge swung back, and a crisp, ringing ti~ead on the gravel-path. Through the dusk, the single, burning eye of a cigar glowed vividly into sight, and an odor of unexceptionally fragrant smoke came floating over the young lady, who drew back as if she desired to remained undiscovered. If such were the case, she reckoned without her host, how- page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] 14 VALERIE AYLMER. A SON OF NEPTUNE. 15 ever, for Sprite, as it chanced, was of an- other mind. He gave a low growl, which changed suddenly into a whine of recogni- tion; and, before his mistress could inter. fere, had rushed forward, and was springing up on the approaching figure. "Why, Sprite 1" exclaimed a frank voice, "is it possible that this is you ?-are you out here by yourself; this time of night, you little rascal? I wonder what your mis- tress will say to you, sir? I should not be surprised if she was-. Why, where the deuce are you off to? Sprite! Here, sir!" Sprite, who had rushed back to Valerie, now rushed forward again, and was captured for his pains. He set up a cry of piteous lamentation, as he was tucked under his captor's arm, and this brought his mistress out of her retreat. "Stop, Oharley! " she cried, with a laugh. "Sprite is not out by himself-I am here. Put him down, please. I am afraid you are hurting him." "I am not hurting him in the least," said the same voice that had spoken first-. but Sprite felt himself swung to the ground, nevertheless. "He is howling, like a spoiled ohild, purely by way of amusement. I was going to take him to you, as a sort of treas- ure-trove," he went on, approaching the young lady, who had paused on the arbor- steps. "Thank you-but you see it is not ne- cessary. He has not been lost." "Can his mistress say the same of her- self?" "What do you mean?" ~tOnly that you must surely have been lost or belated, or something of the kind, to b~ found in such a place as this, at such an hour." "What is the matter with the place?" "It is very lonely." "And with the hour." "It is very late." And what then? "Well-nothing, then, excepting that I wonder y~u are not afraid." "Afraid of what? Ghosts, snakes, or waiidering sailors?" "Nat the last, certainly," said the in- visible gentleman, who loomed up, in the * starlit dusk, like a dark, indistinct outline- his burning eye, that is, the cigar, having been thrown away when he heard Miss Aylmer's voice-" not the last, certainly; for the cause of fear would need to be on the other side in-" "Pshaw!" said the young lady, inter- rupting him unceremoniously. "Do you think I care for such a threadbare compli- ment, Oharley? If you could only correct that habit of paying compliments-such high- flown, foolish compliments, too !--it would improve you so much," she added, candidly. "You are breaking me of it, by degrees," answered he; "but it -18 a habit, you know, and one of very long standing." "I can't see the sense of it," said Miss Aylmer, meditatively. "If you only deceived anybody now-but you know you don't. 1 am confident that there is no woman alive silly enough to believe such nonsense as you were about to utter a minute ago." "Speak for yourself;" retorted he, with a laugh. "The majority of women like it exceedingly, and believe it unhesitatingly. Singularly enough, when it is flattery, they accept it undoubtingly; and it is only when it is truth that they distrust, as you are doing now." "Charley, you are incorrigible!" "Am I? Well, think so, if you like. Now tell me how you came to be out here, You must have been very much abstracted to have wandered so far." "No: I was very angry.~~ "You!" Trust a lover for expressing himself well. A hundred panegyrics on her mani- fold charms could not have brought so for- cibly to Valerie's appreciation 'the supreme height to which this brave heart's devotion ha4 raised her, as did that one simple mono- syllable. She flushed brightly under color of the darkness-then answered, with a laugh: "Yes-I! I hope you don't overrate me so much as to think me amiable? You should know better." "I think you all things fair and noble,'~ the young man replied, with such a soften- ing in his tones, that this time Miss Aylmer did not think it necessary to call him to ac- count. for a compliment. "Then indeed you do overrate me very much," she said, quickly. "I am very im- patient, very wilful, and, a little while ago, I was very "For that matter, I would not give a farthing for anybody who could not, under just provocation, be very angry-and I am sure you had just provocation." "I thought so, undoubtedly. But then, when we want to be angry, don't we always think so?"' "Reasonable people do not so deceive themselves. And you are reasonable, are you not?" "I hope so. How is it with yourself? But then I forgot-you are never angry." "No," he replied, with candor. "I am afraid I must acknowledge myself as belQnging to my own class of weak-minded people-for I really think I am incapable of becoming very angry. At least I never, to my knowledge, have been so-." He stopped suddenly, and added - "that is, never but once." "But once? What a pity to spoil such an angelic whole by one exception! And how did you take the unusual occurrence, on that occasion?" He shuddered, and answered in a tone very different from her jesting one: "I can scarcely endure to think of it! It is like looking back on some paroxysm of madness-somewhat, as I imagine, a mind that is deranged must feel in lucid intervals. A sort of devil seemed to take possession of me for a time-and in that time murder would have been as easy a thing to me as now to lift my hand and break off this flower." There was a moment's pause, disturbed only by the snap with which he decapitated one of the slender stems clambering near him of its crowning blossom. Then he went on: "Ever since that revelation, I have been afraid of myself. It was such a terrible thing! I was no more myself-no more capable of controlling my passions when that raging fiend entered into me-than the madman who is put in a strait-jacket un- der lock and key." "How very strange!" said Valerie, the more interested, as the speaker's tones had deepened into positive agitation. "How long ago was it that you made this dis- covery?" "Several years-in fact, it was just be- fore the war." "About the time of your last cruise in the Mediterranean?" "Yes." "And-" She paused a moment, in doubt as to the propriety of the next ques- tion-but curiosity overcame her scruples. "And did you do any thing very dreadful under that influence?" "I did something which I shall never cease to regret until I cease to live." There was a silence of several minutes after that re- ply. There was such a tone of agony in his voice, that Valerie felt 8orry for having started the subject, and also, for once, rather uncertain what to say next, until she sud- denly bethought herself that, all things con- sidered, this starlight t4te-d-&ite was not the most "proper" thing in the world. With her accustomed promptitude she at once acted on the recollection. "Dear me!" she said, with a start; "What will papa think of me? It must be long past tea-time, and here I am a quarter of a mile at least from the house! I hope you are not very hungry, Oharley-for I really did not mean to entertain you on rose- petals." "Pray don't allow any consideration for my appetite to drive you away," the young man laughingly replied. "I am satisfied to go supperless, provided you will bear me company." "I am afraid papa would object," Miss Aylmer answered, as she descended the steps, and turned toward the house. "He is in need of somebody to pour out his cof- fee, you know. It must be growing cold, by-the-by; and I am confider~t he has sent two or three messengers for me. Yonder! is not that one now?" "I think it is my friend Mark Antony, whom I surprised in the humane occupation of 4rowning a kitten in your fountain, this' morning," her companion replied, as a small black figure ran up to them, and paused breathlessly. 15 14 page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 VALERIE AYLMER. PUTTING IT TO TIlE TOUCH. 17 "Miss Valerie-" puff-" massa says " puff-" as how he's a waiten-" puff- "supper for you, ma~am~ puff, puff! "Go hack and tell him I am coming," the young ladycoolly replied; "and that Mr. Hautaine is coming also.-You ought to be obliged to me for that piece of information," she said to Mr. Hautaine, as the sable mes- senger sped back again, with an utter disre- gard of his insolvent condition in the mat- ter of breath. "It will give papa time to order up a bottle of some fine champagne which he received only this afternoon. He says it is a pleasure to offer you good wine; you are such' a capital judge of vintages and flavors, and the like." "Yes,"~ said he, with something of a sigh; "I wish I had bestowed half the cul- ture on my head that I gave to my palate, ~nd then I might be able to talk German mysticism and French sentiment, to quote Goethe and Lamartine, and Jean Paul, and the rest of that ilk, as well as your priggish friend Morton." "I'll thank you not to call him my friend," said Miss Aylmer, stiffly. "You know I don't like him!" "I never did you so much injustice as to suppose you liked him-but you like the same sort of things' that he likes." "I really don't see that." "Don't you? Well, I do. Heaven only knows where he got his learning-out of hand-books of literature, and dictionaries of quotation, I am inclined to think-but at least he seems to amuse you moderately well'; and that is more than I always, or often, accomplish." "Charley, you. are absurd! "~ said Miss Aylmer, half-amusedhalf-indignant. "You know I only tolerate him. Re is a prig, and a detestable one-and, I give you my word, I hate even Raphael, and Mozart; and Dante, when I hear him talk 'of them!* A ~ropos de rien, where is Mark Boyd? I did not meet him at Mrs. Lysle's last night -didl?" "I think not-since he went down to the city some days ago. He'll he hack, how- ever, before you leave for Arkansas-or, if ijot, he will soon follow you there." "Re will not find me, then," said Miss Aylmer, with malicious coolness. "I shall indeed leave soon, but it will be for-Balti- more." "Baltimore!" The exclamation was a violent one. There followed a moment's pause, and then-" You are surely jesting?" "Jesting! Why should you think so? Grandpapa lives in Baltimore, you know. Is there any thing strange in my going to see him?" "No-of course not," said Mr. Ilautaine, who had now somewhat recovered himself. "Only it was a surprise, and therefore- last night, you know, we were making plans for our month on Red River." "YesI know. But last night is not- to-night! A profound truth, which means that, since I was making those plans, circum- stances have arisen-that is, come to my knowledge-which will bear me off on the wings of discontent to Baltimore." "Then you don't wish to go?" "Ask meif I wish to put my hand in the fire," she replied, with rn-restrained bitter- ness. "I might, under some circumstances, tell you that it was necessary, but I could never tell you that I wished to do so." "Then," said the astonished gentleman, "why do you go?" "Because - I must," she answered. "Lookj There is poor papa in the dining- room all alone, waiting patiently for his truant daughter. Come in, Oharley. Per- haps the sight of you will console' him. Gerald is not at home to-night-I should not have forgotten to say so, for I suppose, of course, you came to see "Of course," said Mr. Ilautaine, dryly. Then he drew back the sweeping folds of the lace curtain, that the night breeze was gently swaying to and fro, and held it on one.' side, while his companion stepped through a French window into the dining- room, where a tea-table all glittering with silver and china stood, and where General Aylmer was solacing himself with a n~ws- paper during his period of enforced walt- ing. -4- CHAPTER III. PUTTING IT TO THH TOUcH. "1'aAv, Charley, put that guitar down. I have a question to ask you; and one can't talk with thrum-thrum in one s ears all the time." "To hear is to obey," said Charley; and he submissively laid the guitar down at the feet of his fair mistress, and looked up into her face. They made a very pretty picture, as they sat at one end of the large~ drawing-room, for it was two or three hours after supper, and General Aylmer had taken himself off some time before-not out of consideration, as might perhaps be supposed, but simply because he would as soon have considered one of his own sons "company," as Chariey Hautaine, who was the daily visitor of the house, and had been the intimate companion of his children ever since they knew what it was to have a companion. So, he had taken himself off, and the two young people had been singing duets to a guitar accom- paniment for a while, and then had been talking gay nonsense while Charley still ran his fingers over the strings, until Valerie suddenly broke in with the words recorded above. As already stated, her vassal obeyed at once. He laid the guitar down, and looked up for her next commands. She paused a moment-.~.and jnst then the pic- ture was prettier than ever. Miss Aylmer, who was at all times fond of assuming atti- tudes which were out of the routine of social habit, was nestling among a pile of cushions placed immediately beside one of the open windows; and the POSS of careless languor was also one of inimitable grace, while every waving outline of her figure was thrown into strong relief by the dark cushions against which she leaned. Her late emotion, or, perhaps, her late exercise, had given to her cheek the rich pomegran- ate flush peculiar to it-the proud scarlet lips, always so mutiny and lovely, now wore their most enchanting smile-the dark eyes were all aglow with a thousand varying lights and shadows-.-and, in short, it was 'evident that ta leZlo dee befl~s (as the cap- 2 tives of her bow and spear had long since styled her) meant business, and was play- ing wild havoc with the heart of her at- tendant cavalier. That this attendant cavalier was very "hard hit" was a matter not in the least open to doubt; indeed, it was a matter of' such long standing that nobody in St. Stephen's Parish ever thought of doubting it. Everybody took it for 'granted that Valerie would end by marrying the hand- some young sailor, who had been in love with her ever since he was in round-jackets and she in bib-aprons, and everybody was ready to cordially indorse her conduct when- ever she did 'so. Nothing could possibly be more suitable, people said. They were of equal social position, both heirs-presump- tive to more than moderate fortunes, both as charming and handsome as possible, and the gentleman, at least, so much in love that he made no pretext of concealing the fact. What more 'could any reasonable woman desire? According to the inference, Miss Aylmer was not a reasonable woman, for, Up to this time, she had evinced no inten- tion of surrendering her pleasant freedom; and, although she treated her sworn retainer with a kindness and cordiality only a shade different from that with which she treated her own brothers, she, nevertheless, fenced off any demonstrations of serious devotion very cleverly, and kept him at a distance as entirely as she kept many others. It somewhat puzzled his friends and acquaint- ances to imagine why Rautaine, who a good deal resembled young Lochinvar in the item of impetuosity, and had always shared the latter's cordial scorn for "a laggard in love," submitted to this capricious tyranny so quietly; and yet the reason was very sim-~ ple. The young man was seriously an4 passionately in love-so much in love that diffidence of himself, and distrust of his own powers, had come to him fo~ almost' the first time in his life, and made him heait~ite, as better men had hesitated before him, to put his fate to its crowning touch. Perhaps he' felt, too, that this suspense, this uncertainty,. was, after all, only a kind of tar trdionis for~ his past trifling with other and more sus-~ ceptible hearts than his own weather-beaten page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] PUTTING IT TO THE TOUCH. 18 VALERIE AYLMER. organ; for it was not to be denied that he had done more mischief in that line than lies~atthe door of most of his lady-killing profession. lie was clever, high-spirited, brave to a fault, thorough-bred within and without, and handsome as a prince in a fairy tale; so nobody wondered at this, or took the responsibility of blaming him-not even the girls with whom he flirted, or the men whom he rivalled. Indeed, nothing proved his complete distinction from that contemptible species styled the "male flirt" more than the warm and cordial liking which people of all ages and all sexes gave to him. * The macst spiteful never found sny thing worse to say than that 'he was a spoiled puppy, while his many intimates were ready to swear by him as the most delight- ful of companions, and fastest of friends; and no one could show a better war record ~than this young sybarite of idlesse and luxury. He had not been long at home, nor did he propose remaining there. The only charm which now. held him in America was, his love for Valerie Aylmer. Whether or not this charm would long continue to hold him, was a question yet unanswered; but, if Miss Aylmer had, taken the vote of all her friends on the subject of his suit, she would have found their verdict singularly unanimous on the point that she "would never do better than to take him." Per- haps this was true; for there was about Oharley Hautaine the best of all assurances that his youthful follies were only the sur- face froth that would pass away and leave, after a while, pure wine; the assurance, with- out which it is vain to hope for any young man's reform, and 'with which hope need never die-he was emphatically a gentle- man !-gentleman, in that nameless~ refine- ment which no self-culture can ever give, but which comes alone of birth nud breed- ing-gentleman, in the, chivalric impulses and instinct which made the mere shadow of dishonor an impossible thing-gentle- man, 'in all that touched the knightly creed of his race and his land-else, verily, he had~ never won a single approving glance from Valerie Aylmer's dark eyes, or merit- eda word of'this already too prolix descrip- tion. He was redlining his well-formed figure, in an attitude not without grace, at her feet, and still gazing into her face, when at last Miss Ayhner spoke abruptly: "You have been in Florence, have you not, Charley?" The question was a very simple one, and by no means seemed' to warrant the quick start of surprise, and yet quicker change of color, with which her companion heard it. lie glanced up into her face, with a half-furtive scrutiny, as if searching there for a hidden motive in the words; but the frank, open ga±e he met seemed to reassure him, for his brow cleared of its momentary cloud as he answered, readily enough: "In' Florence? I have been there, yes -but not very often; only once or twice, in fact. Why do you ask?" "Nothing of much importance. I was only going to inquire-but it is scarcely likely, since you were there seldom-if you ever met, or heard of, an Irish artist of some note, who formerly lived there, named Darcy." This time there was no mistaking the shock her words gave. Every vestige of col- or forsook Hautaine's face, at sound of the name which concluded her speech. The gui- tar dropped to the floor with a clang of its silver strings, and his eyes remained fast- ened on her in mute inquiry, that was not more startled than shocked. "What is the matter? " Valerie inquired, with very natural surprise. "Why do you look at me so strangely? Was there any thing remarkable about the man?" "About the man! Is it-is it possible you know him?" "Know him? Of course not !-indeed, it was a very absurd question, now that' I think of it: for I believe he has been dead for years." "Oh! you mean the fa-" he stopped short, seemed to remember, and collect him- self; for he added, more indifferently," I did know a man of that name, but not the one to whom you allude." "It might have been his son," said Valerie, with an interest which her com- panion thought very misplaced. "Perhaps so. Here !-see how well I have tuned this miserable 0 string! Now, will you sing O7ia~jri~i d'Amour?" "Not just now. I am in the humor for talking, I believe. Tell me something about this Mr. Darcy-what manner of man is he?" "I-really scarcely know how to de- scribe him. Portrait-painting is his trade -not mine. I used to lounge in his studio .-that's all." "He, too, is an artist then? A portrait- painter, you say?" She looked rather sur- prised. Hautaine gave a keen and not a little troubled glance at her face, before he said, slowly: "You seem very much interested about him!" "Oh, not at all!" She sank back into her cushions, and the face relapsed from animation into listlessness. "I only felt a slight curiosity, because he is-I believe-a connection of mine." "What! Darcy a connection of yours?" Miss Aylmer win6cd somewhat at the tone of this exclamation; then, after a pause, she spoke rather distantly: "Will you please be so kind as to tell me what you know of Mr. Darcy? As I said, he is a connection of mine, and this fact must ex~ cause my curiosity to learmrwhat can possibly be so dreadful about him." "Dreadful!" said her companion, hur- riedly. "Excuse my repeating the word; but indeed I have expressed myself very badly, if any thing~ which I have said has conveyed an unfavorable opinion of him." "It is evident that you do not like him. Why?" "You are mistaken, I do; I mean I did, when I knew him, like him-" Hisvoice faltered, but he added, earnestly, "I never knew a man more perfectly 'unexception- able." "Then why did you consider it neces- sary to seem so much surprised-almost shocked-when I mentioned our relation- ship?" "Relationship? I thought you said it was only connection!" "Well, connection, What was there in that so startling?" "Upon my word, you are a close ques- tioner," he said, forcing a smile. "I was surprised, because-well, because naturally I never had imagined connection between yourself and this Irish artist." Valerie bit her lip. Such is the weak- ness of human nature that, although a mo- ment before the truth concerning that close connection which existed between this un- known relative and the projected visit to Baltimore had trembled on her tongue, the tone which pronounced those last words- "this Irish artist "-effectually hushed them back into silence. When she spoke next, it was to say, quite indifferently: "Do you know that he served in our army during the war?" "No; but I am not surprised to hear it." "Why not?" "Because-" he hesitated a moment- "because it is what I would have expected of him." "Why? Excuse my persistence, but a fighting artist is something so entirely unique that one cannot help feeling a little curious about such a rara avi8. Why did you expect it of him?" "Because if he had not been an artist I am sure he would have been a soldier; and, as it was, he had quite as much' stildier as artist about him. Is that enough?" "It is enough to stimulate my appetite for more, if that is what you mean. Es he young?" "Not very." "Handsome?" "I-really don't remember. Moderate- ly good-looking, I believe. I would have paid more attention to him," he went on, with another forced smile, "if I could have foreseen your interest." "I hav'e no interest, only a little curios- Thy," said Miss Aylmer, somewhat piqued. Then she rose and sauntere~l toward the piano. "Bring the guitar with you," she said to Hautaine, who had risen eagerly to fol- low. "We will try that duet from 'Rigo- letto' once more, since we are not likely to have many more opportunities to do so." "I think this is at least the third time, since supper, that you have made that in- I page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 VALERIE AYLMER spiriting ren~ark," said the gentleman, doing as he was bid, coming forward with the azure ribbons of the instrument slung across his shoulder, as if he had been troubadour. "Pray, how do you intend to dispose of yourself in Baltimore, that you think it ne- cessary t9 adopt such a farewell tone?" "One naturally looks forward to a dis- agreeable thing as a very long one," she an- swered. "I am sure you ought to sympa- thize with me, for you remember the pas- asge you are so fond of quoting from Buiwer-' A chord, stronger orweaker, is snapped~ asunder at every parting, and Time's busy fingers are not practiced in re- splicing broken tics?'" "I remember," the young man said, quite gravely, as he unslung the guitar from over his shoulder, and laid it down across the piano-" I remember-and, if indeed 'eternity itself cannot restore the loss struck froixi the minute, 'imagine what I feel, when I see slipping from me now moments so gold- en that I dare not hope they cau ever be restored or repeated." "I am sure I'm much obliged to you," Miss Alymer returned, laughingly. "Your misgivings are certainly complimentary! ])o you think I will grow so dreadfully old and ugly, in a few months, that I cen never again make an hour golden by the light of myeyes?" "No," he answered, reproachfully. "You know I do not think so! I only think-I only feel-that for me all may be changed when we meet again. It would be heresy to doubt that your eyes wrn be as bright, and your smile as sweet, as now; but yet, all the same, they may have lost their sun- shine. 'If they be not fair to me, What care I how fair they be?' '~ "I suppose you mean that you will have transferred your wandering devotion to some worthier shrine, by that time-" said Valerie, maliciously. "IV'importe! per-. haps I may be able to console myself; even for such a desertion?" "You seem wilfully determined to mis- understand me," her companion answered, looking down into her laughing eyes with a serious gravity that made Mademoiselle I'UT2~ING IT TO TEIE TOUCH. 21 Valerie feel rather uncomfortable-as if a crisis was at hand, and the helm had some- how slipped out of her dexterous grasp. She made one bold effort to regain the man- agement of affairs, and, to do her justice, she was generally equal to any emergency that might arise in a matter of this kind. "Oh no," she answered, gayly, "I don't misunderstand you, I am sure; and I don't at all blame you. It is the most convenient philosophy in the world, that of the enjoy- ment of the hour, and one I always make a rule to practise. Vise la lja~gttelle! Life is too short tobe spentin remembering people, when they are not immediately in one's si~ht." And, turning round to the key- board before he could reply, her clear voice was ringing out. / ""Tis good to be merry and wise, Tis good to be honest and true: 'Tis good to be off with the old love, Before you are on with the new."' "That is a~l very fine," said Mr. Han- tame, coolly; "but when one has no inten- tion either of being off with an old love or on with a new, I confess I don't perceive the application." "Qui 8 eXCU8C, 8 accuse! How do you know that I was not applying my song to myself?" "I would not do you such injustice." "Injustice! What do you mean I" "Only that a woman should never at least acknowledge more than one love.. "She is most fortunate who acknowl- edges none," said Miss Alymer, throwing back her head. "Of all my favorite hero- ines, Beatrice stands chief-if only for the spirit that 'would rather have heard her dog bark at a crow, than a man swear he loved her."' "I will not pray, with Benedict, tha~t 'God may keep your ladyship long in that mind,"' Ilautaine answered; "for, at pres- ent, I am rather bent on bringing your lady- ship out of that mind I In other words, you have stopped me a hundred times, when you knew as well as I did what I was go- ing to say. Now I defy you to prevent yourself from hcarin~ that I love yonl- Valerie, I love you! " Few words, but expressive-se expres- sive of a passion which she had not credited in this versatile, pleasure-loving nature, that Valerie actually started, as they fell on her ear. But she did not lift her eyes from the page of music she had taken up; and when a deep silence fell, in which she could al- most hear the quick throbbing of the heart whose pulses were beating beside her, she only said, in a half-careless, half-petulant tone: "Well-and what of that?" Hautaine turned suddenly, and looked down at her, in a sort of mute exasperation. She had been a puzzle to him, and a trial to him at all times; but never more either puz- zle or trial than as she sat before him now, the picture of cool nonchalance, with a mis- chievous light gleaming in the eyes that at last raised themselves to meet his own. "Well, what of that?" she repeated, lightly. "I hope you don't expect inc to feel overpowered by having drawn forth that novel observation? Tell me, candidly -as a matter of abstract curiosity, I should like to know-how much do you vary the formula of that speech with the dozens of applications you have already made of it in the past, and will make of it in the future?" "You are paying yourself even a poorer compliment than you pay me," said he, a little haughtily, "if you suppose that I have ever said to any other woman what I say to you when I tell you that I love you; but thenit is folly to tell you that, for you know it now, and have known it all the time. When I ask you, then, as earnestly as possi- ble, to consider the proposal which, in all solemn seriousness-" "Solemn seriousness? Why, we are growing terribly grave! And suppose I humbly beg leave to decline considering it at all?" "In that case," he answered, quietly, although his face paled at her words, "I can only regret to have pained myself- not you, fortunately-in an unnecessary manner; and bid yen good-evening." He bowed very low and very gracefully. Like all of his race, t'.ie spirit of the cheva- lier came to the surface, whenever any sud- den dart probed his nature to the quick. Then he turned toward the door. Now, this unexpected evacuation of the field was not at all what Miss Aylmer had either expected or desired. One moment she watched him in silent astonishment; the next, her power of speech returned, and with it her power of action. "Stop, Charley! - stop!" she cried, springing forward, and throwing down the music-stool with a crash that waked Sprite from a comfortable nap in the sofa-corner, and brought Hautaine to a halt at once. The next moment, her hand was on his arm, and voice and glance together brought a battery to bear. "Oharley! You surely are not angry with mc?" Poor Charley I-it was all up with him then. He had not so effectually stopped his cars with injured feeling, for the tones of the siren not to penetrate the insufficient guard. "Angry with you!" he repeated, in a tone of mingled tenderness and reproach. "I do not know that I have ever been that, Valerie; although you have tried me right hardly, sometimes, and hardest of all to- night. At least, if I ever was, you know your own power too well to think that I could continue so." "Well, come back, then, like a sensible man, and don't let us have any more hero- ics," said she, leading the way again toward the piano. "Just look at that stool 1-and at poor dear little Sprite's eyes!-Never mind, pet, Mr. Hautaine has promised better behavior; and we won't be so impetuous any more." "Mr. Hautaine must make his own con- ditions, then," said that gentleman, as he lifted the recumbent stool to its proper p0- sition. "He has put his fate to the touch, and he means to have his answer to-night, come what will." "Let us interlude business with a little music," said Miss Aylrner, sinking down into a deep chair. "Please sing the .M'appari for me." "If I sing any thing at all, I think it had better be 'AA! ride del mio pianto,"' he answered, leaning against the instrument, but evidently with no intention oftouching it. "Sorry as I am to be disobliging, I page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] VALERIE AYLMER. ON THlE WING. must, however, decline to gratify you, until this matter of mine is disposed of." "Do you know that you are very much polledd? You are growing absolutely dic- tatorial." "If I am spoiled, your conscience cer- tainly need not reproach you with any share in the blame of it. And it is high time that I became a little dictatorial-if, by that, you mean considerate of my own self- respect." * "You use strong words, sir!" "Strong words are the only exponents of strong feelings! I may be forced to use yet stronger ones before I again have the honor of saying good-night2' Miss Aylmer sat up in her chair-she had been lying indolently back before-and indulged in a stare at the flushed and reso- lute face looking at her. "Charley, I confess I don't understand you to-night; you don't seem at' all like yourself." "So much the better," said Charley, with imperturbable composure. "Myself you have long known, and treated, I am sorry to say, with profound disregard. I now in- troduce to you a man whom you may con- sider worthy of a little more respectful at- tention." "And what does this new acquaintance who I am not sure I shall like half as well as the old one-expect of ~ "He has no right to expect any thing. He only asks a return from your heart for the love of his." The tone of mingled dignity and feeling could not have failed to touch anywoman- and it sent a quick throb through Valerie's , breast. She felt at once that trifling was at an end here, ~ud that she stood face to face with a crisis of her life-a crisis of the two lives whose future fate she held at that mo- ment in her ha~id. She looked up with a sudden strange gravity on her face, a hesi- tancy and regret in her voice. "Charley, I fear I cannot give him that." A profound silence followed those words --words so few and simple, yet which gave a sharp death-stab to the hope burning so brightly the moment before. Hautaine made no answer, for he could not trust his voice to speak, lest some rising weakness should betray him. He had -scarcely real- ized how infinitely dear to him this woman was, until her own lips withdrew her be- yond his reach; and a sudden darkness seemed to fall over all the things of life, in the certainty that her smile was gone from them forever'! He still stood looking down at her-but perfectly motionless, with only a slight twitching of his long, silken mus- tache, to indicate how strong was the feel. ing the manifestation of which he repressed. Valerie waited vainly for him to speak: waited until she grew almost frightened, at his unmoved quietude. Then she spoke her- self, very timidly: "Charley, do you really care for me- very much?" "I don't think I need to answer that question," he said, a little hoarsely. "No," she replied, quickly. "I know you do-now. But now is so very differ- ent from hereafter-with you, especially! Therefore, I am not sure that it would be right-" "Good Heavens!" he interrupted, pas- sionately. "If it can be that you hesitate to accept me, only because you doubt wheth- er my love for you is as far removed as the poles from my fancies for other women, don't hesitate for one moment to try me! Let the test be as long and as hard as you please! Only try me-only believe me!" Valerie flushed warmly. No woman could have heard those tones, and met the glance which accompanied them, unmoved, even if she had entertained no tenderness toward the speaker; far less when, as in the present instance, her warm and cordial liking for him stopped only just short of love-that love which the majority of the human race die without ever having knownn, and of which ten thousand counterfeits worse than this pass current in the world every day. She held out her hand,'with a grace all her own-as a queen might have extended it to some faithful knight who had done gallant battle in her service. "I do believe you, and thank you," she said simply, but with so gentle and alto- gether charming an accent, that tlantaine would have been something less than man it he had not raised that hand to his lips. But he knew his lady-love well enough not to release it at once then; for, with all her gay coquetries, no prude ever less allowed the shadow of a personal liberty than Miss Aylmer; nor was he so blind as to mistake that frank impulse of woman's gratitude for the shyer token of woman's love. "Now listen," she said, in her usual tone, "and see if you are ready to accede to my conditions, which, I warn you before- hand, are very unreasonable ones. You are mistaken in one thing: it is not you whom I distrust, but myself. I like you better- much better-than any one else I have ever seen; but I do not think I love you. I do not think so, but my ideas of that passion may be too exalted, and I may care for you as much as I am capable of caring for any- body. Now, there is only one way to solve the question. It is said that absence strengthens a real passion, and extinguishes a false one. What I propose, therefore, is to try absence." "On ~ "No, on myself. Six months from to- day I shall be able to tell you whether my liking-my affection-for you, is only that which one entertains for a charming friend, or that which one should bear one's future lord and master! But it is for you to decide whether or not you will wait six months for the answer which you have a right to demand to-night." A vivid flash of hope and joy lit up the handsome face, and the hazel eyes were glowing and dazzling, as Hautaine bent low over the hand which this time he did not release, saying: "Six months or six years-if, at the end of that time, I can hope to claim this for 'my own!" CHAPTER IV. ON THE wi~a. IT was part of General Aylmer's world- ly-wise policy to be always prompt in ac- tion, especially with any one whose resolu- tion of any kind he had reason to doubt. If L - 22 ,23 Now, he had reason-or thought he had reason-for very seriously doubting his daughter's resolution in regard to the prom- ised visit to Baltimore; so he took care to give her no timefor vacillation or retreat. When she came down to breakfast on the morning after the decisive interview, he told her that ho had already written to M. Vacquant, announcing her coming, and that he hoped she would begin herpreparations at once. "I know, of course, that they will be tremendous," he said, with a shrug, "but you must try and be ready by the end of the month, Valerie. Iwant to start then." "So soon, papa? '~ said Valerie, naturally taken aback, and opening her eyes not a lit- tle. "Why, surely there is no hurry! If we reach Baltimore by Christmas, it will be time enough." "Hadn't you better say by spring?" asked her father, in an irritated tone. "If you are not going to do the thing gracefully and well, you had better not have agreed to do it at all. Besides, I shall be able to find time to take you about the close of this month; but, after that, I shall have no lei- sure. My business engagements will keep me in New Orleans all winter." "But Gerald-" "Gerald has to remain here. He can't be spared to play escort at a moment's no- tice." "But three weeks, papa! How can I ever be ready?" "By going to work at once. Come, I have to go down to the city to-4ay. Make out a list for Madame What's-her-name, and I will take it to her." "Can't I go with you? I should like to see her myself." "If you won't keep rae waiting, you can go. The boat is nearly due, however." "I will be ready," said Valerie, draining a cup of coffee, with' a sigh. She saw ~that the general's mind was mad'e up, and that,. if she meant to go to Baltimore at all, she' might as well submit with' a good grace5 and go at once. So, by dint of vigorous preparation, she announced at the. end of three weeks that she was in travelling or- der, and her father at once set the day of departure. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 VALERIE AYLMER. ON THE WING. 25 On the eve of that day, Miss Aylrner chamber presented a scene of confusion sue as only the chamber of a young lady o the present careless time possibly couk Into no other place could such a mass o: rainboW-tinted dresses, scarfs, ribbons, lace~ trinkets, and shawls, have been gathered i disorder so complete, yet so picturesque, o such monster trunks have stood yawning~ for the reception of what seemed likely ti overflow even their mammoth capacities Wardrobes and drawers had emptied thei contents over every available article of fur * nature in the room-.--covering the snowy ex pause of the bed, and every chair, with mu] titudinous odds and ends; so that the oub thing which at all fulfilled its natural us was a low, broad conch under one of th windows, where the titular goddess of thb overcast shrine reposed in the luxurious alx&ndon of the siesta-apparently undis. turned by, and, in fact, unconscious of; all the confusion around her. Not even the ~ound of voices roused her, though these voices were not slightly animated; for the young lady, who knelt before a large trunk that occupied the centre of the floor, was in the act of demonstrating to a couple of sable attendants that art of good packing which consists in getting the largest possi- ble amount into the smallest possible space. "Now, Fanchette," she was saying, "I hope I have proved to your satisfaction that It was perfectly possible to put every thing in one tray, which you intended for two. Hand me another of those skirts. I believe I can ge# it in here also. What sire you about, there? Don't you know you must not put that heavy silk on top of those light organdies?" "It won't- hurt 'em, Miss Netta." "Won't hurt them! You must be crazy I I wonder what Valerie's dresses look like, when she reaches the end of a journey, if ~you have the packing of her trunks Now, understand, once for all, that thick things always go to the bottom, and thin ones on top-do you hear?" Fanchette said "Yes'm" very meekly, and lifted the silk from its condemned posi- tion; but, for all that, the glance which she exchanged with her ce-laborer did not sa- I - vor much of reform; and, if Miss Fane had I, seen it, she might have been assured that f lessons for. general application are always I. wasted on the race to which Fanchette be- t' longed; and that her friend's dresses were ;, quite as likely to be crushed by bad packing a in the future, as in the past. She did not r. see it, however; so she went on with her ~ efforts to reduce order from chaos. "All the heavy dresses must go by themselves in that trunk yonder-this is for r the light ones. Hand me that poplin, and - let me give you a lesson how to fold the skirt-for Charlotte, I see, is ruining the - one she is attempting to put together. Now look, both of you I back and front to- gether thus-the .train laid over, so-then folded this way-and then that! Valerie, dear, where shall your grenadines go?" Miss Aylmer opened her eyes at this appeal, and cast a helpless glance from the I garments in question to the waiting trunks. "Indeed, Netta, I don't know-any- where that they can get, I suppose." "Thank you," said Netta, dryly; "that is so very satisfactory! Here, Charlotte, bring them here.-Valerie, do you want either of them leftout for this evening?" "What are you going to wear?" "The bar6ge I had on yesterday," said Valerie, as if every word was wrung from her by the severest effort. "You know that won't do! There will be at least a dozen people here to-night." "What do I care? Can't you let me sleep in peace now?" "No, I can't. It is five o'clock, and fully time you were up. Before you have accomplished that endless business of your. toilet, somebody wrn come, in- Charley ilautaine, I'll answer for." "Charley Hautaine can wait until I am ready to receive him." "Valerie, I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself!" "Ashamed! What, of teaching one man-and a very badly-spoiled man-his proper place? I hope I shall never do any thing to be more ashamed of. Now let me rest in peace." "Rest in peace, if you please; ~but I hope you will some day be made to feel in your own person something of all this which you treat so lightly in others." "What do you mean by 'all this?"' "I mean this passion, this impatience, this-this love, in one word." "You had better wish me dead, at once!" said Miss Aylmer, rousing at last to a point of some energy. "So at last you have an inkling of what it is? No, I had better not wish you dead. On the contrary, such an event would be of service to you, in more ways than one. And when you do feel it, and are made thoroughly uncomfortable, just oblige' me by remembering a few of the mice you play with at present-my poor young cousin, especially." "Your poor young cousin! To hear you talk of him, one would think that he was a tender lamb, just escaped from the parental fold, instead of an accomplished wolf in sheep's clothing, fully capable of taking care of himself-and of other people, too!" "Whatever he may be, as far as other people are concerned, you know you have put it out of his power to show any wisdom about you-else, certainly, he would not ride over here every day to be snubbed for his pains.~~ "Oh, nonsense!" And, with this. summary conclusion to the conversation, Miss Aylmer buried her head in the pillows, and went to sleep again. She was not destined to slumber long undisturbed, however. Before th~ clock on the mantel had chimed a quarter-past five, a knock at the door was followed by the intelligence that Mr. Hautaine was down- stairs, and had asked for Miss Valerie. "Miss Valerie is asleep. But 12 will waken her, and make her dress. Tell Charley she will be down in about an hour," With this consolatory message, Miss Fane shut th~ door in John's face, and returned to make a decisive charge on the enemy's lines. "Move those trunks out of the way,~~ she said, to the maids. "We have nearly finished, and the few things that remain to be packed can go 'in to-morrow morning. Now, Valerie, my dear, you must get up." "Who days so?" inquired that young lady, without moving an inch. "I say so. You may treat Chancy as you please-or as he pleases to let you-~-but you know your father will expect you to be ready to receive your friends who are com- ing to bid you good-by, and who will cer- tainly be here before you are dressed, if you don't rise at once. So, up with you I Miss Aylmer raised herself suddenly, and threw her arms round her friend, as if with an intention of smothering her, ac- conipanying this unexpected demonstration with a tone ~f the most genuine pathos. '"Oh, Net~a I-my dear, good Netta, how shall I ever live without you? Who will make me do things when you are away?" "You foolish '~hild I" said Miss Fane, as she smoothed back the heavy masses of hair, and looked down into the dark eyes with one of the sweetest smiles that ever made at once lovely and lovable a human face. "I should think you would be more glad than sorry to part with your trouble- some ~ "It is you who are foolish now," said Miss Aylmer, decidedly. "Sit down here," she added, pushing her into a low chair be- side the couch, "I want to talk to you a little while before we go down to all those tiresome people who are coming." "But, Valerie, indeed, it is time that you were dressing!" "Qu'importe? I will show you that I can dress in ten minutes, if you wrn just'be still and listen to me. Netta, dear, do-do you reallythink that I have treated Charley Ilautaine very badly?" "Valerie,, dear," answered her friend, gravely, "I don't think you have treated him well; but I don't think you have acted any worse toward him than I. have seen you act toward i~iany others." "Consoling, upon my word!" said Va- lerie, with a comic grimace. "Well, then, perhaps you may think a little better of me, if I tell you that I firmly expect to make amends for all my high crimes and misde- meaners, by endin~ my days as-Mrs. Charles Hautaine I" page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] VALERIE AYLMER. ON THE WiNO. 27 "Valerie!-you must be jesting!" "I assure you I am not jesting in the least-unless Marshal McMahou or Owen Meredith should hear of my manifold charms, and feel impelled to come over and make me an offer. I should certainly accept either of the two; but I am afraid I am scarcely justified in reckonii~g very confi- dently on a proposal from one of them." "Valerie, there is really no time for me to sit and listen to such nonsense! If you wrn not dress, I must do so." But Valerie had no idea of allowing this. Being in a talking mood, she was de- termined that her companion should listen; and she kept a firm hold on Miss Pane's dress, as the latter attempted to rise. "No, no, mignon, not yet! You think I am jesting, but indeed I am not." Her friend turned and looked at her in- teutly. "Valerie, I do not understand you. Is this on your honor ?" " On my honor.~~ "You are engaged to Oharley, then?" Valerie laughed. "Why should you think that? No; I have not yet given 'a clod of wayward marl" such dominion over me." "Then what do you mean-if you real- ly mean any thing?" "I only mean that I have promised to tell Charley, six months hence, whether or not I like him well enough to immolate my. self on the matrimonial altar for his sake, and I rather think he will be made happy by an affirmative decision." "Do you seriously mean that Oharley has consented to wait six months for the pleas- ure of being rejected?" "The pleasure of being rejected! In- deed, Netta, I don't know what you mean, when I have just told you-" "Yes, I remember what you have just told me. But I take the liberty of knowing you a little better than you know yourself it' you really think that, six months hence, you will not like some other man as well or better than you like Charley now." "You are certainly complimentary!" "~ I am not trying to be complimentary. There are enough peoPle to play that r4le, without my attempting it. What I am anxious to hear is, whether Charl~y has con- sented to such a proposition." "Undoubtedly, he consented~ And was glad enough to do so!,, "Then," said Miss Fane, rising, as if to give additional force to her expression of opinion, "I wash my hands of all concern in his affairs; and deliver him over to your tender mercies, without even a desire to save him. He deserves all that he will be sure to get, for he is more hopelessly ab- surd than even I had imagined!" And with this final disposition of the ge~4~iman, who was jusb then impatiently pacing the front piazza, and rushing into the hail, every time he heard a step on the stairs, she walked to the mirror, and began to take down her hair, as a preliminary to its rearrangement. Valerie lay back on her pillows, and watched the process with an indolent interest which lasted some time. The massive and glossy knot behind (Miss Pane possessed a magnificent chevelure) had received its finishing touches before she spoke again, with a sort of dreamy languor in her tone. "Netta, would you like to see me marry your cousin?" "No," ~aid her friend, promptly. "I should be very sorry to see it." "Why?" "Because I do not think you would suit Oharley, and I am sure Charley would not suit you." "Why would not I suit him?" "For one thing, because he would soon become conscious, in the wife, of what he overlooks in the mistress-the absence of that devotion which would set him up on a pedestal, and worship him as a divinity. Also, he would feel what he has less sense, than I give him credit for, If he does not ac- knowledge now that you have twice the tal- ent, and three times the intellectual culture, that he possesses. And the one thing of all others which a man can least forgive in his wife, is mental superiority to himself." "Por argument's sake, granting what you say to be true, you surely cannot think so poorly of Chancy, as to suppose that he would everindulge a feeling which is, after all, nothing more nor less than a petty van- ity I" "I think-I am glad to think-that Oharley is, in every sense of the word, a gentleman; and that therefore he would never, even to himself, give expression to~ the feeling. But it would exist, neverthe- less - a consciousness that could not be stifled." "And pray why would he not suit me?" "For the very best reason in the world: you need the hand of a master-poor, dear Charley would always be a slave." "Netta," said her friend, decidedly," I think you are the most disagreeable person I ever knew! I wish you would make haste and take yourself off down-stairs to enter- tain your poor, dear Oharley! " "You are very kind; but I have not the least intention of going, until I see you en toilette, and hear when it was that you en- trapped that misguided son of ocean into. this six months' postponement of a proposal." "About three weeks ago-the night I first heard of this hateful visit to Baltimore." "Ah, I see! You wanted to settle be- forehand any hopes M. Vacquant and his nephew might entertain. But I wonder that even such a consideration as that in- duced you to think of relinquishing your dearly-prized freedom.~~ "It is a dreadful thought, this surrender- ing one's self to a life-long bondage," said Valerie, with a shudder. "But one has to marry some time-at least 1 have to; for an unmarried woman's place in the world is simply nil; and I have never discovered a vocation in myself for any thing but the world. Now, I don't suppose I shall ever find a more desirable parti than Charley, or a person less likely to prove disagreeable in the matrimonial connection." "Poor Charley!~~ "And pray why should you say 'Poor Charley' in that tone of commiseration?" "Because I feel sincerely sorry for any man who offers honest devotion, and in re- turn is only accepted as apis-aller! I have' been shocked by hearing other women talk' so, Valerie; I confess I never expected it from you." "You never expected it less than I did, Netta," said Valerie, gravely. "But. we learn wisdom as we grow older; and, after all, are not we getting beyond the school- girl idea of romantic passion, and the like? Of course we be1~eved in it devoutly four or five years ago, but do we believe in it now? Honestly, I don't! I don't believe that, ex-~ cepting in novels, and with foolish women who set up idols, and fall down and wor- ship them, there is such a thing as the love we have dreamed about. Do you?" ~ said MissPane; "yes, I d~. I'm never likely to know it, but I believe it n6iie.. the less-believe it, just as I believe many things which are of faith, and not of sight."- - "Well, I don't," said Valerie, decidedly~ - - and she leaned back on her cushions,. aii& gazed out of the window. "I think it-is~ fiction that the poets and novelists- are in league to keep up, and the rest of the world are afraid to declare exploded. 1sthatnon-. sense? You look as if you thought so. But just tell me, Netta, did you ever know a real case of real love?" Miss Pane thought a moment. "In my own experience, do you mean?" she asked. 7~ "Of course, jn your own experience. "I am afraid I must say meyer did; but still, I believe in it." "I envy you your credulity," returned her skeptical friend. "But how can you believe what you have never seen? If I had ever seen it-seen, that is, not the flirtation of a few weeks, ending in a proposal, and a wedding, but the love which is strong to conquer, and stronger to endure-the love which absence cannot change, which diffi- culty only quickens, which saffenin~ only elevates-I, too, might believe. But now- bahi I am a heretic of the straitest sect. Do you mean to say that,, if women ever really felt as heroines are represented to feel, I should not before this have conceived. a grands passion for some of thqdear, charm- ing boys I have known so well, and liked so much, while they were with me, and never cared a straw about, when they were away?" "That is hardly a fair argument, Vale- ne "I should like to know where you could find a fairer one. I confess that I should VALERIE AYLMER. page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 ~VALERIE AYLMER. like to fall in love, if onlyTor the novelty of the sensation," pursued the young lady, with meditative frankness. "I should like to know what it was to fa~icy somebody well enough to admire every thing he said or did -even bi~ very absurdities-to put away the roses he had touched, and wear the dresses he had praised, to care as much about him when he was absent as when he was near-to count the hours of his absence, and look eagerly for his coming-to be will- ing to endure any degree of danger, or dis- comfort for his sake-and, finally, to let love c~ver even wrong and injury, if wrong or injury came.' But then, I never shall know it, and this is all nonsense! I like Charley, as well as I can like anybody; and I mean to take him. I think I was fool- ish not toniake the engagement absolute at once. Many women- women better in every way than I am-have waited longer than I have for their knight, and waited' vainly. Some of them do as I am about to do-make respect and affection serve the place of love, and marry some pleasant and e1igibl~person, whom they Iil~e well enough, for all practical purposes, to the end of their lives. Others, like yourself, disdain to take this course, and so go down to their graves in' maiden meditation fancy free.' I am in- clined to think that this class is much larger than the world believes." "I certainly think it is a mistake to sup- pose that every woman has had, or must have, her love-story." "I know it is a mistake; or, rather; it is a vulgar belief of vulgar minds, which no demonstration to the contrary could uproot. If the entire feminine sex were suddenly conveyed to the Castle of Truth, and exam- ined on the point, I think we should hear some strange revelations from maids, wives, and widows; and I think the vast majority would be on my side, and declare that the coming man had never come into their lives at all." "That would be my evidence, at least," said Miss Fane, laughing. "Now you have oratorized long enough. Suppose, by way of variety, you get up and dress I" "You are not interested in my subject." "Indeed I am-interested enough to hope that your coming man may make his appearance in time." "Is that for my sake, or for Charley's?" "For both-and equally. Only-don't fall in love with this cousin of yours." "Had you not better caution me against throwing myself headlong into the Pataps- co I" said Miss Aylmer, rising. "Please ring that bell for Fanchette. I want my blue grenadine, and I feel morally confident that it is down at the bottom of that largest trunk." CHAPTER I. ~~MY PRETTY PAGE.'~ Tun cold N~ovember morning was break- ing drearily through a heavy white fog, that enveloped from sight all the low Maryland coast, and even the roofs and spires of Bal- timore, when the Portsmouth boat steamed slowly up to her dock; after a very trying and disagreeable run. A stiffish gale is by no means to be despised - even on the Chesapeake-and, although 'there had been no~very heavy sea the night before, yet many uncomfortable stomachs on board the Lou- isiana might have compared honorable notes with those belonging to any ocean- bound steamer the second day out. Sounds of woe had proceeded all night from various state-rooms; calls for sympathy, and for brandy, had been unnumbered; and, among the knot of passengers who stood on the wet deck in the cold, gray morning, and gloomily regarded the few landmarks that peered through the fog, the only feminine presence was that of Miss Aylmer, who, leaning on her father's arm, watched with evident in- terest as much of the surrounding prQspect as could be seen. "It does not look very interesting, does it, papa'?" she said, as the fog partially lift- ed, and showed that portion of Baltimore which lies along the water's edge.' "But then, I suppose one should not judge 'of a city by its approach, and in a fog, too. I only wonder-" "Draw your shawl around you more closely; this air is very penetrating," said her father, as she paused. "Well-what is it you wonder?" She hesitated a moment before she went on, rather thoughtfully: "I only wonder whether I shall ever be reconciled to this visit. I am almost sure I never shall. I am almost sure this coming six months will prove as long in reality as it now seems in prospeetive.~~ "I, should think you would know your- self better," said the general, dryly. "One opera; two balls, and a few conquests, will quite cure your homesickness. Indeed, I am half inclined to wager that, at the end of the six months, you will voluntarily prolong your visit, perhaps indefinitely." "Don't wager much then, papa~," retort- ed the young lady, with very nonchalant sauciness, "for I know you are not fond of losing. ttgh I what an odious cliniate! I cannot understand how1 grandpapa en- dures living in it-after New Orleans, too!" "It i~ singular, considering that the climate of New Orleans is well known to be one of perfection." "Itis oneof comfort and de.sncy, at least, so ~ beg you won't' sneer at it, papa. But then, grandpapa's coming here was all the fault of' this second wife of his-was it not?" "Entirely," the general answered. 'LAnd, by-the-way, I am glad you mentioned her-for I had almost forgotten that 'I meant to give you a warning on that sedre. She BOOK II. / page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] "MY PRETTY PAGE2' 31 30 VALERIE .&YLMER. is a very disagreeable woman; but you must really endeavor to conciliate her prejudices. tier influence over your grandfather is much greater than that of any one else; and there's no wiser policy than that of throw- ing a sop to Cerberus, you know." He spoke with studied carelessness-for no one better understood the art of clothing unpalatable advice in unpremeditated guise -yet the words brought a sudden cloud over his daughter's face. Her brow slightly contracted, and her lips compressed them- selves, before she replied: "I hoped I had heard the last of such warnings, papa. Surely there is nobody else to be conciliated, is there? And yet-in the face of all this-you think I shall find a visit here more than bearable? For my part, I shall be very glad if it does not prove mueh less. I believe I am 'chilled through. Will you please take me, in?" Her father complied very willingly. In- deed, it was quite time, the last motion of the boat having ceased, and the downward rush of passengers fairly begun. General Aylmer and his daughter were experienced travellers, hoWever, and pos- sessed to perfection the rare capability of taking matters-even from a steamboat and railroad point of view - with a supreme quibtude. They' did not trouble themselves in the least about making haste to be gone; and Valerie was still standing by a table in the saloon, drawing on her gloves, and wait- ing for her father, who had returned to his state-room for some missing' satchel, when a step on the gangway caused her to turn round, and thus confront a gentleman, who came forward with a look in his eyes that even' diilness' might have interpreted-a half-doubt, half-recognition, which made her absolutely certain he would, in another mo- ment, utter her own name. During that mo- mant, while he still passed irresolute, she took arapid survey of his appearance; for one fact at least Was undoubted-that of his complete strangeness to her. Her firs1~ impression was, that sbe bad never 'seen a handsomer man-if nian he e~arld~properlybe called, who was apparent- ly s6 little past the age 'of adolescence that almost any one might have been temptedto [.. exclaim, "What a beautiful boy!" There was all of boyhood's smoothness of outline, and clearness of tint, in the face whose re- fined features and waxen complexion suited its rich broww curls and lustrous eyes; all of boyhood's grace in the slender figure, that bore upon it a stamp of such thorough- bred elegance-yet there was about both an air and manner which proved conclusively that, for this man, boyhood was long since over. True, the downy softness had not yet left the rounded cheek, the pearly whiteness had not yet vanished from the smooth brow, and there was a curve of:al- most child-like beauty about the shapely mouth; but, on, each and all of these fea- tures, there also rested a shade of intangi- ble expression which aged the face without strengthening it, and marked it so plainly with the sign-manual of worldly inter- course and worldly thought, that no one, after a second glance, could possibly have mistaken the presence of manhood for that of youth. It was a beautiful face, but that was almost all that could be said of it. If there was any thing else about it at all re- markable, it might, perhaps, have been found in the total lack of any decided ex- pression, either for good or ill. Nobody could have called it a pleasant face or a dis- agreeable face, an intellectual face or a stu- pid face, an honest face or a deceitful face, a face that prepossesse& liking or inspired distrust; for, in truth, it was simplynega- tive-a face of the kind that we see very often in the world, and that belongs to peo- ple who, as a general thing, lack both mental and moral force, and are exactly and entirely what circumstances make them. It was also emphatically, and in marked degree, a spoiled face. There was a curve of disdain about the mouth, and a cloud of petulance on the' brow, whieh deepened and lightened continually, with- out ever quite vanishing, and made even the most careless observer sure that this man had never in his life known the curb of wholesome restraint, imposed either by oth- ers or himself~ With all her quickness of glance, Miss Aylmer hadn't noted more than these few general points, when the unknown ad. iranced directly to her side, saying, in a voice that suited his face, it was so very melodious: 4 "I am sure I cannot be mistaken in 'thinking that I have the pleasure of see- ing Miss Aylmer. Let me bid her wel- come to Baltimore, and introduce to her- Julian Romney." Valerie started-then looked up with recognition. It was a name not wholly un- familiar, though long forgotteu-.-the name of her grandfather's step-son, who had been sent to a German university before his mother's second marriage, and whom, con- sequently, she had never met. Indeed, the gulf 'of non-intercourse between the two families-M. Vacquant remained in Balti- more during the war-had almost sivept the recollection of his very existence out of her memory. She did not say' so, however; ~n the contrary, she smiled cordially, and held out her hand in reply. "I am charmed to meet you," she said, "for of course I have heard of you very often. I am only ashamed that my recog- nition was not like your own, instinctive." "I trust my recognition would have been instinctive," the young man answered, smiling in his turn; "but, unfortunately, I cannot claim that merit for it. My step- father has a miniature of you, and its want of justice does n~t altogether detract from its possession of likeness." "Ah, of course-it was very stupid of me not to think," Valerie laughed. "I think I should have known you, though- after a while. But graixdpapa and Madame Vacquant-I hope they are both well?" "Quite well, and very anxious to see you; indeed, M. Vacquant is.waiting below in the carriage now. Will you let me take you to him? That is-surely you are not travelling alone?" "Oh, no.-Fapa-but here he is.-Papa, this is Mr. Romney, who has been kind enough to come to meet us." The general's memory of names was much better than his daughter's, as well as his memory of faces; and, looking at the young man before him, he saw a slightly- masculinized edition of his father-in-law's wife~' He would have found no difficulty, therefore, in determining his identity, even if Valerie had not spoken, and his hand went out at once in its frank, genial greeting. "I should have known you, Mr. Born- ney, by your likeness to your mother," he said. "I congratulate you on your return to America. As matters stand at present, a Baltirnorean is almost the only person whom we coa congratulate on such an event. When did you leave Jena?" "Only within the last few' months," answered the other, while Valerie marvelled now, as she had marvelled often before, at her father's wonderful recollection. Noth- ing seemed to escape him-not even the name of Julian Ilomney's university-when of Julian Romney himself she never re- membered to have heard him speak. "Only within the last few months," repeated that young gentleman; "and, but for the fact that home is home, I might have been sorry enough to do so. As a place of residence, Germany is infinitely preferable to America, you know." "Any place short of the Inferno would be~ that, just at present,~~ said the general, with a shrug. "However, you might get on very well. You don't know any thing about war and devastation, just here." It was now Romney's turn to shrug his shoulders, which he did very indolently and gracefully. "You don't suppose I was thinking about war or devastation, or any thing of that kind?" he asked. "I don't trouble myself about those matters. I was thinking that the people are such barbarians, from an aesthetic point of view. But NL Vac- quant must be very impatient. Will you excuse me if I suggest that you take com- passion on him." "M. Vacquant!" said General Aylmer, quickly. "I did not know that he was here-of course we will go at once.-Vale- ne, I wonder you waited for me. Give that shawl to Fanchette, and now,' take care- these steps are confoundedly steep." "Take care, Miss Aylmer," echoed Romney, for, he saw that her eyes ware not at all where 'they should have been, but rather on the dock beyond, where a private carriage was drawn up, at the door 'of page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 VALERIE AYLMER. A FREE LANGE OF TO-DAY. which her grandfather's face looked eager- ly forth. "Take care-take care!" The last caution went off like a pistol- shot, bet it was too late. Valerie sudden- ly missed her footing-stumbled-made a grasp at the support-missed it-and fell heavily forward. General Aylmei~ was too far in advance, Julian too much in the rear, to save her. They could only hasten to her assistance, and, asit chanced, the younger man was the first to reach her, the first to lift the prone figure, and look into the pale, stunned face, the first to inquire anxiously if she was badly hurt. "I-I don't think I am hurt at all," she said, after a. minute's pause. "At least- I cannot tell. I saved my head, and only my wrist pains." "Take my arm, then, and try to walk," said the general. "Your grandfather is getting out of the carriage, I see. You must have alarmed him very much." "Oh, I am sorry for that," she said, quickly; and she at once made an attempt to step forward, but it was only an attempt. A spasm of pain came over her face, and Romney, who was watching her, said, as he caught her just in time to prevent another fall: "You have sprained your ankle?" ~ she answered, with a gasp, "I think I have. What shall I do ?-J cannot walk." "We shall have to support you," said her father, with some annoyance in his voice.- "Mr. Romney, may I trouble you I--Valerie, there would ~iave been none of this, if you had only looked where you were going." Valerie did not reply; in fact her whole attention at that moment was concentrated on her ankle. The lightest pressure of her foot on the ground made it pain intensely; and she did not even remember until ~ome time afterward how solicitous and careful was the support rendered by her new ac- quaintance. When they reached the car- riage, M. Vacquant was very much con- cerned by the palloy of the face, which never- theless contrived to greet him with a smile. "Ma pause enLfatzt I" lie said, in the midst of his effusive embrace. "To think that such an accident should be your wel- come among us! What was Julian about, that he did not take bettor care of you? I wish I had gone for you myself." "Mr. Romney took very good care of me," said Valerie, with a grateful smile into the handsome face just then bending over her. "But he could not prevent my fall, you know. That was your fault, grandpapa- if it was any body's besides my own-for it was only because I was looking at you that I missed the step." "Don't be ungrateful, Valerie, or your grandfather will think he had better have stayed at home," interposed General Ayl- mer, with a smile.-" My dear sir, I am delighted to see you again, and to see you looking so well. How much you escaped in not being battered about like the rest of us, during four years of hardship and ~ "I don't know, I am sure," said M. Vac- quant, a little shortly, for he always felt as if be had been somewhat derelict in not sharing the suffering of his country, and he did not much relish congratulations on the score of his exemption. "I am really un- able to see that you are at all battered, Ger- ald. On the contrary, you seem quite as young-looking and good-looking as ever. But we may as w~ll defer compliments until we are under way. Come in-petite looks too pale to be detained.-Home, John, and drive fast." The coachman obeyed to the letter; but the foot of Union Dock and the head of Washington Place are two points of the good city of Baltimore which lie rather far apart; and, with all his speed, they had not made more than half their distance, when Romney, who was watching Valerie quite anxiously, said- "I am sure you are suffering very much." She looked up with a faint smile, but an- swered nothing, for she could not deny the assertion. The pain almost amounted to agony by this time, and required every par- ticle of her self-control to endure it silently.. So she only smiled, and clinched her bands tightly together, as. people always dowben they want to bear passively, while they rolled on-her father end M. Vacquant talk- ing to each other of Louisiana people end things, Juliati watching her silently, and she engrossed by the pain-along the crowded thoroughfares of business life, past the gay shops and streams of pedestrians, past the towering cathedral-dome, and into sight of a tall white column-When, just as she thought, "I cannot endure it another mo- ment!" the carriage stopped, and Julian hurst open the door before the footman could spring down to do so. Dimly, Valerie saw that they had paused before a large gray house, with a stately portico and flight of marble steps guarded by couchant lions, and that, as they drew up, a gentleman, who was in the act of as- scending these steps, turned hastily and came down again toward them. But physi- cal agony had nowreached the point of physi- cal blindness, and she had onlya vague idea of a strange face, in which there was a good deal of surprise, and heard her grandfather make some hurried explanation. Neither the face nor the explanation moved her to the least interest, however, until M. Vacquant turned round, saying with his most gr~ziuZ- seigneur air: "Valerie, my love, your cousin-Maurice Darcy." Then she looked up-curious to see this rival claimant of her inheritance, this cause of her present exile and suffering, this man whose name had been her ~te noire for many weeks past; but, at the very moment when she raised her eyes, the tortured ankle gave one hot, sharp pang, that misted all th3 kind pity of Maurice Darcy's face, and made her extend her hand, with a sort of blind impulse, past him to Julian Romney. ~ Take me out, please," she said to the lat- icr, with a certain knowledge that in another second she would scream, despite herself. Darcy drew back-Valerie never knew that his hand had been held out toward her with a kinsman's frank greeting~ when she thus put it aside-and Romney assisted her to the ground, not without much difficulty and intense pain, however. Indeed, the blanching cheek proved such sharp suffer- ing that it brought the other to her side all of a sudden, with one quick step. "Let me assist you," he said to Julian. I 3 "Miss Aylmer is evidently suffering very much-4oo much for even an attempt at walking, I should say. Would it not be bet- ter if she was carried-" But here Valerie interrupted him, al- most rudely, for pain gave a sharper tone to her voice than was meant: "Thank you, no. I can walk very well -with Mr. Romney's assistance." "Pray let Maurice carry you, Valerie," said M. Vacquant's voice in the rear. "He is stronger than any of us-and well able to do so. But Valerie only shook her head wil- fully; and, as General Aylmer was not near enough to interfere, lifted her foot to take the first step of the flight before her. The result was easily to be foreseen-she gave one sharp cry, and fell back on Romney's shoulder. The partial swoon which ensued was not so deep but that she heard M. Vacquant say, "Maurice, take her! "-but that she felt herself lifted at once by a pair of strong arms, carried like a child into the house, and, amid much feminine commotion, laid gently down on a softly-cushioned couch. -4- CHAPTER II. A FBEfl LANCE OF TO-DAY. WUEN the doctor, who was hastily sum- moned, arrived, his first care was to relieve the injured foot of all ligatures; his ~eoond, to apply arnica-saturated bandages; and his third, to assure M. Vacquant that the pa- tient needed only entire quiet. "She will not be able to walk for some time," he said, on taking his departure; "but she may probably be carried down-stairs andi join: the family circle to-morrow." ~ He was mistaken, however. The~ sprain. proved more serious than had beek im- agined, and several days elapsed before Miss Aylmer summoned courage or inclInation~ to make an appearance down-stairs. At last, one evening, a sudden whim, or fit of loneliness, seized her. She tossed the novel,~ over which she was yawning, clear across~ page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 VALERIE AYLMER. A FIIEE LANCH OF TO-DAY. 35 the room, rang her bell, made a toilet, and, with the assistance of her own and Madame Vacquant's maids, managed to descend to the drawing-room, while dinner was yet in progress, and the coast clear. "That will do, Fanchette," she said, to her faithful attendant, who, after she had been established, on a sofa, still hovered over her, suggesting a pillow here, and a cushion there. "That really will do. I am very comforta- ble-more comfortable than I deserve to be," she added; "for I begin to think it was very foolish of me to come down." "'Deed, ma'am, I think it was very right," Fanchette said, earnestly. "You was so lonesome-like up-stairs! It'll do you good to see some company. "That's rather a question," her mistress answered, languidly. "I feel just now more as if it would tire me; and then, I never looked worse 1" "You looks pale, ma'ani-but paleness is becoming to you," said Fanchette, consol- ingly; for Fanchette stood chief among the admirers of Za belle des belles-a fact which in itself is no contemptible proof of the gen- uineness of Miss Aylmor's loveliness, since few scorns are more sincere than that of a maid for the beauty she daily aids in mak- ing up. The invalid acknowledged her friendly comfort by a smile; and then nestled deep- er iato her cushions, saying, as she stretched out, with a slight grimace, the pretty san- dulled foot that was resting on a pillow: ".1 don't trust you, Fanchette; you con- sider me so entirely in the light of your handiwork, that you regard me with partial eyes. Throw that afghan lightly over me. There !-Is not some one coming?" 'Before Fanchette could answer, the doer opened, and a lady entered-a lady so handsome and stately, that, as she came forward in the full light of the chandelier, she looked more like some rare old picture stepped from its frame, than a mere flesh-and-blood woman of the present time.. She 'was not. a young woman, by any means, and not a woman who made any ill-judged attempt to look young; but every thing about her ha9monized so per- fect~y, and. was in such admirable keeping with her personal style and her manifest age, that it was a question whether she was not better worth looking at than the fresh- est beauty in her teens. Girlhood i~ a very pretty and a very charming, thing, no doubt, but girlhood, even in its brightest and sweetest form, has never been able and will never be able to hold its own, with any moderate measure of success, against the charm of a woman who, instead of fading, has ripened into maturity; and whose per- sonal gifts have gained the toning and ex- pression that only time can bestow. It is not often that we see the warm zenith of feminine loveliness attained-for there are many dwarfing and blighting influences .at work in almost every woman's life, that se~id her into the port of middle age, shat- tered, if not wrecked-but a glimpse of it is vouchsafed to us sometimes, and we are richer for that glimpse to the end of our lives. It is something inexpressibly grace- ful and beautiful, something that has no jar or clang of discordance in it, something that is refined to the exquisite point of needing no further refinement, and something which was breathed like an aroma over the woman who came forward now. She was certainly a beautiful woman. Her delicate features were chiselled with the clearness and regu- larity of sculpture, her rich brown hair was abundant as any ehevelure of twenty, and had a glow upon it which proved conclu- sively that the art of the dyer had'never been called into requisition; her violet eyes had lost not a tint 'of their color, during the half-century that had passed over them; and her slender, symmetrical figure bore it- self with a dignity' which seemed to add at least two inches to her real stature. Gen- eral Aylmer had been right in saying that he would easily have recognized Julian Romney by his likeness to his mother;' yet, alike as the two faces were in cast of fea- ture, there, was a difference between them, which, resting in diverse expression, some- times deepened into positive dissimilarity. it could, scarcely have been otherwise, since the younger face was mobile to excess-the lip ever ready to curl, the brow ever ready to bend-while the elder was locked in the passionlessness of marble. The finely-arched brow seldom met~ in any frown; the cold, calm lip rarely smiled; and, whatever strength of passion or capability of emo- tion existed in the depths of this woman's nature, she had long since placed a strong curb over-a curb that gave a repressed quietude to her manner, and was the cause' of a certain repulsion, which more than one person confessed to experiencing when un- der her influence. Yet few people have been more universally admired, or more justly commended; and, as she crossed the floor in her rich silk and soft laces, Valerie acknowledged, for perhaps the fiftieth time, that, when her grandfather chose a second wife, his taste, in beauty at least, had been irreproachable. "What !-you down I" she said, as she came forward, and perceived the occupant of the sofa. "I doubt if it 'was prudent to walk on your foot, yet a while, Valerie. You should have been carried down, as the doctor advised." "Fanchette and Rose helped me," said Valerie. "I scarcely walked at all." "Fanchette and Ros4 could not give all the assistance you must have needed. Your grandfather was just speaking of taking Maurice up to bring you down." "That would have been more imposing, certainly, but not more to my taste," said Valerie, with a laugh. "I had a suspicion of that plan of grandpapa's, so I was all the mere anxious to steal a march on him. Be- sides, I really was dreadfully tired of my room and my novels." "I don't wonder at it," said the elder lady, as she sat down in a high-backed Gothic chair, which made her look more like a picture than ever, and drew forward an eiubroidery-frarae. "Needle-work has quite gone out of fashion, I believe," she went on, "or I' should think you would have found that a pleasanter as well as a more profita- ble occupation." "Do you mean hemming handkerchiefs or embroidering ottomans?" asked Valerie, more flippantly than was quite proper; but the temptation to rejoinder was strong, and liking, between this handsome lady and her- self, there had never been enough to insure an amicable t~te-d-t~te. "Fanchette relieves me of the Ilrst, and, as for the other, I don't belong to any charitable association; so I should have no means of disposing of them after they were finished." "If you have no room for them at Aylmers, your friends might like them as 'souvenirs," said Madame Vacquant, whose sneers were never apparent on the surface. " You are so well provided with friends, that there would be no difficulty about find- ing recipients. I hope, by-the-way, you left Miss Fane quite well?" "Quite well," Vulerie answered, with a saucy sparkle in her eyes. "It is kind of you to inquire about Netta, for I know you do not like her; but then that is not singu- lar. I-believe we all failed to please you in our poor Louisiana.~~ "The climate did not agree with me," said Madame Yacquant, quietly; "other- wise, I had no fault to find. The fruits are delicious, and the people charmingly hospita- ble. But I really think I should have died if I had remained, the lassitude and prostra- tion were so great. I don't wonder that women there fade early-or that 'you have gone off so much, Valerie."' "I never knew that women faded ear- lier there than elsewhere," returned Vale- rie, nonchalantly. "And, as for my going off, I know I am hideous just now; but I have Baltimore to thank for that. When I left home, everybody said I was looking re- markably welL" "People who see one constantly are not always the best judges of one's looks," said Madame Vacquant. "Perhaps, after you have been in Maryland a while, you may re- cover something of your bloom. You used to have a very bright complexion." "One needs to come to Maryland to hear unflattering truths," Valerie answered, with undiminished good-humor. "Nobody in Louisiana ever spoke of my complexion in the past tense; but then probably our stand- ard is not a good one. I may beable to do something toward improving it when I go back. Are not those the gentlemen's voices? How soon they leave the table!" "Your grandfather does not like to sit long," said Madame Vacquant, pausing in her work to listen; "and JulianI know, has page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] VALERIE AYLMER. A FREfl LANCE ~F TO-DAY. 37 /an engagement ±'or this evening. That is Maurice Darcy speaking now. You have not met him yet, I believe?" "Not unless you consider my fainting es- capade in the light of a meeting. He must be very strong; for I weigh a great deal, and-" The opening of the door cut short her sentence; and the next moment, her father, accompanied by a tall, stalwart stranger, entered the room. They were speaking to- gether as they crossed the floor, and did not notice her presence for an instant; then General Aylmer looked round, and was not a little surprised ' "You here, Valerie!" he said. "How did you manage to get down?. Your grand- father has just gone up-stairs to see you." "I am very sorry," said Valerie, with more contrition than was perhaps sincere. "But, you see, I meant to surprise him, and -won't yon.please call him back, papa?" "He will soon find that the bird has flown," answered the general, coolly. "Meanwhile, have you forgotten CaptaiTh Darcy?" Valerie lool~ed up at his companion. Even despite the disadvantage under which she .had seen tt before, she thought she would have re~ognized again the face that had gazed at her' through the mist of past suffering. But she must have been mistaken -for, if she had appreciated one-half of its compassionate kindness on that day, she could scarcely have spoken with as much coldness as when she answered: "No, I have not forgotten Captain Dar- cy, and I am glad to be able to thank him for his assistance and strength, when I needed both sadly. Without them, I don't know how I should ever have found myself in thehouse that day." "I only hope you are better," said Cap- tain Darcy, speaking very courteously, but making no effort to ahakehands or, any thing of the kind.' "It is a pity that your arrival in Baltimore should have been so disagree- ably signalized." "I don't kni~w about its being disagree- able," she answered, carelessly. "I have had several days to myself, and I have read many entertaining and a few instructive books; and both of these novelties are worth the price of a sprain, I dare say. Oh, I am always philosophical-am I not, papa? Eugene used to declare that, if the house were burned down, I would say at once that it was the pleasantest thing, izna- ginable, since trees and grass were a great deal more healthful and comfortable than roofs and floors. I must not quote Eugene, however, for here comes grandpapa." M. Vacquant entered as she spoke-a little out of breath, and a good deal out of humor. "What is the meaning of this, Valerie?" he asked, quite injuredly. "I thought you could not walk, so I go up-stairs to see you, and am coolly informed that you have gone down! Did you time your descent exactly for the purpose of giving me a useless jour- ney? By Jove, how tired I am!" "So you have taken to swearing in Eng- lish!" Valerie laughed, as he sat down by her. "No, I didn't time my descent for any reason of the kind," she went on. "I down to give you a pleasant surprise, and this is all the thanks I get. I wonder you are not ashamed to be so ungrateful." ",So that's the light, is it?" said he, with.a shrug. "Well, I'll make apologies, when I recover breath enough. Meanwhile, let us hear whom you were quoting when I came ~ "Nobody you care about," said Valerie, giving his hand an affectionate little pinch. "I was only quoting my hero, my darling, my soldier of fortune, my-" "Oh, Eugene," said he, in a very unen- thusiastic tone. "Yes, Eugene. What have you to say against him?" "Only that I hope he has not been fished out of the Seine in a starving condition yet." * "Tell him about him," said Valerie, turning triumphantly to her father, and getting decidedly aground among her per- sonal pronouns. "Tell him all that we beard last about the dear boy: how well he is doing; and how steady he is; and how much everybody likes him; and-" "And how ready you are to believe It all," said NI. Vacquant, stopping her mouth with peremptory good-humor. "I don't want to hear any thing about the ~camp! If he had, stayed at home, and turned shoe- black, now, I might have' forgiven him; but, to go off and join the eondotti~sri I" "I thought you liked condottieri, grand- papa," said Valerie, and her eyes turned more significantly than she intended toward Captain Darcy, who was standing beside Madame Yacquant, and who caught the glance at once. "I don't know why you thought so," said her grandfather. "I like them so lit- tle, that Maurice and I have had more than one disagreement on the subject." "Captain Darcy likes them, then?" said Valerie, making an ill-judged assault on the enemy's lines. That depends upon whether you mean condotti~ri in the literal or the social sense," answered Captain Darcy for him- self. "In the social seine, undoubtedly," re- turned she, promptly. "Then I don't like them in the least," he answered. "But, in the literal sense, it would be strange if I had not at least a sym- pathy for them, since I belong to a race that for the last three hundred years has fur- nished soldiers of fortune to the whole world." "And liked nothing better!" said M. Vacquant. "Deuce .take the fellow !- he'd be a free lance to - morrow, if he "He was a free lance yesterday," said General Aylmer, with a smile. "We must not forget that." Darcy turned away, and walked down the room. General Aylmcr followed him, and, while they stood together, in a broad glow of light, Valerie had no better occupa- tion for her eyes than to note the appear- ance of this soldier-artist who had been ad- vanced to the dignity of kinship with her. This. was all that she aaw.-a tall, well- built figure,, whose deep, broad chest, and lithe, sinewy limbs, were pleasant sights for people who had apenok4nt in the way of manly strength or manly prowess- and whose stalwart, . well - carried shoulders looked as if they could have borne the very burden of Atlas without blench or quiver; a face that suited the figure excellently well, for it was frank and bold, more soldierly than artistic, and only moderately hand- some. Indeed, as Valerie regarded it from behind the friendly shelter of M. Yacquant, she did not think it handsome at all. Cer- tainly there was wonderfully little of the petit-maitre or trim gallant-about it-little to please the eye that admired Charley JIau- tame's insouciant grace, or Julian Romney's ideal beauty-but a good deal, nevertheless, that many women, as well as many men, liked to look upon. There were straight, clearly-cut features, deep, dark-gray eyes that might have been handsome, if they had not been too cold and critical; a mouth that was 'somewhat set and stern, under the thick chestnut mustache; the square, bel- ligerent chin, that mars the beauty of many a born fighter's face; the broad artist-brow, that is never wholly-without attraction, and an abundant amount of crisp chestnut hair. Together with these things, there was a striking absence of that which, for want of a better name, we may call the conventional .stamp-the stamp that in these days squares and trims everybody and every thing into conventional shape-and a striking presence of 'fresh and vigorous individuality. The man had his faults-they were written, in- deed, onhis very face-but you felt more than half-inclined to forgive them all, in gratitude for the novelty of seeing one who looked, moved, and spoke, not according to certain social rules and canons, but accord- ing to the exigence of the hour and the need of the minute; yet who never, in even the faintest shade of word, look, or tone, violated that higher law of perfect courtesy which is the flower of true refinement. The man was a man, but he was also a gentle- man, and none~ the less the 'first for' being so entirely the last. You could see at once' that he was frank and straightforward to a fault, formed for action rather. than for di- plomaey~ very apt to clear his way with clean, even strokes, andlittle likely to ~h6w tolerance in any case 'of attempted' wiles; but you also felt sure that he was-a man who would be gentle to 'the weak, 'and tender to those whom he loved, with the supren~iegen- tleness and tenderness that a'e born' of strength. Nevertheless, let it not, be sup- page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 38 VALERIE AYLMER. A FREE LANCE OF TO-DAY. 39 posed that there was any thing of the Titan, or the genius, or the hero, about him. He was simply a man who had some of the best attributes of common manhood stamped upon him-the courage and simplicity, the generosity and faithfulness, the scorn of all things base, and the very unconsciousness of all things mean, which are 'uncommon enough, Heaven knows, but which go fur- ther to make up our idea of true manhood than all the polish or all the learning of all the schools. "He looks like a free companion," Va- * lerie thought to herself, while Madame Vac- quant described the manner in which halr was dressed, and dilated upon the latest style of bonnet. "I wonder if the soldiers of the Irish brigade at Fontenoy were men of this kind? If so, no wonder the English - Yes, madame, I think that must have been a lovely bonnet; but you know I could not wear any thing of the sort. Pearl and blue would make a fright of me." " No; of course you could not, ~ said Madame Vacquant. "I was only describing it. You always have scarlet somewhere about your bonnets, I believe." * "A knot of scarlet roses, or perhaps a cluster of fuchsias," said Valerie, who was not a whit behind the most of her sex in devotion to 'the toilet. "I like fuchsias- they are so graceful andbecoming.-Grand- papa, I wonder if Captain Darcy had any ancestors at the battle of Fontenoy?" "I don't know, I am sure," said M. Vac- quant. "What on earth put that into your head?" "Nothing," she laughed; and then she hummed under her breath, to an impromp- tu air: "'On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere, Rushed onto light a nobler band than those proud exiles were."' "You must try and get down to Easter's, to-morrow," Madame Vacquant went on "There is a silk there, I am sure you will like. I saw it a week ago, and told them to put it aside; but such people are so unre- liable. It is a lovely gold-color; and under black lace-you still have that overdress of Spanish lace, I suppose, Valerie?" "Oh, yes," 8aid Valerie; "of course I have it yet-such things as that are heir- looms, you know. I need a silk for it, too; and I shall certainly get the gold-color, if it is pretty; but then, I have no doubt of that. 'On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun'- What's the next line, grandpapa?" "I never heard the thing, Valerie." "Oh, of course you have-only you've forgotten: 'Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's pang, Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang: Bright was their steel-'" The battle of Fontenoy ,came to an abrupt end just here, for the door opened, and a radiant vision entered-to wit, Julian Romney, in full evening costume. He en- tered listlessly, with something of a fretful cloud on his face; hut a single glance at th~ sofa was enough to dispel it, and the next moment he came forward, smiling brightly. "Miss Aylmer! What an unexpected pleasure this is! But why was I not allowed my share in the triumph of bringing you down?" "There was no triumph in the matter," Valerie said, with a laugh. "I came down very quietly, assisted only by Fanchette and Rose." "When?" "While you were all at dinner." "While we were at dinner-and I just to know it!" "It has not been long." "It has been long enough to make me wish that Mrs. Jennings and her party were both in Halifax; or that I had looked in the drawing-room when I came up-stairs. How could I have been so obtuse as not to know by instinct that you were here? ' Don't laugh, Miss Aylmer-it is a very serious matter, I assure you." Miss Aylmer did laugh, however. His petulance and vexation seemed so little more than that ofa spoiled child; and there was so much of the "pretty page" about him, that she felt half-inclined to extend her hand and caress the curl-bedecked head. A timely recollection of propriety inter- fered, however; and she only shook, her own as she answered: "Your flatteries deserve a pleasanter re- ward than any thing they have missed; or are likely to gain. My mirror tells me that I never looked worse, and my conscience assures me that I never felt more stupid." "For the peace of our city, don't look any better, then," said he, with only a half- tone of jest. "And as for stupidity-pity mine, when I have not yet inquired about your ankle. Is it well enough for you to walk at all?" "I think not," answered she, with a du- bious glance toward it. "But really, I have not tried. I limped down on one foot; for I have such a vivid remembrance of my ag- ony the other day, that I did not have the courage to put this one on the floor." "You ought to do it," however, said Madame Vacquant. "Your ankle will nev- er grow strong again unless you use it. Is not that so, my dear?" "Certainly it is so," said M. Vacquant; "but petite knows best. She can judge whether it feels equal to the exertion yet." "I am by no means sure of that," said Julian, while petite herself looked doubt- ful. "Suppose you try to walk?" he add- ed, turning abruptly to the latter. "I am confident your ankle is strong enough by this time to bear the exertion. Come! let me assist you." He held out his hand, but \Talerie shook her head. "Not this evening - to-morrow, per- haps," she said. "To-morrow I maynot be able to help you," answered he~ "Pray, try now-if only a few steps. I should like to feel that I was making some amends for allowing that dreadful fall." "Allowing! How could you have pre- vented it?" He only smiled, and held out his hand again. "Will you not try? Just a few 5teps.7~ He looked s&, imploring, and so hand- some, that for once Valerie developed an in- capacity to say no~ "If you will not insist, in case it hurts me, "she began. She was interrupted by protestations and assurances to the contrary; so, after a mo- meiit, she slowly brought the injured foot to the floor, and tried its strength, before rising. "Does it hurt?" asked M. Vacquant. "N-o. Mr. Romney was right, I be- lieve. It scarcely hurts at all-as'yet. Now I will try to walk." "Let me call Maurice to assist you also," said her grandfather, in a tone which was unluckily loud enough to reach Captain Dar- cy's ears. He started and turned, just in time to hear Valerie say with decision: "No; certainly not. Mr. Romney will assist me; and, if I need any one else, I can ~call papa." Then she laid her hand on Julian's arm, and, thus supported, walked slowly down the room. "Take care. Don't over-exert your ankle," said General Aylmer, turning round as she advanced. "How does it feel?" "Very well indeed,", she answered. "I am ashamed to remember how cowardly I have been about trying it.-No, Mr. Romney, you need not turn back; I think I will walk down the next room." "Had you not better be cautious I" asked Darcy. "Your foot must be weak yet." "Of course it is weak; and that's the reason I want to strengthen it," said she, lightly.-" Mr. Romney, I am sorry to lean so heavily. I hope my weight is not very great." Neither of the gentlemen heard Rom- ney's reply, for he moved on before it was spoken; but they saw the light that came into his eyes, as he answered; and being, in different ways, men of the worltlboth shrugged their shoulders mentally. "I must give Valerie warning that her favorite game won't answer here," thought the father. "Fooling this pretty-faced boy would be a trifling affair in itself; but mak- ing an enemy of his mother would ruin every thing." "A thorough-paced coquette," thought Maurice Darcy; "and more ripe for mis- chief than even themost of her class. Poor Julian I " Poor Julian was meanwhile leading his. companion through one after the other of -'the suite of reception-rooms, until they page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 VAL1~RIE AYLMER. THE GENERAL GIVES A WARNING. . 41 found themselves at the entrance of the con- servatory. "What a beautiful place I ~' Valerie said, pausing in. the door, and gazing with loving eyes at the interior, where the luxuriant children of her fair South brought some- thing of their tropical bloom and beauty about the chill existence of the North. "How exquisite the plants are !-l3ut is not that a fountain I hear?" Romney answered by leading her for- ward, and the next moment she saw that,. almost immediately in the centre of the con- servatory, a jet of water was playing in a marble basin, making a soft, fairy-like mu- sic of its own, and gleaming like a silver mist through the mellow gloom. All around it broad-leaved water-plants were arranged with unusual taste and skill; while the most rare of the flowering shrubs were clus- tered in the immediate neighborhood, and tall, feathery crests nodded, or seemed to nod, in the dimmer background. This. time Valerie did not exclaim, "What a beautiful place!" She only felt a sharp throb, half-exquisite pleasure, half- exquisite pain, which all forms of the beau- tiful bring to some organizations; and then she said softly, "It looks like home." "I am glad I was the first person to bring you here, then," said Romney, quickly. "I am glad that the place which reminds you of home, must also remind you a little of me. Sit down. You must rest before you try to go back." There was everything to second the re- quest; so Valerie yielded without much demur. "We cannot stay long, or they will miss us," she said, hesitatingly; and, having cleared her conscience by this re- mark, she sat down and gave herself up to the charm of the spot. The soft lamps glimmered so far away that they threw only a sort of moonlight radiance through the heavy tropical foliage; the brilliant blos- soms of the Southern flora were blooming on every side, and their rich, subtle fra- grance was heavy on the air; the water rose and fell with the measured rhythmthat in itself lulled to quiescence; and so, while the party, a few rooms distant, sat down to whist, counted their tricks, and scored their honors, these two lingered and yet lingered in what seemed, to one of them at least, a fairy-land. Ali, it is a subtler and a deeper question than many of us think, that of determining whether the women who are gifted with the fatal gift which we call fascination, are strictly accountable f~r all the harm and evil this woful charm may work upon others. There are some women-we do not usually meet more than one in a lifetime -whose simplest tones and most careless glances contain more of magic then all the philters ever compounded by cunning necro.~ inancers-women whose powers no man has ever been wise enough to define, and few, very few, strong enough to resist; women than whom hundreds are fairer, and nobler, and wittier; but to whom Nature has given one dower that only Nature can bestow- the rare and perilous dower of being all things to all men. Now, are such women morally accountable for all the pain, the suffering, and the harm, which-unwitting- ly often-they never fail to cause? Are their white hands stained with the blood which has flowed for them, the pangs that have been endured, the lives wrecked, the curses breathed I Surely, if so, we might be more willing to accept the guilt of that poor wretch whom they are leading yonder down the long sunlit road toward the high hill where, tall and dark, one sombre outline cuts against the sky; him whose pale lips are. even now moving in agonized prayer; and whom the great surging multitude willhun- grily watch when the cord is drawn. around his neck, and he goes from man's justice to the bar of God's mercy. There is more point in this digression than is at once apparent. We are told that, in a matter of this kind, guilt or innocence is all a case of "intention." This seems hard, sometimes-hard that the instigator may go scot-free of penalty, while the vic- tim bears the weight of sin, as well as of suf- fering; but, after all, who can draw the line of that "intention?" Who of us does not know "That evil Is wrought by want of thought, As well as by want of heart?" And who of us can believe that want of thought will plead our excuse in the awful Reckoning, when every idle word will rise up against us? One thing at least is cer- tam: in after-days it will go hard with Va- lerie Aylmer if her conscience be not clear of all intention to modulate her tones so well, to sheathe her glances so soft, and to let kindness-plain and simple kindness only, she would tell you-dwell in every word on that night when Julian Romney sat 1y her side, and found his fate in her eyes. Found his fate! That is a term of which romantic school-girls are very fond; and, like as not, it may sound absurdly exagger- ated to the men and women of the day, who sneer at human passion as they sneer at every thing else on the earth beneath, and in the heavens above the earth; but, for all that, there is such a thing yet, and will be such a thing, as long as women are beguilers and men are beguiled. Whether the term be correct or not-whether or not, in the fullest sense, Julian Romney found his fate in Valerie Ayliner's eyes-the sequel may show; but at least something of the fact be- gan to be apparent to herself before the evening was over. After the last good-nights had been exchanged, and when the fair Southern head laid itself down upon its pil- lows, a vision came back of the beautiful boyish face that had kindled and glowed so warmly during those hours beside the foun- tain-the face that just then was close to that of a blond belle in the vales d deux temps, and which saw before it, not the gold- en curls and azure eyes of sweet Violate Arle, but the lips which were even then murmuring: "Poor boy! J must try and not do him any harm." -4-- CHAPTER III. THE GENERAL GIvES A wARNING. No one was very much surprised the next morning when the door of the break- fast-room opened, and Miss Aylmer made her appearance, looking so blooming and bright in a rich crinison cashmere, that even Madame Vacquant felt inclined to doubt whether the climate of Louisiana was quite as injurious to complexions as she had sup- posed. The young lady received her con- gratulations and greetings very quietly; then, subsiding into a chair by Romney, she bade him tell her how the night had gone in the way of the Jennings's party. "Heavily enough, as far as I was con- cerned," he answered. "Other people seemed to be enjoying themselves in usual degree; but I never found aA evening more hopelessly dull. I am glad you have come down to give us a glimpse of your face this morning; otherwise, I should have carried a nightmare about with me all day." "What was so dreadful?" asked his step-father-" the wine, the women, or the music?" The young man shrugged his shoulders petulantly. "How can I tell? It was all a hideous conglomeration of sight and sound-so hid- eous, that the wine might have been goose- berry, the women dressed in bunting, and the band playing a dead-march, for aught I knew, or cared, to the contrary!" "Oh, we understand," said the elder gentleman. "The fault being in yourself- as it generally is-Mrs. Jennings's entertain- ment must bear the blame. It strikes me that, instead of saying 'the evening was dull,' you should have said 'I was dull,' and stated the matter more fairly." "Do9sn't it come to the same thing?" asked Valerie; for her quick eye caught the sudden cloud that came over Julian's face. "By no means," her grandfather an- swered. "Here's Maurice, for instance, who, not being given to morbid fancies, enjoyed himself, I will venture to say, like a sensible man.-How was it, mom ami ?- am I not right?" Darcy looked up from a ~iewspaper- both General Aylmer and himself had drawn back from the table, and were en- gaged~ one with the Gazette, and the other with the Sun-but did not seem to need any. information about the subject under discus- sion. "I thought the evening went off very well," he said; "but, then, I'm n~ver hard page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 VALERIE AYLMER. TIlE GENERAL GIVES A WARNING. 43 to please, you know. Julian certainly must have found a bitter savor in every thing, for not the melancholy Jacques himself could have looked more wearied. I heard more than one 'bright-eyed lonnilelle' ask what misfortune had befallen him." He spoke carelessly, but in a tone of good-humored pleasantry, that did not at all justify Romney's sharp retort: "I am glad you found so much time to observe my proceedings, and I am sorry I can't return the compliment by bearing per- sonal testimony to yours. I only remember that one 'bright-eyed Ionnilelle' at least could have made no inquiry about me-the one, I mean, whom you engrossed the greater part of the evening." "Who was that?" asked Madame Vac- quant, speaking for the first time since she bade Valerie good-morning. "I suppose he means Miss Rivi~re," said Darcy, with a smile. "She was looking charmingly last night, and I danced with her several times; but I should hardly have thought that made out a case of engrossing." "Rividre!" Valerie repeated. "That is a Louisiana name." "These are Louisiana people," said M. Vacquant.-" Aylmer, you remember Henry Rivi&e~ II am "Perfectly," said the general, looking np. "And, by-the-way, his is one of the worst cases of utter smash I know of." "So I supposed; for he is here in busi- ness." The other raised his eyebrows with an expression of surprise. "Rivi~re! If it were possible to be astonished by any thing, these days, I should certainly think you must be mis- taken. I can fancy him connected with every thing in the world except business. By-the-by, that is a very indefinite term, and means any thing, from ship-owning' to shoemaking. What does it stand for in this ease?" "Some banking position or other, I think. He seems to be getting on tolerably; and is clever enough to succeed very well,' if he will only keep away from race-courses, and let cards and dice alone." "Ab! if he only can," said the general, in a tone of profound incredulity concern- ing the probability of any thing of the kind. And then he went back to the Sun. "Has he a daughter, and is her name Alix?" Valerie inquired. "He has a daughter, and her name is Alix," Romney replied. "She has made something of a sensation here. Do you mean to say you know her?" "I met her once or twice-not oftener, for she was very young, and not in society -but I remember that I thought her very attractive. Is she not very petite, with soft brown eyes, and shy, caressing man- ners?" "And a color that comes and goes twenty times in a minute-exactly. She is said to be very charming; but Darcy there has cultivated her more than I have, and can speak with better knowledge." "she is one of the most thoroughly natural and thoroughly attractive people I ever knew,,~ said Darcy, warmly. "I sincerely congratulate you, Miss Aylmcr, on the discovery of such a friend." "Such an acquaintance," Madame Vac- quant corrected. "Valerie did not speak of her as a friend-did you, my dear? I should be sorry, if so, for I have heard one or two rumored about her,, which, if true, make her rather undesirable even as an ac- quaintance." '~ One or two rumors about Miss Ri- vi~re 1" said Darcy, quickly. "Excuse me, madame, if I ask what they are-for nothing could possibly be true that would render her an undesirable acquaintance for Miss Aylmer." "Excuse me for not remembering that she had such a warm champion at hand," said the lady, smiling, though not very pleasantly; "and moderate your warmth, my dear Maurice, for I meant nothing in the least dreadfuL I have heard that Miss Rivi~re is studying music, with a view to going on the stage-that is all. But I am sure you will agree with me that it is enough to justify what I said. Valerie would scarcely care to make a friend of a future cantatrice." "That would depend very much upon circumstances, or, rather, upon the person in question," said Valerie, coolly. "Now I should make a friend of Alix Rivinre, not of the future cantatrice-if the rumor is true." "Let us hope that it is not," said M. Vacquant, lifting up his spoon to break an egg, and balancing it in the air as he spoke. "In my opinion, it is one of the worst signs of the times that the new generation begin to throw off somany of the old traditions of gentle blood, and to disregard so entire- ly the ohl no1~ease-oilige theory of gentle birth," he went on. "Equality and fra- ternity are vile enough in a political sense; but the devil himself could not imagine any thing worse than their social enforcement would be! Yet all these latter-day notions are paving the way for little else. We are told that it is a very fine thing to be liberal; that a gentleman may be a gentleman, though he turn blacksmith; and a lady may continue a lady though she becomes an ac- tress; that good ancestry is of no account; and a good name worth exactly what it will bring at the bottom of a check! I may be illiberal," continued he, bringing down his spoon with a crash into the egg-shell, "but I don't see the force of such reasoning, and I have an unmitigated contempt for such practice ~ "Don't excite yourself grandpapa," Va lerie laughed. "And, besides, I don't see the force of your reasoning in the present case. There are no better people in Louisi- ana than the Rivi~res." "So much the more cause for their not forgetting the fact," said he. "However, we'll be charitable. The rumor about the young lady may not be true. I am sure I hope it is not, since I don't know a more charming woman than her mother.-Mau- rice, have you forgotten that you promised to attend Cox's sale of horses for me this morning?" "Not in the least, sir," Darcy answered, pushing aside the 'Gazette, and giving a glance at his watch; "but there is plenty of time yet, and General Aylmer spoke of going with me." "I am at your service," said the gen- eral, rising as he spoke. "It has been my life-long practice to keep no man waiting my business or pleasure, and I should be sorry to begin at this late day." "Remember that, from two such judges of horseflesh, I shall expect a simply un- paralleled span," said M. Vacquant, as they turned to leave the room. "It would have been wiser to send them apart, then," said Romney, after the two gentlemen were safely out of eai'-shot. "To- gether, their opinions are sure to clash-I never knew two jockeys who didn't-and the result may be any thing but the one you desire." "I should have sent you along as um- pire," said the step-father, a little shortly. "Your judgment served you so well when you bought that showy-looking animal the other week, which turned out just as sound as Maurice prophesied." Julian's cheek flushed darkly, and his bi~ow contracted in its quick frown. There could not possibly have been found a sorer point with him than the 'one to which M. Vacquant alluded - a certain equine pur- chase against which Darcy had strongly ad- vised him, and which proved to be utterly worthless. His reply would probably not have been very, temperate, if his mother had not interfered. "You are hard on poor Julian," she said, reproachfully, to her husband. "I am sure he' 'will give Captain Daroy all the credit he deserves as a jockey; and as for that un- lucky horse-isn't he ever to be left in peaceful disgrace?" "With all my heart," said M. Vacquant, good-humoredly.-" I beg psi-don, Julia; if I have said any thing to. wound: your feelings; and we'll certainly let that de- posed czar rest on his laurels. -Are you engaged this morning, my dear, or can you write some letters for me? There's quite an accumulation of them up-stairs, and the gout in my hand is 'worse than @ver." "Let me be your 'secretary, grandpapa," Valerie said; but, to her surprise, Madame Vacquant interposed at once. "Quite. impossible,' Your grandfather is accustomed to7 me, and I understand his business. You would only incommode him, and tire yourself. I shall turn you over 'to Julian for an hour or two, and as soon as I page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] ' 44 VALERIE AYLMER. TilE GENERAL GIVX~ A WARNING. give some directions to Pierre, I will be in the library, my dear." "I am in no haste," said M. Vacquant; then, gathering together several letters which had arrived that morning, he left the room. Madame Vacquant followed him almost immediately; and, thus forsaken, Miss Ayl- mer and Mr. Roinney looked at each other and smiled. "Yea are given into my hands for amuse- ment," said the latter. "Will you tell the humblest of your slaves what diversion wiLl please you best?" "In the first place, I should like to k-now something of the house I inhabit," she an- swered. "Do you feel inclined to play cice- rone? It may involve another offer of your arm, for my foot is not strong yet." "To hear is to obey, if it involved the offer of my head Shall we set out at once?" "Yes, certainly." She rose and walked slowly down the room. 'By the time the door was reached, his arm had been offered and accepted; and then they set forth, as gayly as a pair of children, on a thorough tour of inspection. It was certainly a very pleasant one. -Beautiful and luxurious appointments, breadth of space, and comfort, unspoiled by economy of arrangement, are charming things to almost any one; and, although the residence of M. Vacquant was by no means extravagantly "palatial," a cultivated and refined taste had breathed into it an individ- uality of aspect which the most gorgeous upholstery rather diminishes than increases. Velvet carpets, damask curtains, tables and ottomans, even pictures and statues, have their money. value, and are at the command of the most uncultured buyer; but the knowledge how to use these things is a dif- ferent commodity, and by no means mark- etable. Whatever else she may have lacked, Madame Vacquant plainly did not lack this -the rare knowledge and rarer artistic ap- preciation which are the very first proofs of eavoir eiere, that a hostess, aspiring to raise her head above the level of or~Hnary hostesses, must give. The most exacting sybarite could hardly have found fault with the arrangement of the rooms, the very air of which inspired thoughts of social ease and social pleasure; and the most sensitive artist could scarcely have suggested a mul- tiplication or abstraction of the well-chosen and well-hung pictures, the costly bronzes, the exquisite statues, or the treasures of ormolu and mavgueterie, that occupied unob- trusive corners, and conducted themselves in all respects like ordinary furniture. When the Whole lower floor had been explored, Valerie led her companion back to the music-room, and bade him ~open the piano. "I am sure you sing," she said, when he had obeyed; "and, if you please, I want to hear you. Ah, there is no good in denial. I flatter myself I know a little of physiog- nomy; and, if yours is not a musical face, I never saw one; besides, you have lived in Germany." "That settles the matter, does it?" said Romney, laughing a little. "Of course, I know something of music-we all did at Jena-but nothing you will care to hear." "Let me be judge of that," she an- swered. "Run your hand over the keys. Ah, yes 1-I knew y~u had a good touch. Do you play much?" "Scarcely at all. Singing is my strong point." "Sing, then." Transcribed, those two words look rather curt; but, given with the expression that Miss ,Aylmer knew excellently well how to infuse-the half-persuasive, half- commanding accent which she possessed to perfection-few' men would have hesitated longer than Romney did about obeying. lie smiled slightly, modulated a few chords, by way of prelude, and began one of those artfully-simple German ballads that the poetry of TJhland and the music of Men- delssohn have made familiar to every ear. The harmonization of the melody was so perfect that; for some moments, Valerie scarcely noticed the voice that rendered it; then, all at once, the consciousness flashed upon her that she had never heard a purer tenor, and, notwithstanding her previously expressed opinion concerning the musical face, she felt herself completely taken by surprise. The natural power, sweetness? and compass of the voice, were remarkable; and as the result, perhaps, of good training, the style was almost perfect-being only sometimes a little strained and marred by a few florid exaggerations. They were very few, however; and, on the whole, his vocal- ization did such entire credit to himself, that V'alerie had no disposition to find fault, but sat in a state of enjoyment which was all the greater for being unexpected, while the rich, clear tones floated on, full and even, to the last cadence. When he finished, she looked up at him reproachfully. "I suppose people never do tell the truth about their own performances," she said; "but that you should speak of singing 'a little,' seems to me sacrilege, or, worse yet, affectation." "Let us consider it sacrilege, then, by all means," he answered. "One aim of my life ha~ been to steer clear of the odium of affectation, and I think I have partially suc- ceeded. People don't often call me affected -unless I forget myself far enough to be natural." "Now you are trying to be cynical." "On my honor, no. Nothing suits me less. And, seriously, I am more pleased than I can say, if you like my singing." "Like it? You must know how weak that expression is-you must know that it is beautifully Sing something else." "What shall it be?" "Some of your student-songs, if you re- member any of them-with a drinking cho- rus, and all that sort of thing. I have al- ways been~ curious to hear how they go." "They go delightfully when you have a *hundred or two voices in the chorus, the beer-cans, and the hurrabs; but how they will sound in solo I can hardly imagine. Nevertheless, you shall hear." And, suiting the action to the word, he burst into one of the ringing student songs that seemed to embody in every note the freshness and enthusiasm, the mirth~ and daring, the gayety and earnestness, of that wonderful Young Germany whose sponta- neous outbursts they were, and whose national lyrics they have become. lIe threw himself into it with a force that was electrifying, and to his listener's ear left nothing to be desired--even in the chorus, where he stopped to assure her that the clashing of wine-cups and swords was ne- cessary, as well as the volume of united voices. "If you could only hear 'The Sword-song' given in that way," he said, when he finished, and she was expressing her approbation- "K~rner's, of courseI mean-and Schiller's 'Trooper's song.' You have heard that, I suppose." And he dashed into itas he spoke: 'Up, comrades, and saddle I To horse and away, To the held where freedom's the prize, sirs i There hearts of true metal still carry the day, And men are the kings and the kalsers I"' When the end came, he gave her no time for comment, but rose at once from the piano-scat. "I have done my share," he said; "now it is your turn." But Valerie shook her head. "I don't sing often," she replied- "never in cold blood and bread daylight. Lower the curtains, light the gas, fill the rooms, put me at a fever-heat of social ex- citement, and I may sing for you perhaps moderately well; otherwise, I cannot think of such a thing." "What shall we do, then?" "Is it absolutely necessary for us to do any thing? I like sitting still very well- especially when my ankle pains." "Does it pain now?" "Yes, a little-but pray don't look so niuch concerned. It will soon be better. If you want to make yourself entertaining, you may tell me something about Jena. You can't.imagine what a fancy I have al- ways had for German student-life!" There could be no doubt of the fact that Miss Aylmer's popularity was very easily to be accounted for. By the bright waters and over the fair fields of their own favorite pursuit, or best-loved hohby~ she led her willing victims; giving to each the sweet smile and vivid interest that rarely flagged under any infliction, or had been known to falter in any emergency. It puzzled ordi- nary people-people who had none of this gift themselves~-to linagine how she could possibly adapt herself so readily to so many diverse minds and diverse tastes; but the page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 48 VALERIE AYLMER. THE GENERAL GIVES A WARNING. 4'7 truth really was, that half of it was done un- consciously. It was not that she meant to do it, or even wished to do it; but simply that she could not help doing it. It was her birthright-this chameleon-power of variation, this capability of tuning herseig as it were, to so many keys-and she could no more have explained her own modu8 qc- randi than the most puzzled among the lookers-on. It came natural to her. That was all she knew about the matter. It was the fairy gold which some elfin-power, more malicious than kind, had left beside her cradle; and she scattered it abroad with a lavish unconsciousness of its value- thinking only, caring only, that it won for her the homage which had never yet been missing from her path, and which she thought it would not be possible to live without. Sometimes, when she lookedmost interested, she was, in truth, dreadfully bored; but kindness of heart, as well as the tactics of coquetry, had some effect in teach- ing her that smiling endurance which dis- tinguishes the martyr of society, and both together bore her triumphantly through al- most any ordeal. Neither kindness of heart nor the tactics of coquetry had much to do with the earnest attention which she paid Julian Romney, as he obeyed her last request to the letter, and told her a great deal of his "wandering youth in the far, fair, foreign lands." He talked well, in a pictu- resque, graphic way of his own, and might have engrossed a less interested listener. As he talked, she listened-ever with those eloquent eyes that said more than many words-until her father's voice made her start, and her father's presence suddenly appeared in the doorway. Few people ever learned any thing from General Aylmer's face, but there were one or two signs known only to his daughter, and these told her at once that some serious concern was battling there with grave dis- pleasure. Before she had -time to indulge in a single conjecture, however, he advanced into the room, speaking quite as usual. "Valerie, I am sorry to disturb you, but I have just received a telegram from New Orleans, which necessitates my Immediate departure, and-" "A telegram 1" It was no wonder that the bright cheek grew so pale, or that those two words broke almostunconsciously from the lips. Few fem- inine nerves came so intact out of the four years' agony, as not to quail at that fateful word; and then war had spared her a brother. "Yes, a telegram," said her father, quiet- ly; "but there is no need for being alarmed. It is only Gibson, who telegraphs to me on a matter of business-but I must go at once." "You are sure it is nothing 'about Eu- gene, papa?" "Perfectly sure. But you can see for yourself if you desire." He handed her the well-known form of the telegraph company, filled in with' three or four written words. After reading them, her brow cleared wonderfully, and she looked up quite cheerfully. "I suppose you must go, papa, since you and Mr. Gibson both think so; but it is very provoking. Can't you at least wait until to-morrow?" "I can't wait an hour longer than the first train that leaves southward," the gener- al answered, a little impatiently. "Will you come to my room with me for a few min- utes? I have something to say to you.". Valerie knew her father better than to hesitate about complying with this request. She rose at onceand followed him up~ stairs. Once there, the general closed the door, and plunged into his subject without pre- liminary. "I have a very short time in which to say any thing, Valerie," he began; "so you need not be surprised, and I hope you will not be offended, if I speak plainly and forcibly. In the first place, I am very sorry t~ ~e that you have commenced a flirtation-or whatever else you choose to call it-with this young Romney." Valerie started and colored, biting her lip half-angrily. She had expected to be taken to task, bait not so soon, and not quite so abruptly. As it was, she was thrown off her guard, and could only take refuge in the thrice-commonplace--- "I don't understand you, sir." "Pardon me," her father retorted, '~ but I think you understand me perfectly. Per- haps you dom't understand my reasons for alluding to this, however, so I had better explain them. I never interfere with your amusements, as you know; partly because I have seen that you are perfectly capable of conducting them yourself, and partly be- cause you have never done any serious mis- ehief that I am aware of. A few broken h~jrts, more or less, are of small impor- tance; but let me tell you that you are play- ing here a heavier game than for a broken heart." His voice changed with the last words, and deepened so 'much in earnestness, that Valerie looked at him in simple surprise. Once more she said-this time sincerely- "I don't understand you." The general answered by one, straight- forward question: "What do you propose to yourself by turning this boy's head?" "Really, papa, I have no intention of turning his head." "You have not? Well, then, I wonder you take such a direct means to do it. Come, come, I have no time for feminine fencing. You can answer that question to yourself, if you don't care to answer it to me; but I warn you, solemnly, that you had better stop short in the matter. If ever you played with fire in your life, you are playing with it now!" Valerie looked up a little rebelliously. "If you twill say disagreeable things, papa, I really think you might express them more clearly. What are you afraid of? Surely, not that I will marry lAm?" "No," answered her father, coolly, "you are too ~sensible for that. A pretty face is n~ li*tely to ensnare you, and I don't know that there is any thing else here. The boy seems a mere spoiled 'child, and is said to be very much given to gambling and dissipa- tion besides. Your grandfather plainlydoes not lik~ him; and you would entirely alien- ate him by such a choice. NoIam not afraid of your marrying him-you wrn be tired enough of your toy in less than a week; but the mischief will be done then." "What mischief?" The general was packing his trunk; but he suspended the operation to turn round and look at his daughter. "I am afraid you are growing stupid, Valerie," he, said, quietly. "Is it possible you do not see that, if you bring any harm or suffering to Julian Romney, you make a bit- ter and unscrupulous enemy of his mother?" Miss Aylmer started - then recovered herself and laughed a little. "Why, we are growing quite melodra- matic, papa. People don't have enemies, these days; or, if thty do, they take it out in saying spiteful things about one another. Madame Vacquant reached that interesting stage, as far as I am concerned, long ago, and I don't see what other harm she can do me." "Then you know very little of the woman, or of her influence in this house," said her father, gravely. "She can harm you bitterly, in a hundred ways'; if she has never done so before, it has been because her dislike was more passive than active. Make it active once, and you had better doubt that the sun is in the heavens than that she will work you ill." "I don't see-" "No," he interrupted, impatiently, "it is like a woman never to see, until too late for sight to be of any service. But, remember that I warn you 1-remember, too, that this boy is of somewhat different metal than those you are accustomed to dealing with. If he blows out his brains-" "Oh papa, pray hush!" "Why, you need not be surprised. He looks quite absurd enough to do it. Now, mark me: if you go on with this, it Will be at your own risk, but it is next to impos- sible that the consequences should fall on yourself alone. What do you say? Will you promise me to let the young fellow alone?" He asked the question somewhat doubt- fully; but there was no hesitation in Va- lens's reply. She looked up, and answered readily: "Why did you not ask me that at once, papa, and spare yourself all this long tirade 2 Of course, I will promise. There's not the least difficulty about it; for I never meant any thing else than letting him alone. I al- page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 most feel as if he were a child-quite as if I should take undue advantage of his youth and ignorance, if I made him fall in love with me. Is that all?" "Not quite-" and here the general hesitated before going on: "by-the-way, you have not told me what you think of this Darcy." "Is there any thing to think?" she asked, carelessly. "He seems to me quite a nonentity-muscular, perhaps, but certain- ly not interesting." "Then you are a worse judge of charac- ter than I supposed," said her father, with some perceptible chagrin in his voice. "I confess I was in hopes you had estimated the man more justly. For myself, I was very agreeably disappointed in him-he is thoroughly a gentleman, and one of the most companionable men I have met in a long time.~~ "Ah, yes; but then you forget, papa, that you have horses and politics to talk about; while 1 have nothing-besides, he takes no notice of me." "Whose fault is that?" "Indeed, I don't know-mine perhaps. But I don't- think it matters. I never appre- ciated the full absurdity of grandpapa's pro- posed arrangement, until I saw the object of It. lie is a very good sort of person in his way, I suppose; but I laugh whenever I think of him as a lover." The general looked grave. "What are your objections to him?" he asked. At which question, the demoiselle laughed gayly. "Objections? Why I could not begin to remetnber them. Perhaps I had better sum them all up in one-I don't like him!" "But you scarcely know him." "Qt&'importe? It is all the same. You won't credit it, papa, but these things are matters of instinct, not of reason. I could not tell you why it is that every thing Captain Darcy says and does impresses me disagreeably; but, the fact remains the fact, none the less." She spoke very decidedly; and her fa- thor. turned away, with grave displeasure *in his face. AX1i~4~. "You wrn live to regret all this, Va- lerie," he said. Then he rang the bell for his servant, and, taking the hint, Miss Ayl- mer left the room. An hour or two afterward, the general took his departure, leaving, as his last words to his daughter, when he kissed her good-by- "Remember your promise." -4--- CHAPTER IV. A WILFUL WOMAN. Iv view of much that is to be told here. after, it may be well to say now, that Miss Aylmer was perfectly sincere in making the aforesaid promise, nor less sincere in the intention to fulfil it. Even before her fa~ other's warning, she had begun to think that it might be as well to keep "hands off" Julian Romney; for she estimated none too strongly the undisciplined passion of which that mobile face was an index, and felt none too truly that of the "lightly-won, lightly- lost" philosophy, this nature was incapa- ble-but after the general had delivered himself, she made a very decided resolu- tion to steer clear of all possible danger or trouble in such a quarter; and, for a time, kept this resolution with a constaney'that did her credit. It was something quite new, and something very tiresome, she found, to be all the time on her guard against making herself too attractive; but still she per- severed in the face of all difficulties, and, by this perseverance, proved conclusively that, of the sin of wilful and deliberate coquetry, her hands were stainless. If, after a while, she yielded to the temptations held out by idleness and levity, and borne on to consequences grievous as any that follow upon premeditated wrong, at least it will be seen that she did not forfeit all claim to compassion, and that she may be allowed a place in the wide ranks of those who have learned, from bitter experience, that it is one thing to sow the seed, and another to reap the harvest; one thing to set a storm in motion, and another to quell it; one A WILFUL WOMAN. 49 thing to loosen a dam, and another' to stop a lisod; one thingto commit folly, end quite another to avert evil. If this story oan be said to contain a moral, it may indeed be compressed into a few words just here: it may be defined as an attempt (not strikingly successful, perhaps) to show how the con- sequences of folly are often as great and wide-spread as the consequences of crime; how no one is so insignificant but that his most thoughtless develictions of duty may prove fruitful of harm and suffering to many besides himself; and how one tiny peb- ble of wrong-doing, cast into the waters of human life, will widen into circle after cir- cle, until human eyes lose sight of its far- thest vibration. For some time after the general's de- parture, matters went on very smoothly, Valerie played her new rile, if not to per- fection, at least very creditably; and there were no more charmed ttite-4-t.~tes, no more fascinating smiles or liquid glances for the puzzled Romney, who found him- self suddenly removed to a ceremonious dis- tance-and kept there. She managed this the more readily, since there was a great deal to be done in the way of preparing for the winter campaign, and Madame V'ac- quant insisted on launching her into the midst of dress-makers and visitors without delay. As for Romney himself, he was enough a man of the world to feel that the barrier thus unexpectedly erected was none the less decided for being quite intangible; and he wasted no useless strength against it. He took the place assigned him, and bided his time-assured that it would come all the sooner for this quiescence. If a man is very much in earnest, such a policy is next thing to impossible to him; yet it is, o~ all policy, the wisest-and so Julian - (who, truth to tell, adopted it sorely against his own will) soon found. Valerie would easily have steeled herself against his efforts, if he had been foolish enough to make any, but the wistful reproach of his eyes was quite another thing, especially when that reproach was seconded by his unexception- able conduct. So, of hey own accord~ she began to thaw a littie-unbending all the more willingly, since she had really taken 4 quite a fancy to him. Not a fancy that was very deep, or that promised to be 6f lon~ duration, - but which wtis, - nevertheless, tolerably deeid&I, in the half-patronizing way that women of her stamp ave fond of affecting toward men of his. Indeed, while the gloss of novelty was on him, he in- terested her very much. He had no depth, either of talent or culture-she soon Ais- covered that-but the ~urface was very well polished, and sparkled alittls, indep~ndeutly of the polish. He had no stamina or force of character whatever, and was the soi~t of' person ~ho would, as he grew older, either~' go to the dogs completely, or else 'settle down into commonplace medkcrity. But. while he was young, he had that quickiiess, that somewhat adaptive cleverness, which goes a great way in society, and often gains for its possessor a reputation for talent~ 6r even positive genius, which is deservedithe least in the world. Almost any 'one, of ordinarily keen perception, looking at~ his face, could have read a tolerably accurate horoscope of his future-could have said at once that he would never resolve any thih~ with sufficient earnestness for its fulfilment, and, if he ever achieved any thing~ 'would mar it by his own hasty passion or ill- judged action; but tha eyes of youth are not ordinarily of keen perceptio~i, and that face was a very beautiful one. If anybody else at all attractive had ebme across Va- lerie's path just then, she inlght, not~$th- standing her interest in him, have let' his evident tendre&se die of inanitiou; but ther& was literally nobody. Ilatitaine, poor fellow~, had been left behind in Louisiana, aii& all the new acquaintances Which Baltimor. society had thrown into her life were' abs~ lute nonentities. It is true there wasDarcy -but, then, Darcy was her abhorrence. And so, perhaps, the convenient abstraction, which we call Fate, waa more, to blame than any one else, as days elided into weeks and the general's caution giew more, and~ more dim in his daughter's remembrance. After all, had he not 'been unreasonable in requesting her to "let alone" the' only available x~iaterial f~r am~isement on hand? She began to think so; and then she also began to think that Romney belonged t~ page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] / 50 VALERIE h~r, world, and knew as pinch about flirta- t~on a~ she did, and ~was as little likely to be hurt by ~t, ~ etc. After that point w~s, reached, i~ was not difficult to conjec- ture what became of the promise. Meanwhile, it is time that a word or two was said c.on~arning one who is, in a certain sense, the hero yar excellence of the story in progress -i.. e., Maurice Darcy. But let no one fear an analysis of his i~har- acter, or a~ history ~f his life. That charac- ter must speak, for itself in the pages before us, or else it will be hardly worth speaking at all; and that life has little or nothing to do with the position he occupied during the last days of theyear 1865. Notwithstand- ing the uncomfortable perplexities to which ithad given rise, this position was a very simple one. Artist as he was by profession, foreigner as he was by birth and rearing, there had been enough of straightforward heroism about this man to bring him to the aid 4f his mother's country.when that coun- try~was lighting her desperate fight for in- dependence against those overwhelming odda which the civilized world arrayed against her; and enough of enduring forti- tude to keep him in her thinned and starv- ing ranks to the very last. When that last caine- when the Cqnfederacy, with one great death-gasp, sank bleeding and helpless -he was lying wounded and sick in a hospi- tal at Richmond. While there, he fell under the kind care of some exiled Marylanders, and, it was through them that M. Vacquant learned his condition. Now, it chanced that the remembrance of his sister had been fur years the skeleton at the latter's feast of lif~;. and he caught gladly at the opportu-~ nity thus offered of reconciliation with her sen. His advances were so eagerly, so al- most humbly made, that it would have been impossible for any but a churl to reject them; and so, by very natural and. simple me Maurice Darey became a guest in his uncle's house. That his stay had length- ened so greatly, was partly the fault of M. - Vacqnsnt, who closed his ears to the least hint of departure; and partly that of his wopnd, which had given him a great deal of trouble; and was only just beginning to heal in a satisfactory way when the year AYLMER during which, it had been received, was drawing to a close: b~it was not in the least owing to any hopes of heirship, or to 'any desire for a remembrance in that last will and testament which his uncle would one day needto make. Darcy knew very, well that his mother's portion of her father's es- tate had been forfeited when she married against her brother's wishes, but it never occurred to him that even this portion might be his right. He was not a man whose thoughts turned readily to such things -indeed he was a man whom the majority of the world would have counted culpably indifferent to them-and therefore he was slow to appreciate that even lie might per- haps fall under the odium of making mer~ cenary calculations. The decision to which NJ. Vacquant had arrived-the decision of giving to him, instead of to Valerie, the prominent place in his will-was entirely unknown to him; as was also the matrizno- nial plan which had so moved Miss Aylmer's indignation. In his own opinion, the, prince. ly revenues of the Viceroy of Egypt, con~ cerned him quite as nearly as his uncle's for- tune; an~1 if he yet lingered in Baltimore, instead of plumbing his wings for. distant flight, it was more because one who has been long storm-tossed is apt to like a peaceful harbor, than for any other reason. With regard to Miss Aylmer, he thought so little, that there is little to be said.. He had been prepared to meet her cordially and frankly, as became a kinsman; and she had seen fit to repulse his advances from the very first. Hedid not take the trouble to resent her dislike, but still less did he feel inclined to take the trouble to conquer. it. Difficulty here did not quicken him to exer- tion, as it would have done in any other case, because he saw no result that was worth the gaining; and so he let any chance of obtaining her friendly regard go by default. She was not the kind of wom- an who possessed any attraction for hir~i;. and therefore her good or ill opinion was. very much a matter of indifference to him~ .-a fact which, after a while, Valerie her- self perceived. Whether her disposition to coquetry disgusted him, or whether he fan~ cied her much more foolish and vain than A WILPU was really the case, she could not tell; but at least it was impossible to doubt that, from some cause or other, her beauty and fascination fell harmless on him. If he ad- mired her, as an abstract work of art, that was quite as far as he went. sometimes she doubted even that. Sometimes a glance of those cool, critical eyes filled her with a cu- rious sense of detected guilt, when she met them in the midst of some fascinating by- play. After a while, she grew rather shy of exercising her arts of coquetry when that quick ear was near at hand, and was obliged to take refuge in commonplaces- conscious that she was held at a disadvan- tage. Of course, none of this made her like Darcy more cordially: on the contrary, she honored him with quite an aversion, and never by any chance spoke to or of him when she could possibly avoid it. Several weeks elapsed before a very mild autumn cameo an end, and Winter an- nounced the beginning of his reign by a fall of snow, which immediately set all the sleigh-bells of the city jingling. Consider- ing her Southern birth and rearing, it was not singular that Valerie should have felt some curiosity to test the enjoyment of this novel amusement, and her face was bright as a sunbeam when she entered the break- fast-room on the morning after the storm. "Your promise, grandpapa 1" she cried, before even the morning greetings were ex- changed. "You have not forgotten it, I hope? The first snow, you said-and the first snow is here." "Of course I have not forgotten it," said M. Vacquant, hissing her, as she bent over him. "A sleigh-ride was it not?-a sleigh- ride you shall certainly have." "Was that all?" "Quite all, I think." "Then I must refresh your memory,~~ returned she. "It was a sleigh-ride, un- doubtedly; but it was also the thorough- breds. No, 'you need not try to look sur- prised. I remember it perfectly; and so, I am sure, do ycu." So, indeed, he did-much better than he liked, as his face-rather blank and crest- fallen-said at once. The matter stood thus: the thorough-breds in question were L WOMAN. 51 a pair whioli Darcy and General Ay1~ner had bought at the sale they attended to- gether, on the day of the general's. dep~rt- ure. NJ. Yacquant had been enthusiasti- cally pleased with them, and not without good cause. They were nearly perfect in bone and blood, as beautiful as pictures, and wonderful in their qualities of speed; but- they were by no means safe. They had gone to the hammer on account of a serious accident caused by their running away with their last owner; and Darcy had only pur- chased them because he intended to break them himself. As yet, no one else had tried them, but Valerie looked at them with eyes of desire, and, to silence her importunity, M. Vacquant had promised that, as soon as the first snow fell, she should see what they could do in a sleigh. Perhaps a rash prom- ise was never more heartily regretted than this, when he heard Valerie claim it, and, looking up, met the grave eyes of his nephew. "Enfan4" ho said, uneasily, "I am not sure about this.-Maurice, what do' you think? are the horses sufficiently safe to be trusted?" "I should certainly say not," Darcy an- swered. "I have not taken them out for several days, but I should have been very sorry to have had a lady for my companion then." M. Vacquant turned to his grand-daugh- ter. "You hear that, Valerie I " he said, in the tone of one who considers a matter defi- nitely settled. But so, evidently, Valerie did not regard it. "Yes, I hear, grandpapa," she answered, coolly. "But is Captain Darey always in- fallible? I am sure it seemed to me that the horses were going beautifully, and as quietly as possible, when I saw them 'the other day. At all events, I am not afraid-a~d that is the question." "Pardon me," Darcy remarked," but I cannot agree with you in considering that the question. Your lack of fear would not save you from serious consequences, if those horses behaved as they are likely to do." Valerie turned and looked inquiringly at Romney, who was carelessly sipping his cof- page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] VAL~R~E AYL~ER. A WILFUL WOMAN. 53' fee. "Are you afraid ?~' she aaked1 with a, smile that would haye dared eyeu a coward to answeI~ in theaffirmative. lint, w~iatever his other faults? Julian was nqt, a 9(~warAl, a~id there wan no affec- tation ii~l~s rpply. " Yo~ k~ew. that I am at your service; buti confess I should not lil~eto be art and part in any accident.-Darcy, do those houses invariably run away?" They invariably trr, to dQ 50.~~ Absurd! "broke in Valerie, petuIantl~. "As if you cannot see that Captain Darcy is~giving the poor fellows as had-a character as he po~sib~ean! For my part, I always inpilue t~~tb~e side of the rnaligned.-]3e- sides, grandpapa, this is not an open ques- tion-you bavo promised!" Poor M. Vacquant looked genuinely dis- tressed, ~ud did not answer for several minutes. Then he said, doubtfully: - "I can only consent on one condition, Valerie-that Maurice drives you." "I cannot think of ti'oubling Captain Darcy5" said Valerie, coldly. "And I en- tirely question your right to make condi- tions about an unconditional promise. At least I don't mean to imitate your example; for, having promised Mr. Romney that he shall have the perilous honor of driving me, I, mean to keep my engagement." At those words, Romney looked up quickly, with a bright flush of pleasure dye- ing his face, while Darcy's countenance did not change in the least, notwithstanding that something of quiet amusement flickered into the deep-gray eyes. When he spoke, however, it was as courteously and kindly as possible. "I know you would be making a great sacrifice, ~iss Aylmer, in exchanging Juli- an's society f~r mine; buthe must excuse me it; i~or ex~oe,. I press you to do so. I do not mean to question either his nerve or ability, but he has never driven these horses, and therQ is a great deal-almost every thing~..4n a thorough acquaintance between )~orse and driver." "I certainly should not like to take him into danger~'~1 Valerie was beginning, whoRL Julia~i interrupted her. "Exonac me, but that is no question at all. If you would feel more safe under Dar-. cy's care, I should not hesitate a moment to waive any claim which your goodness may allow me; but when you come to consider me-why, then, I have no option but to re- mind you of your promise. Now,, the tone of this pleased Valerie. There was more of straightforward manli- ness, less of boyish petulance, thau was usual with the speaker; so, after giving hini one bright smile, she turned to Maurice. "You hear that, Captain Darcy? Of course, after this, I can do nothing save thank you for your offer, and decline it." Darcy apparently had not expected~ any thing else. At least he did not look at all disappointed, but only said: "Then let me hope you will not insist on driving the thorough-breds. Surely Raven and Falcon may once more be al- lowed the honor of serving you.~~ "Yes," said M. Vacquant, eagerly. "I am sure you wrn be reasonable, Valerie." "I hope I am reasonable, grandpapa," Valerie answered. "But what has reason to do with this? It seems to me that in- timidation is the only argument which has been employed6 Now, I never was intimi- dated into a thing in my life; and as for Raven and Falcon, they may suit Captain Darcy, but they are entirely too fat and lazy to suit me! I must have the thorough- breds-or nothing." It was plain to see that this wasan tilti~ matum. The flushed cheek and compressed lip said so, even more plainly than her words; and, with a sigh, N!. Yacquant gave up the point. "You are acting like a child, and a spoiled one, into the bargain, Valerie," he said; "but I suppose you must have your own way.-Julian, I shall look to you for her safety-remember that!" Of course, Juhian made a suitable and be- coming response.; but, after that, conversa- tion sensibly languished. N!. Vacquant seemed to be seriously disquieted; Madan~e Vacquant, though she had i~ot interfered by word' or glance, looked grave; and even Valerie began to feel i~aguely uncomforta" ble, After breakfast this feeling decidedly in- creased. It was not, in the least, one of fear-of that sensation she was physically incapable-but rather one of shame, as if she had extorted some concession to which she had no right, 'besides acting very foolish- ly. If her grandfather only had been con- cerned in the matter, she would certainly have gone to him and offered a compromise; but then-as she steeled herself by think- ing-it was not to him that she would be yielding, but to Maurice Darcy. She thought of his cool, decided advice, and-no-she could not give him this triumph. Any thing else would be preferable! She was on her way down to the library-half-ready to make a sacrifice of her inclination-when this consideration brought her to a sudden pause. It chanced to be just under a richly- stained window, which threw its gules of gorgeous color down from above, making her look like some transfigured picture after the old Italian school, when Maurice Darcy came suddenly upon her. For a moment, he caught his breath-few artists would not have done so, at sight of such rare loveli- ness-and then he advanced directly. "I am glad to meet you, Miss Aylmer," he said, in his frank way. "I was just coming in search of you. It has occurred to me, since breakfast, that perhaps I did not speak strongly enough to deter you from your intended drive, or to induce you to accept my escort. I sometimes err on the side of ~rusquerie, and I may have done so in this instance. But I beg you to believe the sincerity of my warning and my offer." "I never doubted either," Valerie said- touched despite herself by his tone and man- uer-",and you do yourself injustice when you talk of bru&juerie. I saw nothing what- aver that savored of it. But, in repeating your offer, you forget that I am engaged to ~Xr. ~omney." "Julian, I am sure, would not hesitate to release you; and I feel less compunction in urging the sacrifice, than I should if my motive was a selfish one." Perhaps this too candid statement jarred on the ear which had been so long accus- I tomed to flattery's softest accents; at least, Valerie bit her lip as she answered, rather 1 coolly: "thank you. But my drive would not give me much pleasure, if I khew that I was victimizing you all the time. Now, Mr. Romney will not regard it so purely in' the light of an unpleasant matter of~ duty. Therefore, I prefer to run a shade more risk with him." "I am afraid you have misunderstood me again," Darcy said; "or else I am very unfortunate about expressing myself. I am sure nothing could be less of~ 'unpleasant duty'than such a service; hind, if "I did not speak of myself in the matter, it was only because I did not fancy that my enjoyment would interest you.~~ "Probably, also, you could n~t do so, conscientiously." There was much of sarcasm in the tone which made this amendment; but Darcy ignored it entirely-answering simply and honestly: "You are mistaken. I have not been able to contribute any thing 'to your enjoy- ment hitherto, but nothing would give me more pleasure than to do so now~' The accent of kindly sincerity in his tone conquered, for the moment, Valerie's petulant wilfulness. She felt ashamed of herself; and action was quick upon feeling, with this impulsive nature. The dark eyes looked up with the contrition of' a penitent child in their depths, and the voice, that was never without the music of the sweet South, sounded unusually soft and low when she answered: "Pray pardon me. It is I 'who have been brusque, and, I fear, ungrateful. You are very kind to be concerned about piy safety, and I shall be glad-" Afoot fall, and a soft, rustle of silk, mache ber break off abruptly. The next moment, N!adame Vacquant comedown the staircase, on the lauding of which they st0od. ng them, she paused.' "So Maurice is trying the effect of per~ ~uasion, since intimida~iou ~faik~," shesaid, with a smile, "and apparently' witli more ~ffect. At least I thought I'iiear~i some- ~hing about 's~iaIl be 'giamdY-ahdi~wjoor milan's sake, I hope it does ~.ot m~n leaving him in the lurch?" "I have been trying to persuade Miss page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 VALERIE AYLMRR. A WILPUI WOMAN. Ayhner that, for Julian's sake, as well as her own, it would be well to inflict the desolation upon him," Darcy answered, be- fore Valerie could reply. "You will agree with me, I am sure." The lady smiled-that cold, calm smile which never, by an~v chance, warmed into genial expression-and shook her head. * "Perhaps I ought to agree with you," she said ; ~" but theil, mothers are very fool- ish, and I can't help thinking of poor Juli- an's disappointment. He will feel it so much!" "I-I was thinking more of him than of myself," said Valerie, quickly. "Then I have his reputation for cour- age suflibiently at heart, to beg you not to think of him any more," answered Madame Vacquant. "He would never forgive me if I did n.ot assure you that nothing is needed less than consideration of his safety. Be- sides, I can testify, from personal knowledge, that he is really an excellent whip." "But these horses "-Darcy began. "Encuse me," Valerie interrupted, "but please don't abuse them any more, for my mind is made up. If I am not to consider Mr. Rumney, I am sure I don't consider my- self; so the use of the thorough-breds is .a settled fact. I am much obliged to you for your kind offer to drive me; but a prom- ise given should be a promise kept, you know." She bent her head very gracefully at the last words, and, before Darcy could reply,, washalf-wayup the stairs, vanishiuginaflood of purple and golden light. He looked af- ter her for a umment, then turned to Madame Vacquant with a slight shrug of his shoul- ders. "Awilful woman always does have her own way, I believe," he said. "But I confessI am sorry Miss Aylmer is so obsti- nate. ik'r Julian's sake, as well as for her own, it is a pity, madame, that you had not thro~i*n your influence in the other scale." The face before him paled a little. you-~-.do you really think there is any danger I" sh~ asked. "Ithiiikit is a great risk, to say the least. If you could even yct persuade Miss Aylmer.-. "There's not the faintest hope of that," she interrupted. "You see, for yourself, how spoiled and wilful she is. She is cer- tainly going; and I do not think that, even if I had not spoken, she would have ac. cepted your offer." "She is good enough to honor me with quite a dislike, I know," he answered. "I might be sorry, if I was conscious of ever having done any thing to deserve it; but, as it is, I really have not troubled myself on the subject-feeling sure that I fail in some point which it is out of my power to mend." They were descending the stairs togeth ci', and, at these words, Madame Vacquant looked at him with a slight laugh. "You are wonderfully honest and sim- ple, my dear Maurice," she said. "Is it possi. ble you are really so blind as not to know why Valerie dislikes you?" "How should I know?" he asked, care- lessly. "I take it for granted that she does not fancy ray brus~jvuerie and plainness; but, beyond that, I have not even hazarded a conjecture." "I don't suppose she fancies your stand- ard of gallantry," the lady answered; "but I doubt if she would go to the length of positively disliking it. The truth is-and any one but yourself would long since have seen it-she thinks you may come in for a large share of her fortune." Darcy's eyes opened in the most genu. me astonishment. "For a large share? Why, what have I to do with her fortuiie?" he asked. "Pahaw 1" said his companion, a little impatiently. "I am afraid I must vote you dull as well as honest. Look at the matter yourself; and you will see what you have to do with her fortune; or, rather, with her fu- ture prospect of fortune. She is her grand- father's direct heiress; but you are his nephew, and she evidently fears that your influence over him may result in your shar- ing her inheritance." The words were scarcely uttered before the speaker saw that she had not overrated their probable effect. A dark-red flush surged hotly over Darey's brow, and a quick gleam of haughty indignation flashed into his eyes. Taken by surprise as he was, the insult of such a suspicioninade itself felt at once, and the whole natureof the man rose in arms to resent it. "What does Miss Aylmer consider me ~" he said. "What kind of a dastard does she think it would be who could scheme to rob a woman of her inheritance, without a shadow of claim! She would have paid me a higher compliment if she had suspected ineof open theft!" "Don't be foolish, or I shall be sorry for having told you," said the lady, eagerly. "You know the world, and the ways of it. Every man takes what he can get, by cun- ning or by force; and we judge men, not according to the exception, but according to the rule. Valerie, no doubt, thinks it very natural that you should desire to supplant her in her grandfather's will." "Thinks it natural that I should desire it!" said Darcy, who plainly could not see the force of such an explanation. "Pardon me, madame, but, if she thinks so, it only proves one thing-that nobody ever yet was ~'eady to suspect another of what she was incapable of herself!" They had reached the library-door by this time, and, opening it for her, he saw her in, then bowed, and went his way. At luncheon, every one avoided, with great care, the debatable ground, and it was not until they rose fi'om table that Romney said to Miss Aylmer: "Will threc o'clock suit you as the hour for starting ?-the afternoons are so short now, that we ought not to be later than that." "It ~will suit me quite well," she an- swered, hesitating a moment, as if about to ~tdd something else, but, catching Darcy's ey~, she colored and remained silent. After that, nothing further was said, excepting by Madame Vacquant, wholooked up as Vale- rie was leaving the room, and advised warm wrappings. "For I really think we shall have another fall of snow," she said, rising andwalking to one of the windows. Julian followed her, and, while they looked out on the dreary scene, which was made up of snow-covered roof and a leaden sk~r, the mother spoke fast and eagerly: "For God's sake, take care of your- self!" she said, passionately. "My heart begins to misgive me terribly. I scarcely think the end is worth the risk-at least not such a risk as this! If her neck was broken, it would not be much more than she deserves; but for ~~ou-O Julian, Juli~ an, promise me that you will not be rash!" Juhian frowned impatiently. No eyes save his had ever seen that pleading look on his mother's face; but he seemed strangely unmoved by it. "Of course I will not be rash," ho said. "I have Miss Aylmer's safety, as well as my own, to think of; you know. I hope you won't be so absurd as to make yourself uneasy, mother-I have told you that there is really no danger in driving the horses. All this talk about their vicious habits is pure braggadocio on Darcy's part, t~ reflect glory on himself." ~ she answered. "I know you told me so, or else I should not have inter- fered as I did this morning, when Valerie was on the point of accepting his escort. I have been sorry for it ever, since; I am still more sorry now that the time draws near." "Sorry for it I "-the handsome face was all set and lowering-" you are cer- tainly kind to say that, when you know how much depends on this. I thought you would walk on to your end, over any thing, mother!" "Over any thing but' your safety," the mother answered, shivering slightly. Then she drew back, and said no more. An hour or two later, Pierre, the most dignified and urbane of arzcien-rA~'im# ne- groes, knocked at the door of Darcy's room, and announced the arrival of the sleigh. "Well," said the latter, who was deep in a sketch, "what have I to do with it? Mr. Roinney is the person whom, you should inform of the fact." "Mr. Romney has gone a~wn, sir," Pierre answered; "but I thought-maybe you meant td see him oft; and so I; niade bold to tell you." . Darcy looked upand read-as a duller man might hate done-~.-a painful anxiety in.. the honest, bronze face before him. He re-~ membered how long the. ~ld servant had~ page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] VALERIJII AYLMER. DFIIIRThIO..DO. knp~n~and loved Valerie; and it was char- ~a4eistic of th~ man. that he answered as fr~ikly an4 ~kin4ly as ig he had been speak- ing to the best gentleman in the lai~d. "I see wh~t yo~ mean, Pierre~ but~what ea4n F 4~? Literally nothing. Miss Ayhner is determined to be driven by Mr. Romney,' qud alJ'that we can hope is, that the thor- pugh-breds will for once behave them- "You couldn't hope that, if you looked at them, sir," Pierre replied. "I've seed vicious horses in my life, but I never seed *~y thing that looked like these. It's as mnch as t~o boys can do to held 'em now." Darcy's fa~e settled gravely; but he only shook his~head and repeated again: :1 can do nothing." and see 'em off, You can come down end' maybe give them a warning, sir," Pierre pleaded. "I've seen Mr. Julian drive, and L9rd bee you, sir, Miss Valerie herself can manage the reins as well as him I,' "It would be strange if he did know much about it," Derey muttered. The next moment he was on his way down-stairs. lie found only Jalian and his mother in the hail, for Valerie had not yet made her appearance. Neither was M. Yacquant vis- ible; so, merely .eying.- "I have coma to see you off, Romney,~~ he passed on to the outer door. The sleigh-a very light and elegant lit- tle cutter-looked graceful and inviting enough to hqve tempted almost any gaze to linger on it; but Parcy's eye did not do so~ aven for a moment. His glance settled on the b.er~es, and he recognized at once the justice e~ ~'ierre's judgment. They were in- deed so restive that it required all the strength of two grooms to keep them still, and, if there was any teuth in the warning of eye or movement, they meant mischief, as surely as thos~ firm hands were once taken ~ft~enm ~their $ts. "They're awful bad to-day, sir," oneof ~the men an ,jtouehinghiacapas h~ caught Thirey~s eye.,- iitp'xaps a hand like your'n may do 'em some goo4. ~I have never seen '~n po fractions b~forpthQugh." "I am not going to drive them," Mau- rice answered, shortly; and, as be spoke, a light, silvery voice in his rear cried gayly, "Oh, what beautiful creatures!" And the next moment he drew aside to let Miss Aylmer pass. She was looking radiantly lovely in her close-fitting velvet jacket and becoming ermine furs. So, when she paused, he felt his face relaxing in spite of himself. "Won't you at least give me a lion von- age, Captain Darcy?" she said, with a bright smile. "I am sorry to seem so dread- fuUy obstinate, but I am sure nobody could ever plead a greater temptation thanthat;" and she pointed to the horses, whose spir- ited heads, and curving necks made a very attractive picture just then. "Eon eoyage, with all my heart," Darcy answered, "and I trust sincerely that I may prove the most unreliable prophet in the world. May I put you in th~ sleigh?" She looked back, and, seeing that her grandfather was holding fast the impatient Julian, nodded assent, and extended her hand. The next moment she was ensconced in the deep, luxurious seat, and Darcy was drawing the buffalo-robes well round her, when Julian came up and sprang in. While he gathered up the reins, the other found time for one last caution. "Be sure and keep a firm, steady rein on them, Romney; never relax it for one moment, although there are some things plensanter on the arms. I would not advise you to begin any very interesting conversa- tion, either; for they need constant watch- ing. If they once take the bits between their teeth, turn the sleigh over in the first drift you come to-any thing will be better than leaving yourselves at their merey~ end yen are not likely to 'stop them. I hope all will go well, however.-I~Tow, let go their heads, 'boys." The grooms fell back on each side, and the same instant, with a bound that nearly draggedJulian from his seat, the thorough.. breds were off, As, they whirled out of sight, around the sharp corner of the street, all that conld be seen was the hand which Valerie wave4 over ,the hack of the sleigh in triumphant ~enjoyment. Darcy watched them with suspended breath, as long as they were visible. When they vanished, lie turned round, and per- ceived his umde Atanding on the steps, with a very disturbed face. ~ he said, anxiously, "I wish I had not allowed this I-I wish I had inter- fered even a moment ago. Surely you see that that boy will never be able to control those horses?" "You could easily have prevented his attempting it, sir," Darcy answered, dryly; for in truth he felt very little sympathy with~ the weakness which M. Vacquant ha7l so conspicuously displayed. "I know !-I know !-" the other said, impatiently. "I was very foolish to allow it; but it won't save Valerie, that I recog- nize the fact now.-Maurice, for God's sake, follow them, and try to do something!" Maurice shrugged his shoulders. Ft cer- tainly seemed rather singular that, after dis- regarding all his advice, M. Vacquant should now implore his aid; but perhaps the re- quest tallied with his own desire-at all events, he only answered, by turning to one of the grooms, and saying: "Bring Bayard out at once. Don't waste time about it, for I will be down again in a minute." In little more than that time, he was mounted, and galloping after the sleigh. -4-- CHAPTER V. DERRING-DO. MuAvwmLn, the thorough-breds were behaving so well that, as they whirled into the park-gates without having met with any misadventure, Julian could not forbear a sneer on the absent horseman, who was just then cantering down Garden Street toward them. "You see now how much season there was for Darcy's fears; and how much prob- able trulili in his representations of danger. Tho horses are certainly spirited, 'but as for the rest-it was nonsense, to say the least of it! We can make allowances, however, 'for the weaknesses of athletic nature. There really is no creature alive so vain of muSCu- lar repute as your would-be 'plunger."' lie spoke with more bitterness than Va- lerie fancied; but, as she herself was very much reassured by the good behavior of the horses-she could not see the vicious devil in their eyes, which only waited a suitable opportunity, or plausible pretext, for exhibi- tion-she, too, began to entertain very much the same opinion of Darcy's warning. So, she did not utter any rebuke, but only said, with a laugh: "He probably wanted to keep the en- joyment and the glory all to himself. I can scarcely blame him-they do go so delight- fully I-but still he need not have made me feel as uncomfortable as I have felt all They were skimming down? one of the snow-covered roads which branched to the right from the main entrance, when she said this, and Julian repeated her words at once. "Uncomfortable all day! I am very sorry to hear that, and-surprised too. I did not think you would have let him influ- ence you, and "-a sensible lowering of the voice-" I thought you might perhaps have felt some reliance on me." "I don't know that he influenced me- that is, made me afraid," she answered, nonchalantly; "at least if only myself had been concerned, I am sure I should not have hesitated a moment; but I felt rather ashamed of insisting on a mere caprice, and I began to be a little apprehensive lest I might be taking you into danger.~~ Words conld not have been uttered in a more matter-of-fact tone than these last, yet they brought a warm light into Rom- ney's face, and a yet warmer tone into his voice. "You were very good to tl4k of me," he said. "To be so considei'ed,, I fe~i' I should hesitate very little over real dangei~. I am almost sor~y that there is none in this -thtit I might prove to you how much I would do to ~ratify even a 'caprice" of yours." "I am sure you are doing a great deal," she said, cordially. "Captain Darcy 'would page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] '58 VALERIII~ AYLMER. DIIIIIRING.DO. 59 ta~re yon to task.very severely for speaking ~o diareapeetfully of our present enterprise ; and, whether or not there is danger in it, there is at least risk enough to make me grateful for your willingness to give me .pleasure." "I would empty my veins to do that!" he, answered, with a touch of the boy's high-flown exaggeration, yet enough of the man's earnestness to fire Za ?elle des 1)ellee with the spirit of her favorite sport. "Pshaw! " she said, with the saucy smile of half-challenge, half-defiance, which had turned more heads than a few. "It is so easy to make professions-especially when there is not the least danger of beizig taken seriously... You had better rest contented on your laurels; for there's always risk in giving a carte Idaneke of that sort to fem- inine vanity. I might be tempted to make a heavy draft on your daring." "Draw to any amount, and see if it be not promptly honored," he replied, readily, for his had been a very fair flirtation train- ing before this. Miss Aylmer shook her head. "I beg you won't tempt me, for I am so strongly warned by the past. More times than I would like to count, I have been on the eve of bestowing my favor on some ~allant knight .who called all the gods to witness that he was wholly 8~fl8 peur, hut when the test came-well, then I found exactly what I said a moment ago, that professions are easy to make, and hard to fulfil. Therefore, I have grown rather in- credulous, and- Oh!" The exclamation was uttered very sud- denly, for a deer bounded across their path, and the horses gave a simultaneous bolt, a rush, and then indulged in a rearing which tested all the strength of Romney's wrists. Valerie sat quite still, making neither sign nor sound while the short battle lasted; but after a moment the thorough-breds proved that they had not meant serious business. They settled down to their stride again, and then Julian looked round at his companion with a flash of not unnatural tri- umph in his eyes. "lou see how easily they are managed," he said. "I see how. wise I. was in placing myself' under your protection," answered Valerie; who knew better than any woman living when and how to compliment. "I d~uht whether Captain Darcy could have brought them to terms any sooner, or probably half as soon. I can well believe that any draft on your daring would be promptly hon- ored." "Then-in view of the promised reward --may I hope that you wrn speedily make She looked up with a smile. "Don't be foolish, please. Who talked of reward I" "You did-when you spoke of the favor that has never yet been won." "Ah, but perhaps you think this favor something greater than it really is. Would you do much for thisI" She touched, as she spoke, a knot of rib- bon that fluttered at her throat; and, watch- ing the hand which made the gesture, Rom- ney answered quickly: "I would do anything!" "Then perhap.~, some day, I will set you a deed of derring-do," she said, gayly. "These are my colors, that I have never yet given any one the right- A-h!" This was rather a prolonged gasp than an exclamation, and there was good cause for it. Lulled into carelessness by the ease with which he had mastered the horses a few moments before, Romney had forgotten Darcy's caution against ~entering into any very interesting conversation; and, listening eagerly to Valerie, he had paid little atten- tion to them. Nothing~ perhaps, is so quick of perception, as a horse; and, when the restive thorough-breds felt those slackened reins upon their backs, there was but one thought between them-" Now is our time." A jingling sleigh that glided past, laden with a merry crew of school-girls, gave a color of excuse to the frantic bound which threw Valerie violently back, and nearly jerked the ,reins out of Romney's hands. The next moment the bits were between' their teeth, their heads were downy and they were off. l~ow, although none of it is very pleas- ant, there are great differences in the differ- ent modes of running away. There is the foolish horse, who, having a chronic distrust of white logs, cows, sheep, and children, loses his head entirely at sight of any of these objects, and runs from pure and simple fear. There is the gamesome horse, who is fond of his own joke, and runs away when- ever he sees a good chance of frightening anybody, or doing a limited ai~iount of dam- age. There is the passionate horse, who gets angry occasionally, and asserts his dig- nity by committing a good deal of mischief, but who is easily amenable to reason. And, lastly, there is the vicious horse, in whom no wise man will ever put trust, who is ruled onfy by the strong hand, and whose outbreaks invariably mean serious harm to every one concerned. The merest child, looking at them now, could not have doubted to which of these classes the thorough-breds belonged. That wild rush had little of genuine fright in it; but the glaring eyes and distended nostrils -more than all, that fatally significant clamp of the iron jaws-promised little hope of checlelng them. Perhaps Julian realized this as fully as need be; but he clung to the reins with desperate energy, nevertheless. Bracing his feet against the front of the' sleigh, he twined the lines many titles round his hands, and brought all his strength to bear. It was not verymuch; but, if it had been that of Hercules, it would have availed all the same; for the staunchest muscles alive might as well have pulled against stone. Of control over their movements he had not so much as a pretence. He felt this with horrible force, as Darcy's last words recurred to him; and he saw that he could not even guide them sufficiently to follow his advice and capsize the sleigh. There was prospect, indeed, that the speed which sent it dashing from side to side of the road, would eventually do this; but there was little consolation in such a hope, since the fall of snow had been so light that drifts were few and the ground not more than barely covered. They were whirling down a steep declivity, with a narrow bridge before them, when he turned and looked at Valerie. She had not uttered 'a sound, or made a movement since her first exclama- tion some time before; but s.lthough her face was as pale as possible, the dark eyes met big calmly and steadily. There must have been something reassuring in their gaze, for the next juBtant they flashed over the bridge-how neither of them ever knew -and then Julian said, quite coolly: "This must end soon. They will either throw us out, or-" The words were cut short suddenly, as the sleigh was hurled headlong against a post that marked the boundary of the road, the tense reins broke with a loud snap, as of a whip, and Julian was shot headforemost out a distance of at least twenty yards. It all passed with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. Valerie had barely time for one gurgling cry-barely time for one glimpse of the figure that lay motionless where~ it had fallen at the foot of a tree-when she was whirled out of sight and away. After this she had very little idea of any thing that occurred, or very little fear for any result. She knew that the horses were shaping their course down the main avenue, and, unless they were stopped at the gate, would. soon be in the open highway; but this, which meant certain destruction to her- self, scarcely dwelt on her mind an instant -she. was too absorbed in wondering whether Julian was killed; too much ab- sorbed in picturing over and over that .last awful sightof him. Strange as it may seem, she did not even pray. "My fault! my fault!" were the only words that rang through her brain, while the familiar forms of supplication seemed to have faded far away from her recollection. Me9hakkioally she unclasped a small rosary fron~er wrist, but even the names "Jesus" and "Mary" caine faintly and slowly, as from palsied lips. It was only when she saw before her the open gates and the massive blocks of granite that were scattered before it-~-only when she realized that there, in all probability, would be the end at once of life and beauty -did she find voice for one cry which we must all sooner or later make, "God have mercy on me!" Then she closed her eyes, and waited for the end. l~Tow it chanced that the thorough-breds having made better time than even he had page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] DRRRINA-DO. 61 ~3O VAVIIRIII 'AThMER. counted on, Darcy had only just paused at the arched entrance to question a loitering policeman whether the object of his search had entered before him, when the runaway horses came thundering into sight, dragging behind them the sleigh, which bounded to and fro like a living thing in agony. "By G-d, there's the very team you're asking after, now!" cried the man, excited- ly, recognizing at once the handsome chest- nuts he had admired so much as they swept past him with their long, swinging trot, half an hour before. "Stand out of the way, sir-it's more'n a man's life's worth to try to stop "em now! " But Darcy did not heed the admonition. He only stood up in his stirrups and looked forward with a quick, eager gaze-a gaze the meaning of which the policeman at once un- derstood, for be looked too, and then said, rapidly: "You're i~ight, sir-the sleigh's empty. That's something to be thankful for-there was as pretty-" "I can't tell," muttered Darcy between his teeth. "If I could only see-" * "~tand back, for your life!" shouted the other, his anxiety getting the better of his fear, so far that he even rushed at Bay- ard's bridle and drew him out of the path of the horses now charging down upon them. But to his utter amazement, as he did so, Darcy was out of the saddle-the next moment he rushed full at the thorough- breds and grasped their bits.' Of course he did not stop them-no mor- tal hands could have done that-but he swufig to them desperately, and the police- man saw him dragged past at the same mo- ment that he recognized a woman's presence inthe sleigh. That honest guardian of the peacenever had any very clear remembrance of what ensued. He only recollected swear- inga great oath in sheer astonishment, and letting Dayard go about his own devices, whflehe ran full tilt aft~r'tlio sleigh, withn~ ulterior intentions Whatever. The next mo- mont, he saw something which brought him to a horrified pause. Although he had been dragged several yards, bleeding and half- stunned, Darcy had never once relaxed his hold upon 'the bits-if he had done soit would have been all over with him, as well as with Valerie, atid after a while he strug- gled to his feet. Then, breast to breast, be- ~an one of the most awful sights in this world-the 'sight of man against brute! The horses were quite beside themselves, by this time, and seemed possessed of a strength tenfold their own as they reared and plunged against the iron muscles that held their 'heads. The sleigh swayed to~ and fro, like a wicker-basket, with their frantic struggles, while the wild, glancing eyes and foaming mouths made a strange contrast to the man's face, which was set in the rigidity of marble. The contest was so unequal, that it could only have ended in one way, and that very speedily, if the policeman had not gathered his senses sufficiently to run forward when he saw the progress of the horses once fairly arrested. With his help, they were at length brought to a panting and exhausted stand. Then Darcy staggered back, and sat down on a block of stone, pale and gasp- ing. "I'm afraid the brutes have hurt you badly, sir," the former said, respectfully. He could scarcely bring himself to pity the man whose pluck had fought such a good fight. But Darcy only shook his head; and, ris- big after a moments walked to the side of the sleigh, where he found Valerie, as he had half-expected, too weak from the mere physical reaction to think of moving. ~he looked so white, that he thought at first she might be about to faint, but the tone of her voice reassured him-it was perfectly firm and steady, although strangely tense and unnatural. "I am glad you were not killed, too," she sald. "But we must not walt here a moment. We muet go back to-him!" "Do you mean 5ulian?" Darcy asked, startled into a sudden fear by her tone and manner. "Where is he?" He was scarcely surprised, and a little reassured, at hearing all that she knew. After hearing it, he did not waste any time in comment. He only lifted her from the sleigh-disencumbering her of the many wrappings which had probably saved her life by keeping her fast-and asked if she could show him the place where Romney had been left. She assented, eagerly, and, after sending a mounted, messenger to town for a carriage, he was about to Bet forward, when a sleigh, that had been jingling up the avenue for some inmates, paused beside them, and a gentleman sprang hurriedly out. "Darcy!" he said, quickly, "this is bet- ter luck than I expected. See here I-we've picked up Romney, and I fear he is badly hurt." "Only hurt!" repeated Darcy, hearing Valerie's sudden gasp at his side. "Only hurt, then?" "Only hurt, certainly-not killed, if you mean that. But I don't like the look of him. He is either stunned, or he has fainted very dead away." Darcy put Valerie down on a block of stone. "You had better stay here," he said; and, without giving her any time for ex- postulation, he strode away at once to the sleigh. "He must have received a severe blow on the head," he said, after looking at Rom- ney's pale, insensible face, and feeling his pulse. "I am afraid it may prove to be concussion of the brain; but, of course, I can~ tell. We must get him home, and into a doctor's hands, as soon as possible. Do you think any bones are broken?" * "I fancy one arm is-at least he moaned when we touched it, and it hangs like a fractured limb." "Which arm?" "The right." Darcy leaned over and touched it gently, but with all his care he brought forth a low moan of pain, and the eyes opened for a mo- ment, but closed again immediately. "I don't think there's a doubt of its being broken," he said. "How did you chance to find him?" "He was lying immediately on the side of the road," the, other answered. "Arle saw him at once." "Arle was with you?" "Yes-to his cost. You know how he hates walking, ~nd he is, footing it home- ward now. I suppose he will reach the gate here about dark. I~fow, what is to be done with this poor fellow? Shall I take him home, or will you?" "I would, ask you to take hira on ~t once, if it were not for 'his mother," said Darcy. "Somebody ought to prepare her, and it is impossible for me to leave Miss Aylmer here alone." "Pray don't think of met" said Va- lerie, who had come forward unperceived by either of them. "I will stay here-any- where-sooner than keep you a moment. Captain Darcy, pray go!" "Unfortunately I forgot, when I spoke of doing so, that my horse has been sent away," Darcy answered. "Thornton, I sup- pose there's nothing for it, but to let you take him on. They will be partly at least prepared, by my sending for the carriage. At all events, we have no right to risk de- lay." Thornton-a pale, slender, keen-faced man-evidently thought the same thing. So he sprang into the sleigh, laid Julian's head as comfortably baek as he could, and, in a moment more, whirled out of sight. Then Darcy, turning round, discovered two facts: the first, that snow had been fall- ing for some time; the second, that Miss Aylmer looked almost as pale as the boy who had just been sent away. Now, there never was a man who had less sympathy with any form of caprice or coquetry, than this brave, simple "straight-goer," and of both he held V~Ierie so guilty that only a moment before his heart had been wholly steeled against pity for any suffering of hers; but now it melted suddenly at sight of her wan face and sad eyes, and he said, kindly and cordially: "I fear I have forgotten how ,c~ld and tired you must be. Let me take youto the sleigh, and wrap you up4 That will be some protection until the carriage comes." She held out her hand without a word-- he could not help remembering~ how di1~'er~ ently, an hour or two before, she had ex- tended it for the same purpose-and let hint take her and cover her up under the af- ghans and buffalo-robes. Then she leaned back, gtill quite silently, while he went up to the policeman, who held the thorou~h~ breds-now safely out of harness-.~.aud re- page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 VALERTh turned his thanks both verbally and sub- stantially. After a while he came back, and asked Valerie if she felt very cold. "Not cold at all-you have covered me so well," she answered. "I am truly ashamed not to have asked you before, but I hope you are not much hurt?" "I! Oh, no," he said, with a smile. "I am cast-steel-warranted not to break or injure under any provocation." "I hope you will never need to do such a thing again," she said, with a shudder. "It was horrible !-~--I seem to see it yet! And-and I have not thanked you." "I trust you will not think of doing so," he replied, quickly. "Pray don't fancy yourself under obligations, or any thing of that kind. I hope I should have done the same for anybody." "I don't doubt that," she answered; "but it should not lessen my gratitude that I chanced to be the person whom you saved." Involuntarily, as it seemed, Darcy frowned a little. "win you pardon me if I repeat that such a word does not apply to me in the least?. I could not have 'saved' you if our friend yonder had not been at hand; or if the horses had not been nearly spent." At another time, Valerie would doubt- less have felt and resented thls repulse; but now she looked up almost appealingly. "At least, then, you will let me ask you to forgive the folly and wilfulness which caused all this?" It was an unfortunate question-for, gentleman as he was to the core, and mailed in all gentlemanly courtesy, Darcy could sometimes speak an abrupt home- truth very sharply. Now he answered al- most without thought: "It is scarcely my forgiveness that you should ask, Miss Aylmer. I have not suf- fered for the gratification of your whim, as that poor boy whom we sent home has done, and will yet do." The next moment he felt sorry for hav- ing so spoken-sorry when he saw the pale cheek flush, and the delicate shoulder shrink as from a blow. "I know-" she said, with something AYLMER. of a gasp. "But I think he will forgive me." "I do not doubt it," Darcy dryly an- swered. "I believe there is the carriage at last. Will you allow me?" He assisted her once more out of the sleigh, and put her into the carriage, which had drawn up beside theni. Then he closed the door, and raised his hat. "Are you not coming?" she asked in surprise. He shook his head. "No. I shall drive these horses in.- Did you bring the reins I sent for, John? Yes-that is all right. Miss Aylmer I would recommend a glass of wine ni. s~~on you reach home.-Drive on, Green." CHAPTER VI. THOSE WHO DANCE MUST PAY THE PIPER. WHEN Miss Aylmer reached home, her grandfather came hurrying down into the lower hall to meet her; and from him she learned that the surgeon was then setting Julian's arm. "Oh, g~randpapa, how can I ever forgive myself!" she cried, with all the terror, the anxiety, the vexation of the last hour cub minating at length in a burst of weeping, which quite startled M. Vacquant by its ~i- olence. "I have half-killed that poor boy, and I came very near quite killing your- your nephew, while I, the cause of it all, am not hurt in the least. Oh, I am a wretch !-I don't know what you must think of me!" "I think you will know better next time, and be guided by the advice of older people," answered her grandfather, sooth- ingly. Like all men, he had a nervous hor- ror of tears, and he would have said any thing to stop the lachrymal flow that was pouring over th~ shoulder of his coat as he held his granddaughter in his arms. "Don't be foolish, petite; and don't cry that way-it is dreadful! Julian is not much hurt, and you are safe-let us thank God for that." THOSE WHO DANCE MUST PAY THE PIPER. "I wish I had been hurt!" cried Vale- rie. "I deserve any thing! I was the per- son in fault, and I-I am the only one all safe." "What! Is Maurice hurt also? ~' asked M. Vacquant, quickly. "Nobody told me that." "Hurt! He says he is not, but I know he must be. 0 grandpapa, it was awful! If you could have seen the fight he had, to stop those horses! I expected every mo- ment that they would dash him under their feet and trample him to death. They must have hurt him !-I know they must-and all for ~ At which consideration, Miss Aylmer sat down on one of the library-chairs-her grandfather had drawn her into this room -and sobbed more like a child than like the bright, haughty La balls des belles. "He is a brave fellow-Maurice!" said M. Vacquant. "I knew he could be relied on-and, mom .Dieu! how glad I am that I sent him! I hope you won't forget, en- faint, that you owe your life to him." "Forget it?-no! And that is just the hardest part of it all!" cried enfant, with a burst of tears that were now solely born of vexation. "I could bear all the rest, but that is intolerable! To think how I have treated him, and how I despised him, and how I went against all his advice, and how I snubbed him, and-and that he should have been the one to stop the horses! If it had been anybody else in the wide world, I could have borne it bet- ter; but this is too bard!" "Valerie!" said MS Vacquant. He was quite aghast, and he could say nothing more. "0 grandpapa, you don't know how hard it is! ~tou never had to endure such a humiliation! I don't believe any body ever had to endure the like before! Under obligation for my very life to-to a person like that!" "Valerie, this is very improper-very ungrateful language," said her grandfather, severely. "You force me to remind you that you are speaking of my nephew as well as your cousin; and of a man who has just saved your life at the risk of his own." "I don't need to be reminded," cried Valerie, in a tone of exasperation. "That is exactly what is the matter! I wish he had let my neck be broken-I do! This is the second time he has laid me under obli- gation, and I-I hate him!" "That will do, I think," said M. Vac- quant, with quite an imposing wave of the hand. For once he was so thoroughly out of patience with his petted, spoiled grand- child, that he could not forbear expressing it. "That is quite sufficient, Valerie. When you are cooler, you will 'see the impropriety and ingratitude of this conduct. At present you had better go and change your dress." Valerie rose at once from her seat, but, instead of going to change her dress, she went and twined her arms round her grand- father's neck. "I am sorry," she said. "I know it sounded very badly. I won't talk so any more-I will indeed try not to feel so any more. But don't let him come between you and me, grandpapa-especially after I have been so nearly taken from you." "Yes," said M. Vacquant, in a hushed voice; and he kissed tenderly the beautiful face of which he was so proud. "Yes, you were nearly taken from me, and you are given back to me again-thanks to is bon .Dieu, and, after Him, thanks to Maurice." Valerie set her lips hard, but, true to her promise, she said nothing. She only thought that it was part-the hardest part -of her punishment, to hear this, and to know that it was true. After God, she cer- tainly owed her safety of life and limb to Maurice Darcy; and there is not a doubt but that, as she said, she would rather have owed it to anybody else in the wide world. It was not enough that she had resisted his entreaties, and set his advice at naught, in this particular matter; but she had so dis- liked him, from the first, so gloried in pro~ yoking his tacit disapproval by h~er manifes- tations of caprice and coquetry, and now this very caprice and coquetry had called down upon her the weightiest obligation to him that one human being can incur ~om another. It Was a retribution-she felt that-but she also felt that it was almost more than she could bear. page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] 64 VAJ~E1UE AYLMER. THOSE WHO DANCE MUST PAY THE PIPER. 65 "Grandpapa, toll me about Julian," she' said, after a minute. "Is he much hurt?" "The doctors think not," answered her grandf4ther. "lie is still, I believe, lying in a half-stunned condition; but they say -at least Dr. Preston does-that he will get over that in a few hours without any ill effect, and that his arm is the only serious injury." "Serious! Do you mean dangerous?" "Oh, no. Who ever heard of danger from a broken bone~ The only injury that will trouble him after a day or two, they mean." "Thank God!" said Valerie, fervently. "Not but that a broken arm is bad enough," she added, hastily; "but one feels as if it was little, because it is so much less than might have been. Poor Julian I poor boy! o grandpapa, I never expect to forgive my- self for, causing him all this!" * M, Vacquant smiled a little-Julian's in" juries did not seem to weigh much on his mind-and smoothed her hair indulgently.. "Don't worry about Julian," he said. "He will, soon be well. Only take care," he added, gravely, "that you never inflict a deeper injury on him than~ auy you have caused to-day." Valerie's face flushed. Her conscience told her at once what he meant-and, for once, she did not reject or fence off the un- palatable advice. "Never, if I can help it, grandpapa," she said, earnestly. Then she kissed him again, and, gathering up her jiat and cloak, which she had cast aside on her, entrance, went up-stairs. Just as she reached the head of the staircase, she came upon Madame Vacquant and Dr. Preston, who were standing outside the door of Julian3s chamber, talking to- gether. "I think all will go right now~" the doe- tQr was saying, "if you, will keep things per-* feetly quiet, and don't allow- Ab, Miss Aylmer, how are you? I am glad to see that you at least were not hurt by your ac- cident." "I ean scarcely be glad myself; doctor, when I think that others suffered instead of me," answered Valerie, yielding her hand to the physician's cordial grasp, but looking past him to Madame Vacquant, whose face had hardened at her approach. "How is- Julian?" She hesitated a moment before uttering the name, and then gave it with a softness which, if Julian could have heard~ he would certainly have thought quite irresistible. But his mother's face did not relax. in the least; and it was the doctor who answered. "Oh, Julian is doing as well as we could hope or desire; and, like a gallant knight, I am surd he does not regret the wound he incurred in so fair a service "-he thought it necessary to point this compliment by ~ little bow, "The fracture was a simple one, and has been well set. As for the insensi- bility caused by concussion of the brain, that wrn soon pass off-has, in fact, almost en- tirely passed off now." "May-inay I see him now, then I" "I am sure he will be very much de- lighted-and I really think he deserves such a reward," answered the doctor, mov- ing aside, and laying his hand on the handle of the door t9 open it for her. But as he did so, Madai~ue Vacquant interposed. "Stop," she said. "There must be no further risks run. Are you sure it is quite safe for him to be excited by seeing her?" "Safe! Oh certaluly, certainly," an- swered the doctor, who had a ~iot uncom- mon ~enc7uznt for pretty faces in general, and Miss Aylmer's in particular. Indeed, it will be the best thing possible to let him see with~ his own eyes that Miss Aylmer is all right. "His first question was whether you were safe," he added, looking at the young lady; "and I think he was decidedly incredulous of our replies. Show yourself to him at least, and his mind will be set at rest." Madame Vacquant made no further de- mur, but when he opened the door, and Valerie entered the chamber, she only waited to say a few words and then hastily followed. The surgeon who had set the fractured limb, and one or two servants, were in the room, but Valerie paid no attention to them. She walked straight across the floor, and did not pause until she stood by the richly- carved and luxurious bed, gazing down on Bomney's white face-the face whiter by far than the snowy pillows on which It rested. He looked almost as if he wera dead, so rigid and colorless were his features; but the breath came perceptibly, almost audibly through the parted lips, and more than once, while she stood there, a slight convulsion as of pain passed over the face. The eyelids did not lift, however; and when at last Valerie heard the rustle of a woman's dress, and knew that his mother stood beside her, she whispered, without turning her head- "Is he insensible?" Before Madame Vacquant could answer, the darkly-fringed lids flew up, and the vio- let eyes opened full and wide on her face. For a moment there was almost incredulous surprise in their gaze-then a smile came over the pale lips. "So they told me the truth. You are quite safe!" he said, faintly. She knelt down by the bedside and cov- ered his uninjured hand with both her own. ~kyes, Tam quite safe," she said. "But it breaks my heart to look at you and think- it is all my fault." "No, no," he said, eagerly; "you must not think that, even for a moment. It is not your fault, or-or if it was~ it does not matter. I am not much hurt, and I shall soon be well again." "You are suffering now - that is enough." "I am not suffering now. I would not change places at this moment-" he grasped firmly the hands that were holding his- "with any one in the world." He did not try to restrain the passion in his voice; and, as he spoke, there rushed over Valerie the recollection of her grand- father's words a few minutes before: "Take care that you never inflict a deeper injury than any you have caused to-day!" At an- other time she would have known exactly how to repress any undue exhibition of feel- ing like this; but now-how could she do it now? Let him disclaim as he might, she knew that it was her fault alone that he lay stricken and injured before her; and to be cold to one who had suffered and would yet suffer so much for her wilfulness and ca- price, was more than she could do. Let us 5 hope that it was more than any woman could have done. "I think I shall never forgive myself;" ~he said, aftir a moment's pause. "It is a mercy that you are alive-a mercy for which I can never be sufficiently thankful !-and the horses nearly killed Captain Darcy, "Darcy! What did he have to do with them?" She saw that he knew nothing about her rescue; and, remembering his jealous dis- like of Darcy, she felt sorry for having spok- en of the matter-but it was too late now. She must go on. He would have to hear the particulars sooner or later, and he had better hear them now while she could soft- en the blow to him. "Did you not know that he stopped them?" she asked. "I don't know where he came from, but he was at the gates, and -and he stopped them." "Darcy!" It was all he said; but a deep flush of mortified feeling came over his face, and his eyes closed again. This was the end of it, then! He had been thrown aside and left behind, helpless and useless, while Darcy was the hero of the adventure! On Darcy fell all the honor and glory of the occasion! It was hard-it was bitterly hard-and it seemed all at once to take away even the consolation of Valerie's presence, and to give a sharper edge to every throb of pain in the fractured limb, With the quickness of her sex, Valerie read these thoughts, and her own rebellious chafing against the fate that had made Dar- cy her rescuer caused her to do more than comprehend-to sympathize with them. If all had been equal between the two, in the way of her personal liking~ she would have felt most warmly toward the one who had all the suffering and none of the~glory; but as it was, her whole heart went out with a rush in the endeavor to comfort him. "Captain Darcy was very hard on me," she said, softly. "I don't think he will soon, if ever, forgive me the trouble I cost him. I-I cannot help wishing that it had been any one else who chanced to stop the horses." page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] 88 VALERIE AYLMER. THOSE WHO DANCE MUST PAY THE PIPER. 67 The violet eyes opened again on her face -this time full of sadness and pain. "But he saved your life! And I was lying, like a helpless log, far away." "Julian! " She uttered the name almost involun- tarily-then smiled at his start, and went on: "May I call you that? I almost feel as if we were blood lFindred, and quite near enough for it. We~~ulian, I wonder you can be so foolish. I wonder you can pain me by mentioning my debt to you, and my debt to Captain Darcy, in the same breath. He saved my life, it is true, but he saved it as he might have saved the life of any stran- ger who had crossed his path; indeed, not half so graciously as he would probably have done that. My obligation to him would x~ever have been willingly incurred, and is an unutterable weight to me; while my ob- ligation to you~-to you, who have suffered, and are suffering, merely for my'whim-ah, can I tell you what that is?" He smiled a little. "I am afraid I will never win the favor, though. This-" he glanced toward his in- jured arm-" does not look much like der- ring-do." For an instant, she did not comprehend him. Then a recnllection of the gay non- sense they had been talking, just before the horses put a summary end to their conver- sation, flashed across her. In a moment her fingers went up to her throat-the next, a knot of bright ribbon was lying in his hand. It was just at this juncture that the sur- geon touched the arm of Madame Vacquant, who~ had walked away from jhe bed and stood by a window not far off, looking ofit at the falling snow, with a strange, absent kind of gaze. "I am sorry to disturb such an interest- ing conversation as the one yonder~ seems to be," he said, with a dry smile; "but I must really beg you to take the young lady away. She is exciting our patient too much, I fear." Madame Vacquant turned hurriedly. "I was afraid of that," she said. "It was Dr. Preston, not I, who let her come in.' He thought it would set Julian's mind at rest to see that she was safe." "S-c'! She was the lady he was driv- ing?" "Humph!" said the surgeon; and he looked round at Valerie, with his quick,. keen glance. "I could warrant her for being at the bottom of any harm or mischief whatever," he thought. Then he said aloud: "I must beg you to send her away, at all events. His mind has been set at rest now, and that is sufficient." Madame Vacquant needed no further bidding. She walked forward at once, and laid her hand on Valerie's shoulder. "You must go," she said, Without taking the trouble to soften the command at all. "Dr. Warner says you are exciting Julian too much. You must go!" Julian uttered an exclamation of impa- tience; but Valerie rose to her feet without an instant's loss of time. "I am sorry," she said. "I did not mean to excite him. Yes, I know I must go. I only meant to stay a minute," she added., looking at Romney. "Of course, I knew it would not do.-You must be quiet, and oh, do try to 8et better soon: I shall be so miserable-thinking of your suffer- ing!" "I must certainly try to get better soon, then," he said. "That you should be mis- erable on account of my sufferings would double them at least. But you will come back again-will you not?" Fortunately, Madame Vacquant gave no lime for reply to this. She had already drawn Valerie away, and the young lady- who even in that moment of excitement had no idea of forgetting 1e8 eonvenancea far enough to promise to play romantic nurse to her wounded knight.-was spared.the dif- ficulty of expressing a refusal. Before she knew what she was about, she had left the room, and was standing in the corridor with Madame Vacquant. The latter spoke first. "Excuse me if I was abrupt-but I can- not run any risk, you know. The doctor told me to take you away." "Run any risk! I should think not, indeed!" said Valerie. And than, for the first time in her life, she put her arms round her grandfather's wife and kissed her. "Try to forgive me," she whispered. "I am so very sorry." The tone was full of the most sincere contrition-all the more sincere, because the words were so simple-and might have touched the elder woman, if any thing pos- sibly could have done so. But her face scarcely changed by a shade, and, when she turned and laid her lips on the girl's cheek, with a light, cold caress, Valerie felt instinc- tively that the mother's heart was mailed in steel against her. "I have nothing to forgive," she said; "hardly even a right to blame. It was my fault as much as yours. I should have lis- tened to Maurice Darcy." Maurice Darcy! That name seemed des- tined to meet Valerie at every turn-stab- bing her with a sharp remembrance of the discomfiture which she could not help feel- ing as if she owed to him. In a moment, at sound of it, all, her softer feelings vanished; and she drew back, biting her lip. "Captain Darcy ought to be gratified," she said. "Accident chanced to justify his opinion of the horses, and immediately ev- erybody exalts him to the highest pedestal of wisdom and heroism. For my part-" She stopped short-blushing violently, despite herself-for Darcy, who had come down the thickly-carpeted corridor quite unheard, paused at this moment beside Ma- dame Vacquant. At first, Valerie hoped that he had not caught the tenor of her interrupted speech, he looked so entirely as usual, so little as he might have been expected to look, under the circumstances; but, the next moment, she saw a 'gleam in his eye that she knew very well-a gleam, half-amused, half-sa- tiric-which made her heart sink for very shame until it could sink no lower. She knew then that her hope was vain, and that, although he had presence of mind enough to suppress any outward tokens of the fact, he had certainly overheard her. With this dismaying consciousness pressing on her-dismaying necessarily, since she was, at least, thoroughly aware of the ex- tent of her obligations to the man who had stood between herself and a horrible death -it was not wonderful that she was hardly able to pay any attention to what he said, that she had only a vague idea of his inqui- ries about Julian, and his explanation that he had only just arrived with the thorough- breds, or that she gave a quick start, when at last he turned to herself. "I hope you followed my advice about the wine, Miss Aylmer? You look very pale, and this afternoon's work will, I fear prove to have beentoo much for you." "I have not taken it yet, but I will go now and send for it," said Valerie, with most unusual meekness. Then she bent her head and hurried away-never once paus- ing or looking back, until she found herself safely locked in her own chamber, where, sitting down in t~he first convenient chair, she finished at her leisure that salutary fit. of weeping which M. Vacquanthad tempo- rarily stopped., When she was aroused..at last by the first dinner-bell, and, ringing for Fanchette, sent her down with an excuse for her own no~i-appearance, even Darcy might have thought that her pale, tear- stained countenance looked as if she had been punished enough. It is scarcely necessary to dwell on the convalescence which followed this accident. After having nearly broken his neck, and quite broken his arm, Miss Aylmer felt very truly that she would have been the most ungracious and ungrateful of human beings, if she had kept up her intended re- serve with Romney, or had not endeavored, by every means in her power, to lighteu the hours of his captivity. So, when he recov~ ered sufficiently to leave his own oham~ ber, and lie day after day on a broad, low couch in his mother's private sitting- room, she set herself studiously to the task of entertaining him. She read to. him, sang te him, talked to him, with an aZ.encZez& which came of her self-reproach and desire to make atonement, but which was so charming in itself that it might well have turned an older and a wiser head. Natu- rally, therefore, it turned Romney's. l~Tat- urally, also, they grew to be very intimate with one another, to exercise the right of page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] THOSE WHO DANCE MUST FAY THE FIPER. 69 68 VALERIE AYLMER. tutolA'nent which their near connection gave, to glide from amusement into senti- ment, and from sentiment into-neither of them very well knew what, without anybody taking the trouble to interfere or reprove. Madame Vacquant of course saw what was going on, but it is not uncharitable to suppose that it tallied too exactly with her own wishes for her to desire, far less to at- tempt, any disturbance of the work of fate -while, as for M. Vacquant, he had deliv- ered himself of one warning, and, man-like, he thought that would prove sufficient. In- deed, as far as regarded any serious dan- ger, he was wholly blind. In his eyes, his granddaughter was peerless, and his step- son a pretty, spoiled boy. That the latter should like the former was, of course, to be expected, and that the former should en- courage the liking was, perhaps, excusable, considering that it is the nature of women to be foolish; but of any serious conse- quences to their manifest flirtation, he nev- er once dreamed. If anybody had hinted such a thing, he would indeed have been simply incredulous. There was a great deal of the gs'and .seigneus' about him, and he could not, or did not, realize that mat- ters had changed ~in These latter days, and, with manners, many other things that he had been trained to reverence. He had received one sharp lesson in his life about attempting to carry out his noldeaee-oilige theory in all its bearings, and to force a woman's inclination where it had no mind to go; but, as is too often the case, this les- son had not made him wiser. He was ready and anxious to play the same part over again with his granddaughter, that he had already played without success, in the case of his sister. He remembered how women were trained in France to take the husband which competent authority pro- vided for them, and to love, honor, and obey, exactly that person who seemed most desirable to the head of the house; and he was still unable to realize the different canon that regulated another country. It seemed good to him that Valerie should marry Maurice Darcy, and he could not credit any possible objection on her part. It was true that they were within the for- bidden degrees of kindred, but, with all the weighty reasons for an alliance taken into consideration, he was sure that they could easily obtain a dispensation; and, in every other respect, the plan was unimpeachable. It was also true that be had been a good deal surprised and somewhat shocked to hear Valerie declare that she "despised" and "hated" this desirable parti; but then, she had spoken in a moment of excitement, and .some faint remembrance of the manner in which the wise old Vicar of Wakefield read backward his daughter's expressed opinions, floating through M. Vacquant's remembrance, he had hoped that even these unpromising expressions might be favor- ably construed. A woman's dislike, any- how, he felt inclined to shrug his shoulders over as a mere liagatelle. Valerie was spoiled, and Maurice was rather uncom- promising-that was all I They would get on all the better for the difference; indeed, La petite sadly needed a little control, a lit- tle wholesome awe of somebody to keep her caprice and coquetry in check. This was the manner in which M. Vacquant reasoned, and the manner in which, almost unconsciously, he consoled himself for his granddaughter's perverse mode of co~iduct. It was true that she and Darcy rarely noticed each other at all, and never without eliciting some clang or jar of feeling; and it was also true that, day by day, Romney advanced to a closer degree of privileged intimacy with her-but still M. Vacquant was aware that he had an- nounced his sovereign will and pleasure; and, therefore, although this nonsense might be a rather dangerous amusement, he could not bring himself to the serious contemplation of any serious harm oc- curring from it. Nevertheless, it sudden- ly one 'lay occurred to hin i that he might as well enlighten Darcy concerning the matrimonial project of which as yet the latter was profoundly ignorant, and, with him, action was not slow upon resolve. In the course of an hour he had called lfau- rice into the library and made his an~ announcement rather grandiosely than other- wise. To his utter amazement, it was met by a short and decisive refusal. "I suppose you mean kindly, sir," the latter said, "but, once for all, the thing is impossible. Once for all, I must earnestly request that my name may not be considered in connection with your future testamentary arrangements-much less, considered with reference to any such plan as this. Were I ten times as poor a man as I am, I should not desire a woman who accepted me, or whom I accepted, as a mercenary compromise I You need not start, sir; I do Miss Aylmer the justice to believe that she would repudi- ate the idea as quickly as I, and I would quite as soon put my hand in the fire as to insult her by such a proposition." M. Vacquant bit his lip angrily, and per- haps at that moment felt little inclination to say that General Aylmer had not spoken as if his granddaughter would be insulted by such a proposition. "You are exciting yourself unnecessa- rily," he said, coldly. "I have little inten- tion of forcing either my fortune or my granddaughter on an unwilling recipient of either, As for mercenary compromise- that is quite a novelesque phrase; but I con- fess I don't understand it in its present ap- plication. Nothing was further from my in- tention than forcing anybody's inclination. I paid you the compliment of thinking yon might please Valerie if you chose to try, and s/ia has certainly proved fascinating to men as wise as yourself." "Pardon me," Darcy said, a little con- tritely. "I suppose I did speak more warm- ly than occasion demanded-it is a bad fault of mine-but I have neither taken, nor meant to gh~e, offence. Indeed, how could I be otherwise than grateful for your con- sideration of me? I only meant what I now repeat with more humility than pride -it is impossible. Your kindness blinds you to the insurmountable obstacles opposing ~uch a plan." "What obstacles? ~7 his uncle asked, sharply. This plan had lain so long near to his heart, that the disappointment was keen to him. "There are many; but two will suffice," Darcy answered, quietly. "In the first place, you are mistaken in thinking that I could ever please Miss Aylmer. Were I ready to-day for the r6le of Suitor, I would play to no purpose, as far as she is concerned. I do her only justice when I say that not even the glamour of an inheritance could make her look favorably upon me. In the second place, yon must pardon me if this sounds ungracious - I should never choose Miss Aylmer out of the world of women as my wife. Perhaps, the fault lies in my own insensibility-since, as you say, wiser and better *men than I have found her fascinating; but I scarcely think I shall ever choose. any woman half so fatally tempted by the dower of beauty." "This is the first time that I ever heard a man-and a painter to boot-quarrel with a woman's good looks." "It is not the looks I quarrel with, sir~ but the use made of them." "Ab, she is something of a coquette; but what pretty woman is not? And matrimo- ny is a sure cure for the worst cases of that." "Do you think so? My experience goes rather the other way. At least~ I should have neither patience nor inclination to play Petruchio to a Kate who flirted instead of scolded. I think~ indeed, that of the two I would prefer the shrew, since she, at least, would not play fast and loose with-but, once more, it is doing Miss Aylmer a great wrong to bring her name, even indirectly, into such a discussion. Don't think me churlish, sir, when I beg you to draw up your will without any reference to me; and assure you, indeed, that the only favor you can do me, is to leave my name out of it. Now let us consider the matter finally ~t an end." "If it must be "-began M. Vacquant, with a sigh. "It must, indeed," said the other, firmly. "And now, if you will allow me to ask one question: has Miss Aylmer heard of this plan?" The old Frenchman hesitated; but in all his threescore years he had never know- ingly spoken a falsehood, so, after a pause, he answered in the affirmative, adding, "Why do you ask?~~ "Only because I would like to disabuse her of a false impression as far as I am con- page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 'go VALERIE AYLMER. A DECLARATION-NOT OF LOVE. 71 earned," his nephew answered. "I would have set her mind at ease some time since by assuring her that' she had nothing to fear from my rivalry in your good graces, but that it seemed scarcely worth while to take the trouble, as I am leaving so soon." At 'these words, M. Vacquant's face fell suddenly and strangely. "Leaving!" he repeated. "So you are going to torment me with that cry again. I think it very hard that you should treat me soMaurice! -very hard indeed, that you cannot spare me a few xiionths without continually agi- tating this subject. What is the matter that you cannot stay here, at least until spring?" "You forget, sir, that this is an idle life, and that I am far from being an idle man; that I have, indeed, to make my bread by the labor of my hand." '"I have offered, again and again, to re- move that necessity from you." "I remember that gratefully, but y6u must indulge me in the obstinacy which pre- fers to retain it." "Paint here, then !-what is 'to prevent your painting here?" "Nothing to prevent my painting; but~ a great deal to prevent my remaining here. You surely forget that your own claim is a new one, and a slight one, compared to the other which is calling me away." "No, I don't forget it," said M. Yac- quant, in a voice which subdued itself at once; "' but then, Maurice-you cannot say he needs you." A sort of wistful look swept over the face at which he gazed, and sudden tender- ness softened the gray eyes, making them almost beautiful. "I need him," he said, softly, as if to himself. Then he turned to leave the room, but paused againin the door. "I fear I have notthanked you for yonrkin~Iness as I should have done," he said. "But pray. don't let my bruaques'ie make you forget that I do thank you,' that I am very grateful for the affection you are kind enough to express for me, and that I hope to see you choose a better heir t~ian I should be. I was never made for a rich man, and the burden of wealth would ill become me. Now I am going down to my studio; if you say so, I can call and see Payne about those stocks he wants you to invest in. Shall I tell him no, as decidedly as he deserves?" "As decidedly as you please." The next moment, the firm, steady foot- step died away along the hall, and M. Yac- cjuant leaned back in his chair, a very with- ered and old-looking man, sighing bitterly. "So he puts tkat atonement out of, my power," be said, half aloud. "Well, then, there is only the other. It is very bitter- very bitter-but I suppose that is part of my burden. Atonement! -restitution! - easy words for priests to say; but whe among them all can mark the way to fulfil- ment?" -4--- CHAPTER VII. A DEOLAHATION-NOT or ~ovz. WHILE this discussion had been progress- ing in the library below, another of quite a different order was going on in Madame Vacquant's sitting-room above; was indeed still at its height when, hearing Darcy's step on the corridor outside, the lady opened the ~door and invited him to enter. He complied, more for lack of a ready excuse to decline than for any other reason; yet the picture presented to his gaze was pretty enough to have tempted almost any ~one to enter for the mere sake of admiring it at a closer point of view. Through the half-open door he had something more than a glimpse of the room within-the room ~over whose luxurious and elegant appoint- ments Madame Vacquant's taste reigned supreme-and he saw, with something of the effect of a stereoscopic picture, the graceful furniture, the white statues, and the gleaming picture-frames, as they were relieved by the rich toning of the carpet and walls. There was nothing heavy, noth- ing out of keeping or out of taste, in the apartment, but an indescribable harmony and cheerfulness pervaded all its ai'range- ments; the latter, in part at least, owing to the bright flood of golden sunshine which was pouring through a large bay-window filled with plants, until it resembled a small conservatOry, in the midst of which a canary was trilling loudly from its gilded cage. Near the window the piano stood, and at the piano Miss Aylmer sat, half-turned aside from the key-board, but with the sheets of music plentifully scattered about, proving what her occupation had been, while, in a deep chair by the side, of the instrument, Romney reclined, his arm still hanging use- less in a sling of crimson silk, which became him wonderfully, and his whole air one ofauch intense listlessness that IDarcy set it down unhesitatingly to the score of affectation. He modified this judgment a little, however, when his first step in the room brought its warm air heavy-laden with fragrance rush- ing over him; and he was on the point of entering a protest against the injurious effects of over-heated apartments, when Madame Vacquant anticipated him by speaking. "Do, Maurice, see if ~on can bring this perverse boy to hear reason. Valerie and I are 'going down-street, and he insists on ac- companying us. Now, you know that will never do! The doctor-" "Au dialile with the doctor!" inter- rupted Julian, impatiently. "Really, I am tired of his very name, though of course he would have nothing to say in a matter of this kind. Indeed, why should he? He je a sensible man, though nobody would think so who listened to you, mamma. It has been three weeks since this con-trouble- some arm was l~roken; and I should have been out a week ago, but that I was too lazy, and home was too pleasant." "You did well to stay," said Valerie. "I give you fair warning you lose all your invalid privileges as soon as you cease to be an invalid." "Now, you are trying to frighten me into good\ behavior," answered he, languid- ly. "Bul I flatter myself that your words are harder than your resolution. At all events, I mean to go down-street with you to-day." "When I tell you that I don't want you?" C~ Yes-for once-even when you tell me that you do not want me." "I have a mind to stay at home myself, then." "IDol We shall practise that duct from Romeo ~ Giulietta so charmingly!" "Indeed, you need not fancy any thing of the kind. If I remains it wrn only be to shut myself up by myself, until Madame Yacquant returns." "You see how she rules me," said Juli- an, throwing himself back in his chair, with an. air of mock resignation. "I am a lion led by a thread; I shall soon have no more volition left than-.--than a puppet 1-Darcy, can't you say a word for me?" "There is really not the least reason why he should not go," said Darcy, turning to Madame Vacquant. "He speaks very truly when he says that he might have gone a week ago." "But the day," she said, hesitatingly. "It is so cold!" Maurice shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh. "I never heard of a fractured limb suf- fering on account of the depression of the thermometer," he said, good-humoredly. "Besides, it is not in any unpleasant degree." "And you think there is positively no danger?" "Positively, not the least." "Then, Valerie, we had better get ready," she said, turning to that young lady.-" Maurice, if you are going down- street, you may as well wait for us. You can afford to do so, since we are going to walk; and-we are going to see your pic- ture." Darcy could not repress~ a slight start. "My picture!" he repeated. "Yes, your picture. Ah, you may well look detected and'ashamed to think that all the city should be talking of it' before we- your own friends and relations-ever even heard of its existence." "It was only placed on exhibition yes- tei~day," he said, apologetically. "Of course, I meant toask you to si~e it-if you cared to do so. But I don't understand- how did you hear of it?" "flow did we hear of it! Have you not seen the Gazette this morning?" ~ She turned round, and, taking up a copy of he paper from a table near at hand, fold- I page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 VALERIE AYLMER. A DECLARATION-NOT OF LOVE. 73 ed down the sheet at a particular place, and, pointing to the head of the paragraph, hand- ed it to him. He took it in some surprise- surprise which perceptibly increased when he saw not less than a column of printed matter devoted to a critical and judicious notice of the picture concerning which Ma- dame Vacquant had just spoken. He flushed slightly, as one whom praise has taken una- wares, glanced his eye down over the terse, well-written sentences, and then looked up half-laughingly. "This is some of Thornton's work," he said; "I recognize his tricks of the pen, and-there is no one else who would be half so flattering." "Mr. Thornton is the best art-critic in the city," said Madame Vacquant, who was, when she chose, the best flatterer in the city. "If he is the writer of that article, of course there is no question of its correctness." "That does not exactly follow," said Darcy, smiling; "for he took a fancy to this picture before it was finished; and so is fair- ly ~hargeable with partiality toward it. He is a good art-critic, though," he went on; "for besides being a brilliant writer, he. is as thoroughly trained and cultivated, in an artistic sense, as a man can be with regard to a thing which is not the pursuit of his life. His criticism is always judicious, and his praise is worth having, because he knows what to praise, and how to praise it-which is ~nore than can be said for nine-tenths of the scribblers who display their ignorance even more conspicuously than they display their ill-nature in every thing relating to art or artists." "It is evident that Achilles has been touched on the heel in the past, if not in the present," said Julian, with his ready sneer, aside to Valerie. "You are mistaken," said Darcy, whose ears were of the quickest, and who often discomfited people by overhearing things which were not intended for him. "I have never suffered much from criticism, because I have never been eminent enough to pro- voke it-but in the little which I have known, I cannot remember to have ever been even momentarily resentful of any thing that was just. Besides, I am thick- skinned, I suppose-at least I am singularly indifferent to the praise or blame of these mouth-pieces of the COUflOSeenti. l3ut I have seen other and more sensitive natures suffer so keenly from their cut-and-thrust attacks, that I have learned to rate them as they' de- serve to be rated, and to remember that lions are sometimes stung to death by gnats." "Yet, if I were an artist, I do not think I should mind them," said Valerie, looking up. "If I had the consciousness of genius to support me, they might sa'y and do their worst. I would fight my way to fame by a longer, but a surer road; for, after all, it is the public, and not the critics, who build up an enduring renown.~~ "It was the public, perhaps, in the days when Cimabue painted his Madonnas, and when all Florence made a grand holiday, and strewed flowers in his path," answej~ed Darcy; "but it is not the public in this age, and least of all, in this country. Even in the old-cultured centres of art, the critics lead opinion: here, they simply make it. If every one is not of the same mind with re- gard to a work of art, it is only because their oracles sometimes disagree, not because they take the liberty of judging for themselves concerning its merits." "How very flattering you are!" "Am I? Then it was quite uni~ten- tionally; for I did not think there could be flattery, or the reverse, in merely stating an admitted fact. The general rule in Ameri- ca is a want of artistic culture. But there is no general rule without exceptions; and, judging from my own experience, I should think these exceptions quite numerous." "Judging from the Gazette this morning, perhaps you mean?" "No: for I regard this more as the kind- ness of a friend than the decision of ~ critic. As I said before, however, I am very indif- ferent-too indifferent, I fear-to things of this kind. I work out a conception to the best oP-my ability, according to the manner in which it is given me; more than that I cannot do, at the bidding of all the critics who ever wrote. When I first began to use a brush-and that was as soon as I could use any thing-I chose for my own the mot- to of Van Eyck. You may remember it?" "I don't think I do." "It is 'Ale i/o kan!'-'T'll do my best!' Having done my best, I ciin afford to care very little for what is said of my efforts. I am grateful for praise, especially intelligent praise ~~-his eye glanced toward the paper in his hand-" but I do not work to gain it. I am quite unmoved by fault-finding, be it ever so severe." It was evident that he meant in the full- est sense all the words that he uttered; in- deed, looking at him as he uttered them, nobody could have doubted the fact. It is either the intensely self~distrustful, or the intensely vain, who are easily affected by the outside influences of which he spoke; and, plainly, this man was neither the one nor the other. He was too firmly self-reli- ant for the first; too proud, in the best sense of the word, for the second. Not one of the three people listening to him had any cor- dial liking for him in their hearts; y'et each one of them was forced into a belief of his sincerity, and a half-reluctant admiration of his simple, earnest creed-the creed so far removed from the morbid sensitiveness and overweening self-consciousness which is so often the curse of genius. that it has grown to be recognized as one of its distinguishing characteristics. True, Julian curled his lip and shrugged his shoulders, as he would have done if Raphael himself had spoken; but even he felt the presence of something which had the ring of reality in it, and no- body spoke until Madame Vacquant at last said, lightly: "You shame us all, my dear Maurice; for there are few people nowadays who take life or any thing about life in this spirit. It is terrible to consider. how frivolous and skeptical we have become; and how the taint of cynicism is in every thing we do or I say. As for you-you ~houh1 have been born in the twelfth instead of the nineteenth I century! You would have suited that ex- I aetly." "You pay him a high compliment," said. Valerie. Then she turned abruptly to Dar- cy. "Of course, you have read Montalem- I bert's 'St. Elizabeth,' have you not?" "Yes-long ago." "And of course you remember and ad- ~ mire-who does not ?-the matchless intro- duction, in which he gives a living, breath- ing picture of that age of faith where Ma- dame Vacquant would place you?" "Yes," he said, a little wonderingly. "Well," said the young lady, rising as she spoke, and moving toward the door, which she opened, "I agree with her. I think you ought to have lived then. I think you would have suited that period. But I don't think you suit, or are likely to suit, the age of to-day." The door closed in a way that gave em- phasis to her last words, and effectually cut off all chance of reply, if Darcy had been disposed to make any. lie was by this time used to Miss Aylmer's little amenities, so he only smiled, and then turned to Madame Vacquant. "I am sorry to be obliged to hurry you, madame, but I have an engagement down- street in the course of the next hour or so, and I should not like to break it." "I should not like you to break it on my account, certainly," answered the lady. "I will be ready in a few minutes." She, in turn, left the room; and then, while Darcy was glancing his eye over Mr. Thornton's art critique, Julian roused him- self from the depths of his chair and the depths of his languor sufficiently to say: "I suppose I ought to go too. This" looking down at his velvet morning-coat- "is not exactly en re~gle for Charles Street. What a deuce of a trouble it is-the contin- ual dressing and undressing to which civil- ized humanity is doomed! If I ever commit suicide, it will certainly be from sheer wea- riness on this account. Darcy, my good fel- low, I wonder if the sight of your picture will prove a sufficient reward foZ~ the exer- ~ion that lies before me?" "I don't wonder any thing about it-I know it will not," answered Darcy, careless- y. "I hope you are net so foolish as to be ;oing down to see my picture, Romney." "I am, though-and why not?" "Because I doubt if you would be repaid or the walk by a master-piece of Oorreggio -and I am sure you will iuot be any thing sear repaid by the inspection of my handi.- york." page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 VALERIE AYLMER. A DECLARATION-NOT OF LOVE. 75 "Don't you like it?" "Of course I like it.. In fact it is one of the few things I have ever painted, that sat- isfies me as much as one can be satisfied by one's own execution, I suppose. But you won't like it." "Why not? Is it pre-Ilaphaelite?" Darcy laughed andshruggedhis shoulders. "No: I was infected with the ~Ruskin fever when I was a much younger man, and there has been time enough for the madness to partially subside; but it is not according to flegel and Schelling either, and the ab- sence of the Dftsseldorf element will be a much graver fault in your eyes than the presence of any amount of pre-Raphaclitism, I s~ispcct." "I trust I am not hopelessly biased in my admiration or my views." "Most of us are, I think. But here is Miss Aylmer, and your coat yet unchanged." 'Romney started, for, truly enough, the door had opened, and Miss Aylmer in full walking costume stood before him. He rose hastily, made the best excuse he could muster, and went hurriedly to perform his obnoxious toilet duties, while the young lady came forward with an air too negligent t~ have been quite natural. "Pray don't put down your paper," she said, as Darcy laid aside the Gazette. "I am going straight to the piano-I always do when I am waiting-and I won't disturb you in the least. I know how provoking it is to he disturbed, especially when one is pleasantly engaged." Whatever Darcy's other social short- comings, want of tact was certainly not one of them. Some men would have been fool- ish enough to have persisted in laying aside the paper, and in forcing the fact of their presence upon a reluctant companion; but this man 'was never one to fall into such a vulgar error. On the contrary, he took up the Gazette again, and,'with a quiet bend of the head in acknowledgment of the lady's consideration, devoted himself to the polit- ical-intelligence column with very edifying assiduity, while she sat down to the piano and amused herself with modulating the soft chords and harrnonieus of the "Conso- lation I,' They were still t~te-d-t6te in this in- teresting' fashion when Madame Yacquant came back, and, Julian soon after following, they set forth. Of course, there was no hesitation about the order of march. The elder lady took quiet but undisputed possession of Darcy, and entertained him with high-art criti- cisms and Huskin quotations down the whole length of Charles Street, to the very door of that charming place of resort which was popularly known as "French's," and official- ly as the "Art Emporium." Here Horn- ney suddenly excused himself. "Since I have come thus far," he said, "I might as well go a little farther, and see one or two troublesome people on a troublesome matter of business. I will be back in about half an hour. I suppose you wrn have exhausted your raptuyes by that time, and I can ad- mire the picture at my leisure." He lifted his hat-bowed-smiled-van- ished-while the others, by no means dis- consolate at his departure, entered the se- rene and somewhat dim region (it would be sacrilege to call it a shop), the popularity of which as a lounging resort needed no ex- planation after a ~ingle glance at the vista of beauty which opened at once on the gaze. It speaks well for the taste of the multitude that, provided they can obtain the luxury free of cost, they always like to be sur- rounded by things that embody the beau- tiful; and that, even in a community which is substantially unheedful and unappreciative of art, any gallery thrown open to the public is sure of being wellpatronized by sight-seers. Wise legislators and wise philanthropists, knowing this, provide such places of resort, and so, by indirect means, educate the pop. ular taste, and, by slow degrees, bring into the barren popular life some of the soften- ing and grace that comes alone of beauty as we know it in art; but, such legislators and such philanthropists being rarer than precious jewels in America~ the careless majority, as well as the art-loving minority, are fair to content themselves with and be grateful for such substitutes as this "Em-' porium" of Mr. French. Yet there have been worse ones, even in an artistic sense It was certainly a beautiful place-a place where pictures~in gleaming frames rose tier after tier on the walls; where groups of statuary, in all their white motionless grace, met the eye on every side; where alabaster vases and Parian statuettes abounded; and where there were always to be found the finest specimens of marqueterie and the rarest trifles of vert~& that enterprise could command or wealth obtain - a place, too, where the real connoisseur was always cer- tain of being able to find good paintings at terms not-well, not extravagant. If Mr. French demanded a good price for a good thing, it was no more than he had an un- doubted right to do; and people who spent their annual thousands on dresses and horses and jewels, had the grace not to grumble overmuch at the necessity of paying a few hundreds now and then for the privilege of hanging a picture worth calling a picture on their walls-especially since they knew that these hundreds would go to the artist, and not to the convenient agent who trans- acted the business and pocketed the profits. From this well-known and very common character Mr. French was indeed as com- pletely distinct as it is possible to imagine two things. He was far less dealer, than gentleman, far less merchant than liberal patron and lover of ttrt. In his eyes, the laborer was always worthy of his hire; and no artist had ever known him buy a picture for one price and triple or quadruple the amount when he sold it to some wealthy dilettant. "Fair profits are one thing," he was accustomed to say, "and gross robbery is quite another. I would as soon steal a man's purse as to buy his picture for a song and sell it for a fortune." And no one had ever been able to say'that these principles belied themselves. On the contrary, he had made mat~y a noble outlay, and done many a generous deed which his right hand- that is, the world-never suspected, but which those wham he benefited not only knew, but remembered so well, that his praises were sounded far ani wide among the genial art' brotherhood. Groups of people were loitering about, admiring various pictures, criticizing various statuettes, moving softly, and speaking with the well-modulated voice of well-bred con- versation, when the two ladies attended by Darcy entered. They did not pause, how- ever, but passed directly up a flight of stairs to a room above-a room that was evidently the adytum of this sanctuary of art. It could not have been called a gallery, for it was of moderate size, finished with the simple ele- gance of a drawing-room, and containing only three or four pictures, together with a beautiful marble group which occupied the centre of the floor. But even a tyro's glance would have seen at once that each of the three or four pictures were works of the highest excellence, and the names attached were of world-wide fame; yet none of them at present occupied the place of honor-a position at the head of the room where the light fell broad, and full from a carefully- toned sky-window-this was reserved for the new painting, before which an attentive group were standing when the three entered. "Pray, let us wait until those people go," said Valerie, sinkiri~ down on a divan. "If there is one thing I detest more than an- other, it is looking at a picture over half a dozen shoulders." "I am rather tired, and a rest will be pleasant," said Madame Yacquant,. follow- ing her example.-" Maurice, don't let us de- tain you. I see Mr. French wants to speak to you.~~ She gave a gracious bow to the pleasant- faced, gentlemanly man, who came forward from the group aforesaid, and drew Darcy aside; then sank back, and devoted her- self to a landscape opposite, until the knot of people passed from before the picture, and, with a few last words to Darcy~ Mr. French accompanied them from the room. Then Maurice came forward. A value man, or a man more distrr~stful of his own powers, might have been fluttered by the ordeal be~ fore him; but he only smiled quietly, as he said: "Will you both come and tell me what you think of my work?" They both came and stood before it-. each secretly steeled against admiration. This was what they saw: A deep woodland glade-~--a sort of delI it seemed-in the' heart of an almost tropical forest. Save f~r the want of sufficient depth I page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] VALERIE AYLMER. A DECLARATION-NOT OF LOVE. of coloring, and the lack of gorgeous para- sites, the character of the scenery might have been identified with that of Mexico or Brazil, but as it was-with the fresh, eme- rald verdure, the familiar forms of the well- known forest - trees, the graceful swinging creepers, and, farther back, the long, draping gray moss that gave its only funereal aspect to the scene-there was no mistaking the royal forest that, with little break or change of character, clothes our fair land, from the Potomac to the Rio Grande; deepening only in luxuriance and beauty as it sweeps down from the green Carolina hills to the golden sands of the Mexic Gulf. Far back into dim distance stretched awall of liv~ig green, *but the foreground of the picture was en- tirely occupied by the nook that formed an island in the midst of this ocean of tangled verdure. Here the light fell soft and dim through the shade of overhanging boughs, and the short turf was green and smooth as any garden lawn; here, also, it was evident that the artist had striven to embody the exuberant fullness of rejoicing with which Nature sometimes breaks forth, filling all inanimate creation with that pulse of joy which thrilled it on the creation morning. The spring that bubbled up between the roots of a giant live-oak, the graceful wil- low that bent to touch the stream, as it glided away, the flowering vines that fringed its course, the large moss-covered stones, the fresh, emerald grass, the golden sunbeams that glinted and quivered down through the thick canopy of leaves, the bright-eyed bird that arched its dainty neck to drink a fairy draught of water, even the lizard that sunned itself luxuriously on a fallen log-had all been touched by a brush that lingered lovingly and carefully over eac~i detail. And, in the midst of this glad and lavish loveliness, there lay stretched the dead figure of a soldier- thrown as if in the careless grnce of slumber beside the stream. There were no signs of strife to mar the sylvan quiet, no trampled grass, nor bloody tokens of mortal hate, and deadly carnage-only the overflowing vi- tality of Nature in contrast with the man who, like a wounded hart, had crept to this covert to die-only Life mocking the still presence of Death. The uniform was that of a private in the Confederate army- the worn and faded gray-but no roughness of costume could conceal the fact that it was a gentleman who had lain down there to die. There was not a personal mark that did not tell the story of gentle blood and gentle rear- ing. The slender build of form, the finely. tapering extremities, the white and delicate hand thrown up over the soft, silken curls, and the clear, handsome outline of face (the gazer could almost ~ee the gray death-shade stealing over it, and feel how proud and beautiful those dark eyes must have been be- fore the long lashes fell over them forever), were all eloquent of culture, hereditary as well as personal. One glove lay on the grass, and near it the soldier's overturned cup; while, farther away, the carbine rested where it had dropped from the failing grasp. The other clinched hand held a handker- chief to the ghastly wound upon the chest, from which a dark-red tide poured on the velvet mosses; and over the whole picture brooded a pathos unutterable. Few eyes could have looked on it undimmed, and it was not strange that, after a moment, Vale- rie was raining a shower of tears beneath her veil, while even Madame Vacquant was subdued and silent. When she did at last speak, it was in that hushed tone which in- voluntarily we adopt in a death-chamber, for truly it seemed more as if the reality than the shadow was present here. "Maurice, it is beautiful-it is wonder- full I almost feel as if the poor fellow had just died before me! But what is the name of it?" "Missing," he answered, briefly, "Nothing more?" "Nothing more." "What more would you have?" asked Valerie, speaking with an effort. "Only it reminds me of something-I scarcely know what." "Perhaps I can tell you,7~ said Darcy, with a smile. "Is it not of an anony- mous poem which appeared during the war under that title? I thought it exquisite; and it suggested this to me." "Yes-I remember now," she said. And then in a low voice, often broken, she repeated two verses: "'In the cool, sweet hush of a wooded nook, where the May-buds sprinkle the green old sward, And the winds, and the birds, and the limpid brook, Mingle their strains with a drowsy sound, Who lies so still in the plushy moss- His pale face pressed on a grassy pillow- Just where the light and the shadows cross, In the flickering fringe of the willow- Who lies, alas! So still, so chill, in the whispering grass? "'A soldier clad In Zonave dress, A bright-haired man, with his lips apart? Onehand thrownup o'er the frank, dead face, The other clutching his pulseless heart, Lies here in the shadows cool and dim, His musket swept by a trailing bough, Withi~ careless grace in each quiet limb- But a wound on the manly brow- Awound, alas? Whence the warmbl3od drips on the quiet grass I ~ After that, they were silent a long time. Finally, however, Madame Vacquant looked at her watch, and said that she must go. She remembered a dozen things she wanted, and especially that she meant to look in at Easter's, and see if it was possi- ble to find there a piece of velvet that matched her purple silk. She turned to Miss Ayjmer. "Valerie, will you come? We can leave a message with Mr. French, telling Julian where to find us." "I believe I would rather remain, if you will excuse me," said Valerie. "Easter's is farther down, is it not? Then you call for me on your return. I have not seen: half enough of this picture yet." She kept her seat on the sofa that Darcy had wheeled forward, with evidently not the least intention of stirring; so Madame Vacquant looked at Maurice. "Do you stay too?" she asked, a little significantly. Before he could reply, Valerie answered promptly: "No. I would not think of keeping Cap- tam Darcy. Pray take him with you, for it cannot be very interesting to sit and look at one's own picture." "More interesting than you would im- agine," he said, with a laugh; but he add- ed, turning to Madame Vacquant: "Of course I am at your service for Easter's or elsewhere." She accepted the offer very graciously, and they left the room together. Then Valerie leaned back with a deep sigh of re- lief, and, resting her cheek on her hand, looked steadily at the canvas before her- looked until the lines wavered and grew dim, and the pale, handsome face of the dead soldier seemed resting in a mist. She had only just raised her hand to dash away the obtrusive tears, when a familiar step made her turn quickly, and she faced Darcy, who was entering the room. Perhaps she did not care to dissemble her not-very-well-pleased surprise. Her first words were: "I thought you accompanied Madame Vacquant." "Madame Vacquant was kind enough to dispense with my attendance," he said. "She found Mrs. Jennings down-stairs, and they have gone together, after agreeing that I would doubtless make but a poor appraiser of silks and laces. So I came back-glad to find you still alone." Now, in the course of her life, a great many people, at a great many different times, had been glad to find Valerie alone; so that the formula was quite a familiar one to her ears. But it was certainly the last she had ever expected to hear from Maurice Darcy. Of course she did not misunderstand him, or fancy, for a moment, that whatever he wished with her could bear a tender sig- nificance; but still, all things considered, it was scarcely wonderful that the large eyes opened in her astonishment. ~ she said. "Of course I am still alone. Did you expect to find any one with me?" "No," he answered, with his cool, quiet smile, which she never exactly understood, and therefore never exactly fancied. "But, luck favors me so seldom-and this is luck -that I can afford to be incredulous when there does come a manifestation. May I sit down? I have something to say to you which I hope will not take very long; but one may as well talk at one~s ease." She bent her head a little, and swept back her flowing draperies, so as to leave the other end of the divan clear; then she said carelessly: "I confess I am at a loss to imagine I, page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] U'1 VALERIE AYLMER. A DECLARATION-NOT or LOVE~ what you can possibly have to say to me in -in this way." "You would hardly be likely to guess," he said, with another flitting smile. "it is seldom, I fancy, that you have been enter- tained by matters so prosaic as legacies and rights of inheritance. Nay, you need not start~"-she had started very perceptibly- "I will not bore you if I can help it." But here she interrupted him, her face flushing slightly: "I don't. know that you need trouble yourself to explain any thing, Captain Dar- cy. I already understand 'the nature of our conflicting claims, and, if the matter at all rested with me, would be perfectly willing to waive mine-but it does not do so. Grandpapa alone can decide about his fu- hire arrangements; and you must excuse me if I decline entering into a discussion from which no good can possibly ensue." She spoke in her usual clear, silvery tone, fluently and without hesitation. Dar- cyheard her to the close, and then answered calmly: "And you must excuse me if I still press my desire to be heard. Perhaps I had bet- ter begin by explaining that you totally mis- understand all that I wish to say. You speak of 'conflicting claims '-there I must beg leave to correct you. No claims of mine do, or possibly can, conflict with yours." She looked up at him-thinking in her heart, the while, that he was even a subtler schemer than she had fancied, or else he would net attempt to spllt hairs in this way, and waved her hand with a slight gesture of scorn, as she answered: "What does it matter? You know what I mean-even although I may have used terms that were a shade incorrect. I do not see that it makes any material differ- ~nce whether you have a claim on grand- papa, or whether he enriches you by his own free will. Once more, believe me that the matter is not of sufficient importance to me for jrour definitions to prove of interest." "And once more I must be uncivil enough to force them on you," lie said, be- ginning in turn to speak a little :haughtily. "At least," and the 'tone softened down I again, "for your sake. No, pray don't speak-" as Valerie enclosed her lips evi- dently with that intention-" we shall never get forward, if we keep on talking at cross- purposes. Let me make matters clear, and then you may answer what you please. It will not take me many minutes to do so, for I have not much to say." Still he paused-as if rather uncertain how to say even that much. But Valerie gave him no assistance. She only leaned back silently, waiting for him to speak. After a moment, he resumed-dashing at once and very summarily into the heart of his subject: "I believe you regard me as a mercenary schemer, endeavoring to deprive you of your inheritance. I do not resent the suspicion9 It is perhaps natural, for you do not know me. But I ask you to dismiss that appre- hension entirely and forever. I have never had the least intention of accepting any be- quest from my uncle. What his intention has been, I do not know, nor does it matter -since I have already told him explicitly that he must not put my name in his will." The firm, clear tones paused at those words, and Valerie looked up with a start. "I am sorry to hear that," she said, still coldly, but with some appearance of inter- est. "I have been thinking what a good thing it was that grandpapa had found an heir who. seemed to suit him so welL 4s for me, I regret that you, that any one, for that matter, should consider me so merce- nary as to have been coveting this money and not wishing you to have it. As I un- derstand the matter, grandpapa withheld his sister's fortune, and it is only right-it is only common honesty-that he should re- store it to her representative. I have thought so ever since I heard any thing about it. I should indeed feel very great contempt for myself if I had thought any thing else." She spoke quietly, almost indifferently, toying the while with the tassels of her muff; and, when she finished, sank back again into her former: languid attitude. From this, however, Darcy's next words roused her perceptibly-spoken as they were very simply: "This morning my uncle-who seems to share your opinion about conflicting claims -proposed to me a mode of compromise which I should never think of mentioning to you if he had not said that you were already aware of his wishes on the subject. I see you know what I mean." lie might well see, since the blood surged up to the very roots of her hair, and her hand, closing over the silken cord with which she was toying, snapped it quite in two. When she lifted her eyes, they were all ablaze with indignation. "Yes, I have heard of ~ she said. "Do I need to tell you what I thought of it I" "No," he answered. "I have never done 'you such great injustice as to require a word on the subject. Of course, I knew that you would only reject the proposition. But then you did not know that I would be inclined to do likewise; and you might very naturally-perhaps you have-feared serious annoyance from me." Here she interrupted him. "You are mistaken. I have never~ yet feared or en- dured serious annoyance from any one." "I beg your pardon, then," he said. "I only thought it probable that I might ac- count in this way for much that has been repellent in your manner toward me. I thought that perhaps you meant to mark decidedly the absence of hope for me; and that it would be well if I put your mind at rest on the subject, by assuring you that I have never for a moment entertained any intention of becoming a suitor for your hand; and furthermore "- the speaker could not restrain this-" that no such in- tention is at all possible in the future." Now, it chanced that Valerie possessed a very keen sense of humor, and this state- ment, at once so explicit and so earnest, struck her with such a sudden sense of the ludicrous, that even vanity was, for the mo- ment, subordinate to amusement, and she startled her companion by an irresistible peal of laughter. "Pray forgive me," she said, after a mo- ment-for it is surprising how a hearty laugh can scatter the mists of ill-humor- "but I really could not help it. I have never in my life been rejected before, and something must be allowed for the novelty of the sensation. You are very kind, but do you think it was necessary to be quite so candid and uncompromising?" "I have always found plain speaking answer best," he replied, "It was an un- complimentary explanation, but I fancied you would pardon theincivility for the sake of the truth. Once for all, set your mind at rest with regard to your inheritance, and believe that you have neither a rival nor a lover to fear in me." He spoke the last words decidedly, and rose at their conclusion. Evidently he had said his say, and meant to go, if Valerie had not made a motion to detain him. With all her faults, there was not in her an atom of the false pride which cannot freely acknowl-. edge an error; so, after a moment, she spoke-hurriedly, as if somewhat doubting her own resolution, but bravely, as if de- termined to go through with it: "You are perfectly right, Captain Darcy. Plain speaking is best; so I hope you will not be surprised that I follow your example~ and give you a return of it. The project of which you only heard this morning, I was informed of before I left home;, and I am sure you need be at no loss, to imagine the consequences-even if you had not seen them. I came here against my will, to be placed on exhibition before a man to whom my hand had been offered, as I supposed! That was a pleasant position, don't you. think so? Well, the result was, that I tried to show you that I had no part in such a plan, and that you might keep the fortune forever and a day without my sending a sigh after it. You say that I considered you a mercenary schemer? Frankly, I did. I thought you were here to acquire and retain influence over grandpapa; and, although I never grudged you the fortune-part of it, at least, I thought your right-~till I felt very sincere contempt for the fortune-seek- er. I now recognize the injustice of these opinions, and I am not ashamed to beg your pardon for them." Half-proudly, but very gracefully, she held out her htnd, with a gesture which the veriest churl could scar4~ely have disre- garded; and which made Darcy appreciate, y78 I page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 VALERIE as he had never done before, her singular power of fascination. He only held the little pearl-gloved member for a moment, however; then released it, saying: "You are very good-but we won't speak of pardon at all, if you please. I don't blame you in the least for your opin- ion-as I said before, it was very natural, and scarcely mattered to me at all. I should never have cared to make this expla- nation for my own sake." Valerie looked up, biting her lip a little. Indeed, such a tone would have been apt to irk most women. "I cannot sufficiently ad- mire your frankness," she said, with a very deoi4led dash of sarcasm. "Don't trouble yourself to do ho," Dar- cy answered, with a pleasant laugh. "Peo- ple who admired my frankness would find a good deal to occupy them. And now I leave you to the solitude which I inter- rupted. Will you be kind enough to make my excuses to Madame Yacquant, and say that a business engagement prevents my ac- companying her home?" Valerie bent her head, and, as she made no answer, nor any effort to detain him, he left the room. AYLMER. For the next five minutes, Miss Aylmer's face was a study-amusement, vexation, surprise, and pique, were so plainly mingled there. Then they all suddenly cleared away, and the dark eyes lifted themselves clear and bright, while the lips enclosed in a low laugh. "So my opinion 'scarcely mattered at all! "' she said, with the glance of a ebal- lenged champion. "Truly, I begin to think this haughty gentleman needs a lesson- in good manners, at least. It may prove worth while to give it to him-I have rather a fancy for a man who does not low- er his flag at once-and then he can remem- ber for his comfort q'ira bien ~ue ri~ra le dernier!" It is almost useless to say that to will and to do-in matters of conquest-were quite the same thing with the speaker; but, if she could have foreseen what this resolu- tion was to cost herself and others, she might, perhaps, for once, have paused. She did not foresee it, however; and so she walked on to the end. Doubtless we all .do that, but it goes doubly hard with us when that end-if it be a dark or bitter one-is of our own making. should hardly have been blockhead enough to meet such a woman and forget her." "But perhaps you might-" "There's no perhaps about it! I didn't, I tell you!" "Of course you didn't," said another, laughing. "The thing would be impossible. Don't excite yoi~vself, Hal; for nobody's going to believe it. Even Thornton, cold- blooded as he is, knows it would be impos- sible." "I don't know any thing of the kind," retorted he of the hearth-rug. "She is i~ pretty woman, undoubtedly; but, in those days, men's heads were not running on pret- ty women; and, as it is, I am ,sure I should forget her to-morrow, with any thing of im- portance to drive her from my recollection." "You! Who ever set you up as a stand- ard to go by?" "Nobody, I hope; since he mightreadlly find a better one." "And easily find a worse," said Arle. "Don't abuse yourself; Thornton. It is such bad taste, and so nuziecessary, too, as long as one has any friend left. So this is tke Miss Aylmer," he went on, meditatively; "the same that all those Louisiana fellows used to swear by so tremendously. They called her-~-deuce take my nmnioi~y !-what was it they called her, Darford?" "La belle de8 belles," answered the per- son addressed. "I remembered the name the first moment I saw her. - Strangely enough, too, I i~emembered Estmann's face when he used to spring to his feet-about half~seas over-crying out, 'Full glasses now, BOOK III. CHAPTER I. A TEST OF rownn. * CHRISTMAS had come and gone, and the season was fairly at its height, when, on a certain January evening of sleet and snow, a party of three or four gentlemen were tak- ing their ease, not exactly at an inn, but at our civilized and latter - day substitute-a well-warmed and well-lighted club-house apartment. Their conversation had~ been ranging over many topics, social and other- wise, for some time, until at last it chanced to fall upon the most noted among the reigning belles of the s~son. "It is rather singular," said one of them -Harry Arle, by name-" that all the time I am dancing and talking with her, I feel a positive conviction that I' have seen her somewhere before, and an equally positive incapacity to even imagine where it could have been. The thing tornients me-as a recollection playing at hide-and-seek always will-and is the more remarkable since no- body can say that she is a person likely to be forgotten~." "Decidedly not a person likely to be for- gotten," said one who occupied the hearth- rug, d Z'Anglaise. "It is singular, certainly. But then, after all, you may have met her and forgotten it, Hal. Didn't you seri~e in the trans-Mississippi for a while?" "To be sure I did, but what has that to do with it? If Ihad never heard of Valerie Aylmer~.-and I scarcely heard of anybody else after I entered the Confederacy-I 6 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] 82 VALERIE AYLMER. A TEST OF' POWElL 83 boys; for here's health and long life to La belle des belles I' Poor fellow! he was about as far gone in the matter of love as I have ever seen anybody; and now he's there," -the speaker nodded toward the silent Yir- ginia battle-fields--." while she's here." "In full blast, too," ~aid Arle. "Well -such is' life. 'To-day for me, to-morrow for thee,' youknow; so by all means spend to-day as royally as you can. That's the philosophy the times have taught me. Est- mann was not the only one of her victims, though. There was Chrtard of the twenty- ninth-he was killed at Malvern Hill, you know-and Boyd of the Washington Artil- lery; and.-" "Pshaw!" interrupted Thornton. "If you begin counting over her list of killed and wounded, you will find that half the Louisi- ana brigades were spoon about her. She was the standing toast at every mess-table to whThh I ever was invited; and I am sure that. at least one-third of the 'field-pieces were named after her. Do you remember that splendid mare Alston had shot under him at Ohancellorsvile? I really believe he hated the loss of the creature, principally because she was named 'La belle dee belles." "Well, can anybody tell me what is the secret of it all?" asked Number Four, whose name was Stuart, and whoseforte was mild cynicism and skepticiSm. "She's pret- ty, of course; though a great deal too dark for my taste-but there are plenty other pretty women in the world, and they don't make such a nois& I should really like to know the secret of it." "You'd really like to know the origin of evil too, wouldn't you?" asked Arle, laugh- ing. "The questions are equally abstruse, I take it. At least, I h~'re known a great many wise men in my life; but I have never yet known any of them wise enough to tell how it is that one pretty woman goes through the world unnoticed, while another, in no degree prettier, is answerable for the imbe- cility of dozens." "I shouldn't think of making her an- swerable for their imbecility," saidThornton. "In oases of this kind, 'a fool's a fool for a' that,' and it would go hard with women if they were made accountable for all the ab- surdity that has their name for its war- rant." "That's where we always disagree," said Darford. "I don't know that it's worth while arguing with you; but my opinion re- mains the same: 'no man ever made a fool of himself without just provocation and en- couragement." "Take care, then, when you come within range of this fairlady," said Arle. "Report has slandered her terribly if she does not un- derstand this provocation and encourage- ment better than any other woman of her day and generation." "Perhaps that is what is the matter with ~omney," put in the cynic. "Has anybody noticed a change in him lately?" "For better, or for worse?" "Well, not exactly for either. There's a difference; but I should not feel justified in describing it as an improvement.~~ "Perhaps you mean that crimson sling,7~ suggested Arle. "It is remarkably becom- ing!" "Hold your envious tongue! " retorted Thornton. "You haven't forgiven him for that walk in the snow yet.-Don't mind his interruption, Stuart. Explain what you mean." "I don't know that I can explain,",said Stuart, in an injured tone. "Anybody that had eyes might have seen it for himself. He isn't as fretful and ready to take offence of late, but he's twice as supercilious and full of self-conceit." "He hasn't played any to speak of since he got well," said Arle, "and that's some- thing remarkable." "Nor flirted any, either," subjoined Darford. "And from these facts you argue that the pretty Prince Charmingis probablynetted!" "Something more than probably, I should say; considering that he is on terms of the most evident intimacy with this fair lady, and, with all his b(ae~ affectations, I really think Romney is sp~ony at bottom." "Oh, he was completely knocked over some time ago," said Darford, carelessly.' "I shouldn't be surprised if he succeeded, too; and, if so, he'll make a good thing o1~it. Ntis~ Aylmer is her grandfather's sole heiress.~~ "She's got a brother," said Stuart. " met him in Paris this fall." "She's got two of them, for that mat ter," answered Arle, coolly; "but they ar her half-brothers-no relation to NI. Vac quant. I have heard on the best possible authority, however, that he means to leav4 the bulk of his fortune to his nephew." "My dear fellow, what do you consider: the best possible authority?" "What do you think of Madame Yac quant I" Darford, who had asked the former ques tion, shrugged his shoulders contempt ously. "I don't think any thing at all. I shouk not trust a statement of hers any further than-I wanted to. She'd say the moon was made of green cheese, if such an asser. tion would serve her purpose in any way. As for this, it's not like h~r habitual caution to speak so openly of a family matter; and that in itself would make me suspect some- thing. Ten to one, Miss Aylmer is the heiress; and she spreads this report to keep the course clear until her pretty darling has come in at the winning-post." "You are right," said Thornton, nodding toward the speaker. "I give you credit for your sagacity. It's not many people who see that far into la madame. For my part, I hold her to be a woman whose diplomatic power is so great that she is simply wasted in her present position. She should have been born to the throne of all the Bus- sias, where she eould have revelled in af- fairs of state to her heart's content. But I can't help hoping it may be true about Darcy's heirship!-~--he is such a capital fel- low!" "He is indeed!" said Arle, warmly- "the very best of fellows! But his picture- painting does not look much as if he were a presumptive inillionnaire, does it? I wish, by-the-way, he'd settle here. We need a first-rate artist deplorably. Wouldn't Miss Rivi~re be enchanted if he did? Do you know, I really think there is something seri- ous in that quarterS I wouldn't blame him, either. She's charming in every thing but the one great essential-..-confound it i-By- the-way, Thornton, you are an~ couranC of I every thing musical can you tell me whether she is really meditating a publi& appearance?" e "Not I," said Thornton. "But, for her own sake, I hope the report is unfounded." e "Why?" o "Simply because she would fail, if she were foolish enough to attempt such a r thing." "I don't see that." "Don't you? Then I trust you never may-that's all." "Have you ever heard her sing?" "Never." "Then how the deuce-" "Oh, nonsense, Darford 1 Don't you know Thornton is wholly incredulous of 'native talent,' and 'native culture,' and all that sort of thing?" interrupted Arle, laugh- ingly. "He puts his trust in Italian sing- * ers, and disdains every thing below Ger- * man fiddles. I only wonder he ever said a * good word for anybody born this side of the water." "I certainly don't put my trust in ama- teur vocalists, who have had their heads turned by drawing-room applause, and want to carry theirweak falsettos on the boards," said Thornton, indifferently. "Ihave never heard Miss Rivi~re sing; but I don't know where she would stow away a voice in that childish figure of hers; at all events, she had better think twice before she comes before the public." "Then there's Bomney," said Stuart- not very relevantly, as it seemed. "I've always thought it a pity he would not try the lyric stage. He has a capital tenor, and the profession would suit him. The perpet- ual incense and flattery might do sometls~ng' toward soothing that chronic discontent of his, if any thing could." "A proviso well ndi od," said Arle, throwing away the burning en~l of his cigar. "At least if he ever doestake ~siich a step, I should be profoundly thankful that Fate did' not make a stage-manager of me. Now, dp~vpQe dee bottle, who is opera-bound t& night?" "All of u14 I' fancy~" said Darford. "Do you mean to say it is time~? If so, I must be off, for I have troublesome couple of' ~1' & page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 ~rALRUI~ AYLMEI~ A TEST OF P~WRR. 85 cousins on my hands.-Thornton, do you take anybody?" Thornton shook his head. He rarely took anybody in the way Darford meant. "No," he said. "I need to keep my ears open-as I shall have to tell to-morrow how often the tenor sang B natural when he ought to have sting B fiat-and if you ever succeeded in doing that with a woitian by * your side, it is more than I huve. No mat- ter whether a cavatina or a duo is going on, the pretty creatures 'will prattle about the basso's eyes and the prima donna's dress! Is it an off-night of escort-duty with either of you two?" "Not with me," said Stuart, gloomily. "I half promised Violet to come back," said ArIa; "but I doubt if she expects me -the Tracys were to call for her anyway." "Then you'll come with ~ said Thornton, "and, after. the opera, we'll ad- journ for supper to Guy's." "Agreed." Then the quartet broke up. An hour or two later, when Messieurs Arle and Thornton were shown to their stalls in the parquet of a crowded house, they found the saat adjoining them already occupied by a gentleman who, turning round on their entrance, proved to be Darcy. Sal- utations were cordially exchanged, and then, while he and Thornton fell into animated conversation, Arle screwed his lorgnette into place, and applied himself to a survey of the scene. It was a very brilliant one; for with the exception of a ballroom, there are few prettier sights than an opera-house -especially in Baltimore. From the dress. circle down to the verge of the orchestra, there was a perfect sweep of light and beauty, of fleecy dresses, and downy opera cloaks, of waving fans and gleaming jewels of fair hair elaborately arranged, and faii faces brightly smiling, until the coup d'eeii was of almost dazzling effect. To one keen. ly alive to such impressions, it was an over ture in itself, this bright gala-picture, this surging, flashing sea of human life pew within these narrow walls at the bidding ci a thousand different caprices, and broke into a thousand different waves of though and feeling that were all soon to be toned to the beating of one great pulse by the ne- big harmonies of the mighty power of music. Arle recognized a dozen acquaintances, and bestowed at least a dozen bows in half as many minutes, when suddenly his glass stopped short in ifs transit round the glitter- ing horseshoe, and remained fixed on one of the right-hand proscenium-boxes. Nor was his the only one thus attracted, for Miss Aylmer had just entered, and taken her seat behind the curtains, drawing them back with one handwhie her glance nwept over the house as quietly and indifferently as though from every part of it the ivory- mounted "double-barrels" had not been levelled upon her. There is a great deal in the consciousness of looking well to support a woman under such a scrutiny, however- and Valerie had never looked better. She was not at all one of the people whom the French have in mind when they say, con- temptuously, that by artificial light it is im- possible to tell a woman from a gnat-but she "lighted up" splendidly. If she was beautiful in ordinary dress, and by broad daylight, she was something positively daz- zling in evening costume, and amid evening surroundings. She was now evidently dressed for some after-ball, for, when she loosened and partially threw back the soft mass of cashmere and swan's-down that did duty for a cloak, her shoulders gleamed like polished marble above a corsage of rose-c9l- ored silk cut d la Grecque, and the shimmer of large pearls encircled her throat. In her masses of raven hair-no chignon or water- fall monstrosity had been called into play .-the same beautiful gems gleamed with their soft, fitful light, while her cheeks glowed, her eyes shon4, and her whole face was so full of beauty-so like in tint to a fervid tropical blossom-that even the im- passive Thornton murmured as he lowered his glass: "La belle dee belles indeed! No wonder she does so much mischief-.only I should think she would have accomplished her ap- L pointed share by this time." "Look at Romney, if you want to see i. about that," said Arle, with a laugh. "No L doubt of his being hard hit, eh, Darcy?" "L'amour et la fum~e tie peuvant ec caclier," answered Darcy, turning one care- less glance on the handsome face and silken sling that appeared just behind Valerie's white shoulder. Then the overture clashed forth, and there was silence with the trio. Not so, however, in the box which, beside Miss Aylmer and her cavalier, held~ Ma- dame Vacquant and a certain ami de la mai- eon-Harvey Wilmer by naine-who was the most convenient person imaginable for hack-duty, being always ready to play es- cort at a moment's notice, and never of- fended or disquieted at being dropped with any amount of summary haste. When the overture began, he had just discovered Mau- rice Darcy's presence in the house, and an- nounced the fact to his companion. She nodded, with a smile. "He has been in Richmond for a day or ~ she said, "and I quite forgot his in- tended return when I asked you to accom- pany us. Of course, after that, I had no seat to offer him. He promised to look in dur- ing the evening, however. Is not some one entering the opposite box? I will trouble you for my The glasses were surrendered and fixed just in time to catch the timid grace with which a dainty, brown-eyed girl entered the box in question, and, without throwing off her wrappings, at once eank out of sight behind the curtains, ~while a pale, elegant woman advanced to the front with a high- bred composure which was very perfect. They were quite alone, and Madame Yac- quant lowered her lorgnette with something of a shrug. "Mrs. Rividre and Alix," she said. "They make a point of being present at * every thing musical, I believe-p-and rarely accept an escort. There must be some foundation for the rumor that~- Ah! the curtain is going up!" The opera was "Faust;" and since this was among its earliest representations in Baltimore, quite a hush reigned over the house during the act which ensued. The Marguerite of the occasion was one who, since then, has almost made the r61e her own-playing it with unbounded applause before the most critical audiences of the Old World; but, though she has gained power and culture, none who see her to-day will say that she has gained grace and expres- sion since she charmed us in those early days, when she came shyly moving across the stage in her peasant kirtle, with her downcast eyes, and a missal closely clasped in her slender hands. When the act ended, there was a surging movement all over the house, as of some anxiety safely passed; then, while the tribute of enthusiasm was still echoing, Darcy and Arle rose with one accord from their seats. "Of course," said Thornton, "you do well to be in haste-if you want even so much as a smie-~.for there are plenty more moving in the same direction. I take it for granted you are both going there?" He nodded toward the box where Va- lena was already holding court; but Dan- cy shook his head. "Arle may speak for himself," he said; "but I am bound for quite another part. How is it, Hal? You are going there? He moved away, and a few minutes later opened the door of the box that contained Mrs. Rivi~r~ and her daughter. Both ladies turned round on his entrance, and both of their faces brightened so cordially that it was easy to see what a welcome visitor he was. A familiar visitor, too, their gteetings proved; and the sweet face of the girl looked pleased and happy as that of a child, when he sat down by her, and- asked how she liked the prima douna. Her raptures made him srniea little; but he listened to them, with that indulgent air which plainly shows that even nonsense from the lips of the speaker would be pleasant; and, us he listened, he also.-looked. Artist as ha was, he had certainly rarely seen a prettier sight at which t~i look. No- body had ever called Alix Bivibre beautiful, and probably nobody, ever 4~vould do so, since in the popular estimation there are certain elements ~of brilliance~ needed to make a type of even moderate beauty; and brilliant Alix never was; Indeed,~.y~rytint of her face~ and- every line of her tflgiwe, was so subdued and harmonious, that,"un- less attention were called to the fact, people page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] A TEST OF POWER. 86 VALERIE AYLMER. rarely noticed how exquisitely delicate was the one, how perfect in symmetry was the other. They said she was "lovely" and "charming," and a dozen other things be- sides,' and they knew that she was as grace- ful and fresh as a wild-flower of her native woods; but they never opened their eyes to see what a refined and dainty beauty she really possessed. Darcy saw it to-night, however.-~-saw the fitful blushes coming and going under the transparent skin, saw the sweet curl of the flexible lips, the clear, clas- sical outline of feature and head, the coronal of brown curls, silken as the plumage of a bird, and waving all around the fair, open, childlike brow-a brow in form and shape like Mozart's-and, above all, the large brown eyes, full of soft gloom, and deeply set. under the arched brows. Once only he glanced away from her-glanced aci~oss the house, to the vivid face just opposite-and then back again. It was, after this, that he said: "What is the reasout you have been am- buscading in this dark corner all the even- ing? I watched for even so much as a glimpse of yow-but .1 watched vainly. There are not so many fair fates here to- night that we can afford to dispense with one of the fairest." She looked up at him with very genuine rebuke in her eyes. "That do9s not sound like you," she said. "I don't fancy compliments from my friends. To tell the truth, I have kept in the background because I wanted to listen to the music without being interrupted by visitors.. You need not raise your eye- brows. You know I don't mean you. But if. I had .come forward, I should not have been afraid of much observation-with Miss Ayh~er just opposite. Is she not looking brilliantly?" "Very," he answered, quietly; "but I did not know that you especially admired her." "I! Oh, indeed yes. It is a matter of obligation with every Lonisianian to admire La ?i~fle .~.1ee 1)ellea, you know. I think' she is the most beautiful-the very most beauti- fizl woman I ever saw. What a grace and charm there is in her every movement! Look~ Captain Dar~y-.-lobk at that atti- tude!" With a smile, he took the lorguette she eagerly extended, and raised it to his eyes -.-looked for a moment, then lowered it again. "It is a very perfect picture," he said, coolly. "Only, don't you think it is a pity that one feels sure it has been so well studied?" "What do you mean?" she asked, a' lit- tIe wonderingly. "I mean," he answered, carelessly, "Miss Aylmer remembers exactly how many br- gnettes are levelled on her, and knows to a shade how far to advance her hand or ar- range her drapery-not to speak of those smiles and glances which are as plainly stage-effects as the prima donna's flaxen tresses." Alix looked lip-all indignant reproach -but the curtain rose at the moment, and Darcy was spared jhe task of justifying his aspersions. She turned at once to the stage, and for the time being had neither eyes nor ,ears for any thing else. Her absorption was so complete, that she was entirely uncon- scious of the interest with which Maurice watched her; or that he smiled at her eagerness as she leaned forward, drinking in every note of the plaintive and beautiful "King of Thulo." She looked up at him when the air was finished, and their eyes met with that fulness of common sympathy which some of us know, or think we know, once or twice in life-but never oftener. "Oh, was itnotexquisite?" sighed the little enthusiast, out of the very depths of her music-loving heart. Then her gaze travelled back to the stage, and soon she was bound in a spell of rapture by the brilliant and difficult strain of the "Air des Bijoux." It was here that Darcy began to share her ab- sorption-that the great prima donna ex- tended the spell of her power over him too. Of course he did not throw himself body and soul into the tide of harmonies, as the trembling, quivering, impressionable nature beside him was doing; but he forgot other surroundings for a space, and was swayed bythe pathos and power of the scene before him. Ab, that matchless music of Gounod! I Most of us have heard it again and again, and yet we learn a deeper lesson each time that we do hear it, and we go away as if we could never, never learn all its subtle mean- ings and hidden beauties-but will any of us ever forget the hour when we heard it first, when through and through us the mighty pulse of the master's genius rushed till earth seemed fading away beneath our feet, and the hot, sharp pleasure was more intense than, and almost as bitter as, pain? In the famous "garden-scene," the prima donna's al~aiu~oa of passion, her intensely dramatic powers of acting, her marvellous voice, which momently developed new fulness and compass, held her audience enchained as one man. As one man, that vast, silent crowd hushed its breath-struggled with her-thrilled with her-trembled with her -sank with her into the depths' of woman's loving weakness! When at last the curtain fell, it was not strange that, from gallery to pit, the applause broke forth in one wild storm, rising and falling only to rise again, when a fair, smiling girl, who had nothing in common with poor, impassioned Marguerite, made her appearance before the curtain, bowing her graceful thanks to right and left. Then Alix turned round in a perfect fever of enthusiasm. "Is she not charming? Is she not glori- ous? Ah, who would not be a great canta- trice?" was her cry. "Would you be a great cantatrice in opera?" asked Darcy, a little significantly. She hesitated a moment-then looked up at her mother and smiled. "Well-no, not in opera, I believe. I had forgotten the, acting, and was thinking only of the sing- ing. That is ~o beautiful! I wonder-I wonder-" H~r voice broke down here, but her companion seemed to understand what she meant. "Don't wonder any thing about it," said he, kindly. "Remember that confidence in your own power is sometimes half the battle. The day is not far distant when you will be as well or better known to fame than the singer you have heard to-night." "You are very good to say so, but-" "But what?" "I cannot think so; and indeed I do not care much for it to be so. I love Music so well that I would gladly serve her as bond- woman all my life, without any other rec- ompense than she herself gives. But since that is impossible, since I muat hope, for a little reward, I hope for it in the shape of money, not of fame." "Hush, Alix!" said her mother, laugh- ing. "You shock Captain Darcy by such mercenary avowals." "Captain Darcy does not look shockedd" said Alix, glancing at him shyly. "I am not afraid to talk so before him-he under- stands me." "Yes, I think I do," said Darcy, quickly, and in his heart he truly did. lie under- stood how this sensitive nature shrank from the fierce glare of that publicity which we call fame, and how still more deeply it re- coiled from making merchandise of the ser- vice which was to her-as it is to every true child of music-only a degree less holy than the service of God. In her soul there was music always, her whole life was set to the half-unconscious rhythm of noble harmonies, and there was not a thought or an act of it apart from this great worship; but still, she faced bravely and steadily the necessity of taking these heaven-born powers and inspi- rations into the rude market of the world. It was out of the very depths of her devotion that she said those words which disgust us so often in their sordid application-" I de- sire money, not fame." "I have a favor to ask of you," Darcy said, after a moment's pause. "You dine at my aunt's to-morrow evening, don't you? Yes-I thought so. Well; I want'~you to sing for Thornton!" Alix drew back and looked at him-a good deal surprised, and a little aghast. "For Mr. Thornton-the great musical critic! Oh, Captain Darcy, I would do any thing -almost any thing y~u asked me. But I cannot do that!" "Why not? He is no lion going about to de~rour unwary singers." "Isn't he? Well, I really thought he was, and you must admit that such is his character. ITo, no. I cannot think of it. Ii am sure I should disgrace myself it' I e.vcn~ tried-" page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 VALERIE She broke off here, for the box-door opened at that n~oment, and two gentlemen entered. They were not Baltimoreans, but Louisianians, who, chancing to be in the house, had recognized. Mrs. Rivi~re and herdaughter, and came up to renew an old acquaintance. So, rendered quite do trop by the cordial greetings ~nd inquiries which linmediatelytook place, Darcy surrendered his seat to one of them, and went back to Thornton. Meanwhile, matters were not progressing as smoothly as might have been desirable~ in that box where, for the time being, Miss Ayl- mer had established her court. There was, indeed, very serious revolt on hand, though no. one would have suspected as much from the fair sovereign's cloudless brow, and.only a close observer could have detected an oc- casional glance stealing now and then tow- ard the; dark corner where, moody and jeal- otis, Romney had retired to chew the cud of injured meditation. His grievances had begun early in the evening-begun with some trifling cause of offence even before they left home-and every successive hour had swollen them into greater magnitude. For some time, he held lila ground steadily at the back of Valerie's chair; but she had neverbeen in brighter spirits, and so many thronged arimnd her, that he found even a whisper in her ear the next thing to impossi.. 'ble. Almost any other manwould have had sense enough to perceive that, for once, she preferred word-play with a dozen to senti- ment with one,; and, perceiving this, have been reasonably content to bide his time. But Julian was never reasonable, nor ever content to see attention, that should have been given ti~ him, monopolized 'by one othei~ or twenty others. His offended jeal- ousy waged apace with every fresh offering of incense, and every gracious smile which rewarded each, until at last.the cup of his indignation overflowed, and, heedless of his mother's remonstrant glances, he pushed back his chair like 'an angry school-boy, and retired into a cornarto sulk. There he sat, dark' and lowering, while ~Arle took possession ot~ the vacant seat, and listened eagerly while' Yalerie told him how she had .once~nursed himthrough a fever in one of the AYLMER. hospitals of Shreveport. When she finished, the young man looked up at her with a grateful light shining' in his frank eyes. "So that is why your face has always seemed so strangely familiar to me," he said-" more like some fragment of a dream than an~ thing else? I remember it all now! I remember that, when I got well, and thanked Sister Theresa for my life, she told me that it was not to her I owed it, but to some lady who had nursed me night and day until I was out of danger.' I little thought I should ever find that lady-in the toast of every Louisiana soldier." - "Yes,'? said Valerie, with a blush and a smile. "'The hospitals were so crowded, that the sisters could not do all the nursing, and several of us volunteered our aid. Yours was the worst case in my ward-I shall never forget how you raved 1-and so, of course, I knew you again as soon as I saw you. I was only very sorry that I had to leave town before you were entirely recovered- but papa was transferred to another com- mand, and the doctor assured me you were out of danger." "I am glad he was right," said the young man earnestly. "I am glad that I am alive to thank you for your kindness, and am still more glad to hope that I may some day find means of repaying it-~-at least in part. Will you remember that iyou have one sworn defender and champion, if ever you should need either defender or champion?"' "Yes; I will remember," she said. ~' But pray don't talk of thanks and repay- ment, or else you will force me to tell you that what I did for you I would have done for any other soldier-and did do for many others." "And do you think tjiat lessens the ob- ligation?" he asked. "I should rather think that it increased it. In one sense, at least, we are more grateful to strangers than to friends for care or aid. I won't trouble you with thanks if you do not like them, however. I shall only hold Fortune my debtor until she gives me one good chance to render you service." Valerie smiled. She liked the gallant young Marylander who had given up so much, and suffered so much, for the cause I U A TEST OF POWER. 89 she loved; and for whom her heart had bled when he lay tossing in burning delirium thousands of miles from his home; but these words had a very unreal sound to her ear-as indeed such words will have in the midst of surroundings like hers. It was hardly likely that it would ever be in the power of this stranger to do her service; but still she thanked him as she well knew how to thank, adding half sadly: "We only did our duty.-we women-but it was a' duty that was its own best reward. I am sure there is not one of us who, if we could, would take back the sacrifices, or forget the privations, of those years of glory and suffering. I don't mean to talk hackneyed sentiment; hut there is nothing more true than that life has never given us, never can give us, a greater pleasure than the pleasure of serving the men who were fighijing for us. But this is serious talk for an opera, is it no3 I-and see! here is the chapekscene, to be in keeping." She turned her face toward the stage, and her companion had discretion enough to be silent, while the mild, sad refrain wailed from the orchestra like the cry of a lost spirit, as the long procession swept slowly into the church, leaving Marguerite prone among the desolate tombs. It must be a soul inseparable wedded to levity, a heart wholly given over to frivolity, which this weird, haunting dirge does not move to its utmost depths-does not stir and shake in every chord, by the hopeless desolation too deep even for the agony which 'breathes in its unutterable mournfulness. Just now, it touched Valerie like the voice of her own bereavement. Arle's words - indeed, his very presence-had brought back, slit so vividly, the bitter pain, the sweeping deso- lation; which is all that the name of ~' coun- try" can give to any of her race; and, as she leaned back behind the curtains, shel- tered by their shade,~and the gloom hanging over all things, burning tearsrose into her eyes, and there seemed an answering pang of her heart for every wail of the dying melody. We talk of the fitness of things; but perhaps there is nothing so striking in life as their very unfitness-as the fact that, whenever some great emotion seizes us, as it were, despite our will, it does not choose what we would consider a fitting time or place, but overpowers us amid surroundings that add to its force by their very elements of discordance! After a while, when Valerie looked round, she found, to her surprise, that Darcy had entered the box, and was standing behind Madame Vacquant. She felt a little piqued, for she thought he might have come earlier, or not come at all; but she was about to summon him with a motion of her hand to the chair which .A.rle had by this time va- cated, when Romney suddenly came' back and took possession of it. It would have been well if he had cleared his face before doing so, or atleast modulated his voice to some proper tone; but, on the contrary, he looked as lowering as ever, and spoke ab- ruptly-almost rudely. "I thought that fellow was never going! Can I at last have, a little of your atten~ tion?" Valerie's brows contracted. Insolence and familiarity were two things for which she had ever possessed little tolerance and less patien~e. "My attention has been at the service of whoever chose to claim it, all the even- ing," she said, coldly. "If you-" "Yes," he interrupted, bitterly; "if I had felt inclined to take a nod now and then between the words and smiles you gave to others, I might no doubt have had it; but you ought to know, by this time, that I cannot do that-I will not do itt If I can- not obtain what I desire-what you gave me. a day or two ago-I prefer~to take nothing." "I am afraid you will have to content yourself with nothing, then," she said, coolly. "As for what I gave youa day or two ago, that was nothing, that I am aware ef~, be- sides friendliness and courtesy. They are still at your command, unless you choose to throw them away of your own accord. In that ease, I beg that I may not be held ac- countable." Perhaps General Aylmer was~ right- perhapa sh~ was already growing tired of her pretty toy. At least, she 'would' not have spoken thus a week ago, and he felt page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 00 VALERIE AYLMER. OVERTURES OF PEACE. 01 it. lie grew very pale, and bit his lip al- most savagely, as he answered: "Of course. It is only I who can be accountable for any thing-not you. It is a fine farce that we have been playing, but if it turns into a tragedy, who is to blame? Tones and smiles are impalpable things, and, hoWever well they do their work, cannot be brought forward as witnesses. Only-you might keep that tone for those who have never known them." Before he finished, he saw that he was losing all he would have risked so much to gain; but the spirit which urged him on made him reckless of consequences, until the last words were spoken. Then he would have given any thjng to have recalled them; but it was too late. Whoever doubted whether Miss Aylmer could be haughty,' should have seen her as she answered: "That is quite enough, I think. You surely cannot be yourself, or you would kn~v that such a tone as this in the last that I can tolerate from any one. You must excuse me if I dispense with your attend- ance for the remainder of the evening; and you may take this comfort with you: the tones an~l smiles of which you speak shall trouble you no more.~~ He was about to answer, but she turned from him, and so-the angry devil upper- most for the time-he rose and left the box. Then, after a moment, Valerie leaned for- ward and touched Maurice Darcy, who bad striven twt to hear the brief ttite~d~teAte just concluded. When he 'turned, she pointed to the vacant chair. "Sit dawn, please,~~ she said "I have something to say to you; and I confess I like to talk on a level. Now-that is bet- ter. To begin, then, did I hear you tell Ma- da~ne Vacquant that you were not going to Mrs. More's to-night?" "Yes," he answered; "I told her that it was probable I should not be4there. I am not fond of crush balls, and I pron~ised Thornton to join a supper-party at Guy's." "Would Mr. Thornton care very much If you broke your promise?" probablyy not; but why do you ask?" "For a singular reason, I suppose you will think," she said, with a laugh. "I have taken a fancy to recall you to a sense of duty. Mrs. More, and especially Miss Nel- lie, will think very hardly of your treating them in this way. You ought to go to the bali-you must go 1" "You speak like a born empress," he said, smiling. "But I cannot admit the force of your reasoning. Mrs. More ana Miss Nellie will not miss one face from their five hundred friends." "Suppose I say that I will miss it, then? Will you refuse to please me, too?" If she meant to test her power, or dis- cover whether she possessed any, she must have been greatly disappointed at the tene in which Darcy answered: "I regret to be obliged to do so. But an engagement, in my eyes, is always bind- ing; and then I am sure you can be only jesting when you affect any interest in whether I go or stay." "You are mistaken," she retorted. "I never trouble myself to affect interest in any thing. Just now, I have a genuine fancy to change your resolution. Can I not tempt you by the first waltz?" "If I could be tempted, I would not need such an inducement." She looked at him steadily, and saw that he meant what he said; sawalso, that this was evidently dift~ent material from that which she was accustomed to bend to her will; and so, with a rather equivocal smile, gave up the point. "I have always heard that Irishmen were proverbial for gallantry; and I confess I am not used to finding engagements stand in ~n~j way," she sald. "You have disa- bused me of two erroneous impressions, Captain Darcy, so I suppose I ought to thank you. Is the house absolutely empty- ing? Well, at least, I hope you will relieve Mr. Wilmer of double duty by seeing me to the carriage?" What Darcy's reply was, it is not hard to conjecture; but, for all that, La lelle des 1$ellea went to the ball alone, and he joined the supper at Guy's. CHAPTER II. ovERTuRES or PEAcE. IT was a very pale face, and very heavy, bloodshot eyes, that Romney brought down to~ the breakfast-room the next morning, when he sauntered in so late that every one had long since departed, and only his mother was left to bear him company. Per- haps he had not expected or desired to see her, for he frowned at meeting her glance, and flung himself; without speaking, into a chair. He did not even thank her for the cup of coffee which she extended toward him, but took it silently, with a somewhat tremulous hand, and then pointed to the sideboard. The servant in attendance evi- dently understood what was meant, for he brought forward a small decanter of French brandy, from which Julian poured a liberal "sharpener~~ into his cup. Then, meeting his mother's eye, he muttered half apologet- ically: "It is the best thing in the world to steady one's nerves." Madame Yacquant made a motion dis- missing the servant before she answered, with cold reproach: "Nerves 'don't need steadying that have not been racked overnight by dissipation." "Not by drink, at least," he retorted, angrily. "I drank not a drop more than just enough to keep me up." "Up to what?" He raised his eyes half-defiantly, an(I perhaps something in the hardness of her tone may have provoked the reckless dis- dain of his. "Up to play, if you must know." With all her self-control, Madame Vac- quant could not prevent a slight change of color, nor a slight gasp of the breath, as she said, bitterly: "And this is your promise?" "My promise was a very indefinite one," he answered, coolly. "I hope you did not understand it as a total abstinence pledge." "No; I only understood this-that, if you played in 'future, it must be with the certainty of having to pay your own debts." "You mean that you will advance noth- ingmore?" "I mean that, emphatically." He drained his cup, and pushed it back violently. "Then I' might as well buy a dose of prussie acid," he said, bitterly. "One thing is certain, 1 will not endure the disgrace of shirking debts of honor, and I have not the means to pay one-third of the sum I lost last night." "How much was it?" He named the amount--a large one in- deed-but his mother did not start. She only said, icily, "You should have thought of your ability for payment before staking so much." He looked at her steadily, but there was no change at all in her face, and at length he muttered, sullenly: "I see I should have thought of it. But now there is nothing left save to pay what I have lost. If you won't help me-of course you can if you 'choose-I shall only have to borrow the money on usury, and then-leave here! If I once do that, Baltimore is not likely to see me again soon.~~ "We can dispense with threats," she said, coolly. "You might know, by this time, that they have very little effect on me. Perhaps I am not heroically inclined, but I am not at all afraid of your committing sui- cide, or going away to starve. We had bet- ter come back to the point, and let me cor- rect one statement in your last speech. You say there is no doubt of my being able to help you if I choose: you are mistaken. l~ don't choosebut if I did, I should find it hard to do so. You exhausted my private resources when you made your last de- mand. If I helped you again,.I would have to call on M. Vacquant." He looked up eagerly; cold as her tone was, he seemed to find so~e assurance of hope in it. "What' is more easy than that?" he inquired. "It is like a man's selfishness to ask," his mother answered, with something be- tween scorn and indignation in her voice. "Very easy and verynatura! to yonI grant, that I shoi~ld lie and dissimulate, for the sake of your vices-but not so easy or so natural to me! Does it never strike you Ii I' 90 page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 VALERIE that, in applying to M. Vacquant, Ihave to assign some pretext for the demand ~" "I should think you would only need to choose among a dozen pretexts. He must be a strange millionnaire if he grudges his wife a few thousands for pin-money." "He does not grudge it-he is liberal to a fault. But he is not easily blinded. He would not hesitate a moment to give me any reasonable amount for which I asked; but he would suspect at once for what pur- pose I wanted it." "Well-let him!" "Let him! You say that, when you know that he does not like you now?" "Yes, I know," Romney answered, with a sneer. "But what then? His like or dis- like does not matter to me, so long as he does not order me from his house, or forbid me the use of his cellar. As for any hopes of heirship, I should think you would have seen, long ago, that they were mere moon- shine." "I see that you have only yourself to thank for their failure. Do you think he would have cared to take up this adven- turer, if you had not disappointed him?" He shrugged his shoulders. "You flat- ter yourself~ So far from disappointing him, he never even thought of me. As for the adventurer-I suppose you mean Darcy -he seems to.sult him, and I am sure it is all a question of taste. He is not likely to suit anybody else." "I am not sure about that. I begin to think, of late, that he may suit somebody else." Her tone was so significant that Juliau started quickly. "Whom do you mean? "he asked, curtly:" She answered, briefly, "I mean Valerie." "You think that this-this painter is likely-to please her?" "Yers, I'think so." "May-" The curse was none the less bitter because something :of conventional courtesy made the speaker finish-it beneath his breath. Perhaps Ms mother did not. hear him; at all events she only said quiet- ly, ~ftera moment: "The onlyhope is, that he may not care to take advantage of her caprice." AYLMER. "Then there is no hope at all," the oth- er retorted. "Better men would give half their lives for such a chance." "Better men, perhaps, but certainly not wiser' ones," she answered, coldly. "I~o woman is worth half a man's life; and a coquette like Valerie Aylmer is not worth one day of it. Maurice may not see that her nets are thrown in his direction just now, but, if he does, he at least 'has sense enough to decline giving her vanity another triumph." "What do you ~ "I 'mean this-" and she repeated to him the scene that had followed his depart- ure the night before. ":N~ow," she said, in conclusion, " you see what was the re- sult of your folly and obstinacy. If Mau- rice had not played into your hand, you would only have thrown up the game to him. When will you learn that moody looks and angry words have lost many a cause, but never yet gained one-especially with a woman? If you were engaged to Valerie a dozen times over, you could not act with impunity, as you acted last night. And in a man whose chances hang on a thread, it was simple madness. I shall not be surprised if you have ruined yourself ir- reparably." She paused, but he sat sullenly silent- making no effort toward answer or self-jus- tification; and after a moment she re- sumed: "You surely forget how much hangs on this, or you would never have been betrayed i~nto such folly. You surely forget that~ if you do not succeed here, your last chance of the fortune is gone. It is a matter of life and death with you to make a claim on M. Vacquant by marrying his granddaugh- ter." He flung himself back in his chair with a sort of fierce impatience. "It- is likely to be death, then." "Yes," she said, contemptuously, "if you choose to surrender the field-and I never saw a fairer one-without a blow." "You say that, because you don't know how 'little she means, or has meant'any thing beyond this foolery of flirtation." "There you are mistaken. I know ex- I U OVERTURES aetly what she means-and I also know what, if you were wise, you would mean. She' means amusement-you would mean earnest. If you, only knew how to play your cards even tolerably, I see the end so clear." He looked up eagerly. "Show it to me then! Show me any certainty of gaining her, and you will never need to find fault with my vacillation again?" "The ~first thing is to go and make your peace for last night's conduct. Bring mat- ters back to the footing of a day or two ago, and that will be one step gained. But -you must keep your temper under control in future. You will find her in the sitting- room." The last words were spoken in some- what of a tone of surprise, for Julian did not stir. On the contrary, he sat still-a pic- ture of resentful obstinacy. "That'is all very fine, but, before I play puppet in the dark, I must have some assur- ance about that money. It must be forth- coming-by some means or other. Do you mean to get it for me, or shall I go to the usurers ?" "If I do get it for you,. you must remem- ber that it is for the last time." "Yes-of course." "And that I will receive no more 'in- definite' promises in exchange." "I will give my bond not to touch cards or dice again until I can stake some of my affectionate step-father's thousands on them "We will te1I~ of oonditione when the money is ready," she said, rising. "N'ow will you 'go to Valerie, or will you wait un- til some visitor comes in, and the opportu- nity is lost?" He answered by shrugging his shoulders and leaving the room. A few moments later, Vakrie, who' wa~ seated at the piano, playing strains and snatches from "Faust," heard the door be- hind her softly open, and looking up into a large mirror against the wall, saw Romney's face as he entered the room. It was a good thing that he hadpaused outside to banish all trace of its late expression from it, and sum- mon up a languor which rather became the OF PEACE. 93 pallid complexion and purple-ringed eyes, for he had not counted on such a speedy ob- servation as this, and Valerie, in her turn, was less inclined to suspect the genuineness of what she saw. His appearance, indeed, struck her so forcibly, that involuntarily her hands fell from the keys, and she turned round as he advanced. "You look shockingly!" she said, be- fore he could speak. "What is the mat- ter?". Romney was not at all lacking in natu- ral readiness, or slow to take any advantage offered him. He saw his opportunity in a moment, and followed it up with commend- able quickness. "I may well look shock- ingly," he said, "if repentance can write it- self on the face. I have endured more than I can say since last night, and have had only one thought-how I can ask you to pardon me." "That is not hard, if you can say that you did not mean-" Ilerehe inteiruptedher quickly: "Mean! Ah, how can you think that I meant any thing excepting that I was half beside my- self? I scarcely know what I said; but I am sure it must have been very dreadful, or you would not have punished it so severely. I would not sentence my worst enemy to such a night and such a morning as you have given me." "As for the morning, perhaps that has been your own fault," she said, smiling. "You could certainly have shortened it by several hours, if you had chosen. But the night-well, we won't question whose fault that Was. Mine, perhaps, in a measure- for I have remembered since tha~t I was neither so patient nor so considerate as I might have been. If you are penitent-and I think you look so-we wrn cry quits, and be friends again." Was not this better than he had a right to expect? Romney evidently~thought so, for his thanks were poured out warm and fast, together with his justifications. It was in the midst of these last that Valerie stopped him. "One ~moment, if you please; Your claim to be angry last~night was founded on something about which I don't care to ar- -'If I page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] 94 VALERIE gue; but, in resuming amicable relations, we must understand one another. I have said that we are friends. You know what that means-and you also know that friends are not jealous of each other." "No," he answered, with a good deal of creditable self-control; "and, perhaps, that is one reason why I never had much fancy for friendship. But it seems I am to learn it. Do you know how bard a task you set me?-or do you care?" "I don't know why it should be a hard task," she retorted. "If you think so, how- ever, I bad better declare us strangers-or, if you like it better, enemies. "You are jesting, while I am in earnest," he said, gravely. "I am not your friend- in the sense you mean-or ever likely to be. But I would do any thing in the world to please you; and I can play at this, if you desire it. Only don't be angry if I some- times forget my r6le, and speak as I feeL" "I shall be angry, however-especially if you speak as you did last night." "Don't mention last night. it is like a nightmare to me. I was half mad when I went away from you, and cari you imagine what Idid?" Perhaps not quite truthfully, she shook her head. - "I went straight to the hazard-table," he said, "to try and forget every thing in the excitement of play. But I could not succeed. I was thinking all the time of you, and wondering what you were doing. I lost one game, I remember, trying to ima- gine who was enjoying my waltz." Valerie blushed deeply. She remem- bered how vainly she had offered that waltz to Maurice Darcy. "I will tell you who enjoyed it," she said, "and then you will see that your anx- iety was lost as well as your game. It fell to George More, quite the stupidest man in Baltimore. Now I hope you are as much ashamed of yourself as you ought to be. By-the-by, do you know that I feel nearly as badly as you look? Dissipation don't seem to agree with us. I wonderif a can- ter would~-do you think the day is too cold? No? I &ni se glad to hear it. Then pray .AYLMER. order the horses, while I go and put on my habit." He obeyed-only too well pleased to do so-whilelMladtune Yacquant's brew smooth- ed, as, sitting alone in her own room, she heard Valerie's clear voice lilting the "Flower-Song" on her way np-stairs, and knew thereby that the overtures of peace had been successful. When she heard the same light step descending, however, she opened her door to give a warning. "Are you going to ride, Valerie? Pray don't over-exert yourself; so that you will be tired and dull to-night. You know we are martyrs to a regular dinner-party, and I look to you for assistance in making it agreeable." "As ir you needed any assistance!" Valerie laughed; "or as if your dinner-par- ties were not the only endurable ones I ever knew. Don't be afraid of my over-exerting myself, however. Nothing, will do me do much good as a canter-indeed it is myonly hope of being able to enjoy Mr. Lawton's good things at all." She nodded gayly, and glided past. The next moment ~he was mounted, and canter- ing over the paving-stones of Charles Street Avenue, much to the astonishment of the lookers-on, who, in their Northern igno- rance, associated equestrianism only with soft air and bright skies, and could not conceive that she inhaled with positive zest the damp salt breeze, which brought her hair out of curl, put a glorious color into her cheek, as she shook the reins on her horse's neck, and looked at Julian with a smile. "Is not this enough to make us forget all the disagreeable of last night?" she asked. And truly few men would have failed to give the cordial~affirmative which was his reply. Descending the staircase that evening about twenty minutes before dinner,,Valerie suddenly met Darcy. It was the, first time they had seeti each other since the night be- fore; and the remembrance of that fact made the bow with which she was passing him rather cold and stately; when, to her surprise, he paused-thus barring her way, and forciugher to do likewise. I K OVERTURFE ".l~xcuse me," he said, with a glance at her dress. "I see you are all ready for the drawing-room, but perhaps you won't mind being detained a moment to hear some news which may interest you. It is no longer a matter of doubt about Miss Rivi~re's appear- ance in public. She makes her de'1'ut in three weeks." "Her debutt" Tepeated Valerie, startled out of her reserve, by this intelligence, which did interest her very much. "Why, this is i~ews indeed! I had very little idea that her courage would ever be equal to the de- cisive step. You are sure of it?" "Perfectly sure," he answered. "She was kind enough to ask my advice on the subject, and I gave it unhesitatingly in favor of an immediate plunge. Craning over a venture is the best thing in the world for sapping away the courage drop by drop- but not for any thing else that I know of." "But-I don't understand. Is she to appear in opera?" "No. Her parents would never consent to that, I am sure. She is to appear,. but I forget that I was charged not to anticipate her. She wants the pleasure of giving you the particulars herself." "But you can tell me-" "Nothing whatever, I am sorry to say," he interrupted, with a smile and a glance at his watch. "I am bound over to secrecy; and I see that I have barely fifteen minutes in which to make my toilet. I am sure you are glad I cannot detain you longer. Only one word-may I trust to your influence in inducing her to sing for Thornton to- night?" "I will try, but-is that necessary?" "It is very necessary, since he repre- sents all the good musical element of the city." "But he is very incredulous of Alix's powers." "So much the more triumph in convert- ing him, as I mean to do-if you promise your assistance." "Of course, it is entirely at your ser- vice." "Then I am sure of success," he said, with a laugh; and the next moment they parted. OF. PEACE. 95 When Valerie entered the drawing-room, she found it well filled-almost the due pro- portion of guests having arrived, and that appalling solemnity which precedes the an- nouncement of dinner being already heavy in the air. The conversational murmur which filled the saloon had none of that regu- lar, unbroken sweep that~ characterizes it when the full tide of evening has set in, but was low and fitful; broken by intervals of al- most entire silence, that were only bridged over by Madame Vacquant's tones, as she glided from guest to guest, uttering to each the same form of compliment or inquiry, slightly varied to suit the different individ- ual. There were groups of middle-aged gentlemen who chiefly affected the hearth- rug, and talked a little polities amouig them- selves, as they regarded the light ivory-and- gold car of Aurora over the mantel, on whose side the tiny hands were moving fast to the magical stroke of eight. There were elderly ladies, magnificent in heavy velvets and stately mores, enthroned upon sofas and in the depths of dormeuses, exchanging spasmodic confidences about schools and committee-work. There were young ladies scattered like gay birds of tropic plumage in the various nooks and corners of the room, making many picture-like effects with their gleaming dresses and golden hair. There was a brace of English officers, w~io surveyed the company superciliously from over the collars of moming-co~ts, and talked principally to one another. There was enough of the literary and artistic ele- ment to relieve the insipidity of a purely fashionable T~union-and there was the usual amount of jeune gens of whum it is the highest compliment to say that they were, as a whole, sufficiently unexceptiona- ble to escape notice. Finally, there was Alix Rivi~re who,, nestling under the wing of a severe-looking chaperon-her mother rare- ly attended any evening ei~tertainment- gave an exclamation of pleasure when she saw Miss Aylmer, and toward whom the latter at once made her way. Before 'they had time for more than a cordial greeting, however, dinner was an- nounced, arid all the stir and rustle of exit began. "We will bide our time, ~etite,'~ lI U page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] Valerie whispered; as she found herself claimed by that same Mr. Lawton, for the appreciation of whose good things she had declared a canter necessary; then, while she still hesitated 'to see who would be sent by Madame Vacquant to the service of Alix, Darcy made his opportune appearance, and they wheeled into line. To more than one person the long cere- mony which followed proved infinitely wearying, certainly to Julian, who had been consigned to the tender mercies of avery live- ly young lady who was "devoted" to every thing, from religion to skating, and possessed an opinion ready-made and very glib of utter- ance on every subject under heaven; cer- tainly to Valerie, even despite Mr. Lawton's genuine wit and fresh conversational power; certainly to Mr. Thornton, who had fallen into the hands of a femalePhilistine who con- ceived that she was doing exactly the right thing in talking musical "shop" (of a very questionable quality) in unlimited quantity; perhaps even to Darcy and Alix, although they seemed ~very well entertained by one another; but the end came at last-as, if we are only patient, the end of every thing must -and Madame Vacquant gave the signal for the departure of the ladies. Once more there was the soft rustle of silk and velvet, as they filed ont in glittering array, leaving the gentlemen to close, with a sigh of re- lief, round the mahogany, and do that jus- tice to good' olives and better wine which feminine presence had before restrained. Nobody was more glad of this release than Valerie. Not' that she was fond of, the' unlimited gossip which always ensued, of hearing why Sarah Randolph persisted in marrying that dissipated young Carroll; of ho~ Mr. Wilson, who compromised with his editors for fifty cents in the dollar, last winter, could afford to give such entertain- ments this seasons of whether Mrs. Kerr's poir~t d'Aleng~rn cost the price sh6 profess- es to hate' given for it in ?aris and if it is likely "the bishop" will allow Rev. Mr. Ray, of the straitest sect of the ritualists, to burn candles on his communion-table-but simply because she was anxious to learn from 'Alir Rivi~re's own lips the particu~ lava of her intended d~ut. Avoiding, there- fore, the group which surrounded Madame Yacquant, audthe still less interesting knot at the piano-where some enterprising mu- sician with a very brilliant left hand began to sacrifice over 'again that oft-murdered "Home" of Thalberg's-she beckoned to Alix, and led the way to the conservatory. They found it still uninvaded, serenely quiet, and beautiful as ever. The soft plash of the fountain was the only audible sound, the moonlight lustre fell a~ mellowly down through the giant ferns' as when Valerie had first stood there, and the iAch tropical fra- grance was heavy on the air. It was with a very deep sigh of relief that Alix sank into one of the seats that bordered the marble basin, where the gold-fishes darted and played, and the water rose and sank with such melodious cadence. "How charming it is! "she said, "and so beautiful I I don't wonder that people say that this conservatory has seen more flirtations and beard more declarations than any other in Baltimore I I am sure that, if I were one of your captivOs, I could not re- frain from love-making, Valerie-especially in this bewitching light." "Youwill allow me to be glad, then, that you are not," Valerie answered. "There are a great many things more agreeable than love-making--especially when the interest is all on one side. And just at present I am only interested in an item of news which Captain Darcy gave me before dinner; Cau you possibly imagine what it was?" Alix looked up with a world of innocence in her eyes.' "How should I, dear? I am the last person in the world to be clever at di- vining." "Keep your powers of acting for the stage, little hypocrite," Miss Aylmer an- swered, giving a twitch to the curl nearest her," and tell'me at once why I am left to hear from a third person, that you are about to make your d6but." "I did not know it myself until this morning," Alix' replied, with a mournful sigh. "The maestro came in with the de- cision, papa and mamma ratified it, and when, as a forlorn hope, I appealed to Cap- tain Darcy, he too went against me. If B r had thought you would have helped me to form an opposition, I would have called you into the council, but I knew better." "Yes, I should have agreed with the rest. If the step is to be taken, it should be made at once. And tell mesome of the par- ticulars, for your confidant was too obsti- nate or too scrupulous to do so. Where are you goingto sing? and how? and what? Is it at an amateur concert that you will ap- pear?" "No, Mr. Rosenberg says that would do me no good. It is too professional, and- but of course you have heard of the famous singer, Madame Baroni, who landed the other day in New York?" "Of course." "Well, Mr. Rosenberg, without telling me any thing of his intentions, went to New York to see her, and ask her if she would allow me to appear at the concert she is to give here a few weeks hence. He says she was as kind as possible, and assured him that it would give, her sincere pleasure to as- sist at the debut of 'a young aspirant for musical honors '-as 'the newspapers say. Was it not kind? "Very. But then, I think, most artists who have climbed the heightss of their pro- fession are willing to aid those who are taking the first hard steps. Only, mi- gnomne, don't you feel a little afraid of such a wonderful cantatrice as this Baroni must be?" The child-she was scarcely more than that-.--looked up with her soft eyes shimmer- ing like stars out of the brave young face. "I might be," she said, simply, "if it were not for papa and mamma. But, when I think of helping them, I do not feel as if I could be afraid of any thing." "You are a true knight-errant! "Valerie said, stooping to kiss the fair; up-turned brow. "And you are right! The older I grow, the more do I think that self-forget- fulness is the best secret of courage. With it, you will succeed, I think-and, if so, do you mean to go on the lyric stage?" She shook her head. "I think not. Papa, I am very sure, would never consent. And, even if he did, mamma's health is too delicate for me to '7 90 VALEl~IE .&YLMIIR. OVERTURPJS OF FEACE. 97 leave her. Besides, I could never succeed there without the prestige of European cul- ture." "What will you do, then?" "Remain here, I expect-for some time at least. Mr. Rosenberg says that a public success will open a good many doors to me. rar exemple, I am already promised a choir position, with a good salary. Then, I shall sing in concerts, you know." She spoke very quietly and simply; but, as Valerie listened, a vision rose before her of the luxurious home, where she had first seen this young soldier of fortune, of the fair inheritance of which she was then sole heir- ess, of the petted life that seemed to stretch before her; and now, in contrast-this! Her voice was hardly steady as she said: "A poor prospect, Alix, for talent like yours! You are sentencing yourself to the mere drudgery of your profession, when you might earn its highest rewards." "I know-but what can I do?" What can I do? A sternly practical question that, which few of us are able to answer for ourselves, far less for others. It was no wonder that Valerie evaded it when she said: "You should go to Europe." "You might as well tell me I should go, like a pen, to the gates of Paradise," Alix answered, sadly. "And now-but some one is coming." The words were scarcely uttered, before Maurice Darcy and Mr. Thornton came from around a tall shrub. After their first greet- ing was over, Darcy turned at once to the matter which seemed to be just then occu- pying all of his attention, "Miss Rivi~re, Mr. Thornton is very anxious to hear you sing; and I have ven- tured to promise that you will gratify him. I am sure you wrn not make me guilty of guaranteeing more than I could perform." "I am sure you deserve fhat I should!" said Alix, with a glance which meant more than the words-for she had changed color' a little at the ominous beginning. "No man of discretion would risk his word on any thing so unreliable as a woman's ca.~- price.-.Don't you think so, Mr. Thorn.. ton?" 96 97 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 VALERIE AYLMER. THE DIAMOND OF' TIlE DESERT. Mr. Thornton answered; "be- cause the one thing concerning which a woman seldom has a caprice, is the redeem- ing of a friend's word." "And that means-" "It means that Captain Darcy has promised that you will sing, and that I hope you will do so." lie spoke cordially and gracefully, for he was not a man to do things by halves, and did not choose to be ungracious to the song- stress, because he really had no desire to hear her ;iind, as there was little of the con- ventional young lady in Alix Rivi~re, she rose at once without further urging. "Of course I will sing, if you desire it," she said, quietly, though it would be hard to say how much she was secretly trem- bling. Then she accepted the arm which the formidable critic offered, and walked for- ward, leaving only one reproachful glance behind for Darcy. He smiled slightly as lie met it, and, turn- ing to Valerie, said: "You will come also, will you not?" "Of course," she answered, a little piqued that he should have thought the question necessary. "You do not monopo- lize all interest in Alix, pray remember, I think I deserve credit for a moderate amount at least, and-. Ah, Julian, you a~e just in time!" She did not say for what-nor was it necessary that she should, since she held out her hand, and laid it in Romney's readily- tendered arm. If Darcy felt the slight at all, he gave no sign of it, but walked along very quietly by her side, talking of Alix and of Alix's prospects, until they reached the grand piano, to which Mr. Thornton had conducted his charge, and where a group of eager listeners were already gathered. The sweet young face of the girl looked very pale, she had never undergone an ordeal like this before; but Daroy was glad to observe hew" cool and. self-possessed she also seemed. Her gloves were off by the time he gained her side, but it was he who seated her at the plane-whispering a few last words of en- couragement as her hands fell on the keys. "II is a pity she should have to play her own accompaniment," Thornton muttered; but, before he could utter a remonstrance, the tiny, lissome hands had struck their first chords, and the next moment she burst into song. Valerie saw Darcy flash one glance of triumph at his friend, when the first clear notes fell on the ear. Then ho stood satis- fied and quiet, while Alix sang with a power and purity which electrified every musical ear in the room, and proved at once her rich natural gift and her careful musical training. The fresh young voice, llexile and reed-like as a flute, was well worth hearing, as it carolled over the most intricate pas- sages and brilliant ToUla4 68~ without one mo- mentary hesitation or faulty cadence; but Thornton's face was still better worth seeing, as astonishment deepened into admirationn, and admiration into sincere and absorbed enjoyment. He was completely taken by surprise, and when Alix ceased~ and glanced timk~ly toward him, he held out both his hands with a warmth which nobody had ever seen him display before. "Miss Ilivi~re," he said, cordially, "I have always, before this, doubted your pow- ers, and I am heartily glad to be able to tell you, what I shall soon tell every one else, that I was entirely mistaken. If you are not yet one of the greatest singers of your day, it wrn be the fault of yourself-not of l{ature." After that, it was a perfect ovation-a foretaste, perhaps, of many to come-which Madame Vacquant's guests paid to the young songstress thus presented to them. Young and old thronged around the piano, bidding her to play again and yet again- only too eager to follow the path thus marked out for them. Watching the scene from a distance.~-.for after a while she yielded to Julian's solicita- tions, and drew back from the crowd-Va- lerie was glad to see that the gentle, girlish manner lost nothing in simplicity and grace, but that Alix's bearing was quite as frank and unaffected as when she had nestled by the fountain half an ~honr before. She was very self-possessed, too-for only the deep- ened roses in her cheeks evinced how fast her every pulse was beating and thrilling. It may be that Darcy was to thank for this. At least he did not leave her side, and it seemed as if his presence might have been the secret of her ease, since an observer more careless than Miss Aylmer could have seen that, whatever others were doing or saying, her eyes and her smile sought con- tinually the kind response of his. CHAPTER III. THE DIAMOND or THE DEsERT. "I ~ said Valerie, with something of a yawn, "that I will go to see Alix this morning. It has been more than a fortnight since she was here, and I have some curi- osity to learn how the de' but comes on." "It will certainly be a kindness," Ma- dame Vacquant answered-they were quite alone, and perhaps she was glad to dispense with a very restless and listless companion. "I suspect Mrs. Rivi~re is sick; otherwise I am very sure we should have heard some- hing from them. Shall I order the carriage for you? "Thank you, no. It is so clear and bra- cing, that for once I mean to walk." "You will find it very cold." "Tant mieux! I feel as if I needed a tonic, and the air may prove one.'~ She felt as if it had already proved one, when, a few minutes later, the hall-door clanged behind her, and she found herself on the frosty pavements. The day was very cold, but still and bright as possible, so bright that The glittering masses of half- frozen snow were painfully dazzling to the eyes. The air was alive with the music of bells, as sleigh after sleigh dashed past; and the hurrying pedestrians were wrapped to their very noses, as if afraid of the touch of the frost-king. So cold, indeed, that Va- lerie half repented of her resolution before she had gone very far, and her teeth were chattering like castanets, when, after a walk of five or six squares, she mounted a flight of steps at the Rivi~res' door, and sent a sharp peal ringing through the house. The servant who answered it informed her that Miss Rivi~re had gone to take a music-les- son. Mrs. Rivi~re, however, was at home; and, on asking for her, she was shown in at once. A flood of sunlight was streaming so brightly across the room into which the maid ushered her, that for a moment Vale- rie's eyes were quite dazzled; then she rec- ognized the charming home-like aspect of the apartment, though it contained scarce- ly a single fashionable article of furniture. But a few green plants arranged in a win- dow, a few va~es, a few flue engraving~ , and abundance of books, produced an effect which many a gorgeous drawing-room might have envied. Over the piano hung two pictures which were evidently specially prized. One was the well-known "Matinte bei Liszt," where Berlioz, Czerny, and Ernst, are listeningto the great master of the piano-forte harmony; the other, the poet- brow and soul-lit eyes of Felix Mendelssohn. In a niche near the fire stood a low couch, and from this a frail, lovely woman raised herself-a woman whose eyes were bright and whose cheeks aglow with the deceitful lustre and more deceitful bloom of that vic- tor disease which has never yet struck its flag to mortal skill. She came forward as soon as she saw who her visitor was, and met Miss Aylmer with a very sweet and cordial smile, with a grace too so perfect in its dignity and pol- ish that it contrasted strangely enough with. her plaln surroundings. Ah I the French say well of many a noble old tradition and custom, "La B~volution apas~~ 8Ur tout cela," and to us of to-day the familiar phrase comes in a newer and sadder sense. Yes, the Revolution passed over much, over al- most all that was tender and beautiful in our lives-but it spared us one relic of our past? It wrested from. us the fair heritage of our fathers, it tore our hearts, and dark- ened onr lives, it laid upon. our freeborn necks the yoke of slavery,~it made us exiles and aliens in our native land, it left us scarcely a wish on earth, and scarcely-God help us I-a hope in Heaven, but it failed to take away the high thoughts and noble manners which dignify adversityTas much as they ever adorned prosperity. In many an obscure spot, fallen forever from their high 1. page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 VALERIE AYLMER. THE DIAMOND OF THE DESERT. 1(31 estate, we meet, in poverty and grief, the children of our conquered land, but nor pov- erty nor grief can change the old frank grace, the old hospitable impulse, the old inborn and kindly courtesy for high and low. Valerie had felt this often; but never more strongly than when this fair gentle- woman came forward now with outstretched hand, and spoke in the soft, flute-like tones that are so sweet in their every accetit, and so different from the harsh Northern gutturals! *" Miss Aylmer, I am charmed to see you! I am sorry Alix is not at home. But, if you will accept a very indifferent substitute in her place, you will not have to wait long, I hope. I am expecting her return moment- ly. Pray come to the fire. You must be so cold." "I was nearly frozen a moment ago," Valerie answered, looking into the soft brown eyes, and with all her heart envying Alix her mother. "But this room is so pleasantly warm, I am already beginning to thaw. If you wrn allow me, I will lay aside my furs." "Pray do i-and your hat and cloak also. Let me indulge myself in the luxury of feeling that you are not likely to take wing at any moment, but will certainly be good for an hour or two at ~ Miss Aylmer did not need much persua- sion to be induced to comply with this re- quest. Her wrappings were yielded to the soft hand which touched them, and when Alix came in, half an hour later, she found her installed in a low chair by Mrs. Rivi~re's sofa. "Valerie I is it you?" she cried, eagerly. "Mary told me there was a lady with main- me~-but I never thought of you! I am so glad to see you-so glad you came. Have you been here long?" "Notvery long," Valerie answered, with a smile-" indeed not long at all, if I may trust my own ideas of the length of time. But then I have been very pleasantly en- I gaged, while you-.--" "Have been at work," said Alix, gayly, as she came and stood on the hearth-rug, tossing her muff and roll of music on the unoccupied end of her mother's sofa. What a pity it is that everybody's work is not as pleasant as mine! I don't believe I ever 8ItQUZZ tire - even of practising scales and trills. -Mamma, Mr. Rosenberg says my notes in the upper register improve every day!" "Does he?" said Mrs. Ilivi~re, laughing a little. "I am glad to hear it-but I am afraid he compliments you too much, Alix." "lie is trying to encourage me," said Alix, gravely. "He thinks I don't know that -but I do! The dear maestro! It certain- ly will not be his fault if I fail-" "It certainly wrn not be the fault of your own daring," said Valerie, who had opened the roll of music and was looking over it. "Your ambition flies high, I per- ceive. The 'Magic Flute,' after Mozart!" "The maestro insisted on it," said Alix, apologetically. "I know I cannot give the echo as it should he done-but he in- sisted!" "Ah,, here is something calculated to take away one's breath -' L'Usignuolo.' Why, miunonne, people will say you are bent upon showing how many conjuror's tricks you caii play with your voice! And what is this-the 'Isoline' of Stigelli! 'Why, how many solos are you to sing?" "Only three," said Alix, smiling. "I shall give that in case of-of" "An encore! Oh, yes, I comprehend- but I suspect you would please your audi- ence better if you sang 'Il Bacio,' or some- thing of that sort, when they call you back. What was it you sang for Mr. Thornton the' other night ?-I mean your last song." "That lovely thing of Abt's-' Dort sind wir Herr.'" "Yes. If you could only give that- but I suppose the maestro knows best. If you are not too tired, go to the piano and sing some for me." "I am ~never too tired to sing," said Alix; and she crossed the room, humming, is she went, that exquisite morceau from bhe "Acis and Galaten:" "'Love in her eyes sits playing And sheds delicious death, Love on her lips is straying And warbling In her breath."' Miss Aylmer smiled to herself. She was fond of tracing cause to effect, and it' chanced that she remembered just then how often she had heard Darcy humming those1identical strains to himself. She did not mention the coincidence, however, but only bade Alix sing the song for her. After it was finished, she glanced at her watch. "I wanted to hear these others, but I see I have not time," she said; "so I will only take my favorite aria from 'St. Paul' before I go." Without answering, Alix changed the measure in which she was playing, struck a few minor chords~ and at once began. Mrs. Ilivi~re lay back on her cushions with closed eyes, and, as the full, silvery voice rose in the touching strains of our Lord's lament over the doomed city of Israel-as all that is most fraught with mournful and tender pathos seemed breathed like the voice of a pitying angel in the cadenced rise and fall of the plaintive melody, large tears slowly gathered on her lashes, and rolled one by one like glittering diamonds over her thin cheeks: "Jerusalem! Jerusalem! thou that kill- st the prophets, thou that stones them hat are sent unto thee, how often would I not! ~ cold winter gathered unto thee thy children, and as Valerie listened she seemed to see daylight, but the glowing sky and rich plains of Palestine-not the city streets of throng and noise, but smiling mountains crowned by stately cedars - not ordinary men and women hurrying past, but swarthy forms in picturesque attire, wending their way with camels and horses toward the dis- tautgolden line that marked the domain of he desert-not bare and stunted boughs waving past the window, but feathery palms and shining waters-not dull lines of duller brick, but afar off the royal city of David, and the gleaming walls of the magnificent Temple. It was like a rude sudden call to reality when the music ceased, when one listener dashed away her tears before they had been observed, and the other saw the golden sands, the fringing palms, and distant camels, fade bacl~ into the fair Shadow-land, as the singer turned her radiant face toward them. Before either could speak, however, the door opened, and, with an air of a familiar friend, Darcy entered the room. He did~ not see Valerie, who was partially concealed by the sofa; so, with only a smiling saluta- tion to Mrs. Rivi~re, he spoke to Alix. "I am glad to find you in such good voice. I never heard that air better ren- dered, though I have heard it often. I did not care to disturb you, so I waited in the hall till it was finished." "That was unnecessary," said Alix, with a laugh. "I would have finished it all the same, if you had come in-and you never disturb me. Music cannot sound very well through a closed door-do you think so, "Valerie!" Durcy could not help re- peating, in a tone of surprise. Then he turned quickly and saw a pair of 'familiar eyes regarding him from over the arm of Mrs. Rivi~re's sofa. "Did you speak to me, Captain Darcy?" their owner asked, with supreme gravity. "I beg pardon. I really had no idea that you were here," he answered. "No; I did not speak to you when I repeated your name-that is the last liberty I should ever think of taking with Miss Aylmer." The young lady bowed with a good deal of graceful mockery. "Miss Aylmer is much obliged to you. It has not often fallen to her lot to be treated with such grandiose respect; and she is grateful accordingly.-Alix, what did' you ask me?" "Nothing much- only whether you thought music would sound well through a closed door?" "I should say that it depended entirely, on the music. We might be very grateful if we could put half a dozen closed doors between ourselves and some forms of melo- dy. Whether or not tke 'Jerusalem' was improved by it, however~,' is a question for Captain Darcy, not me." It was a question which Captain Darcy did not trouble himself to answer. Tie only smiled; and, taking up a piece ~finusic, be- gan to ask questions about the all-important d~1,ut. Alix answered them as candidly page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 and freely asif she had been talking to her own brother; but, naturally enough, the subject (discussed at second-hand) lacked interest to Miss Aylmer. She turned away, and began a conversation with Mrs. Elvidre, from which, after a while, her attention was drawn, by hearing Alix exclaim: "It is finished! Oh, how charming!- Mamma, do you hear this-the 'Diamond of the Desert'is finished!" "Indeed!" said Mrs. Ilividre, with evi- dently genuine interest. "Captain Darcy, I congratulate you! Or is it a matter for congratulation? I should think it would be a great pleasure to be done-and yet a pain." "You are right," Darcy said. "It is both. Yet, in this instance, more pleasure than pain, I think; so you may certainly congratulate me." "I do, then-most heartily. Of course you have seen and admired it?" she added, turning to Miss Aylmer. "What is 'it' I-a picture? Indeed I have not even heard of it. We see very little of Captain Darcy, and nothing what- ever of his pictures." *" This is an old picture-begun long ago -which I am finishing at the request of Mr. Howard," Darcy said. "He saw it in my studio, took a fancy to it, and offered to buy it; so finishing it became a matter of necessity. It has never been a favorite of mine, however; and that is why I feel more pleasure than pain in the conscious- ness of having it off my hands." "So much the more shame to you!" cried Alix, indignantly. "Valerie, it is beautiful! You ought to see it-indeed, a - bright thought strikes me! Mamma, could 1 you bear to be left alone for a little while?" * "I think I could support the desolation for a reasonable time." "Well, then, Captain Darcy, will yuu t take us-Valerie and I-down to your stu- e die?" e It would be hard to say who was most s surprised by this cool request-Valerie or s Darcy. To his credit, however, the latter I recovered himself in a moment, and an- swered readily- "I shall be very happy to do so." a "But here Valerie interrupted. "I am sorry; but you must excuse me, Alix. I have an engagement at home, and it is time that I went to fulfil it." "Gh, no, no!" Alix cried, barring the way as she rose. "Indeed, you must do as I say, this once! Never mind about the engagement! No heart will be broken -or, if it is, you can easily mend it again. You don't know what you will miss, if you don't see the 'Diamond of the Deserts' It will not be put on exhibition, but will be sent at once to Mr. Howard. Besides, I want to go, so much! Mamma is not well enough to accompany me-and of course I cannot go alone. I shall not get to see the picture at all again, if you refuse to go with me. 0 Valerie, please! ~ The imploring tones were hard enough to resist, but the fawn-like eyes were infi- nitely harder; and, after a moment, Miss Aylmer surrendered at discretion, saying: "You were certainly born to have your own way, Alix. If I must play chaperon, for the first time in my life, why-I suppose I must! There! go and get your hat." "You will go?" "Yes, I will go." While Alix ran out of the room, her new chaperon looked round for her furs. They chanced to be lying on the piano, and, as she went there after them, Dai~cy seized his op- ortunity and spoke: "Let me thank you for your kindness in giving Miss Rivi~re this pleasure. I am rery glad you have consented to go." * "I feel as if I ought to apologize to you," he said, coldly. "But you saw how it was -I could not refuse. If it had been possi- )le, I should have done so." "I am sorry to hear that." "Are you? I don't mean to be rude- )ut pray don't let us begin saying pretty hings to each other. We have been hen- st at least, heretofore-let us continue hon.- st to the end. I am going, to please Alix; ~ad you don't mind my presence, since it cures hers. That is the state of the case, think-and so, we are neither of us at all edebted to the other." She had been buttoning her cape around s she spoke. She now took up her muff, .4 I, '1' VALERIE AYLMER. THE DIAMOND I and walked back to the fireplace, leaving Darcy to think what he pleased of this un- gracious rebuff. After a while Alix came back, as bright and fresh as a sunbeam, and, bidding Mrs. Bivi&e good-morning, the trio started- wending their way from Eutaw Street down to Charles in the teeth of a cutting wind. They walked briskly, however, and soon reached the large marble building at the corner of Lexington Street, where iDarcy had some time since established himself. They climbed a flight or two of stairs, and were rewarded by finding themselves shown into a somewhat cheerless apartment, full of the rubbish and litter that an artist soon gathers around him. "I am only here temporarily," Darcy said, as he saw Valerie's eye wandering over the empty packing-cases that did duty for chairs and tables, the variously-shaped canvases, the unfinished paintings, paint- boxes, paint-rags, the lay figure draped in an Arab ljernowqe, and the other sig- nificantly-artistic tokens of disorder. "It seems scarcely worth while to make one's self comfortable when one may be on the wing any day. Take care of your dress there. Here is the 'Diamond of the Desert' on the easel. Don't compliment it, unless you can do so conscientiously." "I am not likely to flatter," Valerie an- swered, with very unmistakable candor. Then she stood and attentively regarded the picture. If she had expected any thing like the tender and suggestive pathos of "Missing,~, she must have been very much disappointed. Yet perhaps her first feeling was one of as- tonishment that the day vision into which she had fallen over the aria from "St. ~ should be, in part at least, so faithfully represented before her. There were the feathery palm~, there the sparkling waters, there the golden sand; there, also, the swarthy, dark-eyed groups in their white turbans and flowing robes, the camels, the barbs, and far off, on the verge of the pur- ple horizon, the domes and minarets of some distant city faintly outlined against the sky. It was a very simple composition-only a group of Arabs resting at an oasis-but it I"a OF THE DESERT. 103 was charmingly painted, the colors soft and clear with all their brilliance, and a pervad- ing tone of freshness and reality that must have struck the most inattentive observer. It was very evident that of idealization, much less of pure fancy, there was literally nothing -it was plainly faithful copy, not of Nature in general, but of Nature in particular. The oasis might perhaps have been a shadow of many oases, but no one could doubt the individuality of every one of the Arabs, whohad unloaded their camels, dismounted from their horses, and lain down on the fresh turf. Perceiving this, Valerie turned to Darcy, and daid, in the tone of one who asserts an undoubted fact: "~You have been in the East, then?" "Yes," he answered. "I spent several years there; and Eastern scenes were, for a time, my specialty. If I were to put on can- vas half the sketches which I outlined on paper-you are fairly tormented with pictu- resque effects in those countries-I should need two lives instead of one to achieve the mere manual labor." "And this is a scene from actual life, then?" asked Alix, eagerly. "Every face there is a portrait," he an- swered; "from old Yusuf the sheik -you see him sitting crossed-legged by the stream -down to the youngest boy. The oasis it- self is to be found not very far outside the walls of Cairo." "That distant city is Cairo ?" "Yes." She looked intently at the picture for a long time, then turned and said, half- timidly: "How I should like to see your sketch- es! " "Would you?" he asked, with a soft light in his eyes that almost always came to' them at any remark of hers. "Well, that is a very moderate desire, and easily grati- fied. I have a good many with me, and, if you would care to see them now-or any other time-" "Now, of course," she said, eagerly.. "Valerie, don't you say so?" But Valerie did not hear. She was~ looking at the picture, through her half-. closed hand, and did not even notice that4~ page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 YAI~F4UIE the others tur~ied sway. When she did at last wake, with a start, to a consciousness of their absence, and look around, they were deep in a large portfolio, and so absorbed 4zat her presence was notat all neee&sary to their enjoyment. After one glance, she moved away in an opposite direction. The studio was a narrow but rather long apart- ment, and, as she strolled toward the lower end of it-pausing now and then'to examine the unfinished pictures and outline etchings which.lined the walls-she almost lost sight of those two heads bending down together,, behind the large easel. It was quite invol- untarily that, coming at last to a corner where several canvases were stacked to- gether, she turned the first one around. A glimpse was enough to make her draw it into a better light, and then she stood trans- fixed by admiration. The scene represented an opera-box, from which, drawing aside the curtain with one hand, a girl, with a face of richly-tinted beauty, looked forth in what seemed a flush * of triumphant power and self-possession. At least the attitude could only have been so interpreted-there was such a regal pose of the head, such a challenge in the dark eyes, rippling over with all the sunny light and soft languor of the South. An ivory- mounted lorgnette lay on the cushions be- * fore her, together with a libretto and one white kid glove, while a half-closed fan was held to the scarlet lips by the most slender of hands. The shoulders, from which the cloak had slipped back, gleamed lustrously white against a dark background, and the whole effect was so glowing and perfect, that Valerie exclaimed half aloud, "How exquisite!" Yet, even as the words passed her llps, a discovery flashed upon her which made her sink into a seat, and' stare at the picture in blank amazement, Surely there was some- thing strangely familiar in the face, which bent so graciously and smilingly toward her! Surely she had met before the soft depths of those liquid eyes! There was n~ doubt of it-the face was her own! What she would have said or done, it is impossible 'to conjecture, for at that moment a quiet voice behind her asked: AYLMER. ON THE HEIGHTS. 10 '~"And what do you think of your like. ness?" She started and turned-for once visibly confused-to meet the smiling eyes of Mau- rice Darcy. '"Mine! is it really mine?" she stam- mered. "Can there be a doubt of it? Did you ever see a face like that, out of your mirror?" "But how could you-I never gave you a sitting!" He laughed outright. '"Never a conscious one, I grant you; but I am very quick to catch a likeness, and you know I have seen you constantly. I ought to explain and apologize, perhaps," he added, more seriously. "You would have a right to think that I had taken a great lib- erty, if I did not assure you that I have only done so to gratify my uncle. He saw some of my portraits once, and said that he would like me to paint yours. I knew you would never consent to a course of sittings, so I could only promise him to catch the likeness without troubling you-and that is my ex- cuse." Valerie bit her lips quickly; and it would be hard to tell-hard, perhaps, for herself to have told-the cause of the sud- den shadow which came over her face, as if his explanation had been in some sense a disappointment. "You give me credit for more perversi- ty than I possess," she said, coldly. "Of course I would have sat for you-if grand. papa wished it." "It was more the desire to spare you a disagreeable thing, than a beief in your per- versity, which induced me to choose this mode of obtaining a portrait," he answered. "You see I have succeeded-~.moderately at least." "I see you have flattered my face al- most beyond recognition." "Yen think so?" and his eye travelled, with the quick artist-gaze, from original to copy, and then back again. "Well-I do' not agree with you." ~" I doubt if you are a good judge," she retorted. "How should you know any thing about my face? You certainly don't~ know me." "Is that a necessary preliminary?" "I have always thought so." "And I have always thought the re verse. Instead of knowing the face fron the character, we know the character fron the face. That is the reason why artists ar generally good physiognomists." Valerie looked quickly at the picture There were many soft lights common to he face, many gentle and tender expressions t her eyes-but none of them were there The artist's hand had transferred to his can vas, line by line, and tint by tint, her phys ical beauty, but never a shadow of augh' that was spiritually lovely. In the brillian' eyes she only saw the satisfaction of con scious power; on the perfect lip, only smile of haughty vanity. She turned to hin at last, and spoke with a strange bitterness~ in her voice. "Then what I see in that face is you: conception of my character?" "Do you object to it?" he asked, smil ing. She made a gesture of impatience "That is no reply to my question. Please be good enough to answer me." Then he answered, gravely: "It is th~ only one I have been able to form. W4 jud~e according to sight, you know." "Yes," she said, with a half gasp, ~~W4 judge according to sight-no matter ho~ far wrong sight may take us~ Not that yoi are wrong in this. You may be very right No one knows less than I do." At that, she turned away, and walke toward Alix, who looked up in some sur prise. "how long you have been, dear!" shi said. "I sent Captain Darcy for you, and: thought neither of you was coming back I wanted to show you this scene in Damas ens. Is it not charming-just like the Ara bian Nights?" "Yes, exactly," Valerie answered, a she bent over the sketch. A moment later one large hot drop had blurred the dome o a mosque thereon, though where it cam from no one could tell. CHAPTER IV. O~I THE HEIGHTS. 1. As the days went on, and the time of Miss Rivi~re's dibut approached, a knowl- edge of the fact which, up to that time, had been kept a partial secret, began to transpire among her friends and acquaintances. Con- sequent upon this, the poor child was forced - to run a gantlet of inquiries and remon- - stances, of dark intimations of failure, and t darker threats of certain social penalties t that in such a case would be enforced against her and hers. Ali this came sudden- ~ ly and without preparation, and those who 1 knew her best scarcely realized the courage with which she had nerved herself for the issue until they saw how gallantly she breasted this preliminary storm of opposi- tion. If such an ordeal had been foretold - for her, no doubt they would all have feared that it would shake her resolution. But, on the contrary, it only seemed to strength- ~ en it. Inquiries she answered with calm affirmation; remonstrances she put aside s with quiet disdain; while the threats of ~ social penalty brought a ~nore scornful light to her eyes than had ever been seen there ~ before. "What is your idol to me?" she r cried, contemptuously. "When we were 1 rich and prosperous, society ,was at our feet -in our reverses, it has barely tolerated us, extending one finger when we met! Now I it may ignore us, for all I care. Our friends - we shall keep-the rest are better lost than retained!" For the prophecies of failure, s she had only one answer-" That remains [ to be proved." And, as she went on her way, all faithful and unsparing of labor to - herself, all gentleness and tenderness to her - parents, all steadfast defiance to the world, many thought, and Valerie among them, ~ that they had never witnessed a more touch- ing and beautiful sight. f But still there were moments when the s head drooped and the courage gave way- moments when the poor little flower came to her friend trembling and downcast. "Oh,. I dread it so unspeakably! " she would says with her wistful eye full of tears. "I am AYLMER. 105 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] 106 VALERIE AYLMER. ON THE HEIGhTS. 107 afraid-oh, lam terribly afraid! I feel as if I should not he able to utter one note when I stand before all that sea of faces. I feel as if something wouldrise up in my throat and choke me, and that I shall end by disgracing myself." " And gratifying all your kind friends," said Miss Aylmer, coolly. "Don't forget that!" "Yes, that is just it! "she cried passion- ately. "It almost kills me to think how they will exult and shake their heads, and say 'Poor thing, I told her so!' And when I think of them, I feel that I will suc- ceed." " Think of them all the time, then.~, "Ah, but sometimes even that thought fails me. Sometimes I feel as if to meet the cold glances and the critical eyes must extin- guish all my courage, and that I shall cover my face with my hands and cry out to Mr. Rosenberg to take me away. I can see myself do it, as plainly as if I were looking at a picture." "Alix, you must put such fancies as these out of your head-you must not en- courage them. They are enough to make you fail. There is no danger-there cannot be the least danger-if you do not give way to nervous fear. Think what your failure would be to your parents!" "I do think of it," she answered, mourn- fully. "That thought alone enables me to persevere, I try to reme~nber that God has given me one talent-one poor little ewe- lamb-and I must not strangle it with my own hands when it may enable me to aid them. But Valerie, Valerie, it is hard- harder than I ever thought it would be!" Mrs. Rivi~re, too, confided to Valerie forebodings which were never by any chance betrayed to Alix herself. "She suffers very much," the, mother said; "and it pains me to the heart to think that I cannot aid her in bearing it, My poor child! So young, and so totally unfit for such a burden!" "But she has such a brave heart," Miss Aylxner answered, "And she is so confi- dent of her own power! Do not fear. She is resolved to succeed-she will do so," Mrs, Rivi~re shook her head. All .Alix's buoyant bearing had not availed to deceive those watchful eyes. "You are mistaken," she said. "You do not look so closely as I do, or you would hear many a quiver under those gay tones, and see many a doubt lurking under that bright smile. She is brave, but she is fighting against her own fear. I begin to dread lest it prove an unequal combat; I begin to think that at the very last she may fail, from pure ner- vous terror." "I cannot think so," Miss Aylmer said -but, in truth, she began to be dismayed herself. "I cannot believe but that the oc- casion will give her the courage of desper~ ation, and so carry her through." "I do not know whether to wish for it or not. It might be better for her not to sing at all, than to sing so badly that she will ruin her future prospects." "Does Mr. Rosenberg share your fears?" Valerie asked, after a pause. "Not at all. But then Mr. Rosenberg, like yourself' does not look below the sur- face." "You dome great injustice," the other protested. "I do look below the surface, and I see all that natural fear and doubt to which you allude. But I don't believe that it will prevent Alix from appearing, and from doing full justice to her voice when she does appear. And now, dear madame, it re- mains for time to show which of us is the true prophet." "I doubt if anybody ever desired more earnestly that honor should fall on a rival's head," Mrs. Rivi~re said, smiling; "or if ever a prophet was more willing to forfeit all claim to the reputation of seer." Strange to say, for once in her life Ma- dame Vacquant acted in a manner which nobody expected of her. Notwithstanding her previous censure of such a step, she took up .AJix's cause warmly, applauded her cour- age, promised all possible assistance, and in short (to Mr. Rosenberg's great disgust!), took the whole affair under her sublime wing. What was the meaning of this sud. den change of opinion, it would be difficult to say; but there was at least good reason for supposing that the consideration of Darey's penokant, and a desire to encourage it, had something to do with the matter. Certain- ly there was a long consultation wih Julian, then the carriage was ordered, and the lady drove straight to the Rivi~res to tender her all-powerful aid and countenance. Of course it was gratefully accepted-the more grate- fully, because almost every other one of their newly-made friends had been loud in re- monstrance, or cold in disapproval; and also because the world of fashion was always sure to follow wherever that white finger pointed. When Madame Vacquant said in her soft, high-bred voice, "My dear, I will be glad to do all in my power to insure your success," she was pledging not only herself, but the entire l~eau monde; and Alix, knowing this, was proportionally warm in thanks-thanks that would not have been rendered if there had been a sus- picion of vulgar patronage in the matter. But her worst enemy never failed to admit that the fair society-leader knew how to confer a favor with inimitable tact and grace; and she was scarcely likely not to have employed both the one~ and the other here. The day of the concert at last came, and in the afternoon Miss Aylmer went to see whether Alix's courage wavered or in- creased as the hour of fate approached. She found her sitting by her mother's sofa, very 'quiet, very pale, hut also very com- posed. They both glanced up with a smile when the well-known face came in, and Alix gave one cry- "She is charming!" "Who is charming~~~ Valerie asked. "Why, Madame Baroni, of course 1" the other answered, a little indignantly. "Who else should I mean? Mr. Rosenberg took me to see her this morning-and oh, Valerie, I can never be afraid of her again!" "Well, that is one comfort," her frieild replied. "I should think this might serve to convince you that your other fears are quite as shadowy.-Mrs. Rivi~re, does she need a tonic?~' " I don't think so," Mrs. Rivi~re an- swered, with her peculiarly sweet smile. "She went off very pale and trembling to see Madame Baroni; but she came back full of courage, and I don't ~believe it has ebbed since." "She is so kind," Alix said, with effu- sion. "It would have been ungrateful to feel afraid any more-at least of her. She encouraged me to persevere - praised my voice-told me about her own dti but, when she was so frightened she could scarcely sing a note-and predicted that sonxe, day I, would be a great cantatrice. Think of that, mamma!" "Yes, think of it," Valerie said. "Think of cities at your feet, and nations ringing with your praise, of whole assemblies trans- ported to enthusiasm by your voice, and of ovations that royalty might envy-" "Not to speak of substantial profits." "Not at all. Oh, child, how happy you ,are 1-and how little you appreciate your happiness! You hold your future in your own hand, and you win bread and fame by the exercise of that which is to you delight. Think of the myriads who spend life in a toil that is utterly hateful to them; and thank God for giving you the capability of labor that can be loved." "I do," she said, humbly; "I do thank Him with all my heart. I look at the poor drudges who teach, at the poor slaves who sew, and I ask myself what have I done to be so greatly blessed above them-blessed in a gift, but, for which, I could anticipate no higher existence than theirs." "And when you think of Music-of her grand and glorious loveliness-of the beauty that is nearer Heaven than aught alse left us at the Fall-do you not feel your terrors grow petty and unworthy in presence of a mistress so sublime?~~ "Yes," she said, with the shining smile of a St. Cecilia, "I do-indeed I do!" "That, then, is a point where it will he well to leave you,~~ and she rose to go. "No, I cannot stay longer. It will soon be time for you to begin your toilet, and I must not detain you from that. Alix, when I see you again, the Rubicon will be passed; and, as I now say to you, be of good heart. -and prove that the blood which has made the sons of our land famous is not less fruit- ful of' heroism in her daughters. So I will then congratulate~ you on having won a two- fold victory: one over circumstance, and a harder one over yourself." I page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 VALERIE "God grant it!" said the mother's solemn tones. - "Amen!" said Alix, softly. -When Miss Aylmer reached home, it was nearly 'sunset, and the western sky had been dazzling her- eyes with its glory, so that she did not at all recognize a dark fig- ure hurrying forward to meet her until they met on the door-step, and then she saw Roinney. As he uncovered his head, and the full light of the incarnadine west fell over his face, she was startled to observe - how worn and pale he looked. -. "Julian!" she said, stopping short. "Something is surely the matter-or has happened to you. What is it?" - She asked the question anxiously, but i1~ was more the auxietyof one who fears some unpleasant responsibility, than that of a woman quick to perceive through her affec- tions. "Nothing of any importance," 'he an- swered, with a forced smile; "at least I don't suppose you would consider it of im- -portance. Your friend Miss Rivi~re seems to occupy all your available attention just now." "I thought she needed it, but you look this evening as if you needed it more. Pray tell me what is the matter-if it is any thing I can help." "So you don't care to hear, in case that it is not?" "Did I say- that? How strangely per- verse you are! Surely you are not foolish again," she added, a little impatiently. "If foolish means jealous, no," he an- swered. "But-~-ah, the door is open, and perhaps- it is as well I should not take all Charles Street into my confidence. Will you come in?" - She went in, but paused at the- foot of the staircase with decided determination on her- face. "Now," she said, "I insist on the com- pletion of that sentence. But-what?". - "As if you cared!" he said, passionate- ly. "-As if I might not be swept out of your path to-morrow without your sending a single eigh after me-unless it was a sigh of relief! For Heaven's sake, don't~ mock me with such a question, or-I wrn not an- ii AYLMER. swer for the consequences. You should not tempt me to break your own commands, and~ then grow angry at the temerity." "I did not mean to do that," she said, softly-moved more than she cared to con- fess by his tone and manner-then she came a step nearer and laid her hand on his arm. "Julian! why will you always speak of me as if I were ready to work you great harm? Why not regard me as one who would do almost any thing to spare you pain?" "Almo8t any thing?" "Yes." "Then," he said, with something of a hoarse laugh, "be sure I will test you very soon. There I I dare not say any thing more now. And don't look at me in that way, or-I will! You have to dress, I know. Don't let me detain you." "I am going, but-say something first, that is like yourself. I can't bear to leave you in such a mood." "What shall I say? That your eyes were never brighter or your voice more sweet-that is like my usual self, I believe. But I should think you would grow tired of such platitudes." "Yes, tired and vexed," she answered, withdrawing her hand, and turning away. "I don't understand you. I did not think you would treat me so, but-no ~ He let her go without a word, and she was half-way up the staircase, before he sud- denly rushed after her, caught her hand, and, before she knew it, had pressed it many times, passionately to his lips. "Julian!" she cried, half-angrily. Then he dropped it, and looked up with imploring eyes. "Forgive me!" he said. "Forgive me, not for this, but for my churlish despair. Yes, I will hope. It is only a coward who dare not do so. You shall not find me in this mood again." Nor did she-at least not that night. When she came down to dinner, i~ was a very gay and gallant cavalier who met her at the door of the dining-room, and, while dessert was still on the table, the carriage was announced. "We cannot afford to be late to-night," said Madame Vacquant, rising at once. "I ON TE would not miss Alix's first appearance for any consideration. -My dear, I am so sorry you cannot come "-this to M. Vacquant, whom the gout kept at home.-" Maurice, may I trouble you for my cloak?" While Darcy dutifully wrapped the white folds around her stately figure, Julian was performing the same office for Valerie; and, in so doing, found time to ask: "AmI forgiven?" "That depends on your future conduct," she answered, with a bright smile. "But you must take me down to the carriage as an earnest of it." They soon disembarked before the bril- liant entrance of the Concordia; but, truth to tell, Valerie had very little appreciation or recollection of the concert as a concert. And after-events completely drove from her mind even the faintest remembrance of how the great prima donna sang. Mr. Rosenberg had thought it best for x~o one to b~ with Alix but himself, so the Vacquant party - found Mr. and Mrs. Rivi~re in the orchestra- chairs, adjoining their own-~hairs very near the stage, and altogether the best in the house for the double purpose of seeing and hearing. Valerie's heart was with the poor child who was struggling, and fighting herself, all rtlone behind the scenes; and, for once in her life, she, was deaf even to music. She had only a faint, dream-like impression of the magnificent-looking woman, with her powerful voice, her brilliant execution, her gleaming silk, - and flashing jewels, who brought down such storms of applause from the - house. Even a Polonaise of Chopin, and a concerto of Mendelssohn, failed to move her. She heard little, and saw less, until near the close of the first- part, an eager movement of Mrs Rivi~re's said more plainly than words, "There she is! "-and a round of welcoming applause made -Valerie look up quickly to see Mr. Rosenberg's white-kid glovesjeading forwaul a brown-eyed Tita- nia in a cloud of India muslin. All the interested party drew their breath- quickly, and then held it in a sharp tension of anxiety and hope. Indeed, the most indifferent stranger might have found it hard to gaze quitc unmoved at the fair HEIOUTS. 109 face and childlike form of the young de~bu- tante, as she stood before the foot-lights -in all the solitary grace of her youth. She looked so refined, so modest, so altogether beautiful, that there was a quickening in- terest on many a face lately apathetic, and a half-murmured, "How l~vely!~~ from many lips lately careless. Lovely, indeed, she was-rarely lovely; but one glance at the poor little flower showed those eager eyes watching her ~o closely that her cour- age was ebbing fast. She was terribly pale, and trembled visibly-but she was making a brave battle of it, and fighting a stern fightfor self-control The first spon- taneous tribute of applause subsided, was acknowledged by a timid salutation, and then silence settled over the house-silence profound and expectant; but, to that trem- bling heart, who shall say how awful! Mr. Rosenberg took his seat at the piano, the first violinist of the orchestra drew his bow softly across the strings; but the singer seemed momently losing both self-possession and self-control. The maestro was evidently very uneasy. He played a prelude of un- usual length-during the course of which Valerie saw Alix's fingers lacing and inter- lacing over the sheet of music she held, and her breast heaving convulsively-but at last he could delay no longer. He murmured something hurriedly over his shoulder, and struck the first chords of the accompani- ment. Alix made one desperate ~ffort to sing-her voice failed her! Another equal- ly desperate-with equally ill success. Then she paused, evidently struggling with a~ wild desire to burst into tears, and rush from the stage. The stillness of the next few minutes was terrible. Mrs. Rivi~re laid her hand down on the one beside her with a g~sp Miss Aylmer never forgot; but her glance did not once tarn from her daughter's face. Mr. Rosenberg rose and went to-Alix's side, the leader of the orchestra leaned forward, and spoke a few kind words of encourage- ment. But it all seemed to little purpose, and a perfect despair settled over the watch- ers. To f.~il-and thus! Murmurs of com- passion began to be heard, together with well-meant whispers of "Better take hey off!" page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] OUT OP THE DEPTHS. 111 110 VALERIE AYLMER. At that moment Darcy, who was sitting just behind Valerie, laid his hand on her shoulder. "Let her mother show herself," he whispered, eagerly. "That will restore her courage-if any thing can!" Miss Ayl- iner turned to Mrs. Rivi~re, but she had heard him, and immediately rose to her feet, and leaned forward toward the stage, utterly unmindful that she was thus a mark for the observation of the whole house, if the house had not been too much occupied to observe her. Alix's eyes were w~stfulIy turned on the audience, as if seeking that face among all others, and many noticed the start with which s~e recognized it. The effect was scarcely less instantaneous. Color flashed into her cheeks, and light into her eyes; she made a motion as if swallowing some im- pediment in her throat, and, laying her hand on Mr. Rosenberg's arm, pointed to * the piano. He hesitated, but she said a few words, and he resumed his seat. Then, as she once more fronted the audience, with resolution on her face-such resolution as that with which men go to storm a battery -some kindly chivalric hand in the gallery gave a signal of applause, to which the body of the house eagerly responded. When it subsided, the battle was fought and won! She began to sing, and the first tone of her voice assured everybody that the worst was over, and that no further hesitation was to b~ feared. Perhaps it was desperation which gave her strength, but at least it bore her bravely through. She had never in her life done fuller justice to herself or to her teacher. Even those whose hearts were bound up in herforgot for the moment the singer in the music, and listened with enrap- tured attention to those fairy-like cadences, that exquisite elfin rise and fall of delicious harmony which is the immortal heritage be- queathed usby the master's immortal genius. There was not a musical ear in the house which was not charmed by the sweetness! and compass of those wonderfulnotes, which did not perceive at once the rare natural power of the voice, and the purity of execu- tion, the almost perfect style of the vocaliza- tion. They had expected at best little more than a mediocre capability in this trembling debutante, and they found themselves coin- pletely taken by surprise! When the last; echo of the " Magic Flute" died away, there was a pause of absolute astonishment; then the Concordia walls had rarely echoed to a more overwhelming torrent of applause than broke.forth in one wild storm. The Rubi- con was passed indeed! As. far as this gen- erous city was concerned, the young exile's fame was inade-.and even now they were calling her back with every token of fervid enthusiasm. Half-frightened, and trembling more than ever, Alix was led back, and when at last the curtain fell, at the end of the first part, it was amid the still echoing sounds of that which is sweeter than all other music to the ear professional. In the interval which followed, all the Rivi~res's acquaintances gathered round the proud and happy parents with warm con- gratulations. First of all, came Mr. Thorn- ton, though he knew neither of them per- sonally, and held out his hand with frank cordiality. "The tone-world has gained another star!" he said-and it was worth while saying it, to see the bright smile which came, in answer, over Mrs. Rivi~re's face. But, though such compliments as these are the pleasantest of all compliments in the world, no one was sorry when the curtain rose again and the concert recoin- menced. La Baroni sang with all the pow- er and ~pirit which had gained her a world- wide fame; but, nevertheless, there were others now, besides the small group of im- mediate friends, who eagerly waited the re- appearance of the new songstress. At last she came - smiling, blushing, all alive with the full, delicious realization of her success. And how divinely she sang I How purely and evenly the tide of melody flowed from the slender throat-how rich, yet flexible, the voice proved itself whenever there was a demand on strength or a trial of skill-how exquisitely birdlike were the trills-how regular and smooth the scales-. how brilliant the whole execution! It was no wonder that the people applauded as if they were mad; that they encored her again and yet again; or that, when she was recalled for the third time, and stood before them with her glowing face and happy eyes, even ladies joined in the enthusiastic outburst, 4 and gave up their bouquets to be cast at her feet. CHAPTER V. our or THE DEPTHS. SUDDENLY a startled voice cried, "Look at Mrs. Rivi~re!" and, turning quickly, Miss Aylmer saw that she was lying back in her chair, white as marble, with her eyes closed, and a crimson tide flowing from her lips. Her husband had not heard the first voice, but he caught Valerie's exclamation of hor- ror, and turned also. In a moment his face was almost as pale as hers. "My God!" he cried, "it is another kemorrhage I The words had scarcely passed his lips, before all was confusion in their immediate vicinity-a number of people pressing for- ward, an uproar of voices, a dozen different demands in a dozen different keys. Salts -ammonia-water-a fan-the carriage-a doctor-all were recommended and called for in a breath, as it were, while those farther off only thought a lady had fainted from the heat The house went on thundering its plaudits, Alix went on bowing and smiling, while her mother's life was bleeding away. Yet the confusion did not last long. It scarcely needed the grave face of the has- thy-summoned physician to assure the gazers that Azrael had made his own time, and that she on whom they gazed had received the summons which none ever disobey. There was something unspeakably awful- something that no one, looking on, ever for- got-in the contrasts of the scene. Here, the garish realm of pleasure and life, ~he glittering, swaying crowd, the painted ara- bosqued walls, the brilliant Jights, the illu- minated stage-there, the ghastly shadow, the inexorable pre~nce of agony and death. Fortunately the concert was over- all, save an orchestral piece which nobody seemed to care about hearing-Alix had vanished, and the house was emptying fast. The pealing instruments rose and swelled in a harmony which only served to keep time to the rustle and tread of depart- ing numbers, but which formed the last ele- ment of discordance in this horrible scene. Nobody seemed to notice them, excepting Miss Aylmer; but she, who was kneeling by the insensible women, looked up at Dar- cy with a piteous appeal. "For Heaven's sake, go and tell them-go and stop them!" she said. He went, and, a moment later, the gay strain ceased, and the ghastly death- march was over. But, years afterward, Va- lerie heard that air played by other musi- ciansin a far-distant land, and it brought back, as vividly as if she again gazed upon it, the scene of that night, with all its terrible accompaniments. After the first shock was over, Mr. Rid- ~re recovered something of his usual self- possession, and sent a note to Mr. Rosen- berg, bidding him detain Alix until some one called for her. Then Mrs. Rivi~re was slowly carried out of the empty house to the carriage which was waiting for her. Miss Aylmer seemed most to retain self- possession, and so it was to her that the doctor turned when he said, "Get in!" She did not understand what he meant to require of her, but she obeyed at once. After she was in the carriage, Mrs. Rivi~re was laid half on the seat, half within her arms, and the doctor following, with Mr. Rivi~re, they drove rapidly away. Nobody mentioned Alix, but Valerie's heart was full of her, and it was a great relief to remember that Darcy had taken on himself the duty of telling her, and bringing her after them. Valerie now began to realize son~iething of what he was, as a sure and steadfast help in time of need; at least there was no one else who could have given her such a feeling of confidence that the blow to that poor, un- prepared heart would be softened as much as human care and tenderness can soften such a stroke-and, God knows, that is little enough! It was very strange and awesome, that drive! Every thing seemed so terrible, and had been so sudden, that it was all unreal to Valerie; and, once or twice, she half-won- dered if she were awake, as the carriage rolled on over the paving-stones, as the pass- ing gleams of the street-lamps fell across the page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] 112 VALERIE AYLMER. death-like face, pillowed on her white opera cloak, and the two men sat opposite, like graven images, neither speaking, and the doctor only leaning forward now and then to lay his finger on the faint pulse. The hinmorrhage had almost entirely ceased by the time they reached upper Eu- taw Street, and, lifting the frail form with as little difficulty as if she had been a child, Mr. Rivi~re bore it into the house which she had left so shortly before in all the flush of life's fullest hopes. He made no pause on the lower floor, though the doctor would fain have drawn him into the first room they reached, but passed directly on to her own chamber, laying her gently and tender- ly down on the bed from which sh~ would never rise again. Every thing that ensued was afterward a very dim remembrance to Miss Aylmer. She knew that she must have been cool and capable of intelligent service, at the 'time, for it was to her that the doctor~ made his demands for every thing he needed, and it was on her that the duty of bringing the frightened household to some order fell. She had not more than accomplished this, and taken her place once more to wipe away the red drops that still slowly came from between the parted lips, when a carriage drove almost at a gallop up to the door. There was the sound of quick voices and hurrying feet, and, before the doctor could interfere to prevent, Alix had rushed into the room, and thrown herself on her knees by her mother's bedside. "0, mother, mother!" she cried, "is this my triumph 1-0 God! she is dead!- it is I who have killed her!" "Hush!" said the doctor, sternly, and, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, forced her away. "You ~vilZ kill her, if you bring on that hinemorrhage again! Hush, mad~ am! "-this to Mrs. Bivi~re - whose lids quivered and whose pale lips faintly strove to speak. "I command you to hush-your life depends upon it! There must not be one word spoken in this room-either by you or any one else.-Miss Bivi~re, come with me down-stairs." "Oh, no, no! "exclaimed poor Alix, witir. a piteous cry of entreaty. "Let me stay with her !-do let me stay with her! I will not utter another word-I promise that! Only try me-you can send me away, if I do!" Th~ doctor 'released his hold. He evi- dently did not like to trust her, and did so reluctantly. But she sank on her knees again so hushed and still that, after amo- ment, he turned away and went to Miss Aylmer. "I suppose I can depend on you!" he said, shortly. "Don't, on any pretext, allow a word to be' spoken-especially by Mrs. Rivi~re herself, or-" he pointed over his shoulder to Alix. "Keep perfect silence. I have sent for Preston, and I must go down. stairs a n~oment. If there is any change, call me." Valerie bent her head, and he walked away. From some cause or other, he did not return for a considerable time, and the still, solemn aspect of the chamber seemed to awe and oppress Miss Ayhner, like the very presence of death itself. In lesser degree, there was the same contrast which had given so much deeper horror to the scene in the opera-house, only now the world was subordinate-sunk into nothing as it were, by the side of that eternity which was so near at hand. We are told very often that we walk on the bolder of eternity, that there is ever only a thin veil between our faces and its awful myste~ ries; but it is doubtful whether we ever re- alize the fact until we are brought face to face with some swift tragedy in which the curtain is lifted before our eyes, and we catch a glimpse-a brief, fieetin~ glimpse- of the existence beyond, and of its unspeak- able nearness to our daily lives. Just now, Valerie had this glimpse-just now she seemed to feel in every throb of her own abounding life the sense of death which we carry about with us all the time, and the actual presence of that shadowy world- which in our poor human blindness we call shadowy, when indeed it alone is real!- at whose entrance, this life, now fading from earth, was soon to stand. She had~ not of- ten before come face to face with d$th; and it was long before the scene on which she gazed ceased to haunt her. There lay (1 it I OUT OF TE "V the almost dying womail, with her white face and faintly-pulsating breast-so faintly pulsating, that more than once Valerie thought the breath had ceased. The dim, hushed room looked vast and weird with the dark shadows gathering in its corners, and the outline of its still figures thrown in gigantic relief on the walls. Mr. Rivi~re stood so unmoving at the side of the bed that he might have been taken for a sculp- tured figure, while the gala-dress of Mix, with its misty flounces and French roses, lay all unheeded on the floor, as she knelt with only a convulsive quiver now and then running over her frame; while Valerie, in her shining silk and blood-stained cloak, sat on the bed, with her fingers on the fail- ing pulse of the hand that was lightly clasp- ing hers. It seemed as if many hours passed thus; but it could not have been nearly one- since the confessor who had been sum- moned in haste had not yet arrived-when a slight pressure of her hand made Valerie bend over Mrs. Rivi~re to see what she de- sired. Before it was possible to remon- strate, she had whispered four words- weak and low, yet quite distinct: "Comfort my poor child." Scarcely were they spoken, before the effort brought on the hemorrhage again- and the red tide gushed once more from her lips over the pillows. Alix sprang to her feet and fled to the head of the stairs, calling wildly for the doctor. He came-looked- placed his finger oh the pulse-then turned to Mr. Bivi~re, and said aloud, but very gently, "She is dying." Mrs. Rivi~re~ evidently heard the words. Perhaps he had wished that she should. K Her eyes opened slowly, and met his with an expression which said, "I know it." Then they turned to Valerie, and, remember- ing the appeal of a moment before, she an- swered instinctively, "I will-I will! "- and that strangely-expressive glance wan- dered to Alix, who stood a little back from the bed, her han~ hanging loosely at her side, and a stonyhorror on her face. The rapidly-dimming sight dwelt on her face for a moment, in unutterable and pitying love; and then the last look turned to her 8 [R DEPThS. ' 113 husband, who was bending over with agony too great for utterance. What a volume was in that long gaze !-so much that was perfectly intelligible to the stranger looking on, that it must have been plain as spoken words to him. Once the steady regard was raised toward heaven-~returning immedi- ately to fix itself a gain on his-and the poor blood-covered lips strove to fashion them- selves into a smile-last token of the love which was undying. I~either eyes nor lips moved again. It scarcely needs to dwell on the des- olation which followed. All of us have passed through, or will pass through, such valleys of the shadow of death, and all of us know the black pall which at such times comes over all things-shutting out even the sunlight of God's smile. With Alix, sorrow took the form of dumb apathy. She crouched by the side of that which was once her mother, and moaned to herself like some stricken wild creature of the forest, all the day long 1-she paid no heed to any one-no voice was powerful enough to rouse her-people came and went, spoke to her, talked of her, but she never raised her head-she never acknowledged any other presence than that of the dead. Perhaps of all the forms of human grief, there is none more touching, none more hopeless than this, none so powerful to wring our own hearts with the sorrow of unavailing pity! When thirty-six hours had passed, and still the stunned quiescence was unbroken, still no morsel of food had crossed the pale lips, the doctor thought it necessary to in- terfere. "This will never do 1" he said, de- cidedly. "The body must be removed as soon as possible, or this child will die." Ac- cordingly the funeral arrangements were hastened, and, on the third day after death, they buried away in the kind bosom of Mother Earth the cold shell of mortality that had once enshrined so fair and pure a spirit. To the last, Alix was resolved to at- tend the funeral. But Nature had already been taxed too far. When she went to take a last look of her mother's face, and she saw the lovely and ineffable peace that reigned in every line of it in contrast with her own grief-tom heart, the poor child gave way in page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] 114 VALERIE AYLMER. REAPING THE HARVEST. 115 one mighty rush of emotion, that east her prostrate beneath its violence. "0 mother, mother!" she sobbed, as the burning shower ran over the face of her who never before had been uncon- scious of her voice, or deaf to her suffering. "Mine is the anguish, but yours the peace! All is over for you-all pain, all fear, all trouble! Your rest is won-but oh, my burden is heavy, heavier than I can bear without you! Oh, come back to' me-or teach me at least to say 'Thy will be done."' She was borne away unresisting, and a strong opiate administered by the doctor's orders. "She will rest now," he said. And she did rest-so deeply that the sad procession passed out of the darkened house, as she lay in unconscious slumber. And while in the dim cathedral the solemn tones of a requiem mass were chanted ~over the silent dust, she still slept-still forgot her pangs for a brief while, as she lay with a crucifix clasped in her hand, and so sweet a smile onthe pallid face, that Valerie hushed her breath, thinking it must be that the mother's spirit had come to comfort her even from those- "Shores where tideless sleep the seas of Time Soft by the city of the saints of God." '-4-- * CHAPTER VI. REAPING THE HARvEsT. A FORTNIGHT after this, Valerie was still domicilod at the Rivi~res'. Her heart-al- ways a gentle and pitiful heart to sorrow and distreas-had been sorely touched, and she was as loath to leave Alix and 'go back to the dissipation of the Vacquant household, as Alix would have been loath to see her go. Indeed, as the first wild violence of 'grief abated, giving place to that deep and settled sorrow which time alone can heal, there came also the 'aching sense of desolation- the deep longing for huma~i love and com- panionship which made Valerie's presence with 'her a positive necessity. 'Already, however, the former had mooted a plan which could alone secure this companion- ship for any length of time: Already, she had declared her anxiety, that Alix should leave her own home, so full as it was of painful memories, and accompany her to Washington Place. By degrees only could the latter be brought to entertain such a proposition. She clung passionately to the spot last associated with her mother, and even her father's persuasions were of little avail. Indeed, when no other excuse was left, she would look up at Valerie piteously, and say, "But I cannot leave poor papa all alone." To this Miss Aylmer wisely for- bore immediate answer, for she was sure that even the daughter's eyes could not long fail to perceive that her absence would be to her father more a relief than a deprivation. His love for his wife had been singularly de- voted; l~ut there was little or nothing of what is called "the domestic man" in his nature. He tolerated home-life for her sake but he never learned to like it for its own, and the most superficial observer could not have failed to perceive how strong was his desire to escape the haunting presence of grief-embodied in the darkened house, the vacant couch, his daughter's pale face and black dress-and plunge headlong into the world. There was no doubt but that he would be unfeignedly glad to see Alix safely established at M. Vacquant's fireside, and to lock within the vacant house ~he ghost of his past life and his dead love. Nor was it very long before this desire was plainly manifest even to Alix; not long before she yielded a reluctant consent to Valerie's entreaties, and those which Ma- dame Vacquant came in person to add; not long before she bade a weeping farewell to the rooms where her mother's smile last shone on her, and was driven away to the stately Vacquant mansion, where a sunny room awaited her, and where one heart at least was ready to give her a tender and un- wearied attention. Is it necessary to say that this heart beat within the broad chest of Maurice Darcy? Truly, if he had seemed to like this fair child before, he now devoted himself to her with an~ affection that was touched into deop rev- erence by her silent but enduring grief. Her mother could not have watched over Alix with more untiring care, more con- A stantly studied her unspoken wishes, more zealously striven to ease her heart and~ amuse her mind. His regard fairly encompassed her. If ~he remained in her chamber, books, papers, and flowers, were going up in broken detachments all day; if she came, down, he rarely failed to meet her at the foot of the stairs and lead her into the back drawing- room, where her own special sofa stood cov- ered with cushions which he never allowed any one but himself to arrange. Then he would take his seat by her, and leave no means untried to make the rare smile and rarer laugh, until Valerie, looking on in won- dering surprise, could only murmur half-un- consciously to herself: "The bravest are the tenderest, The loving are the daring." Not that Valerie had overmuch time just now for observing Maurice Darcy, or aught that concerned him. Since her return, Ju- han had been her shadow, in public as well as Private-a shadow whom she found it ~vellnigh impossible to shake off, and who cost her many an hour of deep and painful disquietude. The end was fast approaching .-she saw that! Not much longer could the "pretty fooling" go on, or could she stave off a serious declaration and its conse- quences; not much longer could shehold at arm's-length the devotion that daily grew in passion and exactitude. An explanation must soon come, and after that-well, per- haps it was part of her punishment that she remembered now her father's warning, and I wished vainly and bitterly that she had heeded it. Ahi there is no telling, but per- haps we might not sow quite so recklessly if we would only bear the, reaping-time in mind; if we would only remember thatthere is no question of liking or regret, no alter- native of evasion, when that inevitable h~u~ comes, and the relentless scythe is put into our hand, but, whether we will or no, the harvest must be gathered. Even in the merest worldly sense~there is no wiser max- im than that of "Look to the end." Ay, look to the end, for if we often or ever did so, that end might not be so full of ashes and gall when it comes. Slowly and paln- fully, as all great lessons must be learned, this truth came home to Valerie Aylmer; but the harvest was to be gathered in for all that; nor was it long before the reaping began. It seemed that Madame Vacquant had laid her plans well, for by degrees Valerie began to perceive that society at large con- sidered the affairs between Julian and her- self in the light of a recognized engagement. Men fell back from her side when he ad- vanced, as 'if conceding an acknowledged right; women began to speak of her as of one outside the circle of the disengaged'; and a thousand trifling occurrences proved to her that the matter was regarded as finally set- tled. Perhaps Madame Vacquant would have been wise in this move, if she had not reasoned too much on feminine nature in general, and not enough on Valerie's nature in particular. Some women-many women -are easily influenced by any thing of this kind, and are readily brought to think that when society utters its dictum the matter had best be considered settled; that they have committed themselves past recall, and that it is better to accept the situation than to dare the vague and shadowy consequences of rebellion. But no such womanwas this girl, through whose veins beat hot and strong the warm Southern blood, that, in great or small, never yet benched at a penalty, or regarded a consequence. Therefore, it was not strange that this species of social coer- cion, instead of retarding, rather gave im- petus to the explanation which seemed so near at hand. It seemed near at hand, yet it came at last unexpecte4ly-as most things do come. Valerie's indignation had been very much roused by Romney's attempt to claim a privi- leged right to some favor over the heads of half a dozen other aspirants at a certain ball one night. So when he came, instigated by his mother, to make overtures of peace the next morning, he found his fair mistress in a far from playable mood. "Yes," she said, after listening to all his ready-made penitence, "that is very fine, but I have heard it rather too often. I should like some substantial proof of regret before issu* ing another official pardon. No-pray don't interrupt me. I know exactly what you are going to say. I atn fully prepared to hear A page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] AYLMER. 116 VALERIR that I must stand your excuse, and all that sort of' thing-but, once for all, I must de- cline standing your excuse any longer. I should think people could like each other in a reasonable manner, like each other without this continual jealousy; but if not-why, then they had better stop liking one another at all!" "Ah, lady fair, that may be even beyond your power," Julian 'answered, with a smile -for he thought her only a little more than usually hard to propitiate. "'Like each other m a reasonable manner? '-why, the very stones could afford to laugh at such a senti- ment from La belle des belle.,. When, in ull yoi~r life, did you ever find any one who liked you in a reasonable manner?" "I never found any one who liked me in quite such an unreasonable one as yourself," she retorted. "Granted, with all my heart; for it only goes to prove that none have ever liked you half as well. You surely have not yet to learn that, 'to be wise in love, exceeds man's strength."' It was not the first time by many that he ~ had used this word, and used it unrebuked, but now it seemed from some cause or other to jar on Valerie's mood; and her brow con- tracted as she said, coldly. "I confess I don't see the point of the quotation. Shakespeare is always right, of course; but we~ were not discussing either love or wisdom, that I am aware of." "Were we not?" he replied. "Well, per- haps I am very stupid, but I really thought we were. At least you arraigned me for faults having only that origin and that ex- cuse," "Having no excuse at all then," said she, with increasing coldness, for she felt out of sorts that day, and very indifferent whether the crisis came or not. Julian started. Perhaps something in her manner warned him, for he glanced keenly into her face, and his tone greatly subdued itself when he said: "You are in the humor to be hard on me to-day~ I see. Well, I deserve every thing that you can say in the way of reproach: but I don't deserve wispicion. Blame every thing, doubt every thing-except my love." REAPING T] He did not mend matters by that; and so he 'felt, the moment after. "You forget yourself!" she cried, almost angrily; "and you forget a greatdeal besides. I cannot and will not listen to any thing more of this kind. Remember that-and don't force me to tell you so again!" Her tone was more peremptory than she had probably intended it to be, and was ill suited for her purpose, since' it woke the angry obstinacy never long sleeping in Rom- ney's nature. He looked at her steadily; and it was easy to see that the look promised no moderation. " You surely don't think that, after all that has passed, you can lay such a command on me?" he asked. "I think," she answered concisely, "that it will be your best policy to observe it." He laughed a little scornfully. "A man who feels as I do cares little for policy and less for penalties. Your worst may be as death to me, but nevertheless I shall dare it. I told you three weeks ago that this should end soon. I tell you to-day that it shall end -now. It remains only for you* to say how." "You had better not force me to say how," she answered, shrinking in spite of herself from the issue, now that it was at hand. "You had better, indeed, forget all of this. Ah, Julian, why will you not be content to let us remain pleasant friends without any of this weary recrimination?" "Friends?" he repeated; "that is non- sense! I told you once before that lam not,, an~l never will be, your friend. As for this 'weary recrimination,' you are not more tired of it than I am. I have only failed to end it heretofore because-well, because I am the veriest coward alive, and I feared my fate too much. :Now, at least, I have a right to sit at your side and look in your eyes-I will forfeit even that if my tale is told to no purpose. For there is no middle ground for me, Valerie. Henceforward, I am either ~your betrothed husband-or-your bitter ~flemy~~~ "Julian! She was sincerely startled now-and with good cause. It was no pretty page lisping a love-story, who stood before her, but a man in whom she had roused all of manhood's strongest passion. At that mo- ment, she would have given any thing to have been able to summon the gay badinage that had fenced off so many an awkward issue; but nothing came to her lips save once again that half-frightened, half-expostu- lating "Julian!" For once he paid no attention to her voice. N~t a line of his face altered-the face that had suddenly hardened into unac- customed resolve-and his eyes had lost all their dreamy beauty, as he stood looking down on her. "Well, which is it?" he asked, hoarsely. "Julian, you-you frighten me!" she cried. "Which is what!" "Don't tell me you don't ~ he said, passionately. "Don't tell me that at this late day, I have to begin and say to you in due form that I loved you from the moment I saw you first, and shall love you till I die. It is for you to say whether, that love shall be God's blessing or the devil's curse!" "Julian, pray hush !-pray forget this!" "Forget it! He gave a short, hard laugh. "It is like 'a woman' to say that. Forget it! As if your sign-manual is ever forgotten! As if I shall not carry your mark, for good or evil, to my dying day! It is a fine thing to draw men on and bid them hope, by every art in your power-then, when they grow too earnest to amuse you, coolly say, 'Forget It.' But have you never thought what that forgetting means?" She glanced up at him mutely. No, she had never thought-that much, at least, can be said for her. She had never once con- sidered. It was all merely amusement with her; and she had scarcely ever dreamed that it was other with them-until now. N~ wonder that for once, face to face with 'the truth, her cheek grew pale. "Juhian," she whispered, "for Heaven's sake, let there be an end of this! I may have been to blame, ~but see-I ask your pardon so humbly. Indeed, meyer dreamed hut that you, too, were amusing yourself in a pleasant way. Indeed, I never dreamed-" She stopped short, for with one quick step he had reached her side and grasped her arm. tIE HARVEST. 11~. "Hush!" he said, sternly. "All this is folly, and you ought to know it. Amusing myself! :No, you never thought that. You knew only too well that you were playing at life and death with me. But-it is not too late yet. For God'8 sake, pause! Stop -think! N'o man on this earth ever loved you half as well as I do-will not even that love win something in return? Have you no woman's heart in your breast~? Can you not even tolerate me enough to marry me? I would try so hard, that I would force you to love me after a while. Valerie, I never thought to sink so low! I never thought to say to any woman what I say to you now- Have pity on me!" Ab, that is right. Veil your face from those beseeching eyes! Shut out from your ears those pleading tones! But you can never banish the voice that says over and over, "Behold your work." And silence in itself is a wrong; so, after a moment, she raised her face, pale and calm, but resolved. "I dare not deceive you," she said, sad- ly. "There never has been, there never can be, the least hope for you. I don't defend my conduct toward you-for I suppose you will think it no justification to repeat once more that I had no such intention as this- and if you will not grant me your forgive- ness, there is nothing left for me but to bear my burden of self-reproach as best I can. I would like it very much, though, if youoould say once-only once-that you forgive me." She looked at him' wistfully; but there was little hope of generosity or pardon in those eyes so full of bitter anger. "I feel more inclined to curse you, when I think of all that lies before me," he said. "But then one should not violate the l~den&~ances so far as that-at least in a lady's presence. No, I shall never forgive you while I live-for you can' never even ima- gine the full breadth and depth of the disap- pointment you have dealt me this day. Whenever you think of it, only remember this-that I do not blow out my brains, simply because I hope yet to see you suffer [n part at least as I am suffering now!" With those words-words the bitterness ~f whichmade her shudder as if a cold hand ~ad been laid upon her-he dropped the page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] ~1! i IlE AYLMER-. REAPING T] 118 VALER arm which up to that moment he had sti lightly held, and left the room without or backward glance. An hour or two later, there came knock at Valerie's door, and when si opened it Madame Vacquant stood on tli threshold. There was no perceptible chan~ in the perfect discipline of the beautify features, but the eyes had proved harder t tutor, and in them was a look which migl~ have warned Miss Aylmer of what was cOn ing, if she had needed any warning. Th soft voice, however, sounded quite as usm when it said: "May I come in? I will not occup you more than n minute, but I have some thing of importance to say to you." "Come in, of course," Valerie answered "I beg pardon for not speaking, but I wa not expecting to see you, and-" "The sight of me surprised you. VerI naturally, I am sure. Certainly the las person whom you might reasonably hav( expected to see was myself. But I hope yoi will believe that I only come because I fee: it my duty to do so." "Yes," Valerie said, a little stiffly-and then she drew forward a chair, adding, "Will you not sit down?" The other shook her head. "I shall only remain a ~ she repeated, and she continued standing, one hand resting on the top of a table which occupied the centre of the floor. Of course, Valerie stood also, with her head somewhat haughtily erect, as if yet uncertain what that word "duty - always an ominous word on the lips of cer- tain peopl~-might portend. Neither was she long left in doubt. Almost without hesitation, Madame Vacquant spoke-clear- ly and calmly, though somewhat formal- ly: "I have just left my son. He tells me what I can scarcely belie~e-that you have rejected him. Witnessing, as I have done, your uniform encouragement of his suit, I have no alternative but to think that he must be mistaken. I cannot, but believe that he has interpreted some rebuke or dis- agreement in a morbid spirit. If you could see him, you would not wonder that I come to ask you who is right-he or I." ill Now, long before this, Miss Aylmer was ie herself again, and not likely to blench before Julian's mother, as she had done to Julian's a self. So her answer was made with becom- to ing respect, but very decidedly. te "I am sorry to say, madame, that it is he ~e who is right. He did me the honor to il offer me his hand, and I was compelled to o decline it. There was no misinterpretation tt possible, and, much as I regret every thing connected with the matter, I cannot wish e that there should be." tl It was well that she was so brave, for there was much in the eye steadily regard- y ing her that would not have been pleasant to weak nerves; and through the silvery voice there rang a tone of\menace when it spoke again-softening toward the last, s however, into appeal: "Are you in earnest in this? Are you ~ sure that no anger or pique is influencing you, instead of deliberate resolve? Julian's temper is, I know, trying; but I can prom- ise you any concession or submission on his I part that you choose to ask. See I-I am his mother, and, for his sake, I am willing to do any thing to secure his happiness. Give me one word of hope to take back to him, and all this shall be forgotten." "Madame," said Valerie, kindly, "trust me it is you who misinterpret now. And you ask me to do your son a great wrong. I desire neither concession nor submission on his part; and to give him hope would be to deceive him. I cannot do that." She spoke with profound consideration and gentleness; but, for the first time in her lifeshe saw passion flash into the face be- fore her, and passion quivered in the tones which answered almost vehemently: "You mean, then, that you intend to put his love and his life down under your foot? You mean that you have drawn him on by every art in your power only for this heart- less triumph? You mean that you fling him out of your path to go to destruction, as he surely will, and that this-this decision is final?" Miss Aylmer drew back, coldly. "We need not argue whether you are right or wrong in your reproaches," she said. "I do not resent them, because you are suffering through me; but I do repeat that this decis- ion is final." "That you will not change it?" "That it is not possible for me to change They looked at each other steadily for a moment. If Madame Vacquant wished to read her chances of failure or success, a very bitter realization of the former must have come over her at sight of the resolution ap- parent in Valerie's eyes. Certainly when she spoke again, all the late passion and ap- peal had died out of her voice, and it was now only measured and chill. "I see, indeed, that I have misinterpreted you greatly. For one thing, I fancied my- self addressing a woman-not a coquette, without the ordinary impulses of humanity that temper the worst of coquetry. It seemed to me that the part you have played was too pitilessly cruel for belief. And it is hard, very hard, that I should learn my mis- take too late. If I had only dreamed of this a little earlier, I might have interfered at any cost. I might have sent Julian away- anywhere! No fate could have been worse than this! " "I hope and trust that you are mis- taken," Valerie said. "This can be only a boy's disappointment. Before long, I will, FIE HARVEST. 119 go out of his life, and he wrn forget me quite." "You say so because you know nothing of him," his mother answered, with a grand sort of scorn. "How should you, indeed? He has been to you only a toy, and we do not study our toys very deeply. But you are wrong. This has been the sport of afew weeks to you-it will be a lifelong curse to him. Remember this, I beg. Remember, when you go on to act the same story over again, that you have left at least one wrecked life in your path. However, I need speak of him no more; if you have decided, all is said. I should like now to speak of yourself. Has it never occurred to you that, for your own sake, you would do well to pause in this matter, before it is too late?" Full of astonishment, the dark eyes looked at her. "For my own sake, madame? I confess I don't understand you." Still less did she understand the cold smile that came round the pale thin lips, or the cold tone that answered: "If any thing whatever lies very near your heart, pray that you never may under- stand-that is all." She turned and walked slowly from the room. page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] F SIR ARTEGALL. CHAPTER I. SIR ARTEGALL. IT was nearly a month after Romney had put his fate to the toWch, and lost it all, that Alix said to Darcy when they chanced to be alone in the library one morning: "I fancied I saw Mr. Romney's face at oi~e of the club-house windows this morn- ing, as I was coming home from early mass; but I suppose it must have been a mistake. He is not in the city, is he?" She asked the question carelessly and simply, but was instantly struck with the ex- pression which it brought to Maurice's face. He even hesitated a moment before answer- ing: "You are sure it was his face? You may have been mistaken." "No, I am not sure at all," she replied. "But I thought I recognized him, and-and I was glad Valerie was not with me." "Why?" "Because he looked so strangely and so. badly, that it would have made her feel wretchedly. She suffers very much about him now." Her companion smiled. "You are so thoroughly illogical in your sympathy!" he said. "Does it never strike you that Miss Aylmer's sufferings-grant- ing that she does suffer-are hardly so much to be pitied as those she has caused?" "No," said Alix, stoutly. "On the contrary, it strikes me as far from just to make Valerie accountable for the absurd conduct of a man who chose to fall in love with her and get rejected-as of course we all know Mr. Romney has been." "BuLsuppose the falling in love was as much her work as the rejection?" "Indeed, I shall not suppose any thing of the kind." "Then you must obstinately shut your eyes to the plainest possible state of facts." "What do you mean?" "I mean that I have seen a good deal of latter-day flirtation and coquetry in my life; but that I never saw any thing to equal the remorseless science with which your friend led that poor boy on to the end, which every one but himself foresaw." "I know very little about it," said Alix, with a puzzled look; "for Valerie has never mentioned Mr. Ilomney~s name to me since he went away a month ago. But I can see that she suffers-you could see it too, if you chose to look; and I don't believe that she ever meant any harm to him." Darcy's lip curled in a sort of cold scorn. * "I have no doubt she told him so," he said; "but we judge deeds rather by result than by intention; that is, even if some of us could imitate your charity with regard to the latter." "You mean that you think she deliber- ately broke his heart for mere pastime?" He looked smilingly into the flushed, in- dignant face before him. "Why do you want me to say what you are sure to resent?" he asked. "Because I want to know if you are real- ly so unjust." "Then I really am so unjust, as you con- aider it. I hold Miss Aylmer guilty of all that Romney has suffered, and still suffers; shnply because she inflicted every pang gra- tuitously for her own amusement." "I think I could convince you "-Alix began warmly, when a hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and a clear, quiet voice startled them both by speaking: "Never waste exertion, mignonne. How often must I tell you that? Captain Darcy's mind is thoroughly made up on this point, and you could not change it if you spoke a volume. So I beg you will not speak a word -in my behalf." Darcy started, and turned. Alix was seated at the table, drawing, and he had been standing by her side sharpening one by one her pencils; so they had neither of them caught Miss Aylmer's soft tread as she crossed the thick carpet; and he was quite unconscious how much or how little of their conversation had been overheard. The doubt did not disquiet him outwardly, however; for there was no sign of confusion in his face when he met her eyes, although, before he could say any thing, she spoke abruptly: "I am sure you think there was never a better exemplification of the old proverb about listeners; but I ought to apologize. I was reading in that recess yonder when you both came in, and I did not think it necessary to speak. Your conversation was very harmless for a while, you know, and after that-well, perhaps I might have inter- fered; but then it is not often that one has the opportunity of accompanying a friend, or acquaintance, into the palace of Truth, to hear what is thought of them, as I have done. The temptation must excuse me." "You have heard every thing, then?" "Every thing." "I am glad of that," he said, somewhat to her surprise. "You are aware, then, how I was betrayed into expressing an opinion on a matter which assuredly does not concern me; and about which, consequently, I should not have spoken, if Miss Rivi~re's questions had not demanded answers." "Yes, I am perfectly aware of the cir- 121 cumstances, and entirely excuse you," she answered. "Don't fancy that I am either surprised or hurt. I have known all along what your opinion of me was, and I believe you don't change your judgment." "Not certainly without good cause." "I never did you the injustice to think so, or to imagine for a moment.that the con- sideration of human weakness or human frailty would weigh a feather's weight in your decision. But perhaps even you may yet live to learn that justice-mere justice- is the most hard, welinigh the most cruel thing on earth." To Alix, merely looking on, it was strange to hear the suppressed passion in Valerie's voice, and yet more strange to see how she and Darcy seemed to understand each other -how his face settled sternly at her last words. "It is all that we need ask," he said. "God help us then! Yes, God help even you, if; at the last He deal not mer~y, but justice 1-if, like you, He looks not to inten- tions, but to results." "I have never knowingly wronged or pained a creature of His making," he an- swered, coldly. "I am ready-even for justice." "So, no doubt, the Pharisee thought, when, standing apart, he thanked God that he was not as other men." "You are mistaken," ho said. "But then, when have you not mistaken me? I have both sins and errors enough to answer for; but I trust they affect only myself. I cannot help thinking that many wrongs done thus, will not count so heavily in the last reckoning, as one wrought against another." "But how if that wrong was not know- ingly wrought?" He looked at her intently for a moment, and then answered, still coldly: "I am not a theologian, Miss Aylmer; and that is a question for priests. They will tell you much of 'intention;~ but I am a' plain man, and I prefer to look at results." "Yes, so you said before. I should have remembered it." She had spoken from the first in a low, quiet voice, and now she ceased al~- ruptly. They were all three silent for BOOK ITT. page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 VALERIE AYLMER. SIR ARTEGALL. 123 a moment, during which they made quit a striking picture-a picture which woul~ not have failed to please Darcy's eye if h could have seen it as an outsider, and migh have afforded him a study for some scene fa more dramatic than the simple one the~ were enacting. Perhaps it was the under lying earnestness, which had not escaped ii word or tone, that thus unconsciously t themselves asserted itself in attitude; but ai least their grouping was singularly express sive. Surprise and concern were shown ft every line of Alix's face, as she looked uj from the shadow of her capacious chair and heavy mournIng draperies; the poor, little pale face that had only its wistful eyes and sun-tinted hair to give it beauty now. But neither of the others heeded her. Tall and straight, Darcy stood by the table, almost as if he had braced himself to resist some dan- ger, or defy some temptation, the knowledge of which hardened the pleasant face, and brought into the genial eyes their look of coldness. He, too, was somewhat iii the shade; but Valerie stood farther forward, and on her the whole light of the picture fell -as if it loved to seek out and dwell upon a thing so lovely. The dark oaken panels be- hind her threw into full relief the richness of tint for which her beauty was so remark- able, from the topmost braid of hair which caught the light on its polished surface, down to the last violet fold of the dress that swept the carpet. She was paler than usual-there was no doubt that the bright cheek hiid lost much of its color during the last month- but she had never looked more beautiful or more proud. When she spoke again, how- ever, there was only gravity in her voice. "You did not tell Alix, Captain Darcy- will you please tell me, whether Julian is in the city?" "Yes," Darcy answered, as gravely as herself. "lie is here. He has been here for a week, I believe." "And why have you not tried to induce him to come 2home?" "I should suppose you might be aware that no oue is less likely to possess any in- fluence with him than myself." "Still, you might have tried." "I did try-without effect." e "And does his mother know this?" He shrugged his shoulders. e "That I cannot tell; but I heard her say t yesterday that he was still absent." r "But what is he doing here, that he ~ should adopt this secrecy?" She asked the question eagerly, almost 1 ~passionately, but waited vainly for an an- swer. None came. No sound broke the L silence, save the quick, steady strokes with which Darcy was sharpening Alix's pencil. Then, instead of repeating her inquiry, Vale- rie bent down and whispered a word or two I in the latter's ear. Their tenor was at once apparent, for Miss Rivi~re rose and left the room. While Darcy was still look- ing after her, Valerie spoke. * "I have sent Alix away, because I wish to speak to you on this subject, more freely than I could before he5 for she knows little or nothing of Julian's weakness. I asked you a moment ago what he is doing here, and your silence is answer enough. I ask you now if you will make an effort to bring him back to his senses?" "I would willingly do so," Darcy an- swered, "if I could flatter myself that there was the least likelihood of success. But I know that there is not." "Why?" She asked this sharply, and he looked up in some surprise. "I should think you would scarcely need to inquire.' "Is it my presence that keeps him away?" "I can only presume so." She was silent for several minutes, clasp- ing her hands over the back of the chair, and looking down on them with a strangely-set and bitter expression-her brows knitted, and her lips compressed. But when at last she looked up, he saw that she had arrived at some determination. "Then I will not be here a day longer than I can help," she said. "I will write to papa, and as soon as he can come for me, I shall leave.-I hope forever. But, in the mean while, for this will take time, I must do something. You are the last person in the world on whom I have any claim for service, or of whom I would like to ask a favor. Yet it is part of my hard punish- ment that I am now forced to ask both service and favor of you." She paused a moment, and he began to speak, but she interrupted him: "No. Please don't make any protesta- t~ons. It would be rather late for those- between U8. I have no doubt you will do what I ask you without demur or grudging. But it is none the less hard to ask it. In one word, you will deliver a note to Julian, and add your entreaties to mine that he will come home?" "I will deliver the note certainly," Darcy answered; "but, as for the entreaties, you must allow me to assure you that they will be useless." "Even mine?" He looked at her steadily. "Unless there be something more than entreaty offered, even yours." "You mean-?" "I mean that Julian is not likely to re- turn, save as your accepted lover." The blood rushed over her face in a mo- ment. "Then he will not return," she said, haughtily. "But-" and her tone changed and softened-" I must do something. I must at least attempt to move him I Surely, Captain Darcy, you do not think it would be utterly useless?" He certainly did think so, but the eyes that looked at him were so full of pathetic appeal that, for once, something like com- passion even for her crept into his heart, and he compromised with the truth. "It can do no harm," he answered. "That is all I can say." "That is enough," she answered. She sat down in Alix's vacated seat and drew toward her paper, pen, and ink. It did not take her more than a minute to dash off a few lines and push them toward Darcy, saying, "Will that do?" "Do you mean itie to read it?" he asked, in surprise. "Yes," she said. "Why not? If I had needed any proof that the whole circum- stances of the case were known to you, your strictures of this morning would have given it." After that, there was nothing for him but to take up the paper and read what she had written. It was only a short appeal to the wayward heart she had cause to know so well-an appeal chiefly to its own gener- osity, but so well and delicately expressed, avoiding with such fine tact too much and too little allusion to the past, that Darcy was fully justified in his commendation. "This will certainly move him if any thing can," he said, cordially. She looked up wistfully. "If any thing can! You say that in a tone of very grave doubt." "I cannot help feeling very grave doubt," he answered. "lie has not-of course I need scarcely say that-mentioned your name to me; but he is very far from being eien his usual self." "How is he changed?" "Perhaps you can imagine-at least I cannot well describe the change." "Yes," she said, in a low whisper, "I can imagine." Then she was silent for a moment, until at last, looking up at him, she murmured, "And you too think it is all my work?" "I acquit you this fai'," he answered, "that you did not comprehend the inflam- mable material with. which you dealt. No doubt you have often made this experiment with less disastrous results. You were un- fortunate in your subject this time, that is alL" "You are mistaken," she said, in a low voice. "But that is where you wrong me so deeply that I suppose I need scarcely at- tempt a word of justification. I never in all my life made any experiment in the way you mean. I may have been careless and thoughtless sometimes-youth lovespleasure, and woman loves admiration-but I never knowingly injured any one. However, that is not to the point at all. You promise me that you will see Julian, and deliver this note?" "Yes," he said. "I promise to bring you an answer in the course of a few hours." "And-may I give you one caution ?-. Please urge him to return; and do it kindly, Don't be hard on him." "You think me likely to be so?" page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 VALERIE A.~LMER. "Yes; you ~re like most strong people, as she entered Valerie's room while the din- very intolerant of weakness." r ner-toilet of the latter was in progress. "II hope not-.-.J trust not; for no one is "But ybu are going out?" secure from weakness. And I am sorry you "Yes," answered Miss Aylrner, who was think I could possibly be hard on this poor, dressing, with a very overcast face. "I for- foolish boy." got completely that we were engaged to dine "Ah, but I know so well how you de- at Mrs. Bird's, until Madame Vacquant re- spise his folly-all of it. Sir Artegall, I am minded me of it a few minutes ago. And sure, did not hate much sympathy for love- you see I have to make a toilet in double- loin youths." quick time now. It is very provoking; for "And I am Sir Artegall? Well, there I wanted especially to se~ Captain Darcy have been more odious comparisons. Sir this evening. But then-I am beginning to Artegall was brave of heart and strong of believe that every thing in life takes a most arm. For that much I owe you thanks. malicious pleasure in being provoking, and But he was also captive to a woman's fair so it hardly matters. Come in, by all means, face; and that, while Fortune befriends me, petite, and tell me what it is that has I shall never be." brightened your eyes with something of Something of her usual arch spirit flashed their old lustre?" into Valerie's eyes as she answered:.~ "Good news," Alix answered, "if any "So I fancy Sir Artegall may have said news can be counted good now-news, at before he saw ~adegunde." all events, that I am very grateful for. You Quick as thought came the ready reply: know how I have longed to go to Europe?" "Then I am wiser than he, for I have seen "Know I-of course I do." many Radegundes, and yet dare say it." "Well, it seems that Captain Darcy has a This was evidently no idle boast. The great many friends in Germany, and, thi~ough eyes that met hers were steady and firm as one of them, he has obtained an offer for few eyes had ever been. They said many papa's consideration-an offer of a position things, but chiefly that, if she had ever flat- in a large banking-house of Leipsic-which tered herself with any power over this heart wrn give me all the musical advantages I of~ oak, she was even more deceived than could not hope to obtain in any other way. deceiving; and, for once, La belle dee belle Is it not kind-is it not good of him?" 'laid the knowledge to her soul with strange "It is very kind indeed," said Valerie, humility. struck by the thoughtfulness of the service. "I know what you mean," she said, with "And your father, Alix-will he go?" a faint, grate smile. "I hope it will do one "That is what I came to tell you. I Radegunde some good to appreciate that her have just received a short note from him, empire is by no means so universal as she telling me that he has accepted the offer. So, once flattered herself it was. And perhaps it is settled-we go." she respects Sir Artegall all the more for his She said the last words more mournfully insensibility. Now I will go and send Alix than joyfully, and there was so little of ex- back to her drawing-lesson. You deserve ultation or happiness in the face at which that reward for being so patient with this her friend turned to look, that Valerie could tiresome interruption." not help expressing a little incredulity. He made no effort to detain her as she "You cannot be in earnest," she cried. glided from the room; but only stood where "You surely cannot announce such a pros- she left him, with an expression strangely set pect as that in such a tone! Why, it in and stern on his face-an expression that did enough to take away one's breath! If it is not soften until Alix's sweet voice sounded true, I don't know whether to scold or con- in his ear, and her brown eyes looked up into gratulate you! How is it that this is the his. first I have heard of such an important mat- ter? But I can guess. Captain Thtrcy bade "Dear, will I disturb you?" asked ~Alix, you keep itsecret-even from me." SIR ARTEGALL-. "So far from that, he only told me abou it this morning, saying that he had not don o before, because he was uncertain of papa consent, and did not care to raise my hope without some secure foundation. I hard~ ought myself that papa would accept; bu he has done so." "And I should have been sure that h would. Why not, indeed? There are me: who would give half their lives for an assure independence out of this wretched country And, as for breaking ties, or leaving friend -I believe those are the usual objections ti going abroad-a mightier Hand has already: done that for him. He could not stan( among the ruins of Thebes more alien fron his past life and past hopes than he stand here to-day." "Yes," she said, sadly; "and so it ma~ be best. While as for me-" "As for you, there is a glorious vision of Music that beckons you with shining eyes and outstretched arms across the ocean." She shook her head mournfully. "~To~ All that is over for me now-and I don'l think it will ever return. I am anxious tc resume my studies, but it is with none ol the old love-rather with a heavy conscious- ness of toil. ~ must work; for my future support may depend upon my own exertions. But it is only work. It has ceased to be delight." "You are not yourself now, Alix ;you are morbid in your view of your future as well as of your present life. This will pass away after a time, and the old allegiance will return." "I scarcely think so," she said, slowly. "A spring seems broken within me. After a while I may learn to take interest and feel pleasure in the art again; but the full glory of its worship can never return. Th~ old love-the old beauty-ah, they are buried in gravel" voice ceased, choked by tears. And alth gh Valerie knew that she was mis- taken-although she was sure that her art would soon claim all its former devotion- she could not say so. She could only smooth back the bright hair, and murmur softly the grand old words that ha~re given strength and courage to many a failing heart since 125 Lt they first fell from the inspired pen of that e poor monk whom millions upon millions have risen up and declared blessed-" He who s best knows how to endure, shall possess the y greater peace!" it Then she went back to her toilet; and when it was completed hurried down-stairs o without further delay. Pierre was loitering a in the lower hall, and she paused a moment ~ to ask if Darcy had yet come in-hoping al- most against hope for an affirmative reply- s but he answered at once in the negative, c and, with a sigh, she went on into the draw- ~ ing-room. Strange to say, although it was I growing quite late, Madame Vacquant was i not there. The sumptuous rooms were all s ablaze with gas, but profoundly silent, and wholly empty, the chairs and sofas, the tall mirrors and gleaming statues having all the light and warmth and bright luxury to themselves. To and fro Valerie wandered, in restless impatience, anxious to be gone only because waiting was tiresome, and be- * cause of a wholly illogical feeling that the sooner they left, the sooner it might be pos- sible to return, yet dreading very much the evening before her. She dreaded every - thing now that connected her with Madame Vacquant, and, as society pr5eminently did this, she had begun. to dislike society. As she sauntered aimlessly back and forth, all unheeding the lovely reflection which mir-. ror after mirror gave, she yawned wearily in anticipation of her coming 'boredom; then she looked at her watchand wondered how much longer Madame Vacquant would be, and finally she went to the window, drawing back the heavy silken curtains, and looking out on the gathering night and misty rain. Almost unconsciously she shiv- ered, then turned away, and sauntered back toward the music-room. She sat down to the piano, but she had not played six bars before she rose again, and again looked at her watch. Surely it was strange that Madame Vacquant still did not come! Per- haps she was iu her sitting-room. It was foolish of her not to have thought of that before, and not to have gone 'there. She had not often entered this room during the past month, and had been averse to doingso even when it was necessary; but now mi- page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 120 VALERIE AYLMER. RADEGUNDE. 12~ patience mastered every other feeling, anc she turned in that direction. Although form ing no part of the reception-suite, this apart ment was connected with them, so she had not far to go. She passed hastily through the different rooms, until she came to the one in question. The door was closed, but her hand was on the lock when suddenly a sound fell on her ear that made her pause -the sound of voices speaking. Not ordinary voices in ordinary conver- sation. Even through the heavy oakenpan- els there came, sufficiently audible, the quick tones of impatience, and the deeper accents of anger. The speakers were plainly only two, but they spoke so fast and eagerly that before a minute had elapsed Valerie knew that she stood with only a partition between herself 'and the man she had rejected-that Julian Romney was with his mother. He had come home, then 1 That was the first thought which flashed 'across her with a feeling of intense relief-relief scarcely tempered by the realization it was no happy or even peaceful interview from which that door separated her. Plainly there was bitter strife of words between the mother and son -none the less bitter because restrained by the former at least within due moderation of speech. Involuntarily, on realizing this, Valerie turned away; but as she did so, Julian raised his voice from its low key, and her own name fell on her ear, coupled with another which made her start in uncontrol- lable surprise, for it was not the name of the man whom Julian might have been sup- posed to mention, but of the loyal-hearted lover whoi~ she had left in far Louisiana- not of'Maurice Darcy, but of Charles Hau- taine! She had turned awe~y involuntarily; now, involuntarily, she paused, but it was only for a moment. She heard Madame Vacquant utter a few words which were evidently a question; and then, instead of waiting for the answer that would have told her all, she fled swiftly and eagerly-fled as if from some sudden temptation, and never paused until she found herself standing. breathless by the same window from which she had gazed inlistless impatience so short- ly before. Then she could not avoid asking herself * what could be.the meaning of this strange * knowledge of Hautaine by one to whom, she I had never uttered his name-nay, more, this strange knowledge of his claim upon her, the claim which the more engrossing in- terests of these past months had almost swept from her recollection. Now she waked with a start to the remembrance that her word was indeed staring her in the face-that the~ six months of her promise would finish their course within the next few weeks. She stopped a moment, and put her hand to her head in bewildered sur- prise. Could it really be so? Had time slipped away so fast, and brought her for- ward-only for this? She had given her promise to Hautaine in October, and this was the last of March. Yes; in a short time, the bond was due. In a shqrt time, Hautaine might come-and would he not come-to claim his promised answer, his promised reward for long and patient wait- ing? She knew that he had been in Eu- rope for many months, but-a stir, a, fra- grance, and Madame Vacquant's silken robes swept into sight. "So you are down," she said, with a lit- tle start. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting; but your grandfather detained me so long from my toilet, and RQse was so stupid about my hair, that I could not help it. Shallwe~onow?" "It is quite time," Valerie answered. For her life, she could not have said any thing more with that face fronting her-fal- sifying, as it were, the testimony of her own ears, and those musical tones still vibrating on the air. At that moment, Pierre an- nounced the carriage, and they went down- stairs. In the hall Valerie found time to say a few words to him, which she flattered herself were unheard: "Tell Captain Darcy that I will be back early, and ask him to wait for me in the library." Then she hurried after Madame Vac- quant, and they were hastily driven away. CHAPTER II. BADEGUNDE. Tnz clock on the library mantel rang out with its clear, silvery voice the single stroke of one, as Maurice Darcy looked up from a letter that be had been writing, with something of impatient surprise on his face. "So late?" he muttered. "On my word, Miss Aylmer has a very royal faculty of forgetting or ignoring-I suppose it is all the same thing-everybody's convenience but her own. Three hours have I been waiting here, in obedience to her command, and yet there is no sign of arrival-Mrs. Bird's parties are not usually so entertain- ing either. A different sort of woman would remember-but, pshaw! Of course she has been taught to believe that everybody must submit to her caprice; and so, perhaps, the fault is hardly hers. I might as well give Gaston another sheet, I suppose; by that time she may condescend to enter an appearance." He. drew a fresh sheet toward him as he spoke, dipped pen in ink, and wrote on rapidly thus: "You ask me what I am doing, and the question is harder to answer than you would at first imagine. I have been paint- ing, of course; but only in a desultory sort of fashion, and to very little effect indeed, Chiefly, I believe, I must bring myself in guilty as 'idler at ease '-and this is a pro- fession the hardships of which we are very apt to undervalue until we have tested them by actual experience. I remember that I used to be incredulous of their existence: but call no man happy till he dies; and from henceforward I take my pity from the liard- I working children of toil, to tender it respect- 1 fully to the fine gentlemen who are depend-' out on their own sensations for their amuse- I mont in life, and whb wear out those sensa- 'tions, as onewears out the strings of an instru- ment, by constant use. Plainly, I am wearied s to death of this life, and every thing connect- ~ ed with it! My wound troubles me very lit- I; tle now, and my health is almost entirely re- t stored; so I shall soon 4rop this artificial - shell, and resume the old existence in so- ber earnest in the old a~elier.- By-the- by, have you seen about renting it for me? I should like that special one, if possible, since so* many pleasant associ- ations are connected with it but any that suits you wrn be sure to sui me. As for further talk of Florence or Rome, I will not listen to it! You are better in Paris than anywhere else, and out of Paris you shall not stir with my consent-least of all, with my connivance. Besides, I honestly prefer it myself. There are many things 'that unite to make it the most desirable residence in the world, for the poor as well, as for the rich, for the struggling as well as for the famous. If I ever succeed in my art, it is in Paris that this success will be worth most. If I were not so entirely a cosmopolitan-one of the Bedouins of civ- ilization-I think I should make my home there in preference 1o any other spot of earth. But such a supposition is particu- larly absurd when I am just now possessed with the roving fever worse than ever, and longing for a wider flight than I have taken yet. Do you remember Valdor ?-him who served with the Spahis in Algeria, and had a portfolio of sketches that would have done honor to Gavarni? But of course you do, for he was nota manlikelytobeforgotten. Well, the other day I heard from him. He is down in Mexico, serving in the archduke's -.1 mean the emperor's-Foreig'n Legion. He heard of me from some of my old Con- federate comrades who are there in force just now, and wrote such a letter! It is Valdor himself!-half made up of calli- ~raphy, half of etching, and quite the most amusing, reckless, devil-may-care pro- luction that ever was laughed over. What talent the fellow has, and yet he is nothing, ~ili die nothing! However, this is not to the )oint. I mentioned him to explain my new 'ever. Heurgesme to come to Mexico-prom- se~ a plentiful share of blows and honor, a omission certainly, a dukedom probably, rid the most glorious scenery in the world! ~ou would laugh if you knew how strong- y the whole picture tempts me. I always old you that I am as much soldier as artist -and of late I really begin to think~ that page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 VALERIE AYLMER. RADEGUNDE. 129 the element of soldier predominates. It provokes and yet It amuses me to observe how~ my colors ~ok interest to me, and how I long for one more call of bugle or drum. If it were not for you, I think I should lay my palette aside again, take a portfolio under one arm, and a sword under the other, and start for Mexico. But, diavolo! I am writ- ing nonsense like a girl; for not all the blows and honor in the world could keep me long from you6 I shall 8a11 by the first of next month, at latest, and so, perhaps-" His hand stopped short in its rapid pas- sage over the paper. His quick ear had caught the crash with which a carriage drew up before the door; the next moment, a quick peal echoed through the quiet house, and then there was a rustling ~of dresses and murmur of voices in the hail. Good-nights were exchanged, then a light step ap- proached the library, ahand touched thelock, the door opened, and Darcy rose to meet- not Miss Aylmer, but Madame Vacquant. His surprise must have been manifest in his face, for she laughed a little. . "You here, my dear Maurice?" she said. I did not expect to find any one up. It is after ona o'clock, I see. You must have been pleasantly engaged." "I have been writing," he answered, with a glance at the letter before him ~ "not unpleasantly engaged, therefore. But it. is yon who are late. Surely Mrs. Bird's din- ner-party has not detained you until this hour?" "Oh, no," she answered, carelessly. "After we left, Valerie remembered Mrs. Maitland's reception this evening, and we drove there. We found a very pleasant party, and Mr. Arle engrossed Valerie so much to her satisfaction apparently, that I disliked to disturb them by coming away early. She seems quite tired, however, and has gone to bed. But I am not sleepy at all, so I came in to read for an hour or two. Don't let me disturb you." "You don't disturb me, for I have fin- ished my letter," he answered, quietly. "I think I shall bid you good-night." "Good-night," she answered, with a smile. "I would wish you pleasant dreams, only dreams are such very disappointing things-almost as bad in that way, as women, it is said." "When one has not cherished expecta- tion, one cannot well be disappointed," said Darcy, with his pleasant laugh. "I hope you will have pleasant dreams, and, once more, good-night." The door closed on him, and he went his way up-stairs, secretly no little puzzled by the word-play just passed. Evidently she knew that he had been expecting Valerie, and that Valerie had seen fit to break the appointment of her own making; but what then? Truly, she also knew Maurice Darcy very little, if she fancied that the disappoint- ment was more to him than mere matter for a smile over this fresh proof of Miss Ayl- mer's fickle caprice. He was still smiling that smile to him- self, as he passed to his chamber, when, from a corridor on the left, Fanchette advanced and suddenly waylaid him. "Miss Valerie told me to give you this, sir," she said, presenting a card; "and will you please send an answer by me?" He looked at the bit of pasteboard. It only held four lines: "Be kind enough to suspend judgment on my apparent incivility until you see me. Will you be in the library to-morrow morn- ing? If so, I must ask you to wait for mc." He turned the card over, and in the dim light wrote a line or two on the reverse side: "Of course, I will be at Miss Aylmer's service to-morrow morning. I send the answer to her note-trusting that it may prove favorable." He took a sealed envelope from his pocket, handed it together with the card to Fanchette, bidding her deliver them to her mistress, and then went his way to his own room. Darcy did not have long to wait next morning. He went straight to the library after breakfast, and, before many minutes, Valerie followed him. He thought when she came in that she looked rather pale and worn, but neither of them spoke until she had crossed the room to where he stood by the fireplace. Then she asked, quickly; "Did you wait for me long last night?" "Not very long," lie answered-" not longer than I should probably have waited even if I had not received your message." "What must you have thought of mel" she said, passionately. "It was bad enough that I, who have no claim upon you, should have made an appointment at all; but to make it and break it-what must you have thought of me!" "What should I think, excepting that you exercised your feminine privilege of ca- price?" he answered, with a smile. "Pray, don't apologize-I know how tired and how little like talking you must have felt after a Bird dinner and a Maitland party." "But I must apologize, or rather I must explain," she said, hastily. "You evidently don't understand at all. Caprice! you are kind to call it that; but I think it would have been something infinitely worse if I had acted so. I suppose Madame Vacquant told you about the Maitland party-did she also tell you that it was she who persisted in going, though I begged her not to do so; and that she only consented to come away when she found I absolutely would not re- main any longer?~~ "No," he replied, with a slight arch of the eyebrows. "She certainly did not tcll me that." "Nor how she prevented my seeing you by announcing her own intention of coming here to read? Well, those were my reasons for not appearing: and now you can see how much 'caprice' had to do with them. I should not have troubled you again this morning, if I had not wished to explain this." "There was really no necessity for ex- planation," he said; "still I am not sorry you have made it. Only, one thing puzzles me-why Madame Vacquant should have wished to keep you from seeing me." "It might puzzle me if I had not long ago ceased to wonder at any thing she does," Valerie answered; "and also if I had not been thinking of other things. You saw my note to Julian, and it is only fair that you should see his answer. But first, one question-did you find any thing in mine that was hasty or inconsiderate, any thing that co-ild have given offence?" 9 Assuredly not;" he answered. "Noth- ing could have been more kind or consider- ate. There was not a single expression that could possibly have merited resentment." Her lip curled-he thought with scorn- and she handed him the envelope he had sent her the night before. "Well, now, look at his answer," she said. He drew forth the enclosure-simply a sheet of paper torn completely in two. A glance showed him that it was her own note thus sent back to her without one word of comment. For a moment he looked at it incredulously; then Valerie was almost startled by the angry light that flashed into his eyes. and the angry color that rose to his brow. "Was this all?" he asked. "That was all," she answered. "And he made me the bearer of such an insult! Miss Aylmer, I beg you to be- lieve-" She interrupted him by a gesture of si- lence. "Pray don't think any assurance of your ignorance necessary," she said. "Of course you knew nothing about it; but what does this prove to you-concerning him?" "That he is an unmannered churl!" he answered, concisely; "and that he needs a lesson in breeding, which I shall take great pleasure in giving him." "Indeed, you niust do nothing of the ~kind," she cried, quickly. "I should never forgive myself for my folly in showing you this, if you, of all people, resented it on my behalf." "You forget the position in which it places me." "And whose fault is that? Surely mine, since I made you my ambassador. No, Cap- tam Darcy, you must never mention the mat- ter to Julian. Promise me that you will let it rest as if I had not shown you this." "Let it rest I-why, you surely don't think me absurd enough to be drawn into a quarrel with a foolish, spiteful boy like this?" "No matter what I think. Promise me that you will not let him know that you are aware of his incivility." "He deserves-." "No matter what he deserves. If we page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 VALERIE AYLMER. RADEGUNDE. 131 - come to deserts, the most of us would fare badly enough. Promise me, I say!" tie looked at her with a smile. Already his -brief anger had passed, and he was amused by the imperious command of her tone. "I imagine a great many people must have told you that to hear is to obey," he said. "You neyer did, at all events. dome, have I your word of honor that this remains between you and me?" "If nothing les4 will satisfy you-yes." She smiled brightly-so brightly that he saw at once why many people had found liv- ing sunshine in her face. "Thank you!" she said, with her pretty, gracious bend of the head. "I am quite satisfied. And now let me tell you something that you may be astonished to hear: Julian was in this house last night." She lowered her voice in making the statement; but, to her surprise, iDarcy heard it quite unmoved. "Well," he said, quietly, "why should he not be here I" "Then why should he not stay here?" she asked, impatiently. "Why should there be all This mystery, unless for the purpose of making me uncomfortable?" "Probably that may be the cause of it," he answered, coolly. "Was there ever any thing more ungen- erous,-then I "Rot often, I grant you. But don't * blame Julian more than he deserves. He may not be able to meet you as an ordinary friend." For answer her eye turned tQ the torn letter lying on the table between them. He saw the glance, and touched the envelope rather disdainfully with ihis hand. - "Even this might be accepted as proof of it," he said. - a~o::,Yet you did not think so a moment "Pardon me. I only could not excuse him for ceasing to be a gentleman, because he became a lover." He spoke very indifferently, but Valerie could not1 help thinking how little likely it was that e would ever be swayed from his even course by any such vagaries o~ passion as those they were discussing. She even gave pi~rtial utterance to this reflection: "You are the last man in the world to judge Julian," she said, a little indignantly. "You are as cold as he is mercurial; and you know nothing of the passion which in- fluences him so entirely." "I am certainly very ignorant of how far common-sense and love are incompatibili- ~ he answered, carelessly. "Well, ha~re you any further commands for me?" "Rot unless you choose to comfort him with the assurance that before long I hope to be in my dear Louisiana." "And I in France. So, as we are about to go our different paths, may we not bury the tomahawk, and smoke the pipe of peace together during the few days still remaining of our accidental association?" "With all my heart," she answered. "Indeed, I am glad to he able to feel that the tomahawk might have been buried and the pipe smoked long ago, with my full con- sent." He looked at her in smiling surprise. "Do you mean that it is I who have been accountable for our want of friendly under- standing?" "Yes, I mean exactly that," she an- swered. "I offered you my friendship when you made your frank explanation that day in the picture-gallery.- Do you remember? you thought fit to put it very coldly aside; and I need hardly say that I am not accus- tomed to making such proffers twice. I see you cannot deny this." He certainly could not, nor did he make an effort to do so. He looked at her, and said, "Perhaps such conduct was only wis- dom." So little idea had she of any thing like a compliment from him, that she asked simply, "Why?" - "I think you should know why," he an- swered. "There is said to be no middle ground for those who come near you. - In- difference can never soften into liking, and stop short there. Row, I hadno mind to go farther. I am very sure you are not sati- ated with conquest, and there was safety only in distance. You can best tell whether I misjudged you or not; butl fancied at one time that you would not have been averse to adding even my poor scalp to the many trophies already hanging at your belt!" He spoke composedly, almost coldly; but Valerie heard him with a dismay and bitter- ness hardly to be described. Then he had read her so thoroughly as that !-read even her paltry vanity, her poor ambition, her pitiful resolves to attract him! No wonder that he despised her I-no wonder that he wore an armor of mail against all her shafts !-no wonder that they wakened in him only scornful contempt! Mortification tingled through every vein, until her cheeks were burning and her eyes were almost overflowing, before she had found a word to say. At first she lifted her head haughtily enough, but then-was denial possible? She * ,'sad striven to attract him, solely for the gratification of her own vanity; and, even if he would have believed her, she disdained equivocation. Indeed, she had a regal scorn of any thing like pretence, and nobody had ever been able to say of her thatshe benched from the consequences of any action. When at last she lifted her eyes to his, they were proud even in their humility. "You are right,7~ she said,; "I did en- deavor to attract you-and failed entirely. And-perhaps you may be surprised to hear -I was glad to do so. I should have felt a contempt for you if you had yielded, as so many others have done; but I was glad to learn what I have always believed, that there are some men strong enough in heart and head to see how much a coquette's beauty and a coquette's arts are worth. I have liked you honestly and sincerely ever since that day of which I spoke a moment ago; and I liked you all the better, and respected you all the more, when I tried my experiment and failed; when I found that, instead of attract- ing, I only repelled- you. You will think this strange, perhaps. I don't pretend to ac- count for it. * I only know that it is so, that I have long been conscious of it. I know what you think of me-how vain, and weak, and cruel, you consider me-but if you ever - remember me in the future, let it be with - this scant justice, that lam glad ~iome at least never suffered a pang through me." Suddenly and without warning, the quick tones ceased; and turning abruptly, so as to give him no time for answer, she moved toward the door. To her surprise Darcy was there before her, with his hand on the lock. "One moment, Miss Aylmer," he said. But Valerie scarcely heard and did not at all heed him. Some strange, wild emotion was tugging at her heart so fiercely that her ungovernable impulse was to rush away with it-anywhere, so that it was out of sight and reach. Sharply, almost angrily, she said: "Let me pass, if you plea~e." "Will you not even hear me?" "Ro. Let me pass." But he stood perfectly still, looking down on her with something like a smile of tri- umph on his face, and his hand still resting upon the lock. - "Ray, then, I must be rude enough to detain you," he said, gently. "Valerie!- look at me. Are you indeed so blind as not to see and know what this is?" She looked up at him in sudden amaze- ment, but not doubt-never again doubt. Let the future hold what it would for them, they could never again mistake each other. Never again could they unlearn the knowl- edge read in one another's eyes as they stood face to face in that brief moment. Never again fail to see that this was love. Like a flash it came to one at least, as, with a great gasp, the proud head of La belle des belles went down-on Maurice Darcy's shoulder! All conflict was over. The victor's hand gathered up the reins of power, and there was nothing to be said or done. He asserted a fact, and claimed a right-that was all. Men, many men, had offered theinsetves to - this woman, and pleaded their cause with force and passion; but n~ man had ever be- fore taken quiet possession of the citadel as of his own unquestioned property; no man had ever closed in a hand-to-hand grapple, and wrested the sword from the fair grasp that had held it so long triumphantly; and perhaps this was the only way in which victory was ever possible. It was not very long before Valerie rallied, however-not long before she raised her flushed face and shining eyes with a page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 VALERIE AYLMER. FETTERS OF ROSES. 133 question that proved how strong the ruling passion was, even in defeat. "What does Sir Artegall say now?" Then Darcy bent his stately head, even as Sir Artegall may have bent his, before Badegunde's fair face and lifted vizor, while he answered; "He says that his weapons lie at your feet. He Waits his sentence from your lips. Whatever it be, he hopes to bear it bravely, but he prays one favor: speak it quickly!" It was a favor that she did not grant. On the contrary, she stoodlooking athini silently and long-the sense of weakness and the sense of power mingled in a manner which would have set a metaphysician frantic, but which is perfectly intelligible to anywoman within whose breast there beats a woman's heart. She was conqueror, yet she was con- quered! For one long minute she exulted in the consciousness of the first; then the still more delicious realization of the second rushed over her, and she held out her hand, with a proud grtice like that of no other woman, saying only: "Be gentle with your captive."* CHAPTER III. FETTERS OF ROSES. "VALERIE, you are dazzling!'~ It was Alix who spoke thus in a tone of surprised admiration, as Miss Aylmer entered her roqx~ to bid her good-evening before going down to dinner. The little lady was confined to her chamber with a severe cold, and bore her enforced exile on the whole very cheerfully; but she looked up with aln- cere pleasure on hearing her friend's step outside, and when the door opened she gave vent to 1~his exclamation-and an exclama- tion so evidently wrung from her by the im- pulse of the moment, that Valerie started and blushed. "What is there extraordinary about me?" she asked. "Am I looking better than usual?" "Very iuucb better," Alix answered. "But-.but I really cannot tell what the difference is, though there is a difference." "You are sure of that?" "Quite sure." Miss Aylmer laughed to herself-a soft, happy laugh-and then she went over and looked in the mirror. It showed her a face that was indeed literallytransfigured by some bright inner light-a light that would have made even an ugly face beautiful, and that rendered hers, as Alix had said, literally "dazzling? "-a light that shone in every glance of the eyes, and smiled in every curve of the mouth; that lay like a sunbeam on the fair, serene brow, and pervaded every line of the graceful features. Truly the great glorified, Happiness, had touched her with his magic wand! Truly she might well wear that quiet dress, and relieve her glorious hair by only one knot of bright ribbon; for the woman so adorned needs no aid from art. ~he is above and beyond it. So long as her eyes shine with that happy lustre, and h~er lips wear that enchanting smile, she need give no heed to the toilet, for homespun could not lessen, nor satin heighten her charms. So Valerie seemed to feel, for she looked at herself from head to foot, with one radiant and satisfied glance; and then she went over and kisse'1 her enthusiastic ad- mirer. "I am so sorry you are not well enough to come down," she said. "We shall miss you, especially as we are all alone to-night. It is very likely, too, that Mr. Thornton will make his appearance. ~'ou have certainly achieved a serious conquest of that redoubt- able critic. He met me on Baltimore Street the other day, and absolutely walked home with me!" "And can you account for that in no other way ethan by a serious conquest of mine?" "Not when it is taken in connection with the fact that he talked of Miss Rivi~re, and* Miss Rivi~re's voice, without intermission. from French's to the Monument." "If it depended upon you," said Alix, with a faint laugh, "I think I should soon be an exceedingly dangerous person. You are continnaily laying some fresh slaughter~ at my door, and bringing me in guilty of some new act of malice. What a pity that other people-and especially the reported victims-cannot be induced to see matters in the same light! I mighf really, after a while- Ab, what exquisite flowers!" She broke off with this exclamation, as the door opened, and Fanchette appeared, carrying a large bouquet. "What lovely camellias! what a superb daphne!" Valerie said, eagerly, taking it from the maid. "Whom are they for?" "I don't know, ma~ am," Fanchette an- swered. "Pierre was, in a hurry, and he just told me to bring ~em up-stairs1" "There must be a card," Alix suggested. And, truly enough, a moment's search resulted in finding one. "L. Howard Thorn- ton," Valerie read triumphantly from one side, while on the reverse was pencilled, "With best wishes for Miss Rivi~re's speedy recovery." "Victoria!" she cried, gayly. "A Saul among the prophets! Alix, I congratulate you. These flowers are tokens how com- pletely you have won over for ever and ever the lbrmidable critic of the Journal." "It is very kind of him to remember me," said Alix, receiving the bouquet and blushing like a rose. "The flowers are love-. ly; and I am very much obliged. Please, tell him so, if he comes, Valerie." "I wish you could tell him so yourself, yotite. He will lose the blush, and miss the smile dreadfully, when I deliver the message. Now I must go. Enjoy your flowers, and be sure you don't grow lonely." "Xo, Ishall not be lonely. Besides the flowers, I have that new Blao7~woo~Z which Captain Darcy sent me to-4ay. Don't for- get to give my love to him." "Ah! that, too, will lose value in the transmission through a third person. Love always does. Good-by." She flitted from the room, and went down-stairs, singing like a bird, out of the very joyousness of 1~er heart. But, when she opened the drawing-room door, a face rose up before her which hushed the words on her lips in sheer surprise. Certainly the last person she ht~d expec~e4 to meet was Romney; and yet, there he was, leaning against the mantel in a well-remembered at- titude, with the same stormy face and the same frown that she had seen last. Aston- ishment caused her to make one pause, then she advancedinto the room with outstretched hand. "JulianP' she cried, eagerly. "What a pleasant surprise! I am very glad to-" "See you," she would have added, if his manner had not frozen back the unfinished words. But few women would have cared to waste a cordial greeting on any man who met it as Romney met this-with simple re- pellent coldness. He barely touched the slender fingers held out to him; and his few words of reply were wholly inaudible, while the dark cloud never once lifted from his brow, making it a relief to Valerie to turn round and plunge into conversation with her grandfather; for both M. and Madame Vac- quant were~present. There was an embar- rassed interval of several minutes thus bridged over, before the door opened, and sunshine entered the room in Maurice Dar- cy's eyes ~nd smile. Almost immediately afterward, dinner was announced. They went down-stairs in silence, and it is impossible to coxijecture how the next hour would have passed, had it not been for Darcy's persevering efforts to make conver- sation. They were so indefatigable that they deserved the success which they partially achieved. Only partially, however~ for Ju- han's moody face and petulant remarks were not conducive to social ease, and, to- gether with his mother's unusual gravity, so seriously burdened the air, that eyen 1!. Vacquant's efforts to talk had an unmistak- ably forced air, and Valerie was almost to- tally silent. After a while the two gentle- men drifted into the dreary sea of politics, and remained there until the ceremony of dinner came to an end. Juhian did not renter the drawing-room, but left the house almost immediately, while Valerie, who had little inclination to remain under Madame Vacquant's eyes, wandered away until she found herself in the conserva- tory. There she sat down-to wait. Not long, however. Not long had the fountain risen and fallen in its steady, z'nisi- cal cadence, before there came a sound which banished all the melody of waters from her page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 VALERIE AYLMER. ears-the echo of a distant voice, the soun of a nearing tread, the parting of the leaf~ screens, and, in the mellow light, the gran( head and stately figure of her royal-lookin~ free-lance lover. He saw her in a moment, and came for * ward, a world of light in his eyes and on hii lips, yet his first words were almost of vexa tion. "I wish I could have spared you that, Are you weary, liellis8imc$?" She looked up at him, wonderingly. "Weary! What, that dreadful dinner, do you mean? :N~o, I had almost forgotten it. You see how little power annoyances have over me now." The last word was almost inaudible, but so significant that the warm blood swept brightly over Darcy's brow. A little while back, and he would have steeled himself into granite against such a tone from her lips; but now-well, had he not surrendered himself to the sweet enchantment, and what was there further needed of cold wisdom and colder self-discipline? And so his mur- mured tones were full of that poetic folly which is sweeter in the ears of those who love than all the wisdom of all the philoso- phers who ever rounded periods - from Socrates down. And Valerie listened to him with a wistful, eager look on her face which might have seemed strange, if her next words had not explained it. "Then, if all this be true, if I am indeed so fair and charming in your eyes, surely your distrust of me must have vanished. Tell me if it be so? Don't be afraid to say no-I only care to hear truth from yQu.~~ "Distrust," he repeated, quickly. "What do you mean?" 5h9 looked up at him a little reproach- fully. "If you ask me that, I shall think that you know only too well, and don't wish to answer. Ah, what cam I mean save the wretched coquetry which held you from me so long? Maurice, tell me-do you still think so badly of me ?-do you still distrust me so utterly as you did even a few days *ago?" There was no art in the question, no striv- FETTERS OF ROSES. 135 I ing to draw forth protestations or vows, but ~ a strange, earnest pathos and doubt, which I gave a yearning inquiry to the eyes lifted to his own, and touched to its very core the heart of the man who loved her. For answer, he only drew her to his side, and, bending down, laid his lips lightly and tenderly on her own. "There is my reply," he said. "There is my seal on all the past. Let us never speak of it again." But still she was not content. " Tell me" she repeated. "Tell mein so many words, that you trust me-that you believe I never meant wilful harm in the past, and that you are sure I can never mean it in the future." "I do believe it, and I am sure of it," he answered, proudly. "Do you think I could love you, and doubt you ?-do you think I could hold you thus, and distrust you even in the least degree? No "-and it was a very grand scorn that quickened in the deep- gray eyes-" I never practise half-measures.. I demand a perfect and entire faith from all who love me. Like Cnur de Lion, I never bade man do what I would not do myself. I do trust you wholly and entirely. And from henceforth there is but one evidence I shall receive against you-the evidence of yourself. Now, are you satisfied?" Satisfied! Ah, he might have read that in the eyes that looked up at him so warmly and gratefully, in the smile of perfect con- tent that came around the lips, in the tone that murmured softly- "You have made me so happy!" He smiled brightly, perhaps again with a shade of triumph, and passed his hand many times caressingly over her rippling hair. He seemed made to woo in a royal fashion of his own-made to gather fresh dignity from a position in which most of his sex grow for the time being pliant and hum- ble. It was next to impossible to imagine him suing for favors instead of taking them, captive instead of captor, conquered instead of conqueror. And yet it was the simplicity about him, the utter absence of all vanity or pretence, which. made this, that in another man would have been unutterably revolting, so rarely attractive in him. It was because Nature had stamped him with such a regal signet, that it was not a bitter sight to see this fair, proud woman-this woman who had long been free and timeless as any wild creature of the forest-own subjection at his hand, and yield herself unreservedly to be rendered happy or miserable by the breath of his lips. But at least she was happy-perfectly and entirely happy. No one looking on could have doubted that for a moment and though neither of them knew it, some one did look on. Once, for a minute only, a ~ale face gleamed on them from between the blossoms of a gorgeous azalea, and then vanished. A woman's dress swept noise- lessly over the marble floor, and all was quiet and silence again when Valerie said, gently: "I have stood in awe of you so long, that I do not think I shall soon learn the perfect love which casteth out fear. I have little doubt that I shall be afraid of you for a good while to come.~~ "Afraid of me! Then it is I who need to complain of distrust. Afraid of me? When have you ever seen any thing to teach you that?" "You surely forget how hard and stern you have seemed-especially to my poor failings-many a time." "And you did not know that I was steel- ing myself against loving those failings? But the charge may be just enough in some aspects. You would scarcely wonder, either, if you knew the history of my life; if you could know how entirely without softening infiu~nces it has been, what a bitter hand-to- hand fight with the world and adverse cir- cumstances, owning but two ties of human kindred, since my mother's death. From different reasons, each of these ties has teen the source of sorrow and suffering. A character of suffering, too, which corrodes and hardens a man's nature. Yet even now, I don't think I am ever implacable,, save to deception or betrayal-and I have neither deception nor betrayal to dread from your hand. Look up, my love, and tell me if you think I could ever be hard or stern to you?" She did look up, and met an almost- womanly tenderness of gaze in the eyes bent upon her, an almost womanly gentleness around the lips. "You certainly don't look very formida- ble just now," she said, with a soft laugh. "But I feel very much as Una must have felt when she first' made the acquaintance of her lion-dreadfully uncertain how long his good behavior will last." "Ah, but remember that, with all his faults, he was a generous beast," he an- swered, "and was never known to betray a trust. Then, have you forgotten your talis- man? Have you so little reliance on your -' angel-face That makes a sunshine in a shady place?"' She lifted it up, so that the mellow lamp- light streamed full upon its fair Southern grace and beauty, while the lustrous eyes looked at him, full of their old archness. "Very little indeed of the angel in it, I fear," she said; "but, if it makes sunshine for you, I shall think it has found its right use in the world at last." "If it makes! And do you doubtit?" "Never at least foi' lack of will on my part," she answered, with sweet gravity. And after his answer-the answer of a lover-brief but happy silence settled over them. It was broken at last by Darey, who had not overrftuch 'of the Romeo in his composi- tion, and whose mind had already left the "sweet nothings7~ of courtship, to consider its practical issues. ~"Douce arnie," he said, in his frank, straightforward way, "our happiness must not make us forget our obligations to others. Have I your permission to write to you'r father to-night, and to announce our engage- ment to my uncle in the morning?" He put the question simply, and in a matter-of-course tone-as little prepared for any thing like denial as for the manner in which that denial came. But those two names were gall and wormwood to Valerie, since, alas for our poor heroine I the bitter drop in her cup of rapture was the recollec- tion that she had fallen into the snare of the obnoxious "arrangement ;" that she was on the eve of being forced to recant every page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 156 VALERIE AYLMER. ]flITTERS OF ROSES. 1 S'7 declaration she had ever made concerning it, and to give the most signal triumph to her father and grandfather. So, when Darcy spoke thus, she started; then a cloud swept over her surniy face, and she answered, al- most petulantly: 'KNo. I will not give you permission to do any thing of the kind. The present state of affairs is very pleasant-why should you wish to change it? Why wish to usher in all the disagrecables of a public engage- ment?" He looked at her in surprise. "Simply because it is the only right and honorable thing to do," he answered. "Right and honorable!" repeated Va- lerie, with a light laugh. "Those are very grand words, men. ami-too grand by half, considering that we know as well now as we can know hereafter that everybody con- cerned will be only too pleased." "Will they?" he said. "Then there is so much the more reason for owing them an immediate announcement." "Ab, grant me grace," she cried, plead- ingly. "I love my freedom so dearly, and -and I dread so much to give it up." "You count it still your own, then?" Half-earnestly, half-jestingly, he asked the question; and she looked up with the proud humility he had seen in her once be- fore. "No," she said, softly, "It is not my own. But my fetters are of roses now; and I dread lest they become links of steel. And I also dread lest I chafe against them then. Let me grow accustomed to captivity. Nfaurice, &few days-only a few days-can- not matter about making this announce- She looked up imploringly-she, ever ac- - customer to command-but although he left a tender caress upon the lips that spoke his name so sweetly, it was plain that he had no thought of yielding-it was plain that this request was to him only a child's caprice, to be humored and treated gently, but not indulged. "Mignonne," he said, kindly, "a few days can matter a great deal. We are in a false position as long as this continues-a false position to those whose right It is to know our future as soon as we know it our- selves. It is not so much that secrecy in this case would be wrong, as that the prin- ciple of secrecy is wrong." At another time she might have admired, as she had often admired before~ the open, ~hivalric spirit that spoke here as it spoke in every thought and action of his life; the clear, brave stroke that cleft in two any diffi- culty, and the frank gaze that never even seemed to see any path save the one straight avenue of honor. But now it clashed with her own desire-a desire grown stronger by the opposition it had met-and she felt al- most impatient of his punctilio as she an- swered: "You ought to remember that we are not in the Old World; and that matters of this sort are not conducted here with any of the stately decorum and disagreeable publicity which attend them there." "Surely decorum cannot be objection- able," he said. "And publicity, it seems to me, only becomes so when engagement is regarded as a convenient cloak for co- quetry)' Valerie flushed hotly. Perhaps con- science had something to say on this score -at least she drew herself back from his embrace, and there was a ring of defiance in her voice as she asked- "What do you mean?" "What should I mean excepting what I have said?" he answered, quietly. "You must certainly see that I am right. There would be much less of disgraceful flirtation in this particular, if engagement were hero esteemed the public and binding contract which older states of society consider it. However, that is a question for moralists, not for me. The point now is, that I should think poorly indeed of any woman who en- tered into a secret engagement, and that I cannot consent to see you fill such a posi- tion, even for a few days." "'Yet I think you might remember that my wishes are entitled to some regard," she said, half haughtily. "Entitled to every regard," he answered, so gently that she felt instantly ashamed of herself. "But surely you must admit that I am in the right." "No," she replied, perversely. "I do not admit that. But, even granting that you are, it is a trifling concession to make to me -as well as the first." There was a pause. They had each mo- mently grown more earnest, until now the strife of adverse wills had reached its point of issue. With a start, Darcy recognized this; with a start, he saw that Valerie's ob- stinacy and pride were enlisted against him. Something in her face-in the flushed cheek and compressed lip, reminded him, too, of the day when she had persisted in driving the thorough-breds; and he thought to him- self-as men of his stamp are always ready to think-that such a wilful, impetuous na- ture stood in strong need of the steady curb of authority. It was in his hand now, this curb, and should ho neglect to use it? Tru- ly he had not a thought of doing so. And yet, that last tone was very hard to resist. He rather evaded the direct question, when after a moment he said, gravely: "Valerie, tell me frankly, why you are so anxious for this." "I thought I had already told you," she answered-feeling herself blush in her own despite-" of what do you suspect me? Do you think I want to use this engagement as a convenient cloak for coquetry?" "I answered that question when I told you that I trusted you," he said. "No, I do not suspect you of any thing excepting caprice-caprice that is scarcely worthy of you, though. I have already told you why I wish to make this announcement at once- it is a mark of respect due to our friends- and the same reason mu~t l4ead my excuse for disregarding your first request." She looked at him steadily. "You mean that you do intend to disre- gard it?" lie answered as quietly but as firmly as ever: "What else can I mean, when I say that I think it is right?" There was silence ~for several minutes. The fountain filled up the pause with its fairy-like inpusic; and Darcy never knew what a fierce fight was meanwhile waged in the heart of this woman, who, had never be- fore known any one bold enough or strong enough to say her nay. It was a good thing that she had little of the pettiness of her sex about her; that in her nature-spoil~d though ithad been-there were many noble and generous depths; and that, above all, there was a capability of self-surrender and self-conquest only possible to the mould which, however-warped it may have become, is still the heroic. Some women would have taken refuge in pettish anger, others would have hardened into obstinate defiance, others again would have provoked still fur- ther the useless strife, but she did none of these things. She fought down her own struggling heart in silence, then looked up calmly and gravely, making no pretence of evading her defeat, but accepting it with a dignity that redeemed it from the character of defeat~ "Let it be as you think best," she said, holding out her hand. "I too can trust. Only remember this thing, when I seem to you passionate and obstinate-in all my life, I have never given up my will before." He made no vow that she should never need to give it up again, for ho knew bet- ter. He accepted the sacrifice as freely as it was offered, and there was a very stately chivalry in the air with which he raised her hand to his lips, and the tone in which he answered: "And remember this of me - that I would sooner die than ask any thing of you for my own advantage or lie your injury. And so the light cloud parted and fled away, the broad sunlight came back, and what wonder that they basked in it to their hearts' content? What wonder that they let all points of past or future dispute rest untouched, and only dwelt on the present, only read over the opening chapter of that old romance whose first pages are ever so fair and tender, only whispered the old vows, and glided down the smooth stream, with ~iren strains echoing in their ears- strains so sweet that they efibetually dead- ened that dull, ominous roar of breakers ahead? Yet, when Valerie stood before her mir- ror that night and looked at her radiant face, shining lil~e a star out of the heavy 186 page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 138 VALERIE AYLMER. masses of her unbound hair, a sudden, sharp pang seized her heart. "He talks of secret engagements, and of convenient cloaks for coquetry," she mur- mured. "What would he say, if he knew about Charley? What will he say when he does know? I ought to have told him to- night; but-I dared not. I am a coward, I know; but I dread so unutterably what he will think of me! I must not keep his love on false pretences, however. I must tell him-I will tell him to-morrow." To-morrow! How often we say that, when a resolution is taken, or a purpose de- signed, and how mockingly Fate laughs hack at us! To-morrow! As if time was in our ,poor mortal hands, or as if; to the cowardly and procrastinating, there ever is a morrow! As if that word alone has not been the bane ofimore good intentions, and the death-knell of more noble actions, as if it does not stand for more harm, and ill, and suffering, than any other common to the lips of man! Yet dream on, Valerie !-quiet your conscience with that cunning salve, call back the sun- ny smile to your lip, and, as you sink off to sleep, murmur again, "I will tell him to- morrow." Yen mean what you say-you intend it honestly and sincerely, for it is not in you to intend otherwise; but many be-, fore you have waked to the bitter knowl- edge that, in a world of deeds, acts resolved can never stand for acts executed; and that, while you whisper to yourself; "To-mor- row," one of the veiled sisters grimly an- swers: "But will that to-morrow ever be?" CHAPTEI~ IV. TIlE POEFEIT PLEDGE. "I HAVE been waiting for you some time, Valerie," said M. Vacquant, a little impatiently, as his granddaughter made her rather late appearance the next morning. "When you have breakfasted, I want to see Maurice and yourself in the library." He left the room abruptly, scarcely wait- ing for her surprised assent; and then she turned to Darcy, who was quite alone in possession of the breakfast-table. "So you have told him already!" she said, reproachfully. "But why does he want me?" Maurice shook his head smilingly. "I have not told him," he answered; "and whatever he wants with you must necessa- rily be quite apart from the matter which it has pleased you to make a secret." "What is it, then?" "I cannot even eonjeeture.~~ "Very singular," said Miss Aylmer; but she said it composedly, and sat down qui- etly to her breakfast. Whatever M. Vac- quant wanted was certainly not to be com- pared in importance to her cup of coffee, or to the admiring eyes that told her over and over again how lovely she looked. Perhaps the task of telling her so would not have fallen entirely upon the eyes, expressive though they were, if that obtuse Gilbert had not stood so steadily upon guard with a salver under his arm. But, as it was, Darcy had to content himself with reading aloud the telegrams from the Gazette, while Va- lerie trifled with a roll, and talked politics in a tone that redeemed even politics from dryness. The telegrams and politics could not last forever, though; and after a while she said, with a sigh of resignation, "I suppose we must go to grandpapa now." "Yes~~~ Darcy answered; and, pushing back the paper, he came round the table and offered her his arm. She took it half laughingly-no thought coming to her of how once before, in that very place, she had accepted Julian Romney's-and then they proceeded out of the room, crossed the hall, and entered the library. M. Vacquant was already there-was already settled in his own chair beside the cabinet where his letters were always writ- ten-the chair, the purple-velvet lining of which brought out with the clearness of an ancient cameo his fine, regular outline of face and crest of silver curls. He nodded kindly but gravely as the two came in, and motioned them to sit down. Then, while they did so, he opened a drawer at his side, drew forth a folded paper, and held it in h hand when he turned round again. ".3Ies en~fanta," he said, in his state~ courteous way, "I have summoned you i this formal manner because I consider right that you should be informed together and not apart, of my final intentions towar you. In the order of ~ature, I cannot cx pect to live much longer, and the conflicting! claims of you two have been the cause ol much uneasiness and the sul~ject of mud thought to me. At last, however, I hav4 arrived at a decision; and I am anxious P explain my reasons for it, since it may seen to you-to one of you, at least-not onl~ capricious, but unjust. Valerie, you hav( been reared so entirely as my heiress, thai a bequeathment which gives to you only a share of the inheritance, may seem to you like a wrong. Therefore-" "Grandpapa," Valerie interposed, re- proachfully, "I hope you would have spared me this. I hoped you would believe that I am willing, even anxious, for you to make that disposition of your property which seems to you best." " I do believe you, petite," he said, kindly. "I am sure those are your senti- ments now. But there are others who would neither think nor feel as you do, and who, as time went on, might persuade you that you had been hardly dealt with." "If you mean papa or Eugene~~~ began Miss Ayliner, a little indignantly; but she was cut short very summarily. "Ohut I" said the old Frenchman, in his French fashion. "Of course 12 don't mean either of them. Your father does not value money more than most men of the world do; and, as for your brother, unless he has changed very much, he values it consider- ably less than is either wise or expedient. I was thinking principally of your future husband-for I suppose you will find one some day" Valerie smilei1t s~uelly~ "Most people do, grandpapa. But y~u may be sure of one thing-he will not quarrel with your testa- mentary arrangements." "Who can foretell that, petite? "said he. "And there is no doubt of~one thing-the fact of your having been taught to expect .CiJJ!JV~J~j. 139 is this inheritance would render a different disposition of it an undoubted wrong on my r, part, if I had not sufficient reason for what n I do." it His granddaughter bent forward, and ; laid her hand over the one which rested on ri the arm of his chair. "I am sure of it, grandpapa," she said, ~ gently; "and, once for all, trust me that I 1' shall be perfectly content with that disposi- i tion, whatever it may be." He smiled slightly, gratefully it seemed, and then retained her hand, holding it in 1 his own, and smoothing it down with a ten~ der sort of caress, while he turned to Darcy and spoke abruptly: "Maurice, you have been so 'immovable in your resolution to accept nothing from me, that I am forced to urge upon you the last appeal which one generous mind can make to another. Do not deny me the poor satisfaction of making all the atonement possible for a sin which I have bitterly re- pented-that of making reparation to you for the wrong 12 4id your mother. That wrong was deeper than you or any one else ever supposed." Darcy started, and his face hardened suddenly and strangely, as Valerie had often noticed; it was apt tQ harden at any men- tion of his mother's name. "That plea had best be left untouched, sir," he said, coldly. "I fear that, if you per- sist in urging it, I shall only proi~e that I have not a 'generous mind.' I do not admit that you possess any right or any power of reparation for her wrongs, and I would rather not speak of them under this roof." "You mean that you cannot forgive them?" "I mean that I cannot forget how she died, in want and privation, while her for~ tune was withheld from her." The elder man did not shrink as this an- swer fell on his ear. Perhaps his own con- science had uttered it too often for human lips to give the words added force. He only looked up with an unconscious pathos which touched his granddaughter to the quick, and made her turn one keenly-re- proachful glance on Darcy. "You are right," he said. "Even more m1rD WDt'DDDrm nflnn page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] THE F0R1~'EIT rLEPGE. 141 140 VALERIE AYLMER. right than you think. I have always meant to tell you the story, and you might as well hear it now. It is not very long. You know already how entirely your mother was left in my power by our father's will; how, according to that will, all her proper- ty reverted to me if she married without my consent; you know also how bitterly I opposed her marriage with your father; how, when she persisted in marrying himI carried into effect the condition of the will; how, from the hour in which she took the name of Darcy, I refused to see or hold any com- munication with her. But you do not know, nor did she or any one else, save myself, that this stern condition was only intended by my father to guard against a danger to which he considered women especially liable-the dan- ger of ill-advised marriage. He thought he might thus prevent Aim6e from throwing herself away; but he never intended that, even in such a case, her inheritance should really be forfeited. It was a species of se- cret trust; and the last thing he said to me before he died was, 'Deml gently with your sister."' He stopped abruptly at this point-evi- dently more from agitation than because he desired any comment or reply-so, for a mo- ment, all was silence in the room. Valerie heard his quick breathing, as he strove to regain composure; but she could not see his face, partly because of her own position, partly because he sat with his back to the light. But that light shone full on Dar- cy's face, and it was not a pleasant or encouraging sight to either gazer. All the genial expression had faded from it; the clear eyes looked cold and dark; the frank features set and stern; while over the whole there broqded less of anger than of chill, hard severity. Valerie looked at him ap- prehensively, almost imploringly, but he scarcelyy seemed to see her; he scarcely seemed conscious of the dread which was upon her. It was a relief when at last M. Yacquant resumed, still steadily and grave- ly addressing himself to Maurice: "It is only due to myself that I should assure you that the love of money did not influence me in the course which I pur- sued. I disliked your father prom the first, and I never forgave your mother many bit- ter and scornful things which she said to me before she left my house. Concerning the first, he was your father, and he has gone before me to the bar of a higher judgment, so I need say nothing as to the grounds of my dislike, save that they afforded me good cause for opposing the marriage, as even you may be aware, from your knowledge of his character. He was the most reckless, the most incorrigible spendthrift I ever knew-though not a fortune-hunter, as in my anger I called him at the time. Perhaps this charge incensed your mother more than any thing else. At all events, it rendered her more obstinate than ever; and she mar- ried him. I was very hot and passionate in those days. I vowed to make both of them feel the weight of my anger; and, to do so, I violated the trust of the dead." Another silent pause-a pause in which Valerie looked again wistfully at the un- moved face before her-and then the speaker once more ~vent on: "I have forced myself to this painful statement for two reasons: first, because I want to prove to you, Valerie, that if I do not make you the great heiress you once ex- pected to be, it is only by the interposition of something which is at once a reparation and a duty; and, secondly, I wish to con- vince you, Maurice, that you accept not my bounty, but your mother's right." He looked at Darcy, as he spoke, with a deprecating entreaty that was as painful as it was strange.' It must have touched the younger man, for his face softened some- what, and his voice sounded more gentle than Valerie had dared to hope it would, when he answered: "The past is past, sir. Surely we need not dig from its ashes the bitter and pain- ful memories that still remain there. I have' not forgotten my mother's last words, which charged me to forgive you; and that I break your bread, is proof enough of my having done so. We need not dwell on the nature of her wrongs. It is too late now to do her justice; and your present duty is not to me, but to those who possess the nearest claim on you." "It is to you," said NI. Vacquant, almost sternly. "You talk of forgiveness, and yet wish to send me down to the grave with the burden of an unexpiated sin upon my con- science-a sin that has outlawed me from God and His Church these many years? Hush! hush!" he uplifted his hand, as Darcy strove to speak. "I will not hear another word. Talk as you will-refuse what you will-after I am dead. Nothing shall induce me to alter one line of this paper which I hold here-my will." His will! They both looked at it with something of awe; that paper concerning which there had been so much of conjec- ture and more of scheming than either of them dreamed; that gave away into other hands the wealth for which its owner had so sinned and suffered; that would deal a death-blow to so many hopes, and gratify scarcely any! Ah! surely that must be a bitter hour to a man who has loved the world, and the possessions of the world, when he comes at last to say, "I do hereby give and bequeath;" when absolutely and irrevocably he bestows upon others all that has been the delight of earth to him, and goes forth naked and stripped, as the poorest pauper, to face the everlasting justice of God! Meanwhile, M. Vacquant slowly un- folded the large sheet which he held, and taking up his gold eye-glass began to read. aloud. The will was by no means ~ long document, and, shorn of all its legal tech- nicalities, might have been briefly stated thus: First came the minor bequests; old ser- vants were pensioned oft; and old friends re- merabered. Then- To his wife, Marian Vacquant, in token of "affectionate regard," the interest of one hundred thousand dollars, and the use of the town-house during her natural life. To his son-in-law, Gerald Aylmer, the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. To his step-son, J2ulian Itomney, the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. To his young friend and connection, Eu- gene Aylmer, the sum of twenty-five thou- sand dollars. The large bulk of the fortune (eight hundred thousand dollars, clear of all be- quests) was left jointly to his granddaugh- ter, Valerie Aylmer, and his nephew, Mau- rice Darcy, on condition of their marrying each other-in case of either refusing to do so, Valerie Aylmer inherited three hundred thousand dollars, and Maurice Darcy the half million remaining. To the reading of this document ensued a profound silence. Considered from her point of view, it was not Valerie Aylmer's place to speak-besides, she had already signified her assent to any thing; and Darcy also held his peace; so, after waiting some little time, M. Vacquant was the first to break the silence. "I. am afraid that this compromise, like most compromises, has only succeeded in pleasing nobody; but I hope you both com- prehend, and do justice to my reasons for making it. I have no hope that you will eithe~ of you accept the condition which would render my double duty so plain, but I thought it right to afford you the option of doing so. I hope and believe-" But what he hoped and believed was left to conjecture; for, as he paused, with a somewhat troubled look, Darcy rose, and came forward to Valerie's side. He took her hand, and then spoke with an air of very quiet and self-possessed deference. "Sir," he said, "you may be glad to hear that we have anticipated your kind in- tention toward us; that once more a Darcy sues for the hand of the daughter of your house; and that he needs only your consent to call it his own." M. Vacquant started, and, for the space of at least a minute, gazed at th'em-at his granddaughter's blushing face and his neph- ew's proud dignity-in mute amazement. Then he said, slowly- "Mes enfants, is this true?" "It is perfectly true," Maurice answered~ gravely. "Henceforth, there will be no m~eed of compromise or division, for any in- terests of ~ Another minute N!. Yacquant was si- lent-striving perhaps to realize this unex- pected stroke of Fortune-but at last he said, solemnly: "Maurice Darcy, I owe your father's memory a great debt. Pray for me that page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 142 VALERIE AYLMER. THE FORFEIT PLEDGE. 143 this may be received as some small pay ment of it, and-God bless you both, m~ dears!" Ten minutes after that, Valerie had lef her grandfather and Darcy together in th4 library, and was walking toward Alix's roon with a very sunny smile on her face, when at a turn of the corridor, she suddenly en countered Romney. Remembering his re pulse of the night before, she was about t pass him with a single bend of the head, but he paused before her, and held out hi~ hand. "Forgive me," he said, "and-tell m~ so." "I have nothingto forgive," she answered cprdially. "But I am very glad to see you back again; and I hope you mean to remain now." "Youhope so?" "Indeed I do, most sincerely." "Without thinking what it would cost me, or without caring-which I" "Hoping that, after a very little while, it would not cost you any thing," she saifi, de- termined not to heed his tone. "Ah, Julian, we shall part soon, never perhaps to meet again-can we not be friends?" Some violent reply seemed to tremble on his lip, but he controlled it; and, after a moment, answered quietly, with only a quick gleam in his eyes: "I told you once that we could never be friends. But the last month has taught me that I can be any thing save your enemy, do any thing save remain away from you. If you wi{l, promise to teach me friendship half as well as you taught me love, I might~ after all, prove an apt pupil." "You will try at least?" "Yes, I will try-as others have tried in the past. But perhaps my success may prove as indifferent as theirs." She looked at him in surprise. "What do you mean?" "I mean," he said, "what I should not have forgotten-only you make me forget every thing--that one of these 'friends' is waiting with for his you and here He gave it to her, watching with a smile, ~ which it was well she did not see, her grow- ing paleness, as she read on the bit of card- board the familiar autograph "Charles Ver- t non Hautaine." For a moment, a dark mist came over her 1 sight, and a choking sensation rose up in her throat. The impulse of physical cowardice - rushed over her, as it had never done before - in all her life; and if it had not been for the gaze fixed on her-the gaze whose malice she instinctively felt-she would have fled away anywhere, for a little respite, a little time to consider what was best to be done. But it was no part of Julian's policy to al- low that; and his voice broke now on her ear. "The absent are said to be always * wrong-I shall certainly begin to believe that they are always unwelcome, if you give your friend's card no warmer glance than that. What is the matter I" Valerie raised her head haughtily. The tone was even more significant than the glance, and both together acted on her like a restorative. Whatever she felt, Whatever she feared, this man should see neither. So she looked at him, as she answered, very coldly and nonchalantly: "You are mistaken. The absent are never either wrong or unwelcome with me -especially such a dear old friend as Mr. Hautaine. If I hesitated over his card, it was simply because I was very much sur- prised. I did not know he was in Balti- more. I must go down to him at once. Will you please let me pass?" He moved aside at once; but continued to stand at the head of the stairs, watching her as she descended, watching h~r as she swept in her soft violet draperies across the hall, watching her as she opened the draw- ing-room door, watching the panel even after it had closed upon her, with the same smile on his face. He was still standing there, when a hand was laid gently on his arm, and his mother's voice spoke: "Has she gone down?" He did not look round, but the smile faded from his face, and its quick, stormy frown came over it, as he answered: "Yes, she has gone down, to play off he fooleries on that poor devil. Your work wil be done, if you wrn only find an excuse foi sending the new l9ver in upon them aboul a quarter of an hour hence. He may be sc far gone he won't mind any thing of the son -curse him I-but if he does care, she can'I make matters straight-granting they told even half the truth about this affair down in Louisiana." With that he turned and descended the staircase, passing with a scowl by the draw. ing-room, and out of the front door into the street. Meanwhile Valerie had gone down armed with the courage of desperation, shrinking in spirit like the veriest coward, but out- wardly perfect in bravery and composure, as she moved forward under Julian's eye; even when she put ~r hand on the lock of the drawing-room or, when she opened it, when she stood within the threshold, when there came eagerly hastening to meet her the same impetuous, handsome cavalier, with hazel eyes and sunny curls, from whom she had parted six months before. He was so entirely himself, so wholly unchanged in look or manner, that, for the moment, all her fear and embarrassment fled away, and she saw only the intimate companion of years; the boy-lover with whom she had flirted and quarrelled eVer since they were children together; the man whose brave, bright, generous nature had always pos- sessed such a rare attraction for her, whom she liked to the very boundary of love, and who brought all the breath of home, all the soft skies and golden days with him, in the first tone of his frank, clear voice, the first grasp of his loyal, gallant hand. Their greeting was every thing that the greeting of such old friends had a right to b~, and then Valerie swept into oblivion the awkward issues of the awkward present, and looked at her slave with much of the old arch smile. "ifercil how much~ you are improved!" she cried. "Is it Paris that has made you so irresistibly handsome?" "Paris!" he repeated, as he tossed back, with a well-remembered gesture, the graceful curls which many fair ladies had secretly * envied him. "I flatter myself that even I Paris could not improve me! The thing is, belle arnie, that you had forgotten how good- looking I am." "At least I had not forgotten how im- pudent you are," she rejoined, laughingly. "It is certainly out of the power of Paris, I or 'anywhere else, for that matter, to im- prove you in self-conceit. Come, sit down, and tell me all about yourself and your trav- els. Do you know I heard that you had * gone to Constantinople, to enlist in the Turkish army?" "You might have heard many more im-~ probable things," he answered, taking a seat beside her own. "I am a sworn free com- panion now, and there is no telling where I may find myself some day. You know my motto: 'La guerre eat ma patrie, Mon harnols ma mason, Et en toute season Combattre c'est ma vie I'" "In that case, I don't see what brought you back to America," said his listener, with a shrug. "There is no field for such a creed here-a creed, em passant, which merits and receives my full approbation." "You wonder-Valerie, ?,'ou?" As may be imagined, the tone of this question warned La belle des belles that she had ventured on dangerous ground. She smiled-then frowned-then blushed, and finally changed the subject abruptly, by asking "if he had seen Eugene in France?" Perhaps Hautaine was not overmuch pleased by this transition; but at least he submitted to it with a good grace. He an- swered in the affirmative, and went on to describe various particulars concerning young Ayhner, who was one of a corps of civil engineers engaged in surveying a rail- road in the south of France. He assured the somewhat incredulous sister that the young Confederate accepted his changed po- sition with very perfect philosophy, laughed refining to the winds, with the gay fortitude of his light-hearted race, professed to prefer civil engineering to the kindred military sci- ence which had been his profession, and to find surveying railroads more agreeable than planning fortifications. Then he told her 142 143 page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] 144 VALERIE AYLMER. something of his social triumphs, how the fair Farisiennes called him Le beau Con- f&Z~r~, how much he had improved in cool- ness of head and steadiness of purpose, and how many friends were ready and willing to sound his praises, even in the strange land where he had gone with only a brave heart and a strong arm to aid him in the fight for fortune. Valerie looked up with kindling eyes. "You can't tell l~ow glad I am to know this!" she said. "My poor, gallant boy! I was almost the only one who encouraged him to cast his fortunes abroad, and who bade him God-speed when he went. So I feel as if half the responsibility of his suc- cess or failure rested on me. Papa only half agreed, and Gerald was bitterly op- posed to anything so far out of the ordinary routine of planting cotton or practicing law." Hautaine laughed. "Gerald certainly will never swell the ranks of condottieri," he said. "No," Valerie answered, with some- thing like a curl of her lip. "Gerald was made for his own groove; and I don't know what would become of him if he was taken out of it. He was born to be a planter at Aylmers, and a planter at Aylmers he is still determined to be, although every thing that made the life pleasant- has forever passed away. He is a good specimen of a certain class of the men of the day-the ad- vocates of expediency-who are ready to make the best of any thing, even of their country's dishonor." "Yes," said Hautaine, absently; for he had not come all the distance which lies between Paris and Baltimore, to talk over this oft-discussed subject. "But then," he added, suddenly,, "Gerald may be right, after all-Who knows? Sometimes I feel terribly uncertain whether I may not be in the wrong path - whether there is not a duty to one's country when she is down, as well as when she is up; whether-" He stopped short, for Valerie was look- ing at him in grieved surprise. "Et tu, Brute!" she said, reproachful- ly. "I never expected to hear such soph- istry, and-if you will pardon the word -such cant, from your lips, Charley. Wrong! wrong to consult your own self- respect, after having done all for your coun- try that an honest man could do !-after having fought for her to the last gasp, and gone with her down into the depths of hu- miliation and despair !-wrong to fly from her shame, though you shared her suffer- ing! Tell me this-what could you, do for her if you. remained? As she ishow can the bravest heart that ever breathed, the stout- est arm that ever dealt blow, help her in her bitter servitude? And how can you even help yourself? What path of manly enterprise is there which you do not need to enter with a lie on your lip, and at the door of which you do not leave all the honor of rectitude that is half-religion to the men' of our race? True, you might abjure all public paths-you might stay here and eat out your heart in obscurity:, a constant wit- ness of all the treachery and corruption that is rampant; but would that help the poor patrie? No, Charley, no! Go and save yourself from all that must be learned in such an atmosphere! Go with a true heart, and a clear conscience-for I cannot do you the injustice to doubt one thing-when your country needs you, you will be at her call." He looked up at her with a gaze of hon- est admiration. For a moment she had for- gotten every thing save the sore wound which still bled in her inmost heart, as it bleeds and will ever bleed in that of every woman of her race. For a moment the same old fire leaped into her eyes that had quickened them when she spoke brave words of cheer to the gallant hearts thathad gathered under the Red-Cross banner, and, for a moment, something of the old ringing eloquence rushed to her lips, which in those days had shamed even cowards while they listened to her. She looked like an inspired sibyl, as she uttered her last "Go," and he who. listened was only too ready to heed the oracle. "You are right," lie said, quickly~ "In- deed, I never doubt or hesitate, excepting in some moments of depression and dis- couragement, when I do Dot see my way very clearly; for I have not an available profession that can be turned to civil use, like that of Eugene." THE FORFI "Are youtired of the sea?" "Yes," lie said, with a sudden shadow falling over his face. "Besides, Icoi4d only turn pirate, or enter some merchant-service -and both of those paths are liable to ob- jections. I think I shall turn my ambition in a military direction. Austria has always given a cordial welcome to soldiers of for- tune. I have a strong inclination to go there. Tell me what you think of it?" "I think very well of it," she answered, gayly. "The uniform is said to be the hand- 5~mestin Europe, and I can fancy you a count of the empire, with a marshal's baton, and a Theresian cross." He laughed slightly, then bent forward and laid his lips on her hand. "It all depends on you," he said, quickly. "You know what I am here for. You know the promise you gave me six months ago. I have tried not to hope too much, but I cannot believe that you doom me to such long waiting-only for disappointment. I am here for your decision, and I tell you now, what I told you before-take me and my ambition, and make them both what you will." "I cannot believe that you doomed me to such long waiting-only for disappoint- ment." Out of all his speech those were the words that rang in Valerie's ears like the voice of an accusing angel. He could not believe it ~f her; and yet-it was what she had done! What matter that she had done it ignorantly, carelessly, even thinking it for the best, when the bitter result was now staring her in the face? Yet she dared not hesitate-each moment of longer wait-* ing was a deeper wrong-so she looked at the man, whom her promise had brought across the broad Atlantic, with a gaze that told him his sentence even before her lips uttered it, and answered almost mechani- cally: "I was wrong, Charley, and-mistaken. I hoped to spare you this. I meant to have written to you, and told you what I have known for some time-that I do not love you well enough to marry you." She spoke these few sentences so coldly and formally, so much like a lesson learned by rote, that it was no wonder Hautaine 10 E~IT PLEDGE. 145 looked at her in mute, sorrowful amaze. There was silence for a moment, and then he uttered only one word- "Valerie!" The sound of her own name, spoken out of the very depths of his wounded, loving heart, touched her deeply. She looked up with an almost pitiful entreaty in her eyes. "Oh, Charley, dear friend, try to forgive me! I never meant to treat you so! I never meant any thing so utterly heartless and shameful! I thought-indeed, I thought -that I loved you; but I find I do not, save as the best and kindest brother. You would not accept that love from your wife? You would not__ " "I wcmld accept any thing in the world that gave me you," he interrupted, hastily. "If your refusal is based on the fear that you do not love me enZ)ugh-Oh, Valerie, never hesitate. Come to me, and trust the rest with time and with me. Or wait, if you would rather do that. I am willing to be your bondsman six years instead of six months, with hope to lighten the way. Do any thing, sooner than put an end to every expectation that has been my life. For Heaven's sake, think of what you sayl-for Heaven's sake, remember what you mean!" He spoke eagerly and passionately, spoke *with a force and pathos which showed Vale- rie plainly how much deeper was the disap- pointment now than before Hope had been whispering her siren song for months; be- fore he had almost felt and owned her-his. Then out of the depths of her bitter humil- ity came a great cry: "Oh, Charley, Charley, believe me it is best so. Believe me, we are not, we never could be, suited to each other. Oh, it grieves~ me to the heart to think that I have seemed to trifle so wantonly with you-.-to remem- ber that I might have saved you all this, if r had only been honest and true, last fall-if I had only told you then what I am sure of now-that I can never, never love y~u well' enough to marry you." She repeated this as if it were her one~ stronghold of defence, and he looked at her with a dark cloud that seenied like despair ~thering over his face, as he said- "You have learned thissiacewe parted? " page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] 146 VALERIE AYLMER. "Does it matter how I learned it, if it be true?" "And it is true?" She bent her head slowly. "It is true." There was nothing more to be said- nothing more to be urged. Hautaine seemed to feel this, for, after a moment, he spoke again, drearily enough: "Then there is nothing for me but to ~ "To go!" she repeated. "Yes-back to the life which you have made such an empty and useless thing. Don't think I mean to reproach you. It may not be' your fault, but-" She interrupted him passionately: "Not my fault? It is mine alone. Oh, Charley, if I could bear' s~ the suffering- yours as well as mine-I would n~t care so much. But it is the thought of you that breaks my heart-that makes me feel myself a wretch-that ahuost ,makes it a sin to be-" "Happy," she would have added, if her voicehadnotbroken down inarush of tears- a perfect thunder-shower 'of emotion. Poor Charley was fairly frightened at its vehe- mence, and did his honest best to soothe and comfort her, but with very little effect. Half from nervous agitatio; half from sin- cere self~reproach, she still wept on, and he was still bending over her, when the sound of an opening door made them both start -made Valerie look up through her tears, and Hautaine turn sharply 'round to see- Maurice Darcy framed on the threshold. -4-- CHAPTER V. PAOE TO FAcE. IT was evident that he had only just entered-in time perhaps to hear Valerie's last words, but certainly not before; for, as she looked up, she caught his start of aston- ishment, and saw the same astonishment in his eyes as they glanced from herself to her companion6 Involuntarily, she was about to speak, to say something-any thing that would explain; butthe euddendarkening that came into those eyes, the sudden change that swept over his face-a change very much as if a stone mask had been fitted over the features-hushed all sound on her lips, and, when she turned toward Hautaine, sur. prise gave way to absolute terror. In all her life, she never forgot the look with which those two men faced each other! Yet there was not in it any thing very desperate or very tragic. They did not look as if they meant to spring at each other's throats, or demand each other's lives, or do any thing else common. to the rivals of melodrama. Indeed, it was easy to see that there was little or no recollection of rivalry between them. They knew each other-that was plain-but it was not as lovers of the same woman, but as men with some strong tie, some strong link of thought or deed in the past. Darcy still stood out- lined in the door, but his very attitude had changed, and seemed to express the same stern immobility that marked his face, while Hautaine had risen, and was clutching ner- vously the back of a chair-his face strange- ly pale, his eyes full of mingled amazement and appeal. It was in this way that they stood gazing at each other in the hushed pause which fell over the room-in this way that they still remained when a minute, which seemed an age to Valerie, had passed away. It was Chancy who first broke the silence by one cry-a cry so full of mingled feeling that it would have been impossible to tell whether yearning passion, or pain, or entreaty, spoke most plainly in it; "Maurice!" That was all. But a hundred words could not have said more. It seemed as if Darcy's face softened for an instant when the sound went out toward him; but, if so, it was only for an instant. It looked as set and stern as before, when he spoke, very coldly: "I regret that accident should have caused this meeting. You know' me well enough to believe that it has not been inten- tional, and that it will be the last.-Miss Aylmer, I beg your pardon for such an in- trusion. I had no idea that you were en- gaged." FACE TO FACE. l4~ He bowed slightly and distantly to Va- "Why did you stop me, then?" Darcy lerie; then, without further sign, turned to demanded. "To hear this?" go. But Hautaine made one eager step for- "No. To tell you that ke has forgiven ward-uttered one eager, imploring call. me, and to ask-Maurice, to ask if you can "Stop, Maurice!" he cried. "One never-" moment-only one moment!" He paused-almost despite him~e1t as it Darcy turned, with a look on his face 'seemed-and Darcy finished the selitence that might have warned the other how little for him without an instant's hesitation: power could he gained by words over any "If I can never forgive you? The an- resolve or decision of his. swer to that is short. Never." "To what. end?" he asked, not angrily, "Yet he-" but in the same cold voice that was infinitely The other interrupted him almost more relentless than anger. fiercely. "You ask me that~" the other cried, "He is not a man, but something mu- passionately. "My God! Do you think I nitely higher. And I, too, might forgive an have not suffered enough to make atone- injury dealt only to myself: but when it is ment for the past? If you could only twofold-nay threefold- Let us talk no know !-if you could only tell__" longer. The very saints of God might feel "Why should I care either to know or that there are some wrongs too deep for to tell?" Darcy interposed, sternly. "What atonement, too bitter for forgiveness, too are your sufferings-granting their existence lasting, even for vengeance!" -to me? Can you give back to him the All the passion within him seemed to aims and objects of life? Can you give back reach its climax in those words, so that to me the faith you betrayed? Can you Hautaine shrank from their fiery energy as give back to yourself the honor you for- from a blow, and Valerie suddenly woke feited? Do even one of these things, and I from a sort of trance, wit*~ dignation and will acknowledge that your sufferings have pity swelling high in r breast. They worked some atonement for the evil they might have forgotten 'her presence in the can never repair. Until then, go your way, room, for all the notice they had taken of as I shall go mine. But take this one warn- her; but now, suddenly and without warn- ing with you-be careful how you cross my' ing, she rose up between them-a woman path. I spared you once; but I am only a born to quell strife by command rather than 'man, and I may not spare you again." by entreaty. Strange to say, she did not The scarcely-repressed fire of this men- even look at Darey, she only turned and ace seemed to restore Hautaine to himself spoke to Ilautaine-Hautaine, who had been more quickly than any thing else could pos- her playfellow and friend when they were sibly have done. He looked up, and his children together under the Louisiana or~ voice was dignified, though grave and sub- ange-trees-in a voice infinitely tender: dued, when he answered: "Charley, why should you mind what "You used to know me very well, and he says? Why should his cruelty hurt you you may perhaps remember whether threats so? What is his forgiveness, that you of that kind are likely to influence me. Be- should humiliate yourself to gain it? Ibe- sides, you could not take vengeance in cold lieve in you-lam sure you never worked blood on an unresisting man; and I don't a deliberate harm, or inflicted a deliberate think any words of yours would make me wrong. Stand fast in your own integrity. lift my hand against you. The great wrong Surely; surely that isenough!" which I wrought you-the wrong that has Both men started with irrepressible sur- darkened my life over with the shadow of a prise as she rose up and began to speak; curse-stands ever between us. Do what then the effect on both was as different as you please, say what you please, remem- could have been imagined. Oharley held being this-that I shall not resent any out his hand, with a silent gesture~ of gri.!~ thing." tude, and a glance more eloquent than page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] FACE TO FACE. 149 148 VALERIE AYLMER. words, while over Maurice Darcy's face there rolled a cloud heavy and dark as night. He was not likely to reason at such a moment as that-few men perhaps would have been-yet he might have remembered how pitiless he had been in his severity, and fhat a woman's sympathy never fails to range itself on the weaker side. Surely if any thing about the sex may still be termed "divine "-may still be held above the rougher humanity of man, it is this one at- tribute, this unfailing impulse, which makes it ten times sweeter to bind up the wounds of defeat than those of victory, and which, since the beginning of the worid has made them constant and persistent advocates of the losing side. Utterly illogical ones, it may be-but what of that? There are few advocates of any thing who can carry their principles more stanchly into action, and, however defective their 'reasoning may be, their practice, at least, is irreproachable. Acting on impulse,~ like most of her sex, Valerie did not realize, until her words~ were past recall, what harm they had worked; then it all rushed over her, in the tone of Darey's reply. "Let me congratulate you on your par- tisan," he said to Hautaine, with icy bitter- ness. "And let me counsel you to follow her advice. My cruelty need not give you a moment's further concern, for we are not likely to meet again." Then he tni.ned nnd quitted the room. 4s for the two left behind, they looked at each other in silence, until Hautaine ex- tended his' hands to his champion, who now sat down pale and trembling. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you more than-" But she interi'upted him almost passion- ately. "Nd' don't'thank me. I only said it because he was so bitter and hard, and because-because I am sure you never did any thing unworthy Qf yourself. That was all." "That was enough," he said, "if-if it were only true; But I would be even more pitiful than he thinks me, if I allowed you to believe any thing but that I am wrong, and that he is wholly right." He spoke simply but earnestly, and, lift- ing her head, Valerie looked at him in mute surprise. He could say that!-when the stinging words and contemptuous tones of his stern accuser were still ringing in her ears. He could say that, remembering the unsparing denunciations which had becA heaped upon him, and remembering, too, that he had even been charged with a for- feited honor! When she spoke, after a while, it was wonderingly. "You know best; but it seems to me that scarcely any thing could justify all-all that he said. I am very sorry if you, really have done any thing wrong-and still more sorry if you meant to do it-but my regard would be a worthless thing, indeed, if it failed you just when you have most need of it; or if I could let a single doubt shake the trust and affection of a lifetime. I want you to remember this thing: that there is no wrong which cannot be' expiated; and that you would need go far on any road of error before you could estrange niy-" She stopped short, for a flash of sudden hope had banished all gloom and pain from the eyes fixed on 'her face; and there was in them 'an anxious entreaty that it was bit- terly hard to disappoint. At that moment, she wellnigh wished that she could have added "love "-but at that moment she also felt, more strongly than ever before, that her lips would never, save in false- hood, utter that word to him. "Your--what, Valerie?" He asked this when the pause on her part had been very long, and she bent' her head before him as she answered: "My friendship, Charley." He gave a deep sigh. "If you' knew all, you might think, perhaps, that even your friendship was more than I had a right to expect, but it is very little to have crossed an ocean to receive. Valerie, I am very weak and very guilty-scarcely worthy even to touch your hand-but out of this very desolation, I cry to you: Come to me! Come to me !-love me-strengthen me! and, by the heaven above, us, I swear that you can make me what you will." He stood before her, more impassioned, more vehement than she had ever seen him before. Ab, yes, he did love her-there could be no doubt of that. He had loved her so long, so faithfully, so well, and per- haps it was true that, if she went to him, she could make him what she would. Had Maurice Darcy ever looked or spoken like %iis? Had he ever put himself, his fate, his very life, into her keeping? Yet with what a great rush the woman's heart went out toward him-away, forever away from this eager, passionate paladin, who was ready to do and dare any thing for her sake, ready even to lay all freedom at her feet, and be a serf for evermore! "Hush, Charley, hush!" she said, gravely. "Don't you see how that would be reversing all the right order of things, and how no happiness could ever come to either of us from it? You overrate my strength as much as you underrate your own. At all events, if you could stand with me, you can stand alone, and I am sure you will do so." "Are you?" he said, with a faint, sad smile. "Well, for the sake of others, I trust you may be right. I see you are de- termined, so I will not weary you with any more useless entreaty. I hope I can meet my fate like a man-at least I can bid you good- by. This afternoon I leave for Louisiana." "Oh, Charley, dear Charley," she cried, with all her heart in her throat, "speak to me once like the old time. Tell me once, before you go, that you forgive me. You don't know how I shall suffer in the thought of having pained you-you, my friend, my brother!" It was almost the same appeal that she made to Julian Bomney-as she remem- bered, the moment after she finished speak- ing. Yet nothing could have caused her to realize the immeasurable distance between* these two men, who had both loved her to the utmost. of their capability, as the, an- swer which the young Southerner made- made in chivalric f9rgetfulness o~ self, in generous desire to shield her even from her own reproach: "There is no need to mention such a word between us," '~he said. "You have not the slightest ground for blaming your- self. I was fully aware of the uncertainty of success; and, more than that, I had your own warning. I thought then that the merest chance was worth a trial, and I think so now. I have so little to regret, that I would freely do it all over again. Therefore, you see how misplaced any suf- fering of yours would be. You have not harmed me. No man ever yet was harmed by loving a pure woman, however hopeless that love might be, and it is only a coward who repines over the inevitable. You need not be afraid of that, Valerie; time will heal the wound, even if it can never efface the scar." He spoke cheerfully, even with an at- tempt at lightness, which touched her more than any despondency could have done. Once more the warm tears rushed forth, as she knew that he was bidding her good-by, and she only managed to whisper a few last words. "Charley, don't regret me! If you only knew what I am-indeed, indeed, I am not worth one throb of pain from.such a heart as yours." He only smiled faintly by way of reply. "Whatever my future life may know of love, you will still stand forever apart from all other women in my remembrance," he said. "There !-good-by. God only knows when we shall see each other again." He left her fairly sobbing. Yet, when the hall door closed with that dreary clang which echoes "Good-by" so mournfully, she gathered back something of her usual composure and self-control. It was all over -over and beyond recall completely, so that refining was, as he had said, worse than useless, -and all the tears of all the bright eyes that ever wept could not ease his beart- ache of one pang. There was a good deal of the philosopher, and still more of the fatalist, in Valerie's composition; and, more than any thing else, it was the realization of their uselessness which helped to dry her tears. She had just dashed the last glit- tering drop away, and had risen to go to her own room, when once more the door opened, and once more Darcy stood on the threshold. He made ~no. pause this time, but ad- page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 YALEIIII vanced directly into the room, until he met the woman whom he loved in exactly the same spot where he had faced the man whom he hated. Then they stood looking at each other almost as long and as silently a~ the two who were friends once had done in that other meeting. It was only the old story with both-the story older even than Love -the uplifting of idols; and finding theni pos- sessed of feet of clay. They had not been very deeply steeped in the glamour of pas- sion; each had fancied that he saw more than enough of mortal fault and mortal in- firmity in the other; each had thought, as lovers like to think, of the change and im- provement to be wrought in the nature knit unto his own; and, as their little disagree- ment of the night before had proved, each recognized the fact that there were many angles and outlines of character that might jar roughly together. Vet what of all this? They4had faith, and love, and trust, between them; they might differ or fail to correspond on unimportant points, but they had perfect and entire belief in one another; while now -Ah, it was no wonder they gazed at each other in that sad, bitter silence. The dark- ness of desolation was upon them ; for at their feet lay the shattered fragments of what they had possessed not twelve hours before, and what all the powers of earth could not give back to them now. Darcy was the first to speak, with grave though somewhat formal composure. "I am sure you do methe justice to be- lieve, Miss Aylmer, that my intrusion, a short time ago, was entirely accidental, and with- out any knowledge that I should find you engaged. I am sincerely sorry for the an- noyance I caused you, and I trust my en- trance did not shorten the visit of your-- your companion.~~ "No," Valerie answered, as coldly as he had spoken, "Th~ Ilautaine was on the point of leaving when you entered." lie glanced involuntarily toward the sofa where he had found them-she weeping, and Charley bending over her-before he spoke again. Then it was in the same tone. "Among the letters which I received this morning was one at which I barely AYLMER. glanced, and on which I failed to bestow even a moment's attention. I did not destroy it, however, because I wanted to find, if possible, some clew to the writer. Here it is. Will you read it?" lb drew several letters from his pocket as he spoke, selected one, and handed it to hei~ with an air of distant courtesy which at once recalled the first days of their acquaintance. She took it with a sort of preoccupied ~qui- etude - wondering certainly, but scarcely enough to rouse her to even ordinary inter- est. At this supreme moment of her life-- this moment quivering with great issues- what heed or care had she for any thing that could be contained in any letter that was ever written? So, although she took it with- out demur, she opened it carelessly, and still more carelessly ran her eye over the first lines; then there came a start, and a flash of blood to her face: but, although the hand which held the envelope closed over it tight- ly, she read on, without pause or comment, to the end. Yet this was what it proved to be: A letter purporting to emanate, not from the usual anonymous "friend," but from an avowedly anonymous enemy. There was* none of the usual cant concerning a sense of duty in the affair; but, on the contrary, the writer spoke with very candid bitterness. "I don't pretend to take any interest in you," the unknown said, "t~nd it is not at all for your sake that I take the trouble to give these particulars, but Valerie Aylmer in~ flicted a deep wrong on me once-when or how does not matter-and I have waited for many a long day to pay my debt in kind. Nothing will be easier than for you to ascer- tain the truth or falsehood of all I assert, since there is scarcely a man or woman in LoUisiana who is not able to vouch for every thing I say. If you think fit to disregard the warning, I can wish you no worse pun~ ishment than that which will speedily over- take you; I can wish you no more bitter memory than that of your wedding-day, even though you receive with your bride the magnificent dower of the heiress of a million- naire.'~ Then followed a record which would have made the cheek of any woman burn with rage and shame. All her old gay FACE T coquetries were brought up against her in blackeniug array. The names and the bare outline of facts were given accurately, but every incident was distorted, every folly mag- nified, every indiscretion heightened, every result darkened, until she who had dealt only in that light, playful warfare which never yet worked serious ill to ~ny head or heart, was painted as a sort of baleful enchantress, somewhat after the model of those who have lately figured in the pages of a certain class of fiction. Poor Valerie! Her sins, if sins they could be called, had lately been falling heavily enough upon her head, but this seemed the last drop in the cup. Still she read on-on through the cunning mixture of falsehood and fact-until she reached the climax of the whole. That climax was her life-long qfl'airo with Ilautaine. There, in pitiless black and white, she read the history that had culminated and ended forever that day. There was not much exaggeration in this, nor much need for it, and, save as regard- ed the statement of an absolute engagement existing between them when she left Louisi- ana, there was scarcely a single assertion that it was possible for her to deny. Of course they bore a different interpretation from that of reality, but then who of us have not, at some time of our lives, felt powerless before this? Can we bring back the dead acts of the past, and shdw what a difference in their seeming the circumstances of the time, or the subtlety of intention made? Can we refute the words of our own lips by putting back into them the vanished spirit which made their living meaning so different from their cold, dead evidence? Ah, never! And it was this chill certainty which gath- ered round Valerie's heart, as she looked up at last, with a single monosyllable: "Well?" "Do you recognize the hand, or any turn of words, that can tell you who the writer is?" Darcy asked, quietly. "I should like to know." She looked down' again for a moment, and then shook her head, as she handed it back. "Ko," she said, wearily; "and-- what does it matter? The post-mark is New Orleans; but I cannot think I left any enemy at home who would stab me in the O FACE 151 dark like this. We Louisianians ma~ hate to the death, but we never express our hatred like cowards. I would rather not conjecture any thing about it, for I am sure my conjecture would fail to touch the right mark, and I could never forgive myself if I wronged my worst enemy by such i~ sus- picion. Besides, as I said before, ~what does it matter? I see it hasdone its work.. I see you believe it." "Believe it!" he repeated, and ~ll~ his outward calm suddenly vanished before the generous light that flashed into his, face. "Believe it 1-this vile thing? What do you take me for? See 1--this is how much I be- lieve it." He crushed it in his hand as he spoke, and the next instant it lay shrivelling on the glowing coals that heaped the grate- sent there by one quick gesture. Then he faced round upon her, with a sudden passion of resolve in his eyes. "That is how much I believe iii" he said. "There is the measure of credence I give its calumnies I Have you forgotten so soon what I told you last night? Have you forgotten already that my honor is pledged to receive only one evidence concerning you -the evidence of your ow~i lips? If I showed you this letter, it was only that you might justify yourself-that you might ex- plain what I saw here this morning, which seemed to come in such apparent confirma- tion of all that was written there." The frank chivalry of the man's nature rang in every tone of loyal trust and truth -yet what a dull, heavy echo it was that Valerie's heart gave back! Justify herself! As if justification was possible in the sense he meant it! A cold torpor seemed creep- ing over her, as she answered, almost me- chanically: "Why do you trouble me? It is evident that you have already judged me unheard. Why not condemn me unheard also?" "Am I not waiting to bear you now?" he asked, quickly. "If I had judged you unheard, do you think I should have cared. to enter your presence again, after the scene I witnessed scarcely half an hour 'ago?- after the: words you uttered when you turned against me .to take the part of the4 V page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 VALERIE man who has injured me beyond repair? Have you forgotten all this? And does it look like condemnation?" "No, I have not forgotten," she an- swered, with the same listless quietude; "but I have nothing to say. Your very questions prove that you do suspect me; and I did not need your conduct to Charley to prove how hard and stern you can be. I have no intention of implori4 your mercy as he did. Perhaps it will be best that every thing should end, for I do not think we are likely to learn even a moderate de- gree of tolerance for each other. I might bear severity; but I should revolt once f9r all against cruelty-and you who suspect so early, would hardly grow more trusting as time went on. And yet-" Her voice broke down here,. for a sud- den remembrance of what she was doing, of what she was ending, rushed over her. If Darcy had spoken one word of love or trust then, all might have been welL But the coldness of her repulse stung him deep- ly-him who was very far from being a model hero of romance, but only a man un- reasonable and loving, like other men; a man who had striven hard to put his just doubts aside, and ask as a favor the explana- tion which he might have demanded as a right, and who found this requital very bitter. So he took up her sentence, finish- ing it coolly~ "And yet happiness seemed very near to us last night. lint you may be right; we may be too unlike ever to agree. It would seem so, at least, since you will not give me one single proof of good faith. It is only afew words I ask; but perhaps you had better consider before you even think of speaking them. lam undoubtedly a stern, even a hard man-though I scarcely think a cruel one-and a man who, ha always received obedience from others, cannot dis- pense with it in my wife. That point is best made clear at once. And, if impulse swayed you yesterday, don't allow compas- sion to influence you to-day; or, in other words, do not think of me. I have lived without love in the past, and* I can live without it in the future. Think only of yourself, and decide only for yourself." AYLMER. Alas! If she had thought only o~ her- sell; she would have held out her hauds to him with one cry of weary relief, and closed her eyes forever to all the doubt around her. It might have been the wisest course to adopt; but she was not the woman to see this. On the contrary, his hard tone hardened her in turn. She contrasted it with the tones that 80 shortly before had echoed in that room. He could not speak thus, she thought, if he had ever felt one throb of real passion. If he had desired to hear the words of which he spoke, he would never have pleaded for them like that. So the moment of opportunity rolled by for both, and, when she spoke, it was half haughtily. "This is very useless indeed. I have not forgotten your judgment of Charley; and, if I humiliated myself as you desire, I would only bring down such another on my own head. Even now you4alk of hearing me; but I should be blind indeed if I did not see that you believe me to have been engaged to him, even when I accepted yourself." The tone of the assertion made it a qucs- tioi~, and she paused as if for an answer. After a moment, one came-steady and firm. "Remembering what I witnessed here half an hour ago, I am constrained to say that I hope so." Had she looked at the matter for a mo- ment, from his point of view, she might have acknowledged the justice of this; but, as it was, all tenderness, all regret, all memory of the past, all hope of the future, vanished, leaving only the sense of keen injustice. "You insult me!" she cried, passionate- ly. "You insult me, as I have never been insulted before in all my life! And, after that, do you expect me to justify myself in your eyes? A thousand timesno! Ifyon can believe that I deceived you so shame- fully, believe it! Only do me the justice to believe also that I shall never offer you any proof to the contrary. You may credit all that-that letter said, if you choose! If you think I could act in such a manner, why, it does not matter in the least whether I really did it or not. The capability is the only point of importance. And poor Char- PAYING ley-~my poor friend! To think that your hate should follow him so bitterly that you must use his honest love by means of which to brand me with duplicity! If you only knew what a comparison you are forcing me to institute! If you only knew how utterly he would scorn the part you are playing now !-he who has never broken a pledge, or uttered a vow that was falsehood-he who has never harbored an unworthy sus- picion, or made love the tool of interest. But then-he has never been tempted by the glitter of an inheritance." She scarcely knew how her flood of bitter passion would terminate, until the last words passed her lips. Then she gave a great gasp, for she saw that it was all over; that no repentance, no regret, could undo it now. Any other taunt, any other charge, might have been forgiven-but never this! Even as she looked, the features hardened, and into the deep-gray eyes there flashed a quick gleam; yet he gazed at her almost incredulously for a moment, before he an- swered. Then it was with very proud dig- nity. "You are not yourself at present," he said. "I think you are scarcely conscious of how much your words imply; so I do not consider it necessary to resent them. In your cooler moments, you will see the in- justice of such a charge; but, even if not,' it hardly matters. You were right a little while ago, in saying that this had better end. You do not deny the existence of another engagement when you accepted me; in. confirmation of which I cannot help recalling your reluctance to make a pub- 1 lie acknowledgment of that acceptance. I Whether you meant to keep faith with him or with me, I have no means of knowing; but your grief at his departure, your pas- sionate espousal of his cause, leave me no room to doubt that your heart at least was in his keeping, even while you promised your hand tome. Of how little worth a hand so t given would be, it is~not for me to say. ~ Then you have seen fit to charge me with ~ deliberate falsity. That alone would end c all between us. And now, I have only one t thing to add. If you merely wished to grati- g fy your vanity by another triumph, it is EIIS DEBT. 153 yours. But it would afford you scant grati- fication if you could know the sentiments whi~h have forever taken the place of love toward you. You have done your worst and your last. It will never again be in your power to inilict another pang upon mc." The grave, chill tones ceased-the tones so entirely without one modulation of pas- sion, that they sounded like the inexorable fiat of Fate-and then he walked deliberately to the door. It opened and closed upon him. Silence complete and deep settled over all things; and, as Valerie sat motion- less, she felt as if her life had cometo an end then and there. -4---. CHAPTER VI. PAYiNG HiS DEBT. "Wny, Hautaine, my dear fellow, is this really yourself? By Jove! I am delighted to see you!'~ It was the most frank and cheery voice in the world that spoke thus, as Hautaine, absorbed in his own moody thoughts, was striding along the lower part of Charles Street. The touch of a hand on his shoul- der accompanied the words, and turning sharply-almost impatiently-he met the cordial eyes and more cordialface of Harry Axle. A misanthrope could hardly have failed to thaw at such a genial sight; and Ilautaine was the farthest the world from L*ing a misanthrope; so he held out his taud with something not very unlike his isual air of good-fellowship. "Arle, isn't it?" he said. "There's a rood deal of change, but still I think I recognizee my~ six-months' companion on a I~exas gunboat." "Ah, yes, we didn't dress this way in hose days," the other said, gayly, "~ but rt~'importe? They were the very best of !ays-the cream of life-and we know each ther when we meet, despite the tailor and he barber. I wish I could tell you how lad I~m to see you again!" "And I you," said Hautaine, sincerely; page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 VALERIE AYLMER. PAYING 1115 DEBT. 155 * enough, though ten minutes before he would have done any thing reasonable to avoid the encounter. As it had come about, however, he accepted it philosophically, and was not the mau to chill an old comrade's honest warmth by coldness or indifference. "And to think that this is our first meeting since we blew up the old Chicora, and. shook hands on the beach with the in- tention of running for our lives in different directions!" ArIQ continued, as theyloosed the friei~dly grasp of their hands, and walked on together. "What have you been doing with yourself in the interim? Some- body said you had turned free lance, and gone to the Holy Empire of Mexico.~~ "Somebody was quite right as far as * turning free lanc4 went," Hautaine an- swered, "but as for the Holy Empire of* Mexico-I must really be excused, if I prefer some service where a long rope or a quick bullet are not the invariable rewards of merit." "But you haven't been in Louisiana ever since you lowered your flag, have you?" "No-I have been in Paris most of the * time." "Ab, happy fellow! "said Arle, with a very genuine air of envy. "If that's your place of service, I should have no objection to turning free lance myself. And what in the name of wonder brings you from Paris to Baltimore?" He asked the question heedlessly, and the next moment felt as much embarrassed as a man who has made an egregious blun- der, and is conscious of it, can possibly feel. He had been long in Louisiana, and suffi- ciently among Louisiana men, to hear most of the gossip afloat about La belle iea beZlea, and he knew that this gossip had coupled her name ~nore often with Hautaine's than with any other among her many lovers and countless admirers. He remembered her presence in Baltimore, and-~.-well, the rest was So clear that h~ felt very ~nuch ashamed of his stupidity, and hastened on hurriedly, beforehis companion could reply. "I hope you mean to spend some time among tie. We can't; of course, offer any attractions to. a travelled cosmopolitan who is freshfrom Les Italiens slid Y~ry'sbutwe can show you some pretty women-though the prettiest comes from your own state-. and you'll meet plenty of old comrades who wrn be delighted to see you. "I need not say how much I should en- joy both," Hautaine answered as truthfully, perhaps, as the most of us answer when we say such things; "but the fact is, I am Southward bound this afternoon." "Necessarily?" "Necessarily." "Indeed I am heartily sorry to hear it "- and for once the commonplace words had in them the ring of genuine sincerity-" I was just thinking of several people who would he wonderfully charmed to see you, and wonderfully chagrined to miss. that pleasure. You remember Lawton?" "Of the James River fleet? Undoubted- "Well, he was talking of you only the other day. And then there's Conway-Jack Conway-you surely know him? He was 7' in the old service. "Know him!" and the abstracted eye suddenly brightened with pleasure. "I should think I did indeed! We went out as midshipmen together on our first cruise. The best fellow !-Is he really here?" "He realty is. And Darford, and Mere- dith, and-and plenty more. So you see it is impossible for you to go, without at least one reunurn to put us in mind of the past. Come! Defer your departure until to-mor- row afternoon, and take supper with me to- night. Every man of them shall be there to bid you welcon~e. Do you say yes?" Ilautaine hesitated. The frank invita- tion was not nearly so much of a tempta- tion as it should have been. But he felt so reckless, indifferent about almost everything, that he was half inclined to say "yes," from pure indolence about saying "no." There. was no earthly reason why he should hot defer his departure twenty-four hours, and he could more easily drown thought in a jovial supper-party, than wal~dng the deck of the Portsmouth boat. And yet he hesi- tated. Itmighthave been his guardian angel that caused him to do so; that whispered im his ear so urgently, "Go;" that wade him so strangely averse to delay; but, if so, the ad- vice was not a whit more regarded than that of guardian angels usually is. "You'll stay?" Arle said, who saw how the scale was turning. And the other answered, with a reckless defiance of instinct: "It is very good of you to urge it, and yes-~-I'll stay." So the weight fell heavily in the scale of fate, and the matter was settled. He stayed. It was by no means a large or very noisily convivial party who assembled that evening to do justice to Arle's hospitality; and their enjoyment was that of men who were accustomed to do things decently and in order. They were all "old Confed~rates," all men whose laughing glances had looked on danger and death in countless guise, whose bronzed faces had taken sunshine and rain as either came, on the deck or in the camp-with but one exception. This exception, strange to say-and it accounted for something of a cloud on the sunny brow of the young host-was Julian Romney. 41t's deucedly unpleasant," he said, in answer to an aside interrogation on the subject, from Thornton; "I know that as well as you do, but-I couldn't help it without next thing to insulting the fellow, lie was with Dar- ford when 1 asked 1~im, and-well, I thought it would not matter much, and I might as well be civil once in a way. I think we've all rather cut him of late, and he feels it." "So it's a philanthropic thing you're in for doing?" Thornton answered, with a shrug. "I wish you joy of your subject; but I'm sadly afraid you've spoiled your party. There's not a man here who even barely likes Romney; and he's so devilish bad-tempered of late that there's no count-. ing on consequences. However, I'll do my best to keep the peace-perhaps we have been a little harden him-but don't pu1~ me opposite him. That face of his would be intolerable to me."~ But perhaps the most thoroughly sur- prised and least pleased of the party was Hautaine himself, when the stranger was presented to him, and he remembered his close connection with the Yacquant family. A hot, sharp pang of jealousy shot through. and through him, as he looked at the hand- some face-handsome yet, although evil lines had been ploughed around the beautiful mouth, and on the smooth white brow-and thought in his heart that this young Adonis must necessarily be the rival who had stolen. from him the prize of his life. And it chanced that, as he thought this, with wistful, honest envy, Arle said, suddenly: "By-the-by, I am very sorry that Darcy could not join us. I don't suppose you ever met him, Hautaine; but he served in Yir- ginia during the whole war, and is the most capital fellow you can imagine. It's rather curious, too, that we were speaking of Mexico, this morning,; and he tells me he's going there." This unexpected statement created so much of a sensation, that no one noticed Hautaine's silence or his change of color. "What, Darcy going to Mexico!" "The deuce! You Tnust be mistaken." "It's rather late in the day for that!" "I can't believe it possible!" "When did he say so? Are you sure about it, Hal?" "lam perfectly sure that he told me so," Arle answei~ed; "and I don't think he's a man to say one thing and mean another-or to say a thing, even if he means it, and then change his mind. I~went to his studio and found him busy packing up so I naturally inquired if he was going to change the apart- ment. He said yes-for good. Naturally, again I asked, 'How so?' and then he said that he leaves for New York to-night, and' sails to-morrow for Havre." "And do you call that Mexico?" put in an incredulous listener. "No-I don't. And neither did he. Of course, I sald-sincerely enough too-bow sorry we shall be to lose him; and then I asked him if he meant to set up an ateli~r in Paris. The answer was, that ha was tired of paii~.ting, and, in less than a month, he ex- pected to be in Mexico." "But what for?" demanded two or three, impatiently. At which the Signor Arie shrugged his shoulders. "Who can say, mes amie? Do you al- page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 158 VALERIE AYLMER. PAYING HIS DEBT. 15,T ways kilow what you intend to do, and why you mean to do it? Darcy simply told me what I tell you, that he is tired of painting -I have heard him say that before-that he liked action, that. he wasn't tired of fightiiig, and that he meant to go to Mexico and get enough of it-~voila tout!" "I'erhaps he thinks Maximilian will make him a duke or a marshal," said Dar- ford, lazily. "Perhaps you will pass the decanter at your elbow," Thornton said, "and we'll drink to his success and happiness, wher- ever he 'goes. He is one of the few men, whom I ever met, that I am sorry to see drop out of my life. It's rather early in the evening for toasts, but still, as long as he's on the tapis, let us pledge him in the wine he is not here to enjoy." So they pledged him deeply, and, as Romney set down his glass, he looked at Hautaine with a glance which the latter met and understood as little as possible. How could he, indeed, be supposed to know that this man, whom he esteemed his fa- vored rival, was just then thinking with bitter rage that he-Hautaine-had by his success sent the lover of yesterday out of their common path. "Curse him! He musthave won the day after all!" Romney thought;. and then he set his teeth together with a sudden, savage resolve which did not accord very well with the gay tonesand peals of laughter, the lights and wi.ue, and gener- ally festive ainof all things around them. For the next bour or two1 however, ev- ery thing went on. as smoothly and pleas- antly as a host's 'heart. could desire. They all kneW each other so well, they had gone through so much of adventure together, and lovedand drank and fought in intimate com- radeship so long, that there was nothing whatever to chill or repress the genial warmth that pervaded every thing said or done, even to the very stories and jests6 Roinney conducted himself in quite an irre- proachable manner: he said little, for remi- niscences of field and flood were not exactly in his way, but that little was in very good taste, and only one or two of those who sat nearest him noticed that he drank more constantly and deeply than any one else at the table. He was so accustomed to this, however, that it had no perceptible effect on his head, when, by some chance, the conversation veered round to-Darcy again. "I shall never forget ])arcy's gallantry that day," one of the party said-he had been telling~ a campaigning anecdote of some description or other-'~ he was serv- ing on R-'s staff then, and there was no earthly reason for his going into the fight with us; but he did-as a volunteer, you know.-and distinguished himself wonder- fully. Maximilian may be glad to see such nerve and pluck coming into his empire, I can tell you. But, then, I can't help think- ing that the move is a confoundedly queer one-ifl~ him." "Certainly the land of the Montezumas is about the last place in the world that 1 should care about finding myself in just now," said Conway. "I remember the last time I was at Vera Cruz-" "Yellow fever, or a revolution, was there also, no doubt," said Thornton, in- terrupting him. "We'll take either fact for granted; but I decidedly *object to your spinning another long-winded yarn. You've only told half a dozen already this evening. But you're right about Darcy. It's so very queer, this move of his-that for once, 1 have some curiosity to know a little of motive and meaning. Can't any- body throw any light on the subject?" "If it wasn't Darcy," said Arle, with a laugh, "I should think that I detected the mark of feminine claws in the business; but he is quite above such a suspicion." "No man is above it," said Darford, sen- tentiously. "We are all fools, sooner or later; and why n~ot Darcy, like the rest of us? He has been very attentive to Miss Rivi~re lately-mayn't she have proved hard-hearted?" "You might as well talk of a canary's proving hard-hearted," Thornton an~were4, impatiently. "She's ,a perfect child, in the first place, and one of the~ women who couldn't say~ no to anybody, if her life de- pended on it, in the second." "She said it to one late lamented friend, Godon Bird, without much hesitation," Dar- ford rejoined. "I have that much of knowledge, for I was penned in a corner, and heard the whole declaration. She did it very neatly too, I can tell you; and fin- ished up poor Bird so completely, that he donned his feathers, and took flight for some other region next day." "And you call that a case in point?" asked Ark. "Any woman in her sane senses would have said no to that fool; but as for Darcy-the thing's absurd. Besides, I don't believe he ever thought of falling in love with her. She's pretty enough; but she's more in your style than his." "I'll leave the matter to Romney. He's been living in the house with both of them, so he ought to know," Darford answered. "Julian, old fellow, can you tell us who's right?" Julien looked up quickly, with a sudden light in his eyes which the other did not understand-a light of exultation at seeing his chance so soon and so clear. "Neither of you is' right," he an- swered. "Miss Rivi~re has no more to do with Darcy's movements than I have; but -I wonder you never thought that he had been very closely under the guns of a more dangerous woman than she will ever be, if she lives a hundred years." * "By Jove!" cried more than one voice. "You don't mean that La belle des belles has crippled him too?" Julian turned round to Hautaine, with a smile. "I mean," he said, "that Mr. Hautaine can sat~fy your curiosity on that score bet- ter than I, and that he can also tell you exactly why Captain Darcy's resolution to go to Mexico has only been formed since his own arrival in Baltimore." The 'wor ls fell clearly and distinctly on every ear at~ the table, and every eye turu~ed at once' to Hautaine's face-the face that had 'suddenly grown pale and full of star- tled surprise. The attack was as unexpect- ed as any thing couhl, possibly have been; but it did not deprive him entirely of self- possession; on the contrary, he answered, readily and coolly: "I don't understand you, Mr. Romney. Perhaps you will be kind enough to explain yourself." "The matter is scarcely worth an expla- tion," Julian answered, carelessly. "We all know the old proverb about ignorance be- ing bliss, and we also know-most, of us- Miss Aylmer's fttvorite modes of disposing of her troublesome admirers." "It is a matter of profound indifference to me what you may or may not know," Hautaine answered coldly, "except in thus far-that neither you nor any other man has ever known, or can ever know, any thing of MisS Aylmer whinh is not to her hoAor and credit." Julian laughed-a sneering laugh which made the blood stir angrily in the veins of more than one of his listeners-and then answered in the same clear, musical voice: "It is a very fine thing to be chivalric, Mr. Hautaine, especially about the woman whom you wish, or expect, or intend, to marry. But it's rather late in the day to take that tone about the most notorious flirt in America. I don't pretend to know how the matter was settled between Darcy and yourself or how Miss Ayhner made good her story to either of you; but I do know ihat she was engaged yesterday to the man who, whether filter orjilted, isgoing to Mexico to-day." Hautaine gave one uncontrollable start. It was impossible that he could have avoided it, since the thought of any thing between Valerie and Dercy flashed on him for the first time with overwhelming surprise. His mind went back like lightning to the scene of that day-the scene when she had come between them end taken his part-and he gave a gasp, half of astonishment, half of incredulity. He was so taken by storm, as it were, that for a mome~it he could not an- swer Romney. Then, it was more the con- ventional instinct than any thing else that made him say: "And whether this be true or not-you must excuse me if I say that ~the presump- tive evidence is all against it-will you al- l~w me to inquire in what manner it con- cerns you?" Julian looked at him for a moment before he answered, slowly: "It concerns me exactly as ut concerns any one else-yourself for instance~-~wbo 156 15* page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 'Y~LERIE AThMER. TOUT EST PERDU. 159 has contributed to the amusement antI en- joyed the favors of La belle de8 belles." The tone of this sentence made its insult to the woman whose name he spoke so ap- parent, that it was the yoi~ng~ host who said quickly. "Romney, you forget yourself. This is no mode in which to ~l.is~uss a lady. Let us ~chan~& the subject." "No," Hautaine interrupted, before any one 'else could ~jeak. "Don't change the subject before I have said one word to Mr. Ilomney. He has thought fit to put me in the same category with himself, as having couttibuted to the amusement and enjoyed the favors of' Miss Aylmer. What my con- nection with her has been, doas not concern him in the least; but his conduct to-night has proved that, if he ever contributed to her amusement, it was too much honor for a man who cannot speak of her as befits a gentle- man; and that the only favors he could ever have enjoyed must have been in common with the servants who place chairs and open doors for her." "Do you mean-" Julian began, hotly, when Thornton's hand fell on his shoulder. "That is quite enough, Mr. Romney," he said, sternly. "This is not a drinking- saloon, where you can quarrel and fight as you please; and 'we are not blacklegs, but gentlemen. You have strangely forgot- ten several things to-night; among others, courtesy to your host, when you attack one of his guests in this unprovoked manner." It is doubtful if Julian even heard the words, forcibly uttered as they were, for he only sl1ook off the restraining hand, and fin- ished his sentence~to the young Louisianian, who looked at him with eyes full of con- temptuous disdain across the table: "t~o you mean to insult me, Mr. Hau- tame?" "I had no such intention," Hautaine an- swered, coolly; "but you can construe my words as you please." "You will answer for them, then?" "No," he replied, scornfully. "I should not dream of beingguilty of such a disrespect to Miss A~4mer as to allow her name to be drawn any further into a discussion where it has no right to be at all. I have told you 'what I think of yourself and your state- ments, and that is all I shall do.--Arle, you ~were right a little while ago - shall we change the subject now?" But it was hardly worth while to do so, for all their pleasant spirit and ease seemed suddenly to have forsaken the party. Of course they made an effort to be gay and genial once more; but it was so palpably an effort, that the failure 'which ensued was only what might have been expected. If Romney would have done the only proper thing, i. e., gone away, perhaps they might have got over it after awhile; but how was it possible to be any thing hut awkward and uncomfortable with that overcast presence in their midst? So they drank their wine absently, and talked heavily on business, and politics, and the like topics, but nobody even attempted to go back to the themes of adventure and daring which had stirred them into such warm life a short time before. They were all gentlemen, and so, accustomed to submit unhesitatingly to the conventionalities of social life; but the ruder instincts of the man made. more than one of them look at Romney, and think how pleasant it would be to rid themselves of him by a very summary process of eject- ment. Before long, Arle made the move- ment to leave table, and then, while 'the rest were scattered about the room smoking, he drew Julian aside. "lam the last man in the world to wish to revive anything unpleasant," he said, "but I am sure that, if you think a moment, Rom- ney, you will see that you owe Hautaine an apology. He is not only entitled to special courtesy as a stranger among us, but he has been a life-long friend of the Aylmer family. Of course I take it for granted that you did not know this, or you could not have spo- ken as you did. It only makes it the more imperative, though, that you should apolo- gize. "And suppose I decline to do so?" Ju- han asked, sullenly. The other looked at him with surprise, that had not a little of contempt in it. ~ "I am totally unable to suppose such a t ing," he answered, gravely. "You do not forget, I am sure, the obligation of courtesy which rests upon us as Baltimoreans and as gentlemen. You cannot even forget what you owe to me-since you insulted my guest at my table. But if you should for- get these things-" "Well," said Juhian, in a tone of defi- ance, as he paused, "if I should forget them -what then?" "Why, then," said die young Maryland- er, haughtily, "the matter becomes person- al between us two; and, as no man living owes a deeper debt of gratitude to Miss Ayl- mer than I do, I shall take upon myself the duty of demanding full retraction and apol- ogy for the sneer cast on her a little while ago." "This is all nonsense, Mr. Arle, and you ought to know it as well as I do," said Ju- han, bruskly. "I am not a man to be browbeaten; and I haven't the slightest in- tention of retracting or apologizing for any thing I may have said or insinuated about Valerie Aylmer. If you are anxious for a quarrel, I am not likely to balk your humor. If notI shall have the honor of wishing you good-evening." The calm insolence of his tone provoked Arle, as it might have provoked even a milder man. He looked at him with quick, contemptuous scorn, when he answered in a tone that did full justice to the words: "You can go, if you like, of course; but I hope you will be kind enough to strike my name from your list of acquaintances after to-night. I gave you credit before this for slandering like a woman; but I didn't give you credit for refusing to accept the conse- quences like a man." "That is quite enough," Julian said, in a tone of suppressed passion.' "I see it is the quarrel you want, and you might have had it without this last insult. I take it for granted that you're not so pacific as your friend, and that you mean to answer for your words." "I am at your service," the other an- swered, coldly. Then, with a formal bow on each side, they part&1. An hour or two later, all the prelimi- naries of the meeting were arranged, and this was how Harry Arle paid his debt to Valerie Aylmer. CHAPTER VII. TOUT EST PEBDU. AFTER Darcy left her, no one saw any thing more of Miss Aylmer. She went to her own room, and, locking the door, refused admittance to every one, even to Alix. There was a dinner-party arranged for that evening, which caused Madame Vacquant to send up several appeals for her presence; but the same inflexible refusal was returnedd to all. For once in her life, lee COflA)C7Z~flCC8 had lost all power over Valerie; and sh~ ~who only a short time before thought ~he would have died ore a single pang of hers should have .been~exhibited to curious or malignant eyes-she, like many another, when the test came, found that theQry and practice are essentially different th5i~igs. The same impulse took her to her chitrk ber, and closed her door upon the outer'woz'ld, that takes a wounded wild animal io its lair to suffer-it may be even to die-alone. How much she suffered, she could not have told herself; for the blow had been so sudden and sharp that it partially deadened sensation; and the time remained in her after-memory almost a blank. She could only recall the utter and forlorn abandon- ment of misery that seemed to weigh upon her, as sh~ tested the first bitterness of her desolation. She could only recall a dim pic- ture of herself; as she sat by the window, watching, in a sort of passive stupor, the falling snow, and listening to the church clocks as they told the passage of time that had lost all significance for her. The sounds of the house and of the street came as to muffled ears. The hours passed, but left not a token of their flight behind them; and when the day wore on, and at last the shades of night began to close over the scene on which she gazed, she could scarcely have told whether the 6onsciousness of this was most relief or pain. That day, which should be marked in black as the most mis- erable of her life, was past. But then, what an interminable vista of other days stretched before her! To-morrow, and to- morrow, and to-morrow! They were all to bear, all to suffer, all to live through- page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 VAL1~RIE AYLMJIB. TOUT EST PERDU. 161 alone 1 This prospect, which is bitter some- times even to the naturally patient and well disciplined, was something far more than bitter to this uticurbed, rebellious nature. She told herself with fierce emphasis, that it was unendurable, that sh~ would never bear it; and then she broke down in a burst of burning tears, because she felt in her in- most heart that the barrier against which she dashed herself was granite; and that, come what woulc~ of grief or pain; she must endure, she must bear it. She had sown the seed: she must reap the harvest. There was nothing for It but resignation; and yet the mere thought of such a thing came to her as a mockery. Resignation I That might answer for the pale, heavy-eyed chil- dren of suffering and toil; for those on whom was branded deep the signet of fiery trials, for whom life was nothing save one long martyrdom; but for her-her in the royal zenith of her youth and power-her to whom enjoyment and pleasure, and the sweets of love, and the gifts of life, were all of right divine-how should she ever learn the grand lesson of those grand words which shehad spoken, with only a dim, half-heedful sense of their meaning, so short a time be- fore-" He who best knows how to endure, shall possess the greater peace I" At dark, Fanch ette brought up the coffee, which she considered the only proper thing for such a headache as Miss Aylmer was supposed to be suffering with. Then the blinds were closed, the fire replenished, and she was left again to silence. Then again the same lethargy crept over her, and she lay in a large chair, watching the glowing bed of coals as blankly as she had watched the feathery wreaths of snow, listening vaguely to the strains of music and echo of gay voices that floated up faintly from the drawing-room whenever the doors were opened, and wholly unconscious how late it was growing, until Fanchette came up at midnight sincerely surprised that she had not been summoned to her usual night duties of the toilet. Perhaps le. conve- nancee began to resume something of their sway, for her mistress murmured a half ex- cuse for the omission, and then prepared to go to bed. Once there, strange to say,~she slept deeply-slept the spent sleep of ex-. haustion. But this period of rest was not very long. The first gray gleam of morning waked her, as it streamed through a half- opened blind, ovei her bed. The first im- pulse was to turn her face away, and strive to win a little longer unconsciousness-but that was vain. The tyrant Thought had re- sumed his mastery, and sleep was impossi- ble. So sharp were the recollections which rushed over her, that almost unconsciously she sprang from her pillows as if they had been filled with thorns. Endurance-pas- sive endurance, at least--had reached its farthest limit. Come what would, she felt goaded to the last verge, she felt that she must for a time escape from herself. She looked round the walls of her room that yesterday had seemed to her a shrine of ref- uge; now it took the aspect of a prison. And then it was that there came another impulse-the impulse to carry her misery to the sanctuary, and lay it down before the altar where never yet a human soul has gone for comfort and failed to find it. She rose at once, and dressed herself quickly, scarcely observing the cold atmos- phere of her room, where the last night's fire had died away to blackness. Then she went down-stairs, and along the dark pas- sages, unfastened the heavy bolts with a good deal of difficulty, and let herself out of the front-door. The snow and sleet of the night before had changed to a fine rain, which the wind drove straight in her face as she hook her way down Charles Street; ~but she scarcely felt, and certainly paid no heed to it. The hour was so early that as yet there was scarcely any thing astir, or any- body to be seen, save a few milk-wagons, in the first place, and one or two drowsy police- men in the second. But when she opened the cathedral door a pleasant sense of warmth stole over her, and there were many kneeling forms scattered over the demi-ob- scure of the lt~rge church, the spacious aisles and lofty dome of which looked solemnly. vast as a few gas-lights which illuminated the seats nearest the altar strove vainly to pierce the general gloom. The priest was in the act of consecration when she entered, and a profound stillness reigned over all things-only broken now and then by the silver tinkle of the acolyte's bell giving warn~ ing of the elevation. The door clanged be- hind her, and her steps fell with an almost painful distinctness on the paved aisle; but there was no stir among the kneeling forms between whom she passed, not a head was lifted, not an eye turned from the altar, nor did a single lip cease its fervently-uttered prayer. This in itself was a relief-this in itself proved that she had come to one place in the world where curiosity does not find admittance, where the wretched and the weary may go, sure that no inquisitive glances will seek them out, and force upon them the scrutiny which they feel to be al- most more than they can bear. She sank down in one of the farther pews that had been left to darkness, and then, for a brief time, the sore heart found rest. She knew that the pang would return-all the sharper and sterner, perhaps-but for a time it was stilled. For a time, she could lay down the burden of error and grief, for a time sink in humiliation before the altar, and, with her eyes on the thorn-crowned head above her, say, "Lord, I am weak and frail-be Thou my strength." And it seemed to her alone -to her in her bitterness and rebellion- that the priest spoke when, turning round, he uttered the solemn "Sursum corda." Sursum corda! Ay, lift them up !-up from the clouds and mist of this troubled world !-up from the trials that meet, and the temptations that beset !-up from the ~weary struggle !-up from the failing flesh! -up from the constant sin !-up from the wrong, the strife, the suffering I-up to the glorious vision of a realm where neither sin nor pain shall have any more dominion over us! Two masses had been said before Vale- rie thought of leaving the church, and then it was only when a sick faintness-the result of physical exhaustion-r~shed over her, that she felt the necessity of doing so. Yet it was very hard to quit that serene sanctuary, to leave that one haven of rest and refuge, and go back to the fierce turmoil and dreary hopelessness of existence. She rose from her knees lingeringly, and yet more linger- ingly looked around her. ihe slight stir of 11 priests and acolytes at the high altar scarcely disturbed the pervading calm which brooded over the whole interior; and her heart-her poor, aching, yearning heart-seemed hushed and stilled by the ineffable peace. But long and painful entotion had done its work, and she felt that she must go, for even now a strange giddiness seized her, and a strange mist rose over all the objects at which she gazed. She walked slowly down the aisle, but at the door paused again. There was only one more step, and. the noise of the world would rush over her, the excitement of the world would claim her; so, crossing herself with holy water, she looked wistfully back toward the distant altar, the calm statues, the sanctuary lamp gleaming like a faint, pale star, and felt-was it an instinct? -as if she could not bear to go. But a little child, who was entering, held open the door for the beautiful lady who stood there so strangely motionless; two women stared at her as they came down the aisle together; and, waking to a knowledge of these things with a start, she drew down her veil and went away. She walked slowly homeward through the misty rain-how well she remembered afterward the aspect which every thing bore that morning !-thinking to herself that this was a type of what her life was to b~ here- after. This dull-gray sameness was to be hers, instead of the sunshine of love and hope that had made existence ~o fair and beautiful only yesterday. Yesterday! Was it only yesterday? It seemed as if it must. have been so long ago, as if the gulf which divided her from happiness was years, in- stead ofmerelyhours. Dimly these thoughts came to her, and her 'heart was throbbing once more with its sharp, sick pain, when she came in sight of her grandfather's door. She started. Perhaps her nerves were~ overwrought, but a sudden wild instinct of fear seized her as she saw several carriages standing there, and the first on which her eye rested was that of Dr. Preston. Mau- rice! Had any thing happened to 1~im 7 that was her only thought, as she hurried forward-and came face to face with him in* the door-way. He was standing there with a knot of page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 VALERIE two or three gentlemen, all speaking low, all looking as men only look when they have been brought in contactt with some great tragedy, and all of whom fell back in sudden, hushed silence when they saw who was ap- proaching. Darcy alone remained perfectly ~.till, and so it was that they met again-he pale and grave with the gravity of some awful certainty; she quivering and trem- bling all over with surprise *~nd apprehen- sion. "Maurice," she said, quickly, "what- what is thematter?" He made a step forward-a pitiful light in his eyes, that was quite apart from ten- derness, yet almost as deep-and, taking her hands, led her up-stairs and into the very room where they had parted yes- terday. By that time she felt that some terrible blow was hanging over her, and she looked at him in dumb, half-stunned ex- pectancy. "Tell me what it is!,, she said, with a sort of strange calm. Then he told her-how, she never re- membered-that there had been a fatal AYLMER. duel, axid that, since she had left the house an hour before, Julian Bomney had been brought into it, a corpse. He told her, but she heard him as in a horrible dream, and the sense of unreality onjy deepened when, before he finished speaking, the dcor was burst open, and a figure, terribk as the avenger of blood, rushed in upon her; a voice, awful as the voice of final judgment, poured out frantic imprecations on her head, and bade her know herself a mur- deress! How the scene ended, she neverknew; for all sights and sounds were soon merged into merciful nothingness. Horror, an~ guish, remorse, came too heavily on the worn braijri and exhausted heart. She lis- tened, without answer or appeal, to tile avalanche of accusation and reproach that never in all the years of life would cease to haunt her; and then, when others inter- fered, when her grandfather came and gen- tly forced his wife away, she looked up at Maurice Darcy with an expression of de- spairing misery which he never forgot, and fell heavily forward in a deep swoon. CHAPTER I. LE BEAU coNFflDflEfl. A uosy-w~n~ sunset in the south of France, a white chAteau hanging like an eagle's nest, half-way down a rocky slope, with a sunny valley below it, and a glorious mountain-range behind, a village nestling amid the trees beneath, a gray church-tow- er looming against the evening sky, a per- vading sense of all things soft and fragrant in the atmosphere, and a group-rather so- cial than gay-drinking their after-dinner coffee on the chAteau terrace, with the golden light failing through the leaves and marking many a flickering tracery of spray and tendril on the white dresses which two of the ladies wore. Foremost in this group was General Aylmer's soldierly figure and handsome face, the latter looking scarcely a day older for all the trouble and difficulty which had encompassed him before he drifted tempo- rarily into this quiet haven of rest. It was right hard, the general thought, that the perversity and folly of other people should fall on his shoulders, as if he had not worries enough and to spare of his own! But, then, his conscience said something to him concerning his. own share in the unpleasant matter. He remembered how much averse his daughter had been to the visit which ended so disastrously; he re- membered that she had gone to Baltimore only at his solicitation, and,~as he was the farthest in the world from a brute, he had put a very sensible constraint on himself and did not betray, by word or tone, the deep irritation which was perhaps his pre- dominant feeling toward everybody con- cerned-toward his father-in-law, for the absurd quixotism which had been at the root of the whole imbroglio; toward his daughter, for her obstinacy and wayward- ness; toward the unhappy boy, whose ill- fated passion had hurried himinto a bloody grave; but chiefly toward that man who was fighting far away under the tropic sun, with only the hard blows and poor pay of a soldier of fortune-the man whom Valerie Aylmer had never seen since she sank down at his feet on that awful day, the shadow of which was upon her yet. For no ono, looking at her as she leaned over the terrace balustrade in her. sweep- ing, ~white draperies, could have found one trace of the radiant charm that had kindled the fame of La belle des belles amid the orange-groves of distant Louisiana. Not that she was faded, but rather, that a sort of cloud had come over her. The beauty of feature, the 'clearness of tint, and the softness of glance, were still hers, even de- spite the long illness which had prostrated body and mind after the shock of Julian Romney's tragical death. But a subtle something had gone from her face, and there were ~iot wanting candid friends who declared' that in this very something lay the spirit and essence of her beauty. They made a point of placing the blame of it on her illness; but Valerie herself knew bet- ter. She knew that the change had struck BOOK V. f page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 VALERIE AYLMER. deeper than the mere outside garb of hu- manity; that an ineffaceable brand had been set upon all the fair freshness of her life; and that the woman who rose up from her sick-bed to bear existence and its stern bur- den of remorse, could never be one with the girl who had cast herself in passionate despair down upon it. It was in compliance with her own request that, immediately af- ter her recovery, General Aylmer took her abroad. "I want to see Eugene," she said, wistfully, "and I want to leave Amcrica% so far behind that I need never think of 3t again. Please, papa, let us go to France." So to France they went-to that sunny Pro- vence where Valerie's ancestorshad lived and died for countless generations, and where the young Confederate was supposed to b~ hard at work surveying a new line of railway. Gerald was perfectly competent to take care of every thing at home; so the general rented a modest chateau near Eugene's scene of labor, and settled himself for a temporary residence, hoping that the soft air and sunny smiles of this fair region might bring back health to his daughter's pale cheek-the cheek which was such a serious discomfort to a man who had a profound horror of gloom or sadness iii any shape. He also con- sidered that perhaps cheerful associates might do something toward making Valerie herself again; so he urged her to write to Allx ]I~ivbire, then in Leijfsic, and invite her to pay them a visit. "Poor little Alix! I know she will be glad enough to come," Valerie said, thinking more of the home-sick child than of herself; so she wrote the invitation, which was eagerly accepted - very much to Miss Fane's disgust. For, strangely enough, as it may seem, and yet it was not strange at all, Netta had accompanied her friend abroad. "You need somebody to take care of you," said this experienced friend, "~ind you must have somebody-for what is aman? I am old enough to do as I please, you know, and, thank Heaven, I have enough fortune left to pay my passage; so you need not say a word, Valerie-I am going." And Valerie, weary and sick, could only smile in the bright, tender face, and answer, "I haven't the least desire to say a word, dear. Themere sght of you is good for me; and I would rather hedi~ this news than any other in the world." So the warm-hearted Louisi- anian, who was, as she said, old enough to go her own way without molestation1 who was an orphan of moderate fortune, and who loved Valerie Aylmer better than she did her own sisters, packed her trunk, and an- nounced her intention so decidedly that no- body even thought of offering any opposition. She could not help being disgusted, however, when she heard that Alix Rivi~re had been summoned to share their retreat; and she absolutely reproached Valerie for yielding the point. "I know you don't want her your- self," she said, "and the general is foolish enough to think we can be 'cheered' by a child with her head full of ehzftbfl8 and admirers. She will be bored to death here; and then she will bore us to death, and that will be the end of it. I wish you had been more firm, Valerie." "I don't," said Valerie, in the languid tone which was in such strong contrast to her former brightness; "and you won't either, Netta, when you see her. Her head is no more full of ehijj'ons and admirers than yours is; and, although it will be painful, I shall be glad to see her again." "Painful! Of course it will be pain- ful; " thought Miss Fane, indignantly. "More so than she has any idea herself- poor dear! The general ought to be ashamed of himself; but then I suppose he oan't help it-being a man!" But it was a great relief to her anxiety when she saw the shy, gentle little creature in deep mourning, witJ~ soft eyes and quiet ways, who made her appearance, instead of the vivacious, self- possessed young lady of the period that her alarmed fancy had pictured. In five minutes, she saw why Valerie had made no opposition to this addition to their circle; and, although Alix had arrived only the day before, they were already good friends as they sat to- gether on the terrace, enjoying the close of that bright afternoon. There was only one stranger in the party, and he was leaning back against a broken moss-grown sun-dial, while his bright, clear eyes were roving from point to point like LE I3EAU 4 a humming-bird's movements. This was Eugene-Le 1~eau Cor~fiid&~-who had once made no mean fame for himself in the land from which he was now an exile. Like most of his countrymen, he was of goodly stature, and straight as a pine on a Carolina highland, with the small extremities that betoken good blood, and the indefinable ease of manner which attests good breeding, with a cast of feature that was moderately regular, and a complexion that had been originally florid, but was now bronzed by outdoor life to a healthy brown, save where the white brow lay like a snow-drift under the rich waves of brown hair. This hair matched exactly the eyes that always looked frank and sunny-let the brow above frown ever so darkly-and the long trooper mus- tache of the Confederate army-a mustache which might perhaps have been more silken, but could not possibly have been more lux- uriant. Altogether, the young evile was sufficiently attractive, even on the surface, to make it a matter of little wonder that al- most everybody fancied him on first sight, and liked him cordially on second. He was gay and pleasure-loving to a fault, but he had a certain power of concentration not often found united with a mould of charac- ter so much inclining to the volatile, which had frequently stood him in good stead. He was also one of a large class who take very little care of themselves, and of whom For- tune seems fond of taking a great deal- who are continually coming to grief in some unforeseen manner, and, like a cat, continu- ally failing on their feet. These are the kind of people for whom lucky chances abound; and who grow to expect them so confidently that they rarely think it necessary to stretch out a hand to make one for themselves- people who are always missing some good thing or other, that a little exertion wctuld have secured to them, and then being re- warded for this culpable carelessness by a still more golden favor showering down upon their graceless heads-people, altogether, with whom it is impossible not to find con- stant fault, and to whom it is equally impos- sible not to give warm and honest regard. Plainly, the young ex-colonel of artillery, and present sub-surveyor of civil enginee~'s, ~ONF~D1~R~. 165 had been accustomed, all his life, to obtain- ing his own way by force of arms, or force of any thing else that was necessary; and plainly, also, he had not changed his habit in changing his position. After the coffee was disposed of, the whole party had been silent for some time, not so much for absolute want of some- thi~ng to say, as from the pleasant indolence which is apt to seize people occasionally, and keep them quiet despite themselves. In accordance with a special request of the ladies, the two gentlemen were smoking, and only a few desultory remarks were ex- changed, a0 the golden light slowly faded from the gray church-tower with its glitter- ing cross, the valley lay in deep shadow, the mountains wrapped themselves about in pur- ple dusk, the sun went "down behind the western hill to die," and only on the terrace still lingered a rosy Claude light that seemed to throw a tone of sentiment over the group, when the diligence came slowly rumbling past on its way to the village. It was a warm, dusty sort of conveyance, and more than one of the tired passengers looked out at the white ehflteau and the pretty home-like scene, as they passed, envying the fair, cool retreat, it may be, and wondering vaguely what aims and interests life held for those to whom so much of life's good things seemed to have fallen. "What strange, uncomfortable things those diligences are I', said Miss Fane, look- ing after the heavy vehicle as it rolled on. "I don't think I shall ever grow accustomed to their appearance." "Yet they seem so much in keeping with every thing else here, that I shall be sincere- ly sorry when Eugene's railroad comes," said Valerie, without turning round. "I like them 1-they look so quaint and old; and travelling must certainly be pleasanter in them than in steamboats and cars, I should think." "You would not think so, if you had ever tried it," said Eugene, dryly. "How- ever, their day is over-naus a~ons o1iang~ tout oe~a. They have only one merit that I know of-the ease with which one can make acquaintances." "That is a merit with every thing, so far page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166 VALERIE AYLMER. LE BEAU CONF1~D~RIi. 167 as you are concerned, I believe," s4d the general. Eugene shrugged his shoulders in a way he had caught from his French companions, and given a certain expression of his own- a way that spoke a great deal of gay ineou- cianco without any trouble of words. "You are perfectly right, sir," he an- swered. "It's a trick one learns after living a cosmopolitan life some little time. I make it a rule to stand on ceremony with nobody, and you have no idea how amazingly well I find it answer. But then it isn't by any means my monopoly. I thought, for in- stance, I heard a good deal of talk in Paris ~about a certain travelling companion with whom you crossed the Channel." "You are mistaken," said Miss Fane. "The person of whom you are speaking- our friend of the bover boat, whom we hoped to meet in Paris-was not the gen- eral's acquaintan~aIat all, but Valerie's and mine.-You ren{~mher, de~ar?" "The cripple, you mean?" said Miss Aylmer. "Yes, the cripple-poor fellow!" "Who was he?" asked Alix. "Ind~ed I don't know," answered Miss Fane. "We none of us found Qut any thing, excepting that he was a very charming gentleman, though an almost entirely help- less cripple. You can't tell how pitiful it was to see him lifted about like a child; and he was so young, too-not more than thirty- five or six, I am sure." "Then his voice," said Valerie, breaking in abruptly. "You remember how sweet it was-and his face was so bright and cheer- ful, whenever a paroxysm of pain was not convulsing it." "Poor fellow!" said Alix, with all her heart in her tone. "What was his name? -but I forgot you said you did not know. How much he must have reminded you of one of our dear soldiers! Perhaps he was one of them." "I don't think that is likely,' said Miss Fane. "Indeed, I am sure he was not. I think he must have been an Englishman." "I thought people Were only injured that way in war," said Alix, simply, "like poor Frank Russell, who. was left for dead in th.e trenches of Petersburg, you know. What sort of a wound had this-this Eng- lishman received?" "He was evidently suffering from a spinal injury of some sort," said General Aylmer, "Probably it was only a case of spinal disease," he added, carelessly. "He was very agreeable; and, like Miss Netta, I incline to think that he was an Englishman." "There is one very good proof of it," said she. "Finding out where we were from, he told me he felt with the Con- federacy deeply, and that, if he had not been a cripple, he would have been in our army." "Beihg a cripple, he could afford to say so," remarked Eugene, who had lived long enough abroad to become very skeptical of such professions. "And that he had a brother in the ser- vice. "Tndecd! But I am sure he did not mention his name." "Eugene, you are one of the people whom Sir Walter Scott classes as vulgarly incredulous," said Valerie, turning round with something of the sunset glow still lingering in her eyes. "Good people, the river mists are rising. Suppose we go into the saloon?" They all agreed with her; though it was hard to leave the sweet outer dusk, with its burnished horizon and silver stars; but when they entered the saloon, where the globe- like lamps showed such bright, clear lustre, and every thing looked so cheerful, they forgot the starlit terrace, and fell to their usual occupations, while Eugene went at once to the open piano. "Come and sing some, Miss Rivi~re," he said. "J have heard so much about your voice, that~1 am prepared for any thing short of astonishment." Alix went at once~-thereby pleasiughim much more than she was aware-and, while she sang one of the charming Scotch ballads which she thought likely to suit a taste that could not be severely classical, the young man leaned against the instrument, study- ing, not the notes that floated in such silver purity past his ear, but the fawn-like eyes and the fair face of the young singer. Gen- eral Aylmer took a budget of I'~ew-Orleans papers over to a side-table, to open at his leisure, while Valerie and Miss Fane sat down to their needlework, and talked over it in low tones, for the length of the room divided them from the two at the piano. It was a pleasant room, barring a cer- tain emptiness of aspect, to which the eye grew accustomed by degrees. The floor was of dark, polished wood, with here and there rich Turkey rugs covering portions of it; the furniture, of ebony and damask, was ancient and massive, and, though moth-eatei in parts, still had a certain faded grandeur of its own. Three or four full-length mir- rors completed all the original furniture; but there were traces of a new rt~gime in the piano-a magnificent Erard-in Va- lerie's work-table, in a flower-basket which was suspended from the large chandelier, in several Parisian cabinets and tables, in the pleasant easy-chairs, and in the books and journals which were scattered everywhere. Altogether, notwithstanding its quaint, old- fashioned aspect, a pleasanter drawing-room need not have been desired-especially on a soft summer evening when the windows overlooking the terrace were all open; and when moonlight and fragrance~ and the soft ProvenQal air came in, together with the distant murmur of the river. "Did you like that?" asked Alix, ceas- ing her song, and glancing up so suddenly, that she quite took her companion by sur- prise, and absolutely made the young gentleman look confused for the space of a second. "You did not tell me what you pre- ferred; and a ballad suits almost everybody." "Yes," he said, hastily. "I liked it very much; and-and my taste in music is certainly not very cultivated. Sing some- thing else, won't you?" "Don't you sing at all yourself?" "I whistle Partant pour Za Syrie-ttiat is all." She laughed. "So that is your taste, is it? I am afraid my sentiment did not suit you, then. I should~have sung something martial-only my repertoire is not very ex- tensive in that line. I learned K3rner's Sword-song the other day, and shocked my maestro very much by singing it for him. But-" She stopped with a suddenness which her companion did not understand, and looked apprehensively toward the other end of the room. "Well," he could not help asking," what is the matter?" "Nothing," she saidhurriedly, and speak- ing very low; "but I forgot-I should not have mentioned that before Valerie. I hope she did not hear me. It would make her think of-of Mr. Romney, who used to sing it; and I would not do that for the world. No; I cannot sing any more just now-after a while, perhaps." She rose as she spoke, and left the piano, Eugene following, by no means well pleased. He could not understand what 'a horrible reality that tragedy was to her, ~which to him had been only a far-off story; nor how vividly: her own words had recalled the memory of Julian Romney's living presence. So, although he followed her to the work- table, where Valerie and Miss Fane were sitting, he did not exert himself to be very companionable, and in fact stood gazing ab- sently out of the window while the others talked of the news from the seat of war- the Prusso-Austrian campaign of '66 was in full jirogress-and especially of the per- sonal items which Charley Hautaine's letters furnished, he being regi.ilarly enrolled in the Austrian service. It was Net1~a's voice at last that roused him from his reverie. "By-the-by, Eugene," she was saying, "I wonder you never looked upon this war as a chance for action-you who, like Char- ley, call yourself condottiere." "Because, unlike Charley, I don't see the beauty or utility of having my brains blown out to settle the Schleswig-Holstein question, or determined whomtheQuadrilateralrlght- fully belongs," answered he, carelessly. "I thought I heard you not long ago' giving your opinion as to whom it rightfully' belongs?" "To Austria? Well and good. Let Austria keep it . then-if she can. I have' neither concern nor interest in the matter." Valerie looked up from her work at the- young man's half-careless, half-scornful face. "I am sorry to see that you are becoming narrow-minded in your sympatbie;" she: page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 VALERIE AYLMER~ SURSUM CORDA. 169 said. "A few years ago, you would have been all interest and fire in this matter." "A few years ago, my dear sister, I had a little surplus sympathy and interest to dis- pose of-oaow I have none. I doubt much if Ismael measured matters by any other than the ego standard; and I and all my kind are Ismaels now. I owe nothing to the world, nothing to civilization, nothing to the rights and wrongs of national quarrels. As an exile and an alien, I stand apart from them all; and who is up or down in the scale of the world, matters little or nothing to me." Alix's soft eyes looked at him in appar- ent reproach. Evidently the little lady was not prepared to endorse this creed; and, meeting her glance, Eugene addressed him- self to her without a moment's warning. £~ You don't agree with me, Miss Rivi~re. Why not?" "I-oh, dear! I am sure I said nothing," answered Alix, quite taken aback. "I con- fess I don't agree with you, Colonel Aylmer; but then-I'm only a woman, you know, and so my opinion is not of any importance." "I wonder who has been telling you that nonsense?" said the uncivil Eugene. "Of course, your opinion is of importance-of the greatest importance, in fact. Come, let me see if I can't make you agree with mc. Why do you think I'm wrong?" Thus singled out for combat, Alix looked appealingly round at her companions. Argu- ment was not at all her' forte, and she al- ways shirked it if she could. "Oh, please. don't ask me," she said. "Valerie and Miss Fane "I don't care about hearing the opinion of Valerie and Miss Fane," interrupted the still more uncivil Eugene. "I want your own reasons for thinking me wrong. You must have reasons, you know-or else you could not have an opinion. Come, let me shear them! I want to convince you." "Suppose I don't care about being con- vinced?" -"Ret~sonable people always do care, if they are wrong." * Fenced into a corner in this way, Alix had nothing to do bat make the best of the situation, and try to explain herself. "I don't know," she said, "but it seems to me there's such a thing as abstract right and wrong, isn't there? Well, it seems to me as if right was right, and wrong was wrong, the same now as ever; and I think one ought always to feel with the right, and against the wrong." "But suppose you don't take interest enough in the matter to care to find out who is wrong and who is right?" "Then I think you're in a bad way your- self," said she, gravely. "People ought al- ways to ta ore not, they grow to be narro , and selfish, and all that sort of thing, yo know." "The I'm afraid I must bring myself in guilty o being narrow, and selfish, and all that so t of thing!" he said. "Honestly, I don't care a fig who is down or who is up. The nations of the earth stood by silent and apathetic while we were fighting desperately for more than life; and now I should de- spise myself if I raised a voice, far less a sword, for one of them. In fact, I have no care-I don't pretend to say it is right, for it may be a11 wrong-but I have no care for any thing save self-interest." Alix shook her head despairingly. He was all wrong-she felt that instinctively; but she also felt that he was beyond her powers of putting right. "There is such a thing as heroism for the sake of heroism,~~ she said, in last appeal. "Perhaps there may be for Bayards and Sidneys and the like," answered Eugene, with the scoff of the nineteenth century on his face. "But I am not a Bayard or a Sidney-in fact, I'm only a commonplace man, who thinks a great deal more of him- self than of heroism in general, or heroism in particular, either. Don't look so shocked, Miss Rivi~re! It's all right that you should believe such things, and I wouldn't shake your faith in them for the world-" "You couldn't," put in she, indignantly. "EI& bien I" said the young cynic, with a shrug of his superior masculine shoulders, "I don't mean to try. But you may con- vince me, if you want to. Will you do so?" "That is nonsense," said Alix, severely. "You think I have only a woman's foolish, visionary idea; and then you talk of my convincing you, who are evidently as obsti- natel~r set in your own way of thinking as possible. It is nonsense!" "Indeed it isn't," said he, smiling. "Only try. I will be very good, I promise you. And indeed I stand sorely in need of missionary labors." "I don't think there's a doubt of that," returned she, sincerely. And something in her tone made Eugene laugh so heartily, that at last she was fain to join, and from that moment a league was struck, and they were friends. CHAPTER II. SUBSUM cOnDA. Iv was late on the afternoon of the next day, and the sun was throwing long shad- ows across the terrace, and the formal gar- den, that lay on one side of it, when Valerie came forth from the chateau alone, and took her way down to the village. It was not a long walk, for just beyond the gates a small river flashed over its rocky bed, and was spanned by a bridge-a single arch of heavy masonry-which was the beginning or end, as the case might be, of a crooked street. Prom this bridge the view of the surrounding country was beautiful. Not so extensive or varied, not even so pic- turesque a view as might have been gained from any of the heights near by; but full of the alternation and contrast, the half- hidden beauties and snatches of distant loveliness which add so much to the charm of a landscape. It was like a sweet, serene idyl of pastoral love and content~to stand on the dark old arch with the bright river flowing beneath, the vine-clad banks on each hand, the purple mountains rising in the background, the golden fields opening sunny vistas only to be abruptly broken by some stretching belt of dark woods, the quiet village with its gray church-tower below, and over all the blue, intensely blue sky, of this most fair and pleasant nook~. in all the fair and pleasant land of France. That Miss Aylmer was quite well known in the village was very evident. The blue- blouse men whom she met took their pipes from their mouths to salute her-there was scarcely one of the bright-faced women who had not a "Bon. jour, mademoiselle "-and the little children, as she passed, rushed tu- multuously forward to secure a smile or word of greeting. It had been a strange, foreign scene, this village, to the child of the transat- lantic, when she first looked upon it-recall- ing nothing so much as old pictures that she had seen, or the yet more vivid pictures which imagination had drawn from the word- painting of pens that had dipped themselves in all the warm beauty of the south-but already it all seemed as familiar as if from the knowledge of years. All the tall houses, with their green blinds and over- hanging balconies, all the narrow dark ~ streets, and all the glimpses of green trees and sunny walks, as some garden-door was left open, had grown as natural to her sight as the landmarks of her native city. Even the Place (once the Place Royal, now the Place Imp~riale), with its restaurants and wine-shops, its shade-trees and benches, together with the beautiful front of its church, had grown to wear a friendly fa- miliarity to her. And there were well~ known faces here also-faces that smiled a friendly greeting to the young foreigner, and looked kindly after her, as she crossed the square with her shaft-straight carriage, and sweeping robes of silver gray. Having made the trifling purchase which hadbeenherostensibleobjectincomingtothe village, Valerie went to the church. It was very cool and dark, and a great contrast to the gay, sunshiny square outside, when she drew back the baize door and met a half- dreamy fragrance of incense floating in the quiet air; for it was a salt's day of obliga- tion, and high mass had been celebrated in the morning. A few candles were burning at the side altars; a few women were tell- ing their beads, as they knelt on the stone floor before them, and a golden nimbus poured from one high window over a palm- crowned martyr's marble head! It was all like and yet unlike that distant cathedral by the Chesapeake, or that more distant and yet dearer one to the exile's yearning heart, by the blue waves of the Mexic Sea! page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 VALERIE AYLMER. SURSUM CORDA. 171 After she had finished her altar-prayer, Valerie went softly up to ~the organ-loft, aiid in a few minutes a flood of melody rolled forth, and seemed to bathe aisle and altar, pic- tures and statues, in a halo as golden as the falling sunshine. What she played, it is im- possible to say; she could not, indeed, have' told herself; for the deep tones of the music slumbering in those mighty pipes seemed to. mass themselves, as it were, into har- monies, and her hands wandered over "the beautiful cold keys," in chords that might have been only recollections of other strains, but that were for the time steeped in herself, and made as eloquent of her own heart as if that heart had found voice in ab- solute words. Louder and fuller rolled the tide of melody, swelling under the stone arches and up to the vaulted roof like the solemn chant of a kneeling host, then dying away into low supplication, like the single cry of some fainting soul! It was evidently an accustomed thing to the women below, for they did not even turn their heads, as the grand notes rolled forth; but pursued their devotions with stolid fervor, while wave after wave of harmony swept over them, and the very air seemed vibrating with the passionful power of the music. And, when a stranger who was standing just inside the door stopped an outgoer to in- quire concerning the musician, he received only a stare, and a surprised" O'~8t made- moieefle la bSlle An~flaise!" This stranger had evidently been strange- ly attracted by the musicfor, moving with extreme difficulty across the floor-he was on crutches-he took his seat immediately below the loft, and quite in the shade of one of its large pillars. There he remained mo- tionless for nearly an hour-remained until the music at last died away like waves ebb- ing and breaking on a barren shore, and silence settled over the church. He sighed then, strangely and wistfully, and only almost as he did so, a light step sounded at his side, and a shimmering dress swept by him tow- ard the open air. Gathering up his crutches, he rose and followed as quickly as was possible. But, with all his haste, he would have been too late for Valerie, if she had not paused on the church-steps to say a few words of thanks to the child who had worked the pipes for her. She was on the point of turning away, when that peculiar noise pro~ duced by crutches on a stone pavement caused her to look around, and she sawa man coming toward her whom she at once recognized as the invalid-cripple of the Do- ver boat. People-especially people of very sensi- tive nerves-generally turned away, when they met this man, and said to each other, with a shudder: "What a dreadfully pain- ful sight!" But again there were others- especially th~se who had looked at him long -who felt as if they would ask nothing bet- ter than to look at him forever-for to do so was a grander sermon than ever sound- ed from any pulpit! He was a man who might naturally have been above the me- dium height, and strongly made; hut who was now bent-partly by intense physical pain, partly by the habitual use .of crutches -until he seemed to have lost several inches of stature. From the waist his lower limbs hung in semi-paralyzation; and his gar- ments fitted what was once a man's muscu- lar frame, as if hung on the dry bones of a skeleton. It did shock unutterably to see this, to watch the hands clinch themselves together, and the head bow itself down upon the chest, in some fierce paroxysm of agony; but there could be nothing of such a feeling, nothing even of pity, when the face raised itself again-stamped though it was with the drear signet of pain !-and the great soul looked at you calmly and bravely through the clear blue eyes. A great soul it was !-few greater have ever lived and striven to endure! Most men, seeing life and all life's uses lie shattered before them -all its bright ambition, all its golden pleasure, all its magic love, killed at one sheer stroke !-realizing that death alone would release from an existence of torture, and that to live in the world was to live for- ever apart from the world, most men would have closed such a prospect very summarily. And if the courage to end existence-for, let people cant as they will, it ia a certain sort of courage which suicide requires-had been~ lacking, there were yet fewer who would not have sunk into a moody despair that neither hope nor promise could lighten by one ray of cheer. This man had done neither. On the lined face there was a se- rene light, around the mouth a smile so ge2- tIe that "the sweetest lips that ever were kissed "might have envied it, in the eyes a light ever kindly and pleasant, on the brow a patience nothing less than sublime. The face might have been handsome once, but symmetry of outline and freshness of color- ing had forever'departed now-leaving only the noble power, yet nobler fruits of endur- ance, that had laid their own charm upon the wasted lines, and sealed them with a beauty far above the beauty of flesh. As the stranger paused before Valerie, he rested his crutch under his arm, and raised his hand with a sort of cavalier grace that in him was at once inexpressibly touch- ing and inexpressibly charming, uncovered a head where the chestnut curls lay in rich profusion, curls so like those that crowned another head-a head which even then might be sleeping beneath the tropic sod- that Valerie's heart gave one quick throb that nearly suffocated her. "I did not know," he said, in a peculiar- ly soft and musical voice, "that the invisible musician would prove to be my fair travel- ling companion. May I not recall myself to her recollection, and at the same time thank her for the pleasure she has afforded me?" The tone and manner in themselves would have proved a passport to favor; and Valerie at once extended her hand, with a smile. "I am glad to have afforded you pleas- ure, and still more glad to see you," she said, simply and cordially. "This is avery pleasant surprise. I had scarcely hoped we should meet again." The stranger smiled slightly. "I was sure we should-some time," he said. "But I, too, scarcely hoped that it would be so soon, orzso unexpectedly. I congratulate you, however, on finding this lovely provincial nook. It is a favorite re- sort of mine; and I felt, when I arrived last night, a sense of ease and refreshment in the very air." "Last night!" repeated Valerie, with a slight start of surprise. "In the diligence? Excuse me, but it seems so strange !-we saw it as it passed our chAteau, and it made us all think of you. We were talking of you, and wondering about you for some time afterward." "Your chAteau!" said the stranger, and it was now his turn to look surprised. "Do you mean the chAteau just beyond the river .-the one belonging to the De Launay fam- ily? Really, I consider this quite~singular, for I was very much attracted by the ap- pearance of the group on the terrace, and asked old Tonsard who was living there. He told me an English family." "They seem to consider us English here," Valerie said, apologetically. "It seems impossible to make them understand differently; and in truth I am not very sor- ry : I am afraid that, if they knew we were Americans, they might consider us Yan- kees," she added, gravely. "There would be no danger of that, if they had ever seen any of the latter," said her companion, smiling amusedly. "And you are living here, then?" "Yes, we are living here-temporarily, at least-and it enables me to say that we shall be very glad to see you at the chA- teau," she added-" for I suppose you mean to spend some time in our neighborhood." It was a strange invitation to be given so frankly, by a young girl to a man, of whom she knew nothing; but the old hos- pitable habit of her Southern rearing was strong upon Valerie; and then she felt so old and grave, so separated by a deep gulf from her girlhood and all connected with it, that she would scarcely have hesitated if the case had been much more extreme. The stranger looked a little a~tonislmed-he evidently had not expected such a prompt waiving' of ceremony-but the sudden ex- pression that swept ever his face proved how much he was charmed by the grave, gentle dignity with which it had been done. Yet, he did not answer for a moment. In- deed, he hesitated for several moments bed fore speaking; 'then it was rather slowly: "You are very kind, Miss Aylmer. Ah !-" for Valerie started-" you see I page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 VALERIE know your name. I heard your servant mention it before I saw you, though I think I should have known you instinctively. I have heard a great deal of you, and I had a very fair picture of you in my mind." He had heard a great deal of her! Sure- ly there was nothing surprising in that. Scores of people, whom she had never seen, might have said the same thing; and scores whom she had seen might readily have men- tioned her name to this stranger, and yet- and yet there was no reason for it at all, but she gazed at him with very startled eyes. "You have heard of me?" she repeated. "That is very strange, for I-I hardly think we have any acquaintances in common." He looked at her with something very sad and wistful in his deep.blne eyes. They were walking slowly across the Place by this time, and more than one of the villa- gers, who did not understand the unknown tongue, noticed how singularly preoccupied both of them were. Yet there was nothing morethanusualinthestranger'svoiceand manner when he answered: "You are right. We have no acquaint- ances in common; but I think we possess at least one friend. I did not mean to offer at once the only claim which I can advance on your kindness; but-well, perhaps lt is best after all. Mademoiselle, Maurice Darcy is your cousin, and it has made amends for much misfortune in my life that he is also my brother." The simple words were spoken with so much deep and evident feeling that, for a second, Valerie scarcely realized the fact which they stated. Then a dim memory swept over her of having heard something like this before; of Madame Vacquant hav- ing once said in the agee long ago, when she did not care for Maurice, that he had a brother-a half-brother-who was an im- becile, or a cripple, or something of the sort. And now she knew that this was the man. It came over her with a rush-a sud- den, indescribable sensation of almost joy. It was something belonging to him-some- thing that was his- some link between them, severed though they were-and so there was more gladness than surprise in the tone that said quickly: AYLMER' "You I-you his brother I" "Yes," the cripple answered, almost sadly. "You would scarcely think it, but I am his brother." They were passing just then under the shade of a tall, dark house with .overhang. ing balconies, where only one or two chil. dren were playing in the door-way; but even these looked surprised to see Valerie pause and turn to her companion-her hand extended, and her eyes shining with the first gleam of pleasure that had flickered into them for many months. "I greeted you as a stranger a little while ago," she said, in a low, quivering tone, "but now I bid you welcome as Mau- rice's brother. I am very, very glad to know you. Tell me something about him. Is he well-is he happy?" "He was well when I heard from him last," the other replied. "But-do you think he is likely to be happy?" "I hoped so," she answered, quickly. "And, indeed, why not?" "Why not?" It was something of in- dignation which came into those honest blue eyes. "Why not? Mademoiselle, you can ask me that?" She smiled faintly, for she knew what he meant, and it seemed strange to her that any one should think she had still any power over the man who had left her with such cold scorn. "Yes," she said; "I asked it in all sin. cerity. There is not, as far as I know, any reason why he should not be happy." "You think that he-he of all men- could cast off feeling like a worn glove?" "No," she answered, a little drearily. "I only think-I only know-that he is what few men are-his own master. I am sure that, if any feeling troubled him, he would put it down under his foot, and it would never stir again. Therefore I hope that he is happy-indeed, I can scarcely doubt it. I only trust, for your sake, that he will soon return. Does he speak of doing so?" Her companion shook his head. "He does not speak of it at all. I hardly think he will return until the fate of the empire is decided-one way or another. He is a horn THlE SIT1VI soldier-my poor Maurice 1-and I would not wish him other than where he is, if I could only be with him. Sometimes I am ungrateful enough to feel it hard that he is there, while I, his younger brother, whose place should be at his side, am here." He spoke almost unconsciously, more as if thinking aloud than talking; and then he caught an astonished look on Valerie's face which made him wonder what he had said to excite it. Her next almost involuntary words enlightened him: "His youngerbrother! Ah, pardon me" (for she suddenly felt her own rudeness), "but it ~ "Very strange, no doubt," he said, con- cluding her unfinished sentence. "But, then, it is true, you know. My mother was our father's second wife; and I am much younger than Maurice. Indeed, I fear you will hardly believe me when I tell you that I am only twenty-five." Only twenty-five! She was so much startled, so unfeignedly shocked by this statement, that for more than a minute she could only look at him in awe-struck sur- prise. Only twenty-five-and bearing upon the shoulders of sixty the face of welinigh forty! "Only twenty-five!" she repeated, as if by an irresistible impulse. "Oh, how cruel God has been to you!" The cripple lifted his hat-reverentially, as if he had stood upon a sanctuary thresh- old. "His will be done! "he said, calmly. And in the act and tone was that which humbled her to the dust. There, in the wreck of years and youth, with his dead hopes clinging round him, and the sad vision of his past life rising before him, this man could say, with such sublime simplicity, "His will be done;" while to her all God's bounteous gifts had turned to ashes, and denial of Him in her heart had almost come, because He seemed to deal hardly with the human needs and hunian impulses Himself had created! "I am rebuked," she said, handing her head with strange humility. "And yet I, too, have striven to feel that, for I too have suffered! Oh, if you would only teach me a little at least of' the patience which can enable you to bear so much!" Jie laid his thin, wasted hand down upon. hers. She never afterward forgot that scene-the last golden sunshine streaming through the linden-boughs, or the light on Gaston Darcy's face. "We can all of' us learn the patience to endure any thing that lie pleases to send," he said. "But that patience is born of love and trust." -4-- CHAPTER III. THE SILVER LINING. PERHAPs it was only an exemplification of that most merciful law in all God's mer- ciful providence-the law of calm succeeding tempest-which gave some very quiet and peaceful days to the chateau, after this- some days which came very unexpectedly, but were nevertheless welcomed and en- joyed as people only welcome and enjoy things of which they have been long de- prived. At General Aylmer's hospitable entreaty, Mr. Darcy left his village quarters to make a temporary abode with them; Eu- gene came and went, bringing his gay young engineer friends for short visits, which they enjoyed amazingly; Alix brightened into her old self, and listed like a mocking-bird about the quaint old garden and shady courts; the few chAteaux in the neighbor- hood condescended to recognize tl~e new- comers and exchange civilities: while Netta Fane, who was watching all this very sus- piciously, took heart and comfort when she saw how well Valerie bore it. Yet in truth, if she had only known it, Valerie scarcely heeded it at all. The tide of life whi~h sud- denly flowed in upon them was very pleas- ant to every one else; so, even, in her own mind, she did not wish the conventual seclu- sion of the first mouth or two back again; but, naturally enough, the bright faces and the gay tones, the laughter and the happi- ness, jarred upon her; and she drew herself away from it, not outwardly, but inwardly, which is, after all, the better and more com- plete way. She devoted herself to Gaston page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 144 VAERIE AMER.THE SILVER LINING- 1~ flarcy, for the sweet, subtle charm of his beautiful patience, his sunny, even nature, became daily more powerful and more po- tent for good. But the others felt instinc- tively that, though she was among, she was not of them. No one ever knew her fail in a duty of courtesy or hospitality; but be- yond that there was a barrier which seemed to bar further progress. In fact, this was a transition period of Valerie's life, a period when sorrow threatened to deepen into mel- ancholy, and natural remorse into morbid gloom, and when it was well for her that there chanced to be a monitor near at hand to speak gentle counsel and offer kind en- couragement. The first shock of stunned grief was over, the first horror of self-re- proach had given way to calmer reason, but a weary, listless apathy, a deadened tor- por had crept over her, numbing her brain, and chilling her heart into a lethargy from which she felt little desire to rouse herself. Gaston Darcy never did a better deed than when he broke in upon this darkness with his life which was more eloquent than many words. And Valerie listened to him as she would not have listened to any other on earth, for he was not only Maurice's broth- er, he was not only saint-like, in the perfec- tion of his faith and resignation, but he spoke "fts of knowledge." That was the great secret of it. He had suffered. He did not preach as those who, from regions of tranquil security, exhort the quivering soul to hope and courage, but as one who had traversed the dark valley before reaching the heights beyond. Love and trust I The words came to her dimly, With a far-off sound, but 'yet she felt their glory and beauty out of the very depths of herwretch- edness. They had been mere names to her, as, alas! to so many of us, symbols of some- thing transcendental and unattainable-. something only half understood, and wholly unregarded, but now-ah, now ~man love came a~uide and teacher of tha1~Tove which is divine. For, after all, it seems as if these poor hearts of ours are only to be trained upward by props, as if our earthly affec- tions are only the steps by which we climb slowly toward the higher affection that is waiting to absorb all, as if we are taught the knowledge of love by its mortal objects, only that, when they fall away, we may look into our hearts, and, recognizing their infi- nite capacity, their boundless capability of passion, learn the best lesson of mortality- the lesson that finite love is only given to show the depth and mystery of love which is Infinite. Slowly and by degrees, this knowledge came to Valerie, softening her passionate re- pining, lightening her dull, heavy grief into the calm of something like resignation. Yes, her earthly love had at least done her this service-it taught h~r the depths of her own nature as she had never even imagined them before, itmade herrealize the possibility of ab- negation, and sacrifice, and self-forgetfulness, and those like things which the world deems veriest folly, but on which the angels of God look with loving eyes; it waked her from trifles to realities, it killed utterly all the old leaven of vanity and pride, and gave instead that sad, bitter humility which is more fruitful of good than all else whatever, save only God's grace. She accepted the end which had come to all her hopes very quietly -never once dreaming of rebellion after that awful blow which had showed her all at once the depth and darkness of the gulf on which she had trifled so loi~g. She 1-how should she dare to dream of happiness, with the guilt of blood upon her soul; for would not Julian Romney have been among the living if her face had never crossed his path I And would not that memory rise up to haunt her if she could forget it long enough to love and be loved again? No, Maurice was right -right to leave her coldly, almost cruelly, as he had done. She was no fitting wife for him, and the end was better as it was. He had done well to scorn her, well to think he could never trust her again-she deserved it all. Now, at least, she conld offer her hive, her life, her very self, perhaps, some day, in expiation of the bitter wrongs she had wrought, of the cruel use to which she had put her many gifts. Something of this was written on her face one day, as Netta Fane watched it at benediction; and when they rose to leave the church, the twilight gloom of which was scarcely dissipated by the myriad tapers shining like stars on the high altar, and, glancing back from the silver monstrance which had just been lifted in blessing, she said, abruptly: "You know the proverb about every cloud having a silver lining-well, I think that perhaps you will find the lining to yours after a while, Valerie." But she was not prepared for the shrink- ing start which Valerie gave. "Hush!" she said, and her voice thrilled with a strange awe in it through the falling dusk. "Never say that again, Netta-never! If it were only for myself; do you think I should not have found it long ago in the con- viction that I have deserved every thing? But for-for " Since the day of his death, she had never spoken Romney's name, and it was wcllnigh impossible to do so now. But Netta knew what she meant, of whom she was thinking, and Netta gave a great gasp over the knowl- edge. It was hard for her not to speak her mind out on the subject; a much greater self-denial than Vale'ie ever appreciated; for, with all the zeal of a thorough partisan, Miss Fane directed the whole weight of her indignation against the man who had been mad enough and foolish enough to throw his life down at a woman's feet. "He deserved nothing better than to be shot!" thought this stanch friend and advocate; "I only wish I dared tell Valerie exactly what I think of him!'~ But Miss Fane was discre- tion itself-at least on important occasions. She knew that she did not dare to do any thing of the kind; that she would only make matters worse, *uid that Valerie needed to recover the healthful tone of her mind by slow degrees; so she only said: "Look l~ow the lights gleam from the chAteau! They are very home-like and pleasant, don't you think so? And yonder is Alix on the ter- race, I see, with somebody else in attend- ance. Eugene must have arrived." "There is nothing more likely," Valerie said, glancing in the direction indicated, as they crossed the bridget. "Eugene does not seem to find the least difficulty about getting off duty; and his visits are certainly much more frequent since Mix came.~~ "Yes," answered Miss Fane, with her dry, shrewd smile. "I think I can con- gratulate you on your future sister-in-law. There are not many people who are as fortu- nate as you will be in this respect." "You mean-?" "I mean, of course, that Master Eugene is in earnest at last, and that Alix seems by no means averse to his suit." Valerie looked at her friend as if a new and strange idea had been suddenly pre- sented to her. "I never thought of that before," she said, simply. And the remark, which was a very true one, proved in itself how deep her preoccupation had been, how little her real self had mingled with the peo- ple among whom she moved. There is a great deal in having the eyes opened to an affair of this kind, however; and, now that Valerie's wore couched, she saw how just Netta's conclusions were. She had seen Eugene so often in love, that it had rather grown to be his normal state in her eyes; but there was no mistaking the fact that this was something more than a com- monplace love-affair with him. She watched him that night-for of course it proved to be himself who had been loitering on the terrace with Alix, in the summer dusk-and realized with amazement how blind she had been. Yes, there was not a doubt of it; the boy was in earnest at last. La lelle de8 belle, who had seen so much of love in her life, was the most unlikely person in the world to doubt the sign-tokens of the familiar pas- sion-the last person in the world not to understand the quick lights and shadows which chased each other over the young ~ face at a word from Alix's lips, or the tender gleam in his eyes whenever they rested on that dainty brown head bent over the board where Mr. Darcy was vainly try- ing to teach her the mystery and science of chess. It was quite hopeless, however; and Eugene was very glad when she laid her- self open to an. ignominious checkmate, thus ending the game, and giving him an oppor- tunity to bear her off to the piano, while the general took her vacated seat. Then Valerie still watched them, with a growing wonder over her own previous obtuseness. It was all so plain 1-all Alix's pretty tyranny and Eugene's devoted slavery! So plain that, as she looked, a very pleasant sketch of the 1:74 VALERIE AYLMER. 175 page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 VALERIE future rose before her. Alix and Eugene would marry and settle here, the general might go back to Louisiana, if he wi~nted to, but she and Netta would remain. A wing of the chAteau could be fitted up for them, so that when the others took flight-as of course they would very often-their life would flow on all the same. She fancied herself niched in this quiet nook while the great world roared and rushed beyond, and dreamed a life something like the lives led by the chAtelains of old time, a life of serene contemplation, yet active with good works, a life in which she saw the children sh~ would teach, the sick she would attend, the charity she would bestow, and, more than all, the peace she would win. For that, after all, was the great point-peace, rest, repose of conscience, quiet of heart, all those things which we possess in anticipation or in retrospection, but rarely indeed in the reality of the present. Valerie went on dreaming of them, however, in time to those exquisite strains of the Moonlight Sonata which Alix was softly playing; and then she started, when, with a crash, the nimble fingers glided into the chords of some mar- tial air for which Eugene had preferred a petition, and smiled us she realized how en- tirely all her fabric of thought had l~een built on a probability-a probability which others besides herself discerned, however; for, when she looked up, Gaston Darcy laughed and said: "Did that abrupt change of measure startle you? For my part, I think I should have asked for a wedding march-I am very fond of Mendelssohn's." Meanwhile, Eugene, who was not at all an indeterminate sort of person, but always knew his own mind perfectly well, had very little objection to anybody or everybody's seeing that he was thoroughly in earnest, and that it would be no fault of his if Alix did not consent to share his adventurous fortunes. He did not entertain much fear of the result, either; for what could be easier than to teach this gentle, confiding little creature the lesson of love which she seemed horn to learn? He could not help thinking, too1.what a fortunate thing it was that he had. not married any one of half a dozen girls with whom he had been on the brink AYLMER. of matrimony in the past, but that Fate had reserved him for such a happy fortune as this. "She suits me as nobody ever suited me before," he thought. "She is a perfect little' pearl-so exquisitely dainty and refined, that it is impossible that she could be im- proved. There is such an air of repose, too, in every thing she does; and she never of- fends by a loud tone or an awkward move- ment, like these dreadful prononc~ women who have become the fashion of the day. Her profession is the only drawback, and I would soon put an end to all that. It is hard enough to think that she ever was subjected to such a trial, my poor little flower!" The poor little flower, however, was by no means of his way of thinking on this point, and many were the battles to which their difference of opinion gave rise. "You are illiberal; you have no culture," Alix would say, indignantly. "You don't know any thing about how an artist feels toward art. I love music for music's sake, and not for the fame and the noise you talk about. The people who go to hear me sing don't think of me-they think of my voice, and that is what I think of too." "I don't care what they think of;" Eugene would retort; "but it is not a fit place for you. And if I had been your-your brother, you never should have set your foot on any stage under heaven-no, not for an hour 1" "I am very glad you were not my brother, then," Alix would say. And, as Eugene could not honestly declare that he was sorry, the matter generally ended there. Apart from this subject of dispute, they might be said to get on very smoothly, however; and mat- ters certainly looked very much as if Va- lerie might soon be called upon to welcome a sister-in-law whom she could thoroughly love and approve-a gift of fortune which, as Miss Fane very sensibly said, not many peo- ple are lucky enough to possess. This evening, like many evenings which had gone before, was a very golden one to the young Confederate. He had Alix all to himself; with nobody to interfere, to distract her attention, or to make him jealous. The two gentlemen playing chess, and the two ladies stitching away at their needlework, THE SILVI were as much apart from the two at the piano, as if an ocean instead of a room had divided them; 'and, although Alix sung a snatch of song now and then, it was impossi- ble not to perceive that music played a very small part in their mutual entertainment . They were both very agreeably engaged, and Eugene at least Was in Arcadia-but, even into Arcadia, disturbances sometimes come; and his, if he had only been able to foresee it, was not far off. When he bade Alix good- night at the end of the corridor that evening, he did not know that he was also bidding adieu to all the tranquil charm of their inter- course- and perhaps it was as well for him that he did not. At least we are told to be thankful that "Heaven from all mortals hides the book of fate," and there is no doubt but that Eugene's slumbers would scarcely have been so sound, his dreams scarcely so sweet that night, if he had eveu faintly guessed what the next day had in store for him. Yet the next day passed away very much like most days until near its close. The ladies spent the morning on the terrace, tri- fling over their sewing and embroidery; while Mr. Darcy and Eugene read aloud to them by turns froni a volume of B6ranger's which the latter had brought. "You talk about poetry," he said, one day. "I will show you something which is worth all that stuff of Lamartine and Hugo put together!" So he made his appearance with those stir- ring verses which in their day electrified all young France. They did a good deal to electrify the company that heard them that morning, and the ringing measure was still echoing in Valerie's mind when she went to dress for dinner. It reminded her of Hautaine, who had once been very fond of B6ranger, too and as she fastened her col- lar, and smoothed her hair, she could not for'. bear a sigh over the gallant young free lt~nce who had loved her so long and so well. "Poor Charley! I wonder where lie is, and what he is doing?" she thought. "I wonder if he has quite forgotten me; and I wonder, too, if he has come to any harm in these dreadful battles? I am sure I{etta must be very uneasy. I will ask her about him this evening." 11 EIR LINING. 177 So that evening, when they were alone on the terrace, while the gentlemen were still lingering over their wine, and Alix had. wandered down into the garden, Valerie mooted the subject. "I have not heard you speak of Oharley for a long while, 1~Tetta. Have you heard nothing from him, or-or about hun?" "Kothing whatever," answered Miss Fane, sadly. "I have not spoken of it, Va- lerie, because I did not care to distress you; but I am very seriously uneasy, and neither the general nor Eugene gives me much en- couragement. The people at home look to me for news of him, and what can I say?- We have not heard from him since Sadowa, you know." "But we would have heard if-if any thing had befallen him." I~etta shook her head. "Hardly. Ha was a foreigi~er, and so entirely unknown. Your father wrote to Vienna the other day, and, until we hear from there, I still venture to hope. He may have been only wounded, or -or something of the sort. I have come to counting on that now." "Yes," Valerie said, almost under her breath-for they both knew only too well what "counting' on that" meant-and then she laid her head down on the stone balus- trade. "God help us! ~ 'her cry. "It is so' terrible! The shadow of blood seems upon all things. 'The whole earth is rock- ing and ringing with the tramp of armed men; and, after hearing of battles and~sieges all day, I dream at night of wounded men and gi~astly corpses, of blood, and carnage, and death, until I wake up sick and shud- dering." "And the effect is very visible," said Miss Fane. "Do you know that, instead of regaining your healthful looks, you are daily growing more pale, more hollow-eyed, more unlike yourself?" "~o," was the indifferent answer, "I did not know, but I can believe it." "Valerie," said her friend, abruptly, "you are thinking, not of Prussia, 'but of Mexico." "And how can I help it?" said Valerie, wearily. "Did not I jend him there? If' ho i~ killed, will' it not be ray work? Will page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] l'78 VALERIE AYLMER. not his blood 1,~t on my head, as much as -as the other does? You may be sure of one thing, Netta-it is no lovesick regret that I am nursing, but a terrible fear, which haunts me night and day. J would will- ingly covenant never to look on Maurice Darcy's face again, if he were once safely out of danger." "Child, such men as he are never out of danger." "But no other danger would be my fault -no other would make his death my work. You don't know what remorse is, Netta- indeed, how should you? But, if you had ever suffered for one hour what I have suf- ~fered for months past, you would not won- der that I pray to be spared its increase, at any cost." Her friend looked at her wistfully. Then a sudden impulse made her lay her hand down on that bowed head. "Your prayers will be heard," she said, almost solemnly, "I am sure of that. God tries us severely, sometimes, but never beyond our strength. And He is not like us poor mortals-He never forgets mercy in jus- tice." As she spoke the last words, the gentle- men stepped through one of the dining- room windows, and came across the terrace to join them. General Aylmer and Mr. Darcy walked slowly in advance..-move- ment was very painfully difficult to the latter-while Eugene followed with the cai'eless, swinging tread that took him over ground so easily, and would have proved a fortune to a professional pedestrian. One glance was enough, to satisfy him that the terrace lacked its chief attraction; so he sauntered off to the garden, whistling, as he went, his favorite gallop. Mr. Darcy sank int'o one of the chairs which were always ready placed, and laid his crutches on the grass beside him. "This is really charming," he said, with his pleasant smile. "I never grow weary 'of the beautiful view we have from this spot; and I cannot help fancying that our group is no inconsiderable addition to it. We make a very picturesque effect, I am sure; and it is only a great pity that Mau- rice is not here to sketch us." lie often spoke of his brother thus-al. ways with a lingering accent of tenderness on the name-and Valerie had grown quite accustomed to the allusions. She rarely answered them, however, but, as in the present instance, left some one else to 'do so. "Your brother must be a very fine ar- tist," said Miss Pane. "I have heard a '~ great deal of his pictures-though I have only seen one of them." "You have seen one, then?" said Mr, Darcy, lifting his head, which a spasm of pain had lowered while she spoke. "What was it?" But to this simple question, Miss Pane made no reply. She found that she had betrayed herself unwittingly, and she directed: a half-frightened, half-apologetic glance at Valerie, who, after a moment's hesitation, answered in her stead: "It was a picture which Maurice paint. ed for grandpapa, and which I have, that Netta has seen-a portrait of myself." "Indeed I" Mr. Darcy's gentle eyes, which were yet very keen ones, looked at her intently for a moment; then he said, with a smile: "I wonder if Maurice did you justice?" "You shall see the portrait if you wish," said she, quietly. "Some day, I will have it brought down t6 the snloon for your inspection." "I propose an amendment to that," said her father. "Have it brought now, and we can inspect it while drinking our coffee." ~ "Why ndt? Do you keep it in any inac- cessible place?" "No; certainly not," she answered, flushing slightly. Then she turned to the servant who was handing coffee: "Bap- tiste, go and tell Panchette to give you the picture which is in my dressing-room. It has only been out of its packing-case once -for Netta to see-since we came here," she added, turning again to Gaston. Before many minutes elapsed, Baptiste reappeared, bearing the canvas, which was only cabinet size, and, therefore, no great burden. By Miss, Pane's direction, he paused some distance from them, and held I TEE HIDDEN SKELETON. 1'T9 it aloft. After two ror three shifting of position, a good light was finally secured, and then the glowing beauty, with her dreamy eyes and brilliant tints, looked down from her curtained opera-box upon them. "Now; is it not admirable?" cried Netta, triumphantly. "Is it not herself?" The general rose and came forward-ad- justing his eye-glass as he did so. He was an excellent art-critic, and they all felt that a certain responsibility rested upon hi~ de- cision. Perhaps he felt this himself; for, when he came within proper range of the picture, he said "Hum! "in a way peculiar to him, a way as of one startled into reluc~ tant admiration; and then he stood still, and gazed intently on Maurice Darcy's hand- iwork. "It is excellent" he said at last~ rather slowly. "I had no idea that Captain Darcy was nearly so good an artist. Not that I ever saw any of his productions; but still -those flesh tints are singularly transpar- ent," added he, breaking suddenly into criticism. "I never saw any thing better, although he has too much warmth of color- ing-a sort of Gorgione dash which is hardly-" "You forget that Valerie's complexion was not then what it is now," interposed Valerie's friend, rather indignantly. "I beg your pardon," said the general, courteously, "but I was not thinking of Valerie's complexion at all; I was dealing with the picture, as a picture. The fore- shortening is admil~able, too. The only thing, in fact, to which it is possible to ob- ject, is that heightening effect obtained by means of__" "But as a portrait, sir," said Netta, who ~vas terribly uncultivated, and cared noth- ing whatever about tints, tones, and effects. "What do you think of it as a portrait?" "I think it is grossly flattered," said the general, who did not fancy such remorseless interruption. But meanwhile Gaston Darcy had not spoken. He sat quite motionless in his chair, gazing so earnestly, so almost mourn- fully on the canvas, that at last Valerie laid her haiid softly. on his arm. "And what do you think of Maurice's work?" she asked, as he turned to her. There was a moment's pause-a pause in which he looked from original to copy, and from copy back to original. Then- "What do I think of it?" he repeated, sadly. "I think there in a heart-throb in every stroke." Before the bright blood had died away from Valerie's face-the blood which quick- ened her resemblance to the picture till even the general could have found no fur- ther fault with the Gorgione dasl~-.-.she heard a quick cry, whether of joy or pain it was impossible to tell, and Netta Pane's white dress went by her like a flash. They all turned simultaneously in the same direction, and there, coming along the terrace toward them, was a soldierly-looking man in undress uniform,' with his arm in a sling- a man whom Ketta was eagerly bounding to meet; and as they looked she threw her arms round him with these glad words of welcome: "Charley !-my own dear Charley! Is it indeed you?" CHAPTER IV. THE HIDDEN SKELETON. If was indeed Charley Hautaine-but Charley Hautaine looking the mere shadow of his former self. A hollow-eyed, wanted ghost, bearing the traces of long illness on his pale face, where the eyes shone un- naturally large and dark, and of a painful wound in the disabled arm, which hung usO- less in its sling. When l{etta's greeting had a lilttre sub- sided, he found General Aylmer's cordial welcome ready for him, together ~1th Va- lerie's outstretched hands and eager vOiCe. "Oh, (Jharley, dear friend, I am so glad to see you' again!" she said. "But, my poor boy ~ cried ~etta, ~hovering between tears 'and lt~ughter; "how badly he looks!--Aiid your arm, Charley !-what is the matter with your arm?" "A bullet is, or was, the matter with page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 VALERIE AYLMER. THE HIDDEN SKELETON. 181 it," said Charley, laughing as people do laugh in the very midst of agitation. "A souvenir of Sadowa-I only wish it had been the worst!" "And what could be worse?" asked she, breathlessly. "An attack of fever in a prison hospital. Don't you think so?" Then they overwhelmed him with a storm of questions. Where had he been I- what had he 1~een doing I-had he been taken prisoner? "I am a prisoner on parole now," he re- plied. "A parole that don't signify much," said the general. "The war is virtually ended." "I suppose so," the other answered. "It is just my luck to be always caught on the losing side! I did want to thrash those rrussians, if only to feel myself oncemore having the best of it-but Fate was against me, as well as against Austria! I have heard, however, that sympathy is a balm for every ill-and, I hope, I am sure of that here." "Sure of any amount of it," said Va- lerie, warmly. "But come! we must not keep you standing here, and you looking so pale and tired. We are just taking our coffee; but I shall order something more substantial for you." "I have already dined," he said; "and, if you wrn allow me, I will only join you in your coffee. how delightfully pastoral you look!" "Yes, we have dancedd upon a pleasant home," she said, as she led him forward to the spot where Mr. Darcy and the coffee, Baptiste and the picture, had been left to keep each other company. The latter was amusing himself by an open-mouthed stare at the stranger whom the whole family had rushed to greet in such an effusive manner, while the former was sitting quite still, with his head bent forward on his chest in the manner usual with him. "We have another-a new friend with us," said Valerie, as they advanced. And, just as she spoke, the cripple slowly lifted his head, and turned his face to them. If that face had been one from the dead, its effectupon Oharley Hautaine could scarcely have been more startling. For a second he recoiled, and stood gazing mutely-a mingled astonishment and anguish in his eyes-then he uttered one cry so low and hollow that, involuntarily, Valerie's hand fell from his arm. "My God! The pause of the next moment might al- most have been felt, it was so deep, and yet so short. ~o short that General Aylmer and Netta had not reached them when, after making a sign to Baptiste for his crutches, Mr. Darcy rose and limped for- ward. "Come with me a moment," he said to Hautaine. Then to Valerie, "You will ex- cuse us-we shall not be long." And the first th~ng she knew, she was standing alone, gazing in dumb amazement at the two men slowly moving away. It was something more than strange, such conduct; but still she managed to quiet the astonishment of the others, when they came up, or at least to restrain its expression. They were evidently old friends, she said, and Mr. Darcy had probably something of importance to tell Charley. They bad said they would not be long. But there was an awkward sense of mystery in the air, de- spite this plausible statement; and very little use in trying to ~conceal that they each felt curious, far more curious than they would have liked to acknowledge. Conversation languished, for, while each one strove to preserve an appearance of dignified uncon- cern, each in reality watched anxiously the two who had paused not far off, and were talking earnestly. At least Mr. Darcy was talking earnestly. His companion listened with bent head, and only occasionally ut- tered a few words, which the lifted hand of the other more than once stayed. But at last the pantomime came to a close, and, turning, they walked slowly back, side by side, to the group waiting for them. "I hope you did not think I meant to abduct your cousin, Miss Fane," said Mr. Darcy, in his usual tone, as he relapsed in- to his fori~aer seat, and allowed Valerie to relieve him of his crutches; "but we are such old friends, Charley and I, that I almost feel as if I had the first claim upon him." "Old friends!" repeated. the general, a little curiously. "Why, how did you two ever chance to know each other?" "You forget that Charley was in the navy, papa," said Valerie, coming to the rescue; "and naval officers knew every- body, I believe." "Gaston and I met in Italy, before the war-our war, I mean," said Charley, who looked many degrees more pale and weary than when Netta had caught sight of him coming along the terrace, twenty minutes before. "You are to drink a cup of coffee imme- diately," said Valerie, turning to him. "I sent Baptiste to order some of Jules's very best; and here he comes with it-for once, just in time.-Papa, don't you think it ought to have a strengthening dash of bran- dy in it?" "Something more than a dash, I should say," the general answered. "Come with me, Charley, and Twill give you something better for your nerves and your looks than even Jules's famous coffee." "I believe I prefer the coffee, sir," said Ilautaine, with a glance at the hand which offered it-a very pretty hand, as all Miss Aylmer's admirers had long since acknowl- 4 edged. "Pshaw!" said the unromantic father. "You can drink that afterward, if you 1 choose, but I insist on the Otard first. I I have some that is capital." "Go, Charley. You can come back for your coffee," Valerie said. And, with only tolerable grace, Charley went. He looked so much better when he a came back-thus proving the efficacy of the 1 general's prescription -that Miss Aylmer t smiled approvingly, as she dropped a lump I of sugar in his cup and handed it to him by c way of reward. I The cloud seemed somewhat to pass 1 away from them after this, and they sat and ~ talked very pleasantly in the rosy sunset a -pleasantly to outwarl appearance, that s is; but Valerie noticed, with a woman's t quick observation,, how deeply Ilautaine's n brow contracted whenever his glance fell on 5 Gaston Darcy's bent frame-the frame of t an old man as he sat drawn together in his c large arm-chair-and, when the first one of' the constantly-recurring spasms of pain seized him, Char~ey pushed back his chair, as if by an uncontrollable impulse, turning his eyes away, as he saidwith a'gasp: "I cannot bear it! It is too horrible!" "You will grow used to it after awhile- we have done so," said Valerie, softly. "And he bears it so patiently." "It is not much to bear," said Gaston, who had caught her words, low as they were. And he raised his face, still lined and dis- torted from agony. "I have not learned to suffer and be still yet-that is all." "Don't slander yourself, Mr. Da~rcy," said Netta, quickly. "I have never heard you utter even a groan." "No-I hope not. But it is quite as inconsiderate to manifest 'pain by gesture; and really I do not suffer-very much." He hesitated a moment before uttering the last two words-words which were al- most sublime. They all felt it; and, from some vague instinct, they were all silent. Nobody contradicted the assertion, though they each knew that, but for' the mighty and beneficent aid of opium, he could scarcely have borne for one day the weight f bodily anguish laid upon him. "Let Liim take as much morphine as he pleases," a noted physician had once sald to his other. "Its influence will outlast his ife." Then Charley began to ask questions )f the home people, and by degrees the con- rersation drifted to the scenes and the friendss they had left behind in the distant native land, so that, as the shadows lengthened, as the golden light, faded from he gray tower and 'gilded: spire of St. loche, and the soft evening shades began to lose about them, they almost forgot Gaston )arcy's presence, so qtiiet and still he lay ack in his chair, while over the wide raste of tossing water they went back for space to the old scenes, and the bright ky which looks down as lovingly on desola- ion as it ever looked on peace! Familiar iames flashed from lip to lip; allusions, so light that they were almost trivial, brought he quick tear, the ringing laugh. A word r a tone was sufficient to summon up pic- page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 VALERIE AYLMER. THE HIDDEN SKELETON. 183 tures on'whieh their eyes would never gaze again. The charm of the old, glad, careless existence swept over them; but it was with that pang, at once so unutterably tender and so unutterablybitter, which stirs with- in us as we stand by the newly-rn de grave of some fair creature whose grace an beauty, gone out of our life, have left i forever desolate! But even as the smiles of the cad come back to us, at once to agonize and to soothe, so that halcyon Long Ago of them- selves and their country started out of the tomb at their bidding-so the laughing eyes and the happy voices came across the gulf of time and the ocean of blood 1-so the green leaves (greener than they will ever be again!) rustled over their heads once more- so the golden sunshine (more golden than any sunshine of to-day!) slept on their path-so the fair faces and gallant forms (there are none so fair or so gallant left!) rose out of their dark resting-places under the cold sod, and the frank hands seemed stretched out across the dark abyss! At last, in a voice half choked with tears, Valerie said: "Friends, let us stop! We feel - we know-~at we, ~exiles though we be, have chosen the better part; but, if we would rest content, let us not talk of home. I, for one, cannot bear it!" "We have certainly talked enough to give us all the blues," Netta said, with an attempt at lightness. "And indeed-but yonder come Eugene and Alix at last!" "Alix! "repeated Hautaine. "One of our own people," Valerie said. "You haven't forgotten the Rivi~res who lived i~t River-view? Well, this is-" "Not the pretty little brown-eyed child I remember, surely I" "Yes, the very same. You will like her, I know." She said this, as the two truants came sauntering slowly up the garden-walk tow- ard the terrace-steps, the last crimson glow from the west giving a warm tinge to the pale-browu curls that fell around Alix's slender throat, and, to the white dress she wore, with its broad black sash. She looked lovely, exceedingly, as she mounted the steps and ptuised a moment in natural sur- prise at seeing a stranger, with one hand still resting on the stone bahistrade. "This is Mr. ilautaine, Alix," said Va- lerie. And Alix, who had heard a great deal' about Mr. Hautaine within the last few weeks, gave a start of surprise and pleasure. "I am very glad," she said, simply and cordially; "and I-~I hope he is not badly hurt," she added, looking at the young man with her shy, sweet eyes full of sympathy ~or his pale face and wounded arm. It was provoking certainly, but before Charley had time to ~ie~nowledge the gentle graciousness of this reception, Eugene, who had lingered a moment behind, bounded up the 'steps and confronted him with all the effusion of that good-fellow welcome which at any other time he would have appreciated, but which, just then, he could not help feel- ing a bore. "Why; old fellow, is this really you?'~ Eugene said, full of cordial astonishment. "1 am delighted to see you !-delighted to have this optical evidence that you haven't gone to hobnob with the shades of Alex- ander and Napoleon! But falth, mom ami, you look as if you had come very near being admitted into that illustrious company! What the mischief have you been doing to yourself?" "He has been wounded, Eugene," said Netta, in a tone of expostulation. "01-has he? Well, I should certainly feel justified in affirming that something of the sort had befallen him. Pray, Master Oharley, have you received your Theresian cross, in recompense of your distinguished services and sufferings for his Imperial Ma- jesty Franz Joseph, yet?" Charley shrugged his shoulders. "Don't twit the unfortunate, thou happy wilder of the compass and lines! When I do receive my Theresian cross, you shall hear of it, you may be sure !-Miss Rivi~re, I am very grateful for your kindness. I don't feel at all as if I needed to be intro- duced to you, I have been so often in your father's house, and I remember you so well, when you were young enough to make me feel quite old in looking at you now." Alix laughed. "That must have been a * good while ago," she said, with an arch nod of her pretty head. "I don't think i'm very young now. But I remember you, too, Mr. Hautaine-at least I think so." "You might do so very easily," Netta said. "But don't you all think we had better go in? It is too lath for Mr~ Darcy to be out-besides, we have another invalid on our list now. So, en avant!" "I would rebel against being made a kill-joy in this style," said Mr. Darcy, taking up his crutches, and preparing to rise, "but that I think the saloon will be better for all of us, and we can hear some music then." "'Stay with me, lady, while you may, For life's so sad, this hour's so sweet; Ah! lady, life too long will stay, Too soon this hour will fleet,"' muttered Eugene, disconsolately. "Are we really going in, like a set of-of insensi- bles?" "We really are," answered Miss Fane, in her short way, that always settled mat- ters. "Mr. Darcy will get sick, and Alix will get a sore throat, if we stay out here any longer." "I'm not at all afraid of a sore throat," said Alix. "I don't suppose you are-to-night!" their mentress retorted. "But to-morrow you will not fancy croaking like a raven; or taking pepper-tea like a salamander, either. Come, don't be obstinate. Move on!" "One moment," said ilautaine, laying his hand on Valerie's arm, when she rose to follow the rest. "You are not afraid of the mists, are you? Will you give me a few minutes longer out here?" "As many as you please," she answered readily, although her heart misgave her terribly. "I hope he is not foolish about me yet!" she thought. And then she said aloud, "Let us go into the garden and walk a little. It is beautiful down there." It was beautiful down there, for the wild luxuriance of Nature had quite over- grown the trim regularity of art, and the result was one never achieved by a gardener's hand. The moon shone in three-quarter pro- file above the groups of aeaeia4rees, and her light was already beginning to prevail over the soft dusk, and faint, melting outlines of shadow along the paths they tkillowed, while the terrace, with its massive stone balustrade' and large vases, rose behind them, the white chAteau gleamed above, the windows of the' saloon were wide open, and light and music and gay voices floated out together on the still night air. "It is all wonderfully lovely!" Ilautaine said, as they stopped by a fountain, the sparkling waters of which caught the moon- beams, and glittered in them like showers of diamonds. "A man should be a poet on 'such a night, and in such a scci~; for, after all, there is a charm about the south of Eu- rope which is only to be felt-never to be described." "No," said Valerie. "For, much as I have always heard and read of it, I did not realize in the least its exceeding beauty un- til I saw it." "And do you think you are settled here for good?" She shook her head. "I wish I could think so. I would ask nothing better than to spend my life in this way-but papa has nothing pastoral about him. He likes the world, with all its rush and roar." "So did you once, if I remember rightly." "Did I?" she said, dreamily. "I be- lieve I did; but it is so long ago, I had al- most forgotten about it. At all events, I don't like it now." "Don't you even like Paris ?-yoii, who used to adore New Orleans wWh all your French soul!" "No - not even Paris. When I was there, I only found that it wearied me un- utterably. Papa talks of Rome for next winter, or Naples, or Madrid, or ever so many more places; but I shrink whenever he mentions them, for all I ask is to stay just 'where I am." "I don't understand you," said her com- panion, a little curiously. "Once those very places were the desires of your heart." "I don't understand myself," she an- swered, "unless it be that they are those deferred sugar-plums of existence of which Guy Darrell talks. I longed for them when I could not reach them-i panted for them page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 VALERIE AYLMER. when they were afar off-and now that they are so near, I feel as if they were the fairy gold that turned to moss and leaves in the grasp.~~ There was a pause which remained un- broken for several minutes. They turned into another one of the long, straight alleys, and had nearly reached its extremity, when Hautaine sp6ke, quite abruptly: "Valerie, when I was in Baltimore, I heard that you were engaged to Maurice Darcy." Valerie started-started as if a rude hand had been laid on a bare nerve; but she did not speak for some time. Then she said, slowly- "Who told you so, Oharley?" "It is true, then?" "Never mind about that, just now. Tell me who told you so." "I-I'm not sure that I remember who it was," Oharley said; for instinct taught him better than to mention Julian Romney's name. "I heard it after I saw you. I think my old friendship gives me the right to ask what I sho~ild very much like to know-if it is true?" "It was true," she answered-for her life she could not say more. "You were engaged to him? " - "And-and you are not engaged to Pm now?" Another pause. Then- "I have been fighting against my love for you ever since then," Hautaine said sadly, "and I have been so far successful that I can now say-.I am sorry to hear it is not true." "Then, dear friend," said Valerie, hold- ing out her hand, with a sudden impulse, "somebody did us both a great service. A great service to you if you, were cured of a weakness which only brought you pain; a greater on~ yet to me, if it gives me back the old affection which we felt for one another when we were children together in our be- loved Louisiana." "I said that I had been fighting against it," answered he, pausing short in his walk. "And I thought I had entirely succeeded in crushing it out, or I would never have come here! But the first sight of your face, the first tone of your voice, told me that one word would be enough to waken it again-. and-and I'm almost afraid that word has been spoken!" "I am not afraid of it," said Valerie, firmly, for she felt that a moment had come when she must put an end to all false hopes for very honor's sake. "You might have clung to me so long as I was heart-free, Oharley, but I know you too well to fear that you will do so when I tell you that, al- though my engagement with Maurice Darcy is broken forever, he is the only man I have ever loved, and the only man I would ever have married ! '~ He looked at her wistfully-so wistfully. "And-when you say that he left you?" "Yes, through my own fault, lie left me." After this, they walked silently along for some time. It was bright moonlight now, and their shadow~4~ell sharply and distinctly on the path before them. Almost as sharp- ly and distinctly Hautaine's tones sounded~ when he spoke again: "GAo sard, sard! Yet it seems right hard that the prize for which I have striven a life- time should be seized at last by a stranger's hand; but-there is very little courage in groaning over defeat. I should certainly by this know how to practise the resignation which comes of despair. I don't mean to break my heart, either, Valerie-if that is any consolation to you." "It is a great consolation, dear Oharley." "And I did not bring you away to tor- ment you with the old story that has troubled you so often before. I wanted to tell you something-which you ought to know-and -to ask your advice. Will you sit here a little while-or are you afraid of the night air? " "Not the least afraid," she answered, as she sat down on a stone seat that ran around the~fountain to which they had returned. "I am all attention, and all interest, ns long as you want me." He sat down beside her, but he did not speak for a considerable time. When he did, his eyes were fixed, not on her face, but on the water before him. "Valerie, do you remember the day I I I THE HIDDEN SKELETON. 185 met Maurice Darcy in your grandfather's house." "Yes," she answered, in a low voice. "I remember it very well." "And did he ever tell you the meaning of what you saw and heard that day?" "Never." "He - Gaston, I mean - told me he thought you did not know. Ho wanted me not to tell you; but I, could not-" he gave a gasp as if for breath-" I could not stay hero in the house with you, and with him, and let you think-let you not think, that is-all that I deserve should be thought of me!" "Charley," she said, quickly, "I could never think any thing wrong of you.~~ "I remember you said that-or some- thing like it-once before. It hurt then- it hurts now-worse than a blow. Good God! Valerie, when you say that, you do not know that I am worse than a murder- er!" "Oharley!" "Yes," he went on excitedly, "a hun- dred times worse! A murderer at least makes short work of his victim, but I hav~ condemned mine to a lifetime of torture! Valerie, think if you can-if indeed auy- body besides myself can imagine-think of what I endure, when I look at Gaston Dar- cy's crippled form, when I remember his blasted life, and when I know that it is all my work 1" "Oharley!" "Yes-all my works" Valerie sat aghast. Her wildest conjec- tures had never gone so far-her most ex- treme fears had never pointed to this. This, then, was the wrong which Maurice Darcy could never fo~give-this the crime which he had declared brought its own worst punishment! And, as the cripple's lined face and bent figure rose before her, surprise and horror together seemed to chain her tongue, until she could scarcely have uttered a single ward if her life had de- pended on it; but indeed Hautaine went on rapidly, as if he did not care to wait for Comment: "I sometimes think that even the suffer- ings he has endured have scarcely equalled mine-scarcely exceed the remorse I have endured for years! I have seen that face of his wherever I went-and in every sound I have heard his voice! I have endured al- most a thousand deaths, and borne within my heart a canker which has poisoned for me sometimes even your smile! The war, when it came, was a blessing to me-but the bullets never found their best mark. Other men-men to whom life was all fair and bright-were stricken down beside me; but I-I was spared!" "Oh, Charley, hush!" cried Valerie, finding her voice and a half sob together. "Hush! It is terrible to talk in that way! Yes, you were spared, and I will tell you why-you were spared to feel that there is One above us who does all things well. You were spared to know that there is no human wrong or error to which He does not grant the power of expiation. Oh, be comforted! Look at that poor face of Gas- ton Darcy, and see what a sublime pa- tience suffering has put there; then, do not dare to say this suffering has been ill sent." "I know! I know! But then, it was not God who sent it." "It was God who permitted it." A pause-longer than any which had preceded it-and then Hautaine lifted the head that had sunk uponhis hands, and said hoarsely: "I believe you know that Maurice Dar- cy and I were once friends."~~ "Yes." , "Frieiids the very best that ever were, I think. We never made any formal pro- testations of the sort to each other, but I am sure I never cared for any other man- scarcely even my own brother-as I did for him. And he liked me just as well. We met in Ital~y, and were together whenever I was there; indeed, in many other places besides, for Maurice was almost as much of a rovei' as my profession made me. In the summer of '60, the Argemone was ordered to the Mediterranean." "I remember it." "Yes-I suppose you do. Well, as soon as possible, I procured leave 'of absence, and took up temporary quarters with Maurice, then painting in Florence. I found with page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 188 VALERIE him (his father had died very shortly be- fore) a younger brother-this Gaston- then ~. boy of nineteen or twenty. You don't know how plainly I see him yet as he looked at that time. lWot handsome, I sup- pose; but so full of life and generosity that his face was irresistibly attractive. I liked the boy-no one could have helped liking him; and he took a great fancy to me. How strange it seems, to think that that man yonder is lie-I have not learned to realize it yet. Well-he took a fancy to me. Maurice more than once laughingly declared that I was rivaling him in Gas- ton's affection, and that Gaston was ousting him from mine. One day-" he spoke very rapidly now-" Maurice received a letter, summoning him on business to Paris~ and he asked me if I could not remain with Gas- ton until his return, for the boy was rather inclined to dissipation (his only fault), from which the elder brother was trying to wean him by gentle degrees; and he was very un- willing to leave him alone in a foreign city, 'exposed to its many temptations and conse- quent dangers. I promised willingly to re- main, and I remember Maurice's smile, as he said, 'Thank you, arnico mio-I thought I could depend on you!' He did depend on me-and for what?" There was a long silence, during which an instinct prevented Valerie from lifting her eyes to the face near her. So she sat with them steadily bent on the four stone triton, that stood in unchanging attitude, while the water danced and sparkled over their upturned heads. And when Hau-' tame resumed, it was in the same quick, nervous tone as that in which he had be- fore spoken: "M~turice want away, and I do not think I shall ever forget the cordial fare- well grasp of his hand, for I never felt another! The last words he said to me were: 'I trust you implicitly~; but, pray, i~e- member to be watchful.' I knew what he meant, and for several days Gaston was scarcely out of my sight. I felt the nature of the trust the more, because I knew that, if I had not been in Florence, he would have taken Gaston with him to Paris; for I had long been aware why he was more f AYLMER. than ordinarily anxious about the boy's habits. Iu the mother's family-Gaston's mother's, I mean-there was an hereditary tinge of insanity, and, in every instance where madness occurred, it had been the result of dissipation. Well, two or three days after Maurice left us, I met, very unex- pectedly one day, a squad of two or three officers from the Argemone. Of course, they were delighted to see a comrade, and the rencontre ended in an invitation to a post-opera supper that night-an invitation in which young Darcy was included, and which all the circumstances rendered it im- possible to refuse. I went, in a state of uneasiness, but it was a great relief to me to find that Gaston kept entirely within the bounds of moderation. Indeed, be behaved so very prudently that I began to revolve and consider possible a scheme which only the devil himself could ever have put into my head, and, before the supper ended, I had invited all the party to dine with me on the followix~g evening. I think some- times of that next day with such vain exas- peration as I imagine to be the portion of the lost spirits in hell. A dozen times, be- tween sunrise and sunset, I was on the point of excusing myself on an?,' plea, and withdrawing the invitation-but still the sun went down behind the Arno, and it was not done. A dozen times at least, an instinct warned me of coming ill, and I put the warning from me. I remember that, just as I sat down to table, Maurice's face rose before me, with a look of stern re- proach-but it was too late then! Several additions of artist-friends had been 'nude to the party, which made it quite a large one; and, with all my efforts to preserve order, the wildest conviviality soon set in. I must hurry over this-it almost kills me to think of it, even now. Among all the jests and songs and peals of laughter that made the roof ring, I grew more and more uneasy, for I soon saw that G~iston had thrown off the restraint 'of the evening befQre, and was drinking with the deepest. liemon- strance would have done no good, I knew, for intoxication always made him resent- ful and quarrelsome. My only hope was in breaking up the party soon, but this seemed almost an impossible thing with a set of men who were my own invited guests, and who, furthermore, had just de- dared an intention to make a night of it. What I endured as I sat there, with a smile on my lip, it would be impossible to say; but it was only a foretaste of that which was to come. At last, my worst fears were realized !-a violent quarrel began between Gaston and one of the guests-one of the Argemone officers-in which I strove to in- terfere. The former at once turned on me fiercely, charging me violently with an at- tempt to domineer over him. I remember that I was patient a long while-longer than was thought a virtue by the men around me-but, at last, the blood began to boil in my veins, and the wine I had been drinking to heat my brain. A bitter insult -I have long since forgotten what it was- finally proved too much for me. I flung a glass of wine in his face-and then we closed together. Of what followed I have little or no recollection. For the first and last time in my life, a perfect devil seemed to enter into and take possession of me; and, in my overmastering rage, murder would have been as easy to me as the rais- ing of my hand. I forgot Maurice-I for- got whom I fought-I forgot every thing save the brute instinct of ferocity. I have a faint recollection of struggling like an infu- riated tiger-a recollection, still more faint, of lifting Gaston Darcy's slight form in my arms and hurling him bodily out of the window !-Then a cry of horror burst even from the half-intoxicated men aroimd me- and I came to. myself-and the sickness of an unutterable death rushed over me. "When they took him up, he was still breathing, but the doctors said the spine was fatally injured. You see, however, that he has lived-a cripple!" Silence again-silence so deep and pain- ful that Valerie almost heard her heart beat in her ears, as she sat, chilled in ~rery limb and sickened in ever~ fibre, so that motion would have been almost as impossible as utterance. She did not see Hautaine-she only saw the moonlit gravel at her feet- when he spoke again: - "I was by his brother's bedside when THE HIDDEN: ~T SKELETON. 18~ Maurice came back, and I had rather he had cursed me-~-a thousand times rather he had killed me-than said the bitter words that ring in my ears yet. I sat there, and it seemed the voice of God that ordered me forth, that called me what I felt myself to be, the 'betrayer of trust!' I thipk he would have killed me-I hoped that he would -if lie had not felt that life was my worst punishment, and his best revenge. From that day to this, I have endured worse than death-I endured more than that to-day when I saw the man I ruined writhe be- neath the agony which I laid upon him!" The voice sunk now with an intonation which said: "I have done "-and, after one moment's pause, Valerie's clasped hands covered his own, and a cry, so tender and yearning that it might have burst from a mother's lips, sounded on the still night air: "0, Ohariey! My poor-poor boy!" was what it said. He laid his hot brow down upon those cool soft hands, and neither of them spoke for some minutes. At last he said, without raising his face: "Now you know all about it. Tell me if I can dare to do as he wishes-dare to stay here and meet him, like-like any one elsQ." "Why not?" she asked. "Why not? 0 Heavens! You don't know how I have fled from his presence- how I have shunned him as men shun a pes- tilence! I feel as if the same roof c&uld not -should not-shelter us both!" "And I feel-I know-that if you were once thrown with him, alid once saw his marvellous content, his beautiful patience, as we see it who live with him, you, too, would feel that, although your act may have robbed the world of a man, it gave God a saint! You, too, would realize, as he does, that all ends work for good in His hands.-. and you, too, would learn resignation to the inevitable." "Resignation!" he repeated, almost fiercely, "yes, resignation for any thing which was not my own work. But I did this, not God. How should you know what it is to feel this agony of remorse, this knowl- edge-" page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 VALERIE AYLMER. lie stopped short, for even the moon- light showed him the change which had come over his companion's face. He saw a spasm of pain contract the pale features, and a mournful light shining out of the large eyes raised to his own. "You are mistaken," she said, slowly. "You judge only by the surface, and you do not know that I bear on my life a weight of remorse to which your own is, or ought to be, almost nothing. You ruined Gaston Darey's mere physical life, and you gave him the means by which he will ascend to Heaven; but what would you think if you had killed body and soul both? What would you feel, if you had deliberately led him to some point of despair, and then seen him rush on a death for which he was all un- prepared, and which was as much your work as if you had killed him with your own hand? Answer me-what would you think of that?" Her voice had risen into solemn pathos, as she uttered these words; and all the an- guish of her soul seemed going out toward him, and being laid open before him. In an instant he knew of whom and of what she spoke. He remembered Julian Romney's face and manner on that night which proved so fateful, and then a sudden impulse came over him. "Valerie, dear ~ he said, quickly, "I know what you mean, but believe me you are all~ wrong. It was no thought of you, no act of yours, which sent Julian Romney to his death. Did you know that I was there, at the party where the quarrel occurred. If you would only-~" But she silenced him by a gesture. "Hush, Charley! It is very good of you; but all this has been said to me before, and still it does not lighten my burden. I know all about it-I know how unlike him- self; how morbid, and wretched, and desper- ate he was-all through me. We will not speak of it. I cannot do so yet-I scarcely think I ever shall. I only did so now, that I might convince you that others suffer as much as you; and to bid you take comfort and faith. This is not surely the first time you have seen Mr. Darcy since-you have met him before?" "Once. But he sought me out himself then. It was in Paris; and he came to offer his friendship, he was too generous to say his pardon. A few months after that, I met Mauricefor the first time since we parted at his brother's bedside-and you remember he would as soon have touched a viper as my hand!" "Maurice is very hard," said Valerie, mournfully. "But is he not right? Have I-I, with more than his blood upon my head, any right to touch that other band?" "Yes, you have," she said, firmly. "And Maurice is wrong. It will do you good to stay. It will please kim-and surely you would count any sacrifice well made that did that." "Does he indeed wish it?" "Did he not tell you so?" "Yes, but-" "There is no 'but' in the question 1', she interrupted. "You must stay. First, because he requests it. Secondly, because this is your proper home, now that you are wounded and sick. Indeed, you shall re- main until you are well again. We will not give you up! Put these morbid thoughts from you, dear Charley. Recognize God's will over and above all things; and, when we recognize that, we may as well bend to it, you know; for resistance is utterly use- less. Remember how many years of suf- fering have atoned for the act of one hour; and then remember, also, that it is time to cease mourning. I know there must al- ways be a saddened regret, but the bitter- ness of unavailing remorse is bitterly mis- placed. Sinning and suffering! Ah!it is only what we all are doing; but the suffer- ing need not be prolonged eternally, for even God does not do that, save to those who have never given one thought of regret, or made one aspiration for pardon. Promise me that you will stay?" "I did not ask your advice without meaning to take it. I will do whatever you decide." "I have decided, then. You shall not leave us until you must. Now let us go back to the chMeau-I am sure this night air cannot be good for you-and I will make Alix sing something." THE' HERO OF SADOWA. 189 CHAPTER V. THE nzuo OF sADowA. Tnnnn was one person at least to when Valerie's decision proved far from agree ble; one member at least of the chtteai party who wished its new inmate at-well at Vienna! On the very first day of his arrival Hautaine developed a marked admire tion for Alix-an admiration which sensi bly increased with every succeeding honi of his stay, and which caused Eugene'~ friendly regard and friendly cordiality tc diminish in exact ratio. For, alas! the ir- ruption into Arcadia was come, the golden hour was over, the magic charm was van- ished, and the rough world, where every man takes what he can get, burst in upon the fair idyl which had a little while back seemed flowing so smoothly to a peaceful close. Xow all was changed. Ohan~ed how much, or how little, no one could tell; but even Eugene's bold heart misgave him some- what. He would not have feared ordinary rivalry at all; he had not cared in the least about the effusive admiration those bearded young engineers expressed for La petite )Yiie, as they dubbed Alix, but then-well, this was different. A rival of any sort would have been bad enough, but a rival who threw him-Eugene-completely into the background, ~d took the highest place in everybody's regard, by virtue of his pale face and his wounded arm, and his general halo of heroic circumstance-a rival who sang an excellent baritone, who could tell a false semitone as soon as he heard it, and who had the whole array of musical terms at the end of his tongue, why it was no wonder that Eugene beg Em to think a good many disagreeable things, and sometimes to say them. "I think I shall go back to work," he said, one day, moodily enough, when he and Valerie chanced to be alone together. "I got a letter from Ledoc this morning, and-well, there's no earthly good in stay. ing here. I think I shall go, Valerie." Valerie looked up at him quickly. She had seen for some time how matters were drifting, and it would be hard to say whetl~er her relief at Oharley's desertion, or her sympathy for Eugene's annoyance, had been greatest. But now, as she noticed ~ what a dark cloud rested in the usually sun- - ny eyes that were bent on the distant line 1 of purple mountains, the latter came over her all at once with a rush. "Did M. Ledoc write for you. Are you obliged to go?" she said. "If not, I am sure I don't see why you should do so." - he mentioned nothing about wanting me," her brother answered. "But there's no good in staying. I might as well go, and be done with it." "No good in staying," repeated Va- lerie, who was a little puzzled, and thought he might perhaps have been rejected. "Yo good !-I don't understand. What do you mean ?." "Just what I say," answered Eugene, shortly. For in truth he did not mean any thing, excepting that he was vexed and out of temper, and wanted somebody to "take it out" on. "You are so well occupied there is no need of me," he went on, after a while. "I think I'm rather in the way than otherwise. I had better take myself off for a time, and perhaps when I come back-" He stopped, partly because he felt a lit- tle ashamed of his pettishness, and partly because Valerie looked so grieved. "I am very sorry," she began. "We never any of us meant to neglect you-I least of all-but we only thought that you were at home, and that you could entertain yourself better than we could entertain you, and-" "Pshaw! You know I didn't mean you!" interrupted the ungrateful brother. "Indeed, I don't know that I meant any thing, excepting that I am tired to death of Hautaine's braggadocio stories of Sadowa and K~niggritz. How long is he going to stay?" "Until he is thoroughly recovered, I hope," Valerie answered-for, although she felt very sorry for Eugene, she had no in- tention of giving up Charley. "Humph!" Then, after a pause-" Is that arm of his never going t~ get well?" page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 VALERIE "Doctor Fontaine says it is doing ex- cellently; but that he must not use it yet." "The sling is too interesting to be given up soon, I suspect. And then it must be pleasant to have three or four women wait- ing on him and cutting up his food as if he were a great baby." "Eugene!" said Valerie, indignantly, and then she stopped. It was natural, no doubt, that he should be jealous; but still, even jealousy has its due limits, at least in expression. "Eugene, I am astonished at you," she went on; "your ideas of hospi- tality must surely have changed very much, for I am sure you would not have talked this way once. If Alix is the matter-" Alix is not the matter!" said Eugene, who felt the justice of the rebuke so sharp- ly that it made him irritable. "Alix is not the matter at all," he repeated, tossing his cigar as far out of the window as he could send it. "She is at perfect liberty to be- stow as much of her time and attention as she pleases on this-this wounded hero. I beg your pardon for having said any thing about him. He is a puppy, but then I ought to have remembered that he was always a sensitive point with you." * "He is no more a sensitive point with me than any other old friend would be," Valerie answered, flushing slightly; "but I am very sorry to hear you talk so. It looks as if-as if you were a little envious. Now, Charley speaks for himself-" "He does indeed, to an uncommon de- gree!" "But you-ah, Eugene, I wish you were more generous. Besides, I don't see why you are s~ jealous. As far as I can judge, your chances of success are as good as, or better, than his." "Better I-you think so?" he cried, for- getful of his late denial that Alix had any thing to do with the matter. "Yes, I think so," his ~ister said, smiling. "But what is the good of tormenting your- self in this way? You h~ive surely forgot- ten your old motto, 'Let the best man win.' It is a fair field; and if Chancy wins-" "That he never shall," interrupted Eu- gene, quickly. "Thank you, Valerie. I AYLMER. see what a fool I was, and I suppose I ought be a little ashamed. The lists are open, certainly; and he-but then I'll make a death-fight of it, and you'll see that I will win." "I should be very glad to see it," she said. But still, in her heart, she thought that she had rather Charley won~ -poor Charley, who had had such a hard time with his love for her, and was besides unhappy in a way Eugene never dreamed of. Meanwhile, Charley was certainly very much attracted by the dainty, brown-eyed fairy who had such pretty, artless ways, ~and who looked up so confidingly sure of admiration, when she had executed a high trill or a low scale in very finished style. And there was nothing singular in this, for he was one of a large class of men who are incapable of entertaining a passion which has proved hopeless, and who possess a great, and, for them, happy faculty of trans- ferring ~their affections on very short notice. He had been in love with Valerie for years -more deeply in love than he could ever be again with any other woman-and, as long as he entertained the least hope of success, had been entirely loyal and con- stant to that affection. But, when once she made clear the undoubted fact, that he need cherish no expectation of return, he had been able to resign himself to disappoint- ment without the least danger of a broken heart. He spoke simple truth when he told her that he had conquered his love for her, or he would not have sought her presence again-and, although the old fancy may have stirred a little at sight of the old smile and the old glance, yet she administered a very effectual quietus in the garden that night when she made her confession of love rfor another man, Difficulty did not spur him on, as it would have spurred some peo- ple; for he was naturally indolent, and, like too many of his passionate, changeable race, did not fancy trouble. High grapes were always sour to him, and that fruit the best and ripest which was most easily plucked. If Valerie really preferred Man- rice Darcy to himself, why- "There were maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, Who would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar" THE HERO So he sang duets with Alix, which were all horrible discord to Eugene'~ soul; he talked German with her (German, so exe- crably bad, on both sidus, that it would have ao.onized any ear of the fatherland); he re~ counted all the musical gossip of Vienna, where musical gossip abounds; he encour- aged her professional aspirations, which Eugene abhorred; he praised her voice until she glowed into grateful rapture; and he finally put the climax on his audacity by offering to become her maestro during the period in which they both remained at the chflteau. "Not that I think I know as much mu- sic as you do," he went on, in explanation; "but I have heard that a poor teacher is better than no teacher at all. Now, I could at least make you practise regularly." "And I am sure I need to be made," Alix said, laughingly, but with a depre- cating glance at Eugene, who was glower- ing over the familiar proceedings of the new acquaintance, "I promised Herr Volkner that I would do so, but I am afraid-ab, one's good resolutions are worth so little." "Unless there is somebody to help one keep them," Hautaine answered, in his easy way. "And I am afraid you have only been aided to break yours.-Eugene, for in- stance, seems to be absolutely jealous ~f the piano." "Colonel Aylmer thinks it is horrible," said Alix, with another little glance at Eu- gene-this time one of resentment. "What is it that I think horrible?" 1 asked Colonel Aylmer, who was ready for a battle at once. "Music," said the little, would-be canta- trice indignantly. "You know you talk ' about it-oh, dreadfully!" "I don't talk about music-I don't care ~ any thing about it-I only say that it is no6 a fit profession for you." "I should like to know-" But here Charley interfered. "He is a ~ heretic, Miss Rivi~re. ~We will leave him p to his heterodoxy. 'If there is one thing in the world he likes better than another, it is o argument; and I make it a point of con- ~ science never to gratify him. Will you take your first lesson now?" b OF SADOWA. 191 After this, instead of mending, matters grew rather more serious. True, they had a short interval of quiet, when Eugene was obliged to go back to his work; but he came again as soon as possible, and was more than ever outraged at the state of in- timacy existing between Alix and Charley. Then it was that the former found herself placed in rather a trying position. Some women, women fond of flirtation and its at- tendant good things, would have liked nothing better than two admirers-two pieces of tinder, rather-to play oft' against each other in this way. But Alix, being of another metal, found nothing whatever at- tractive in the situation, nothing pleasant in the consciousness that there was a strife for her favor going on all the time. Hautaine was too easy in temper, and too perfect in breeding, to allow himself to be betrayed into indiscretions, or tokens of vexation; but Eugene, far more impetuous by nature, also had himself less well in hand; and he not seldom looked both sulky and savage. He would get into " ways" that were posi- tively dreadful, and distinguished himself by being brusque to Hautaine, rude to Alix, and generally disagreeable to everybody else. He did not succeed in making any- body uncomfortable, however, unless it was F~is ladylove. She, poor child, did not at all understand the meanitig of the black looks md sarcastic speeches freely cast in her di- ~ection, and strove sedulously to propitiate aim by every means in her power, sai~e the 'ight one. As, for example: "You seem very busy of late," Eugene aid, entering the saloon one morning where he chanced to be alone. "What with your needlework, and your music, and your valks, I have hardly been able to obtain a vord for days past." "I did not know you had tried," said ~iix, looking up with a snAle that might ~ave soothed a bear. "I thought it was I ~ho had not obtained a glance for days 'ast." "That was because you were too much occupied to notice them," said he, a little ~iortly. "I am sure I don't know how I have ecu more occupied than usual." page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] THE HERO 0]? SADOWA. 198 192 VALI~IRIE AYLMER. "Don't you? Well, no doubt I am mis- taken. That seems to be my habit of late; but, whether you were or not, I should not have thought of troubling you with my indifferent powers of entertainment. I can't sing like Mario, or play like Liszt; I can't criticism like the Saturda?, .1?evieu', or talk German like-like Bismarek; so, all I can do is, to keep i~iyself in the background." "As for music," said Alix, "I think you might know a little more about that, and be a little more liberal-but, for the others, I am sure you can do them all quite as well as the rest of us. For my part, I am very sorry that such a fit of modesty has seized you; for I liked you better when you didn't keep 'in the background." "Humph I" said Eugene-mollified in spite of himself. He amused himself for some time then, by playing with one of her spools; and, after he had tied at least a dozen knots in the thread, and broken each one of them off, he tossed it back into her work-box, and inquired what~he was doing. "Not very much," she answered. "I am only making a sling for the wounded arm of. our hero of Sadowa. See! I have made it out of the Austrian colors in com- pliment to his new nationality. Is it not pretty?" She held it up before him, and Eugene looked at it, and felt that he hated it. The hero of Sadowa! Perhaps, after all, that was the great sting, since he, poor fellow, was not the hero of ally thing. If he cher- isheft a wish in his heart at that moment, it was that he, too, had been at Sadowa (in the Prussian ranks), .and thus possessed one good chance at least tQ have had it out with this detested rival. "I suppose it is pretty," he said at last, somewhat ungraciously; "but I am not fond of either yellow or black. Indeed, I don't know that I'm fond of any colors, excepting the red, white, and red." "Then, when you need a sling," she said laughingly, "I will make it for you out of those beloved colors." "Thank you,~~ he returned, "but, as I am not likely to be the hero of another Sadowa, I shall not prabahly call upon you. My fighl~ing-days are over for good and for all." "Ab, that is your same old philosophy, but-do you think it is necessary?" "I certainly don't think it is worthy of a Confederate officer to descend to the rank of a mere mercenary," he answered, with ill- restrained bitterness. "You surely do not mean it," said Alix, looking at him with eyes full of indignant reproach. "You surely do not mean it, when you remember how many of our best and bravest officers are soldiers in other armies now; and when you remember, too, the great names that Jiave made the profes- sion illustrious.~~ "I suppose you see promise of another Duke de Ber~wick in your hero of Sadowa." "I don't know about seeing that," she returned; "but I am sure he could not select a more glorious model." Eugene bit his lip angrily. There were never any Dukes de Berwick in the engi- neer service! "He must be very much gratified by your approbation of his profession," he said. "I don't suppose he cares any thing about it," she answered. "A soldier thinks more of his laurels than of woman's opinion." "His laurels! I did not know that any- body owning allegiance to the double-headed eagle won any laurels at Sadowa." Alix laid down her work and looked at him with a regard which he did not much approve. "Were there no laurels brought away from Appomattox?" she asked, at length. "A Confederate soldier, it seems to me, should be the last person in the world to think that honor always goes with victory, or shame with defeat." Woman as she was, she had the best of it; and her opponent was frank enough to confess as much. After that, he was not again heard to demur when the hero of Sa- dowa laughingly responded to his title. But whether he liked it or not- "God bless us all, that's quite another thing!" "To-morrow is Alix's birthday," said Valerie one evening, a week or two later. "What can we do to celebrate it properly?" "To-morrow Alix's birthday! repeated ( the general, who was deep in whist. "In deed! And how old will she be?" "I am getting quite old," said Alix, witl a sigh. "I shall be eighteen." "Dear me! So old as that?" asked Mist Fane. "No wonder your face should b( wrinkled, and your curls becoming gray~ flow fast old age comes on, to be sure!" "Now you are laughing at me," said All; good-humoredly. "But, indeed, I dc feel as if it was strange that I should be even so old as that." "We all have that feeling of astonish. ment at every birthday," said Hautaine. "I am sure it was with difficulty I realized not long ago that I am fast approaching that bourne where, according to the prov- erb, a man must be either a fool or a physician.' "And your prudence about you arm en- titles you to hope that you may be included in the latter category," said Mr. Darcy, smil- lug. "Isitnotno?" "He has been very prudent and very obedient," said Valerie, looking at him with a smile; "and I, for one, will grant him the full benefit of a diploma. But you are all forgetting my question-what shall be done to celebrate Alix's birthday." "I can suggest nothing better than a din. ner-party," said the general, who was medi- tating whether or not to play a king second in hand, and thought that the most impor- taut matter of the two. "Dear me, papa," said his daughter, with a faint laugh. "You surely forget that we are not now at Aylmers, with a whole neighborhood at our call. The cure, and Dr. Fontaine are our bnly available guests, you know; and I really ilon't think that either of them would enliven the oc6a- sion very much. No; whatever we decide upon, must of necessity be limited to our- selves." "Shall I tell you what to do?" asked Mr. Darcy, making a rash play, and laying himself open to a trump on his strongest suit. "You have been talking of an excur- sion to the hills for some time. Why not go to-morrow, and celebrate Miss Rivi~re's birthday there." - 13 "Why not, indeed?" exclaimed Eugene. - "What say you, ladies all?" "I think it is a very happy suggestion," answered Valerie; "but what does Alix say?" "I shall be delighted," said Alix, looking radiant. "And I shall be resigned," said Miss Fane. "As a general rule, I abhor picnics. I They are indissolubly associated in my mind with earwigs, caterpillars, and bad colds; but it will afford me pleasure to victimize myself to-morrow." "We will go, then," said Hautaine. "Is it settled?-all of us?" "All who can ride," said Mr. Darcy. "Naturally, I am not ov~ of that number." "And are we to leave you behind?" said Valerie, turning quickly to him. "That will never do!" "Why not?" he asked. "My time was always spent alone, until I Imew what such kind friends were. Besides, I have a long letter to write to Maurice, and I shall be fully occupied with it." "After that declaration, Valerie, I fancy you can have nothing more to say," laughed Eugene, as he rose to leav0 the rQOm. "If it is decided that wego, I mu.~ at once send down to the village find secure Lucien and his mules, or-from the pure perversity of human circumstances-some oz~e else will anticipate us~ This is the season for tour- "I s~e my concern is wasted on your ac- count," said Miss Aylmer, looking at Gaston. "I wonder if there ever was aman whose idea of comfort was not aswociated with the entire absence of every thing feminine?" "And abominably i~ngrateful It is," said Netta, indignantly; "for I should like to know what 4In~ or all of them would do without us." "There are men on record who have tried the experiment," said Hautaine, "and they found that they did so well without you, that the only wonder then became how they ever managed to do toitk you." 192 page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 19~ VAtERIE AYLMER. CHAPTER VI. wno LAUGHED LAST? THE next morning was as bright as could have been desired, even for a picnic excur- sion, and, at a very early hour, the whole 'party were gathered on the terrace ready to start. Lucien, the handsome, sunburnt guide, stood below the steps with his four gayly-decorated mules, on one of which Baptiste was busily engaged in packing a hamper, while the group above talked and lingered, and did not seem in any haste to beoff. "Dear me! "said Miss Fane, who was the last person to make her appearance, looking very sleepy and rather injured, "are we going to ride pillion-fashion ?-or are we going to take it turn about walking? -or are three of us going to stay at home? -or what is the meaning of there being so few mules?" "You are each expected to mount a gentleman behind you," said Mr. Darcy, who wSs leaningon his crutches and enjoy- ing the bustle of departure as much as those immediately interested in it. "As, by your own admission, you are the ranking lady in point of age, you will be allowed the first choice of a companion. Shall it be Mr. Hautaine or Colonel Aylmer?" "Neither," she answered, with a shrug of her shoulders. "I don't want to be shoved over the first precipice we reach- General Aylmer, is there anybody else you would particularly like to accompany?" "No one else at all, Miss Netta," said the genei~al, gallantly. "There never iv any- body else when you are present." "Then, pray consider yourself invited to ride behind that extraordinary-looking affair on which I suppose I am to be perched." "Is she really in earnest?" cried Alix, turning to Mr. Darcy, in genuine consterna- tion. "Are we really to have a gentleman behind us? Oh, my dear general, please- please go with me!" "I am very sorry that a previous en- gagement prevents my having that pleas- ure," said the general, laughing. "But I WHlOs LAUC will delegate the duty to my representative. Eugene "No, no!" cried Alix, quickly, "I can- not think of troubling Colonel Aylmer.- Mr. Darcy, do come with us-Mr. Darcy, * pray! Indeed, no harm shall happen to you, * if you will only ride behind me." "Listen to that mighty offer of protec- tion, will you?" saidflautaine, with a laugh. "Miss Alix, you had better take care of me. I am wounded yet, you know." "The linked music of Sadowa long drawn out," said Eugene with an only half. suppressed sneer.-" Miss Alix, I cannot call upon you for protection, but I flatter myself that in any emergency-and these mountain ascents are dangerous, you know -I should be able to render a littler Come, which of us will you accept?" Alix stood.twisting a little riding~.whip rather nervously in her hand; and looking with an embarrassed face from one to the other of her would-be escorts. "I don't accept either, Colonel Aylmer," she said at last. "I-I wish you would please let me just go along by myself." "That is flattering to you both, at any rate," said Mr. Darcy, laughing. "It would provide me well with attend- ants," said Valerie; "but I don't know that they would be worth much under the cir- cumstances.-Come, Alix, which shall it be?" "Indeed, I'm very much obliged to ydu both," said Alix, still looking at the two gentlemen with a troubled expression; "but-but I think you would either of you be too heavy fur my mule I You ece I have already chosen the smallest." She made this announcement with the most sincere gravity, and was not a little surprised that its only reception was a burst of laughter all round. "You absurd creature!'? said Miss Fane, "do you mean to go through life be- lieving every thing that anybody chooses to tell you? Moderate your fears! We are each to have a cavalier, but he is only to lead our mule." "But-but is not General Aylmer really going to ride behind you?" Alix asked, still rather doubtful. Netta laughed as, by the joint efforts of the general and Lucien, she was safely de- posited in the saddle. "Not unless he com- pletely breaks down with fatigue," she said. "I only hope I may live to get down from this rickety affair," she added, resignedly, as she gathered up her reins and started for- ward with a jingling of many bells. The next couple to set forth were Eugene and Alix, for, to the great delight of the former, the privilege of attendance had de- volved upon himself - Hautaine having gracefully surrendered the point, and of- fered his escort to his hostess. It is to be hoped that duty. was, in this instance, its own reward, and that he did not think of the use to which Eugene might put such an opportunity. But as Alix moved off with her stalwart escort, Oharley certainly set his teeth together for a moment, muttering, too low for any one to hear, the familiar proverb, "He laughs best who laughs last." This jealous paroxysm was only momentary, however; for there was no shadow on his face when he looked up and waved a very spirited farewell to Mr. Darey, as they two moved off. They passed through the vineyards, and, where the regular mountain ascent began, came suddenly upon the general and Miss I Fane, resting comfortably under the shade I of a gigantic chestnut. "We are waiting for Lucien and the I sumpter-mule," the former explained, when they came in sight. "Is he with you ?-Ah, there he comes. .3fons Ii rave, the place of a guide is always in the van." t "Oui, m'sieur," said Lucien, who un- c derstood the gesture, if not the words; f and he led his mule forward immediately. I The tinkling cavalcade fell into line be- l hind him-Eugene and Alix, who had been ti delayed, bringing up the rear, while Miss 'o Fane who came next to the sumpter-mule, s looked back over her shoulder with a bright v smile, as they started. g "Valerie, what do we~most remind you h of?" she asked, gayly. "Do you remember e: the old woman who had rings on her fin- 54 gers and bells on her toes? One would xx really think that all her family connection e were here to-day." p rilED LAST? 195 "We move to a concord of sweet sounds, certainly," Valerie answered; "but I rather like it." "Yes, it is not disagreeable-especially if one has not much to say." And, as this was peculiarly the case with Miss Aylmer and her attendant, the pretty music of their bells served in place of con- versation, as they wound up the steep moun- tain-path after their guide-generally tinder large trees which overshadowed their way with dense foliage and cool, dark shade, but, now and then, catching glimpses of the val- ley beneath, and the wide plains beyond, all bathed in the glad golden sunlight of the south. The air was deliciously fresh and pure at that high altitude, fragrant too with the wild, sweet odors of the forest; and so ciear that distant objects seemed incredibly near and distinct. The village and the chAteau lay as it were at their very feet, while here and there they could distinguish all the residences which they knew, some standing out boldly, like old baronial cas- tles, others half hid among empowering trees. Against the far horizon shone a sil- ver line, which Lucien told them was the Loire on its way to the sea; while, towering tbove the lower range they were treading, ~he higher mountain-tops sharply cut against ~he deep sapphire sky. So, as they jogged forward, Valerie and he man who had once been her lover con- rersed gravely of landscape effects, of tints aid views; while Alix and Eugene became rery oblivious of Nature, and talked of mat- ers decidedly more interesting-at least to ~ne of them. All the clouds of the last ew weeks had temporarily dispersed, for 4ugene was determined to make good use of iS opportunity, and Alix, who was very auch relieved to find him in a good-humor nce more, enjoyed the change without con- idering how long or how short a time it rould last. Her laugh rang as clear, her lance was as bright, as if the face at her side ad never been more overcast than at pres- at, or as if she was pleased to hold in pos- ~ssion once more the moody, wayward ad- iirer, of whom, in truth, she stood consid- rably in awe. There is no better philoso- hy in the world than that of "gathering page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 VALERIE the roses while you may," and it was one which both of these unconscious philosophers practised very thoroughly that morning. Yet, in thinking it over afterward, Eugene began to regret that he- had spent that precious time in gay trifling-in a sort of veiled sword-play, where each understood the other perfectly-instead of putting his fate boldly to the touch. But Alix was so charming, that he forgot every thing save the mere pleasure of being with her, of let- ting his arm rest over the neck of her mule, and looking up into the brown eyes that were all aglow with the bright enjoyment of eighteen. Afterward he appreciated this folly as it deserved to beappreciated, and rated the consequences perhaps higher than they deserved to be rated, but just then he did nothing save bask in the sunshine and gather the roses, forgetting that dead roses sometimes possess very sharp thorns. Only they began to drift a little toward earnestness, when, in reply to some declara- tion of devotion, Alix shook her head in saucy coquetry, and bade 'him remeinber a a certain Mademoiselle de Morny for whom he had owned an undoubted Cendresse not long before. . "And what then?" asked he, who had no idea of attempting evasion. " You won't deny that the heart can change its alle- giance, I hope?" - " The heart change its allegiance! .2ak foi, what an assertion!" cried she. "Mr. Hautaine did well to -say you were a heretic by nature. What will you question next, I wonder? Why- * The leaves bloom every year, ,But the heart but once; and when The blossoms fan off sear, No new leaves come again.'" "Bah !" said he,.irreverently. " That's all very fine ; and true, perhaps-in poetry ! But there's not a living man who could not refute it from experience. -Indeed, the most of us woQuld be sorry enough if we had to abide through life by our first'love." " You don't believe in first loves, then? " "No," said the young heretic, boldly; "for not once in. a thousand cases is a first lov6 any thing but a first folly. A man's last love is his best," he went on-" because into AYLMER. that goes all his strength and passion, if he has any." "But," said she, aghast, "his last love may be his hundredth." "What matter-if it be love, and the rest mere fanciest For I agree with your poet tilus far-we may think we love many times, we really do love but once." " But if we think so every time, how are we to know the right time-the real Simon Pure-when it comes?9" . He looked rather puzzled for a moment -then he glanced up with a meaning smile,. "Shall I tell you ?" " No," she said, with a deep blush; "never mind, just now. Only I think you are wrong about any capacity of love being left for a hundredth fancy. Surely Cupid's quiver is not inexhaustible ; and, after hav- ing squandered affe6tion in small coin, how can you possess it in large bills" "Don't make your questions so person- al," he said, laughingly. " I-individually -cannot lay claim to the distinction of a hundredth or even a fiftieth love." ' " Oh, you content yourself with a forty.- ninth." - "Take care!" he rejoined. "I am a patient man, but, after a while, you will provoke something which you may not fancy." "I'm not afraid,"' she said, tossing her head very prettily. "Give me a defiance, then." But this she declined to do. On the contrary, she suddenly stopped talking, and became very much interested in ,the caval- cade ahead,. " They are halting," she said; " I won- der what it means ? Surely we have not reached our destination !-if so, you must have been very entertaining, Colonel Ayl- iper, for the way has seemed very short." "I am inexpressibly charmed to hear it," said Colonel Aylmer; ."for, if I am not mistaken, this is where we strike our tent. .-Eh, Lucien, is it not ?" .. " This is the place," said Hautaine, com- ing forward. "Miss Alix, are you tired? Let me take you down." Alix held out her hand with a smile, but Eugene peremptorily interfered. "That is *2 U WHO LAU my right," he said ; and, the next moment, his strong arms swung her lightly to the ground. It was a very beautiful place that Lucien had selected for them-a secluded ravine high up among the mountains, where a bubbling stream gushed out of the heart of a rock, and fell into a basin that was placed below it. The light' streamed deliciously soft and dim through the green shade of the overhanging trees, and the whole spot was so lovely that it was no wonder pious hands had dedicated it to the patron saint of the district, and placed a rude cross and image over the stream. "'Drink, weary pilgrim, drink and pray For the kind soul of Sibyl Grey, Who built this cross and well,'" said Valerie, as she stood looking down on the water with which they had all crossed themselves. "I would like to do something of this sort," she added. " I wonder who it was that first dedicated this spring" "It ought to have a statue of St. Hubert instead of St. Clothilde," said Eugene. " I mean to tell M. le Cure so the next time I Ssee him." "It is a great resort with the wood-cut- ters and chestnut-gatherers, and all the other peasants who live in these mountains, Lucien says," answered Miss Pane. "Per- haps you had better make your complaints to them-only I don't expect they would care much about placing their spring under St. Hubert's protection." "I vote that we come here every day to dine," said Hautaine,,seating himself on a large stone, and looking round with an air of great complacency. "It is really exquisite! -Valerie, I hope your sketch-book was not left at home" " Unfortunately, yes," Valerie replied. "I am sorry, for the whole scene is worth sketching, especially Lucien's mules." "I think she admires the mules more than she does us," said Ajix, turning to Eu- gene with a laugh. s"They are more in her line, perhaps," answered that young gentleman.--"Lucien, suppose you unpack that hamper, and put the wine in the stream to cool-it must have grown warm by this time." OGHED LAST ? , Ige "Suppose you do it yourself, Mr. Indo- lence?" said Netta. "Lucien cannot leave his mules. I should think you would have learned, by this time, to dispense with so much attendance." "I am afraid that is a lesson he will never learn," said the general, who was also seated on a stone, and looking by no means so comfortable as the rest of the party. "By Jove! It is very hot! Char- ley, my lad, if you propose coming here every day to dine, I hope you will leave me behind at the chAteau. I may be very un- romantic; but it only strikes me in the light of a very hair-brained excursion to drink flat champagne and eat melted butter." "Pray don't slander the contents of our hamper in that way, at least until you try them," said Miss Pan.-" Eugene, do as you are bid about opening it !-' Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls,' will you be so obliging as to spread the cloth Oh, dear ! Valerie, just look here-the pickles have run into the preserves! " " Throw them away,"~ said Valerie. " Two items from our bill of fare." "Save the pickles!" cried Eugene. "How can preserves possibly hurt pick- lesi" " On the principle of sweets to the sour, I suppose," said Miss Fane. " Here they are, then. I only hope you will eat them! The butter is in a liquid state.-General Aylmer, that is for your benefit-you will enjoy it, I know. And here is French pas- try and chicken indiscriminately mixed up together-Valerie, who did pack this 'ham- per ?" "Baptiste, I suppose," said Valerie, care- lessly, for she was more occupied in trailing a vine-leaf through the clear waters of the spring, than in the prospects for dinner. "At least, I gave the order to him." "I declare, there is scarcely a thing' here fit to eat," said Miss Pane, petulantly, " The marmalade is peppei-ed, and the ham is full of honey. Yes, do look, General Aylmer, is it not a deplorable sight?" For the general, much concerned at the dreadful bulletins from the hamper, had risen, and come forward to inspect matters himself. page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 VALERIE AYLMER. WHO LAUGHED LAST? 199 "The scamp!" said he, working himself into quite a state of indignation against tli absent Baptiste. "I am surprised at yoi Valerie-very much surprised that yo should have left such an important matte to a careless' servant.-What is that, Mu Netta?" "What, indeed?" asked she solemnly, a she regarded a crushed mass that had jus been extracted from the depths of the ham per. "I think-I rather think-it wa once a pate' do fois gras!" "The ohef-d'wuvre that Jules promise me, I suppose," said Valerie, laughing. But the general did not see what thor was to laugh at in such a serious matter He looked at the injured pate' very wist fully. "It must have been excellent," h said, in a tone of regret. "Hang it all, who cares for pate'8.t' cried Eugene. "Fairies don't eat them, am sure, and we are fairies for the nonce~ We shall have to content ourselves with tin fare of the hermit of the dale- 'A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied, And water from the spring.'" "I told you all, it would be infinitely more sensible to stay at home and invite the cure' and Dr. Fontaine to dinner," said the general, addressing the company, with the ruined pate' still in his thoughts. "Perhaps so," said Valerie; "but we are here now, papa, and we must make the best of it. Let us gather up the remnants of the hamper, and see what we can do with them in the way of a dinner." They did so much with them, that it was a very pleasant feast to which they all sat down at last, under the shade of the overhanging mountain-side. True, a grass- hopper occasionally sprung into a glass of wine, and various insects of the creeping order made themselves entirely too familiar with the plates (not to speak of a large frog which perched himself on top of a loaf of bread, and had it pitched after him when he departed). But, then, people expect such little agreeables as these, when they go picnicking; and don't mind them very much, as a rule. "This is simply delightful," said Eugene,~ f ~rhO had entirely recovered all his usual 0 spirits. "Really, as Charley says, I would i, not mind coming up here every day to dine u -that is, if we had a balloon at command." r "I would ask nothing better than the is mode of locomotion we employed this morning," said Hautaine, indolently. ,s "Charley," screamed Miss Fane, "what t is this on my neck? Oh !-ah!-take it off -take it off!" s "It is Eugene's caterpillar," said Char- by, laughing; "one that was on his sleeve I a minute ago. He sent it over to you as a proof of affection." ~ she said, shuddering, C~ this is - dreadful! Caterpillars ad libitum, are many - degrees worse than ruined pate's. Let us go home!" "Accept my humble apologies, and an apricot," said Eugene.-" Charley, fill up her glass, and now, pet, be comfortable and quiet. Nobody is going home for hours yet." "No; for this mid-day heat must be very intense," said General Aylimer, "al- though we are so sheltered that we scarcely feel it at all." "There is almost shelter enough here to * protect one against a storm," said Hautaine, looking up at the dense canopy of green over their heads, with the golden sunshine glinting on the leaves, and flickering down through them in patches of amber light. "Moonlight in this spot must be lovely. There is a moon to-night, is there not? Suppose we stay here until it rises 5" "And break our necks going down," said Eugene. "That would be- What is it, Lucien?" For the guide had come forward and was addressing him. "I said, m~sieur, that perhaps it would be better if we returned," the man replied. "There is a cloud coming up from the southwest that I don't like; and a storm in these mountains is to be feared." Eugene hastily drailled off his glass, and, rising, followed him to an open eminence that commanded a view of the sky. When he returned, it was with quite a grave face. "Looks badly," he said, in answer to their inquiries.-" Charley, you're a sailor, go and see what you think of it." Chancy went-examined the cloud- held a brief conversation with Lucien, and returned, looking more grave than his friend. "The very mischief is brewing there," he said. "But it may give us time to get down to the plains, if we start at once." "I thought you just said there was shel- ter enough here from a storm," said Vale- rie, who felt very comfortable and very indolent. "Not for such a one as is coming up now," he replied. "Ladies all, how soon can you be in the saddle?" "Help us gather together the de'li'ris of all this, and' we will be ready in ten min- utes," said Netta. "Is there really so much need for haste?" "There really is." They were soon ready; but when they came forth from the leafy retreat, and looked at the formidable cloud, a cry of dis- gust and indignation burst from the whole feminine trio. "You call that a cloud!" "It is only an excuse to take us home in this broiling sun!" "Let us go back and stay where we were." "To horse! to horse!" cried Eugene, who saw formidable signs of a mutiny. "Don't you know there may be danger of the worst sort in a cloud no larger than your hand, even when the sun is shining as brightly as now i You might trust us, I think." "We do trust you," said Alix. "Do you?" ho retorted, with a smile; "then your foot in my hand thus-one bold 4 spring-there! Now you are seated as se- curely as Di Vernon herself !-Now, Lucien, lead tm-and, in case we reach the plains. I before the storm catches us, I hereby vow a silver cup to St Cbothilde's well." The sun in which they set out was broiling, but they did n~t suffer from it I very long. Soon the dark cloud swept up from the verge of the southern horizon, and began to overcast the sky; then a distt,~nt, menacing growl was heard. "'There is a sound of thunder afar, Storm In the south that darkens the day,"' quoted Valerie,'laughingly. "I wonder if our excursion will end with the adventure of a drenching after all?" Her companion did not answer at once; he was gazing anxiously at the heavy mass moving forward so steadily over head, with the now obscured sunlight gilding its dark edg~s in a manner beautiful to behold. "I only hope a drenching may be the worst thing that befalls us," he said at length. "If the way were only not so rough, that we might move a little faster." For, by this time, fishes of lightning be- gan to play round their path, and terrible bursts of thunder to echo from the clouds above. "Listen!" said Valerie. "Is it not grand? There is nothing I like so much as the prelude to a storm. What a profound hush seems to have seized on all Nature, as if every leaf were listening to the warfare of the sky; and how the sounds above resem- ble the voice of many batteries-only more terrible! When I was a child, I used to think that there was war in heaven, and what we heard was the great archangel hurting his heavenly hosts upon the rebel- lious legions. Listen!" It was grand indeed-but of an awful grandeur! From side to side the sky was curtained, and blackness 'had seized upon the noonday. The play of lightning grew more vivid-and the rumbling crash of the thunder so near, that the very animals ~hrnnk and shivered from head to Coot, when it burst upon them. As Valerie said, the 2alm of Nature was so intense as to be sob- nun, for every woodland sound was hushed, avery twig hung motionless to its stem. "Oharley," she said, gravely, "I am very much afraid that we shall not reach ;he lowlands before the storm bursts." "I am afraid not," said he, still more ~ravely. "What shall we do, then ?-this path will )O horribly unsafe." "And the woods no.better. I am sure I lon't..-steady!" A flash that blinded !-a roar that deaf- ,ned !-and a perfect hurricane of wind hat tore down the mountain-side, crashihg he forest-trees in its path. page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 VALERIE AYLMER. The next thing Valerie knew, her muh was crouching to the . ground, quivering in every limb, and her own hands were clasped over her eyes, striving to shut out that aw- Liii glare which had seemed to blind and jazzle at once. "This will never do," she heard Charley say; and, in the roar of sound, it ~eemcd as if he was talking a long way ofi instead of at her side. "If we attempt to keep this path, we shall be dashed over the precipices. We must try the woods, though there we may be crushed to death by the falling tim- ber. "There is not much safety from that danger here," gasped Valerie. "Look!" For, at that moment, a large chestnut fell with a crash across the path just in front of them, thus effectually barring further prog- ress. "At all events, we need not wait to be krned," said Hautaine; and, seizing her rein, he turned into the forest. They came full upon the others, who had done likewise, hurrying and rushing for ref- uge, and finding none. The three genlile- men forsook their charges for a moment to hold a hurried consultation; but it did not result in much. "The very first ravine, the first overhanging rock-any thing!" cried Eugene, and then he sprung back to the head of his mule, leading it forward, "over bueh, bank, and scaur," with a reckless dis- regard of every thing save some chance of ~safety from the terrible storm. The rain n~w began to fall in torrents; but the wind had not abated in the least, and threatened every moment to sweep them down the mountain~ making it indescribably difficult to retain any foothold whatever. In all its majesty and terror, the storm was abroad in the mountains, and the scene was one which beggared all description. The light- ning seemed to leap from point to point, like darts from the hands of angered angels; the thunder echoed and reechoed among the rocks, until its reverberations, instead of dy- ing away, seemed rather to increase in vol- ume; water-courses unnumbered sprung into existence, and torrents roared and tum- bled where the morning had seen only a quiet brook or a dry bed, while the pouring rain and the howling wind seemed a mere accompaniment to the grander elements of strife that clashed and roared together in one deafening din. At last, however, Eugene described a shelter-a narrow, high ravine-and turned quickly into it. The wind swept through it with terrible force, and water-falls leaped from all its sides; but at least there was comparative safety to be found there. They drew up breathless, under the shelter of the overhanging hill, and then Eugene turned to his companion, with an eager cry of re- lief. "Thank God!" L cried, and then he stopped short-for it was not Alix, but Va- lerie, who threw back the hood of her cloak and looked at him! It would be hard to say which of the two was most thoroughly astonished; for, until that moment, Valerie had thought that her attendant was Hautaine; but she saw at once how the mistake had been made in the darkness and tempest which had suddenly enveloped them. "You!" cried Eugene, finishing his sen- tence very differently from the manner he had intended. "You !-and-you let me do this!" "I did not knew until this moment that you were net Charley," Valerie answered, as eagerly and apologetically as if the fault had indeed been hers. "I am very sorry, but-but he will take good care of Alix." "Good care-" It was fortunate that the blast came upon them quite strongly at that moment, and swept away. the rest of the sentence to regions unknown. "It is enough to drive one mad!" cried the thoroughly exasperated young man. "I must have been crazy, I think !-and what am I to do now? I can't leave yon here, or I would go after her. Confound him! No doubt he knew perfectly well what he was about!" Valerie could not comfort him, for, al- though she was brave enough, she dared not bid him leave her, even if he would have done so; an~ to set forth in search of hi~ missing love was the only thing that could have relievedhis impatient jealousy and dis- appointment. So they , stood together si- lently; she praying softly to herself-he 1 t f a V 5 a 5 V RI WHO LAUGHED LAST? 201 chafing bitterly in the thought that Han- of arrangement which the momentary halt tame, not he, was Alix's defender in the by the fallen chestnut had made. Indeed, first emergency of danger that had ever they had not proceeded very far before there risen for them. But rescue for him was at came another glare of vivid light, another hand, though he did not know it. They had thundering crash, another sweeping blast on not long been halting, when Valerie sud- which a hundred erl-kings seemed to ride, denly caught sight of a head adorned with and Charley, turning round to reassure his large ears looming through the rain, and, companion, saw Alix reeling helplessly from with a cry which the wind seized at her lips the saddle. He had no time for conjecture and bjre away, she caught Eugene's arm, so as to how she came there, and indeed little that he too might perceh~e that their retreat eared. lie caught iher only just in time, and was shared. when she came to her senses, of which the "Alix! "he cried, springing eagerly for- shock had momentarily deprived her, she ward; but it was only to meet another dis- found herself sheltered in a crevice of rock, appointment, for a drenched shadow of Netta with Hautaine's arms around her, and Han- Fane welcomed him with an hysterical gurgle tame's voice sounding in her ear, even above of laughter. "Where is she I" he cried, im- the din of the tempest. petuously. "What have you done with "My love! my love!" was what she her?" heard, in accents infinitely tender and infi~ "We know nothing about any body but nicely yearning. "My God! you surely are ourselves," said the general; "and we con- not hurt?" sider ourselves fortunate to know that. "No, no," she answered, quickly-" only What we have gone through, it is impossible -only stunned! But oh, it was so horrible! ~o tell! I make no rash resolutions, but, if And-and there is another!" ever I am found on another mountain ox- She clung to him, shrinking and quiver- mrsion-" ing like a child, and hid her face on his "Alix is safe, Eugene, I have no doubt," shoulder from the dazzling flashes that mid Miss Fane, kindly. "You know she is seemed to scorch her very eyeballs. She. n good hands. Charley would throw him- had never been strong-minded enough to ~elf over a precipice before she should be control or overcome the terrible fear of ~urt and then, there is Lucien." lightning which possesses almost every- "Yes, there is Lucien. I have some body in greater or lesser degree-and it is iope in kim," sald the ungrateful Eugene. safe to say that, on the present occasion, 'I am glad you have come. I can leave Hautaine did not wish her one iota less Valerie with you, and go after her myself." cowardly or less weak. There was an inex- "Go after her yourself;" Netta repeated, pressible pleasure in feeling her clinging to dl aghast. "Oh, Eugene, don't be so rash! him, almost unconscious that she did, while ~on will be killed as surely as you do-just he strove to whisper reassurances.. "Trem- ook at the storm I" ble not, love, thy Gheber's here," was about "I am going," repeated Eugene, as if the sum and substance of them; but they hat was all there was to be said. He went seemed to be of a consoling nature, never- or Valerie, and brought her close to theni, theless; for at last she ventured to inquire sid, then he buttoned up his coat, pulled what they were going to do. [own his hat, and set forth. "I hope you "Lucien, what are we going to do?" ron't get knocked over by a falling tree," shouted Charley, turning to the guide who aid the general, philosophically; and they stood near, striving to keep a foothold for ii shrugged their shoulders as the head- himself and his mules against the sweeping trong fellow vanished from sight, leaping wind that was howling a triumphant march ~ith his quick, agile stride over the torrents along its course. hat were rushing and roaring around. "M'sieur, I do not know," the latter Meanwhile Charley and Allx had been answered, moving nearer, so as to make inch less slow in discovering that change himself audible, "unless we tr.y to find my page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 VALERIE brother's hut, which is near here some- where." "Your brother's hut?~" "Yes, m'sieur; he is a wood-cutter." "And do you think you can find it? Heavens I what a blast!" "I can try. Neither mademoiselle nor i~supetite.s "-he pointed to the mules-" can stand this much longer." "Lead on, then," said Charley, "and may St. Clothilde only be kind enough to keep us on our feet 1" "Will not mademoiselle mount again?" "lie; I shall carry her." ~ And mademoiselle, thus peremptorily made a thing of naught, rejoiced threat in her heart, and hid her face closer than ever from the wild storm into which they boldly ventured forth. Hautaine felt the convul- sive trembling that shook her from head to foot, whenever the deafening bursts fol- lowed a flash that had shown them all their way, only to leave it in obscurity the next moment. It was a fierce battle with the elements which he and Lucien fought, as they struggled along through the wind and rain-more fierce than that which Eugene was fighting at the same time, because their path lay along a much more exposed decliv- ity of the mountain. More than once, they each thought that the end had come for~ themselves, as well as for the helpless being under their care. But they were both men of nerve and pluck-they struggled on, with the storm in their teeth, and were at last rewarded by seeing the outline of a woodman's hut dimly showing through the rain. Almost at the same moment that Valerie and Eugene gained their retreat, this other refuge was won. Lucien took up a large stone, and, with onequick blow, broke the lock which fastened the door. Then they sprang within and hurled it shut against the raging storm that followed and beat upon them. There came the breathless pause of I spent exhaustion, followed by congratula- tions, laughter, and the production of a flask that never before had done better ser- vice. Giving no heed to Alix's remon- strances, Hautaine administered a dose to her, then shared the remaining contents be- AYLMER. tween himself and the guide, who was now busy with his mules. By an unusual chance, the hut boasted two compartments, and, anxious to escape from the society of their four-footed companions, at Lucien's recommendation, Hautaine took Alix in0to the inner room. It held, by way of furni- ture, a rough table and one chair. Alix ~ sank into the latter, and Charley took a seat on the former. They both felt rather exhausted, and, after a pause, the gentle- man was the first to speak. "I am sure you will be ill." "2No-I hope not." "I am confident of it. But what can I do? The brandy-" "Oh," cried she, "please don't say any thing about more brandy. I could not-in- deed I could not-take another drop." "You took about enough for Queen Mab before. However, it is gone, and that is an end of the matter. I only wish__" "Don't say you wish we had not come,~~ she interrupted, eagerly. "I would not have missed to-day for the world. I have enjoyed it so much." "Have you? That will be pleasant for Eugene to hear." "What do you mean?" "Whatdolmean? Only that it is Eu- gene who has had the happiness of contrib- uting to your birthday enjoyment-not I." He spoke quickly, almost passionately, as a jealous lover is apt to speak; but he felt sorry the next moment when he saw such grieved astonishment creep into Mix's eyes. "You are unkind!" was all she could say; for, in truth, she was wondering whether her ears had played her false, out Lhere on the mountain-side under the rock, or whether the wind could have uttered the tender words that yet rung in her heart Like music. The young man leaned down so as to bring his face o~ir~ level with her own. He bad handsome e s, and knew it well- Mix knew~ too, en she looked up and net them ~ast~on her face with a re- lard which the dullest woman alive could iot have misunderstood. "Was I unkind?" he said. "I never neant to be that, Alix." 'U I WJILJ LAI The lingering tone in which he spok her name was as unmistakable as the lool had been; and a nervous tremor seized th childlike girl who was on the brink of he fate, and knew it perfectly well. She ha been brave enough, and fenced gallantly~ enough, up to this last moment; but nou she broke dowu utterly. There is alway~ something very softening, very contagious so to speak, in a declaration, especially when it is made to a very gentle and yield ing heart. Therefore, the odds all alone had been that, of the two rivals, he whc spoke first would win the day. If Eugene had made his proposal in the morning, the result might have been as favorable as he could have desired; but, with characteris- tie carelessness, he let the opportunity slip, while, with equally characteristic impetuos- ity, Hatitaine now seized in both his hands the chance afforded him, and marched for- ward to make the best-or worst-of it. "I made a vow this morning," he went on, "Alix; do you care to hear what it was?" Alix did not look at him now. She re- garded the floor very steadily, and, after a while, said "Yes," rather inaudibly. "I made a vow," pursued thq young free lance, bending down so close that he could see the beating of the slender temple- vein, and mark the quiver of the sweet rose-lip, "a vow that your eighteenth birthday should not pass without being made memorable in your life, by the option of accepting or rejecting a heart that loves you better than I can say. You have not known me very long, Alix, and-and you will have to know some things about me which may shake your faith in me. But still I love you so dearly, that I think I can venture to ask whether the coming year ja to be a very happy or a very miserable one to me. Alix, which is it?" A pause. "Alix, will you not~tell me?" "I-I don't know~" said Alix. Then breaking down, and beginning to cry: "How can you expect me to tell you?" Hautaine paled slightly. "Is your de- cision, then, so hard a one former to hear?" he asked, gravely. uwuSv LA?5L'? 203 a "I-I don't know? Oh! "with a cry, as a peal of thunder shook the slight build- a lug until it quivered. ~ flow can you talk r about such things, when we may be killed I any minute?" "Who cares?" said Charley, impatient- r ly. "I mean at any rate to know my fate before I die. Alix, this is no time for tri- fling. It must be y~s or no, before we part again. Poor child, how you are trem- bling! Is it I who am frightening you so?" ":No," she murmured. "It is the-the thunder!" He said, "Poor child!" again, and then, as if she had been a very child, he took her into the protecting clasp of his arms. "Alix, if you don't tell me differently," he said, in a voice which quivered slightly, "I shall think you like me well enough to take your place here forever. My love, may Think so?" There was a veryboisterous accompani- ment to this idyl going on. Outside, the lightning blazed, the thunder crashed, and the clouds poured; within, the mules kept up a restless stamping, and Lucien sang to himself a wild cAan*em which he had caught once in a military camp. Hautaine heeded none of it-nor did Alix much; for at last she raised her face all wet with tears: "I like you well enough to do any thing," she said, desperately; "but it seems like-like tempting Providence to talk about it." "I am not afraid of it," returned IJau- tame, irreverently. "And now I mean to tell you how long I have been in love with you." Just thien, as it chanced, the outer door was burst open, and Eugene, dripping from - his shower-bath, sprung into the hut. "Good Heavens! "he cried, when he saw only Lucien and the mules. "Alix !-Hau- tame !-Where are they?" "Within, m'sieur," said Lucien, pausing in his chant, and waving his hand toward the iuner door, as if he had been chamberlain of a royal palace. "Entrezt They will be charmed to see m'sieur," he added, h ospita- bly. But it may have been a foreboding which page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] I 204 . VALERIE rendered m'sieur himself not quite so certain of that. At least he hesitated a moment be- fore opening the door, and only did so very cautiously then. He might have shivered it, however, for all that the absorbed pair within would have known. They did not even turn their heads, and, after one glance, he closed it again, and came back to Lucien. " They aret so well entertained, it would be a pity to disturb them," he said. " Is there any brandy left in that flasks These mountain-rains of yours are terribly chill- ing! " The last rays of the setting sun were tracking bright lines over the chAteau ter- race, and gilding Mr. Darcy's figure, as he leaned on his crutches and watched with laughing eyes the forlorn return of the par- ty that in the morning had set out so "gayly ~bedight." " Go away, and stop insulting us," said Miss Fane, who was the first to alight. " I can tell you, that, if you had gone through all that we have, you might be thankful to look; half a well as we -do." "Allowv me to suggest, Miss Netta, that you have not had the pleasure of seeing AYLMER. yourself in a mirror," said he, laughing. "Your hat-" "Hush! " cried she, lifting up her hands. "I don't want an inventory of my misfor- tunes., As for the hat,.it only serves me right for wearing it on an absurd mountain excursion! General Aylmer and I are of one mind-we abjure picnics from this day forth for evermore! " " Has not N~etta's indignation exhausted itself yeti" Valerie asked, as she mamited the steps with her own remnant of a hat in one hand, and her torn, draggled dress up- held in the other. Mr. IDarcy, you are the last person in the world who ought to make a jest of our calamity, for it is to you we are indebted for it. One member of the party especially," she added, lowering her voice as she reached his side, "has chanced upon a deeper misfortune than a drenched coat to-day." -, He glanced at her interrogatively. She pointed to Hautaine, who was lifting Ahix from her saddle. " Does that face tell you nothing" " Yes," be answered, looking at it with a smile, half amused, half sad. "It says, 'Poor Eugene! ' I. -" TiiE put his sickle in among the days," and, with the summer of 1867, came the Great Exhibition of Paris, where, in the train of crowned 'heads, flocked all the world's large class of sight-seers and pleas- ure-seekers. The month of June found Va- lerie and Netta alone at the chateau, for General Aylmer had gone with Eugene to Paris, and Gaston Darcy had been there for some. months under medical care. The health of the latter was breaking so fast, and his debility and suffering increasing so rap- idly, that before he left them Valerie often felt inclined to urge that lhe should write to Maurice bidding him return if he wished to see his brother again in life. But her cour- -age never bore her out in doing this. She would begin often, but break down always. "You have never told Maurice how weak you are," she said one day, when she had been assisting Gaston to his chair, and watching one of his fierce, frequent parox- ysms of pain. - He looked up with a smile-faint, sad, yet beautiful. . "No-on the contrary, I always write to him cheerfully. I have been a clog on Maurice's life too long already. I must spare him now as much as I can." " But- is this right,?-is it even kind ?" she urged. "Put the case to yourself. Would you thank Maurice for a concealment that kept you from his Bide when-" V I, Sencpaused, and he quietly finished her "When he may not have much longer to be here ? I don't know. But I think-I hope I am acting rightly. God only knows what I would give to see him again." The voice sunk, the blue eyes gazed wistfully and mournfully out of the window that opened to the south-that far south where Maurice was fighting and struggling to save a nation from anarchy and a people from ruin-and there was a choking in Va- lerie's throat which forbade speech, even if she could have further combated this reso- lution, the root of which lay in that grand element of unselfishness which, of all men, -this man most fully possessed. SHe had gone away from them in April; and as the two ladies sat on the terrace one day in the drowsy afternoon heat, and sewed, for lack of something better to do, Valerie said, half-absently- " This is the last of June." "Is it ?" said Netta. "Time flies so quickly when one is monotonously occu- pied-! I don't envy the people in Paris their enjoyment of this weather." "It is time, however, that papa came back for you," said Valerie. "I must write to him, for I will not hear of your missing the best part of the exposition through your kindness in staying with me." "Don't trouble yourself, dear," returned her friend. "I really care so little -about the matter that, save from a feeling -that it would be a shame to live so near Paris and not see the famous exposition, I should not BO O K CHAPTER I-. THE SHADOW OF BLOOD. page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] THE SHADOW OF BLOOD. 20'1 206 VALERIE AYLMER. stir a foot. I am growing as indolent as you are." "It is not indolence with me, it is indif- ference." "And are you really determined to see nothing whatever of this epitome of the world's industry and beauty?." "Why should I, when I feel fatigued only at the, thought of it? I care nothing for inventions-I care still less for kings, queens, and satraps! I never read the grand ac- counts with which the papers teem, that I don't think how tired every body-especially the poor empress-must be." "Valerie, you ought to struggle against this frame of mind. You are growing en- nuye'e and weary of every thing." "I believe I am," said Valerie, dreamily. Then the conversation dropped, and they sewed on, with no sound about them, save the notes of birds, and the low summer hum of insect-life. This profound stillness had reigned some time when Miss Fane looked up at last, and found that the work had fallen from Valerie's hands, that her head was thrown against the high back of her chair, so that the sunlight played lovingly over the arch of the white throat, and her eyes were closed while the brows above were knit into a painful contraction ccrn- ~ mon to them of late. 1~Tetta's own needle paused in its swift stitches, and she gazed so long and so anxiously on the face before hei', that, if its possessor had not been wrapped in deep thought, the scrutiny must have made itself felt. "Valerie!" she said at last, so abruptly that Miss Aylmer started and opened her eyes. "I'~etta, how you startled me!" "Where were you? You seemed in so much pain, I thought you might like to be recalled." "Did I?" A deep shadow of the same expression fell again. "I was only where I often am-" "In Mexico?" "Yes-in Mexico." "I wish you would keep away from there," said Miss Fane, impatiently. "It does you no good to be picturing all sorts of dreadful things to yourself; and your be- ing miserable cannot affect the course of events one way or another." "I know that as well as you do; but when we suffer, we are not philosophers)' "What are you afraid of?" "Every thing-the very worst. You see how darkly the papers this morning speak." "I see that they seem to think the fall of Queretaro certain." "The betrayal, you mean." "And then-?" "And then-God only knows!" They sat silent for a while longer. Then Valerie took up a hat which lay on the grass by her chair, and began to'tie it on. "Where are you going?" asked Miss Fane. "You have become so restless of late." "I know I have-but I cannot help it. Sometimes - to-day especially - this fear seems weighing me down, and I cannot be still. Would you mind if I left you alone for a short time?" "Where are you going?" "To the village." "May I not go with you?" "I don't mean to be ungracious, but I had rather be alone." Miss Fane sighed, as she sat still and watched the white-robed figure walk slowly away under the green shade. Vigils of pain and anxiety were written on the form almost as plainly as on the face, for the old voluptuous contour was gone, and in its stead there was only a wasted attenuation. Ko wonder. As Valerie herself had once said, it was sterner trouble than the mere aching of disappointed love that weighedd upon her. It was the awful burden of remorse; and lately it was the horrible, sickening fear-daily looming closer-that this remorse might soon be doubled. She had not wished 11'Tetta with her, be- cause she was going to the church, and she wanted to feel herself alone there. For once, it was all empty and deserted, for once no other footstep besides her own echoed on the paved aisles, no other form knelt in the abandonment of human misery before that altar where dwells our hidden Lord, and where the marble angels who guarded the tabernacle seemed bending forward to hear her prayer. Never was one more fervent breathed; never did a poor struggling soul cry with more yearning pathos, "Jesus, Son of Mary, have mercy on me!" She asked nothing for herself-not one healing drop for her own sore heart-she only prayed, as we prayfor life, that protection might begiven the man whom her fault had placed in peril, that he might be delivered from the dan~,s~ that encompassed him, and that over his head might sleep the safety, on his life might rest the happiness, which, for a time, she had driven from both. l'Teither did she forget to utter one fervent petition for the gallant heart which even then rested so still, for the royal head which even then lay so low, amid the "plumy palms" of the South. She only knew how long she had been in the church by the level rays of the setting sun when she came out. She paused a me- xaent in the door to glance at her watch, startled to see how late it was; and as she did so a dark figure moved from the shadow of the archway toward her, The sound which accompanied this movement made her start, and turning quickly-for the sec- ond time on that spot-she faced Gaston Darcy. They met almost as brother and sister might have done, and then-while with a sharp pang she traced the fearful strides that, since she saw him last, suffering had made-he said: "I have been waiting for you some time. The fruit-vendor yonder told me you were in the church." "When did you reach the village?" "About an hour ago. You see I meant to take you by surprise)' "And did not papa or Eugene come with you?" ":No. I left word for them that I was gone, but I did not see thembefore I started." "Then you should have written to leL us know that you we~'e coming, so that we could have met you here. Of course, how- ever, Watkins is with you." "Yes, but I sent him ~n to the chateau. I mean to walk home with you." "Do you feel strong enough to walk?" she asked, anxiously. "I think so. Why do you ask?" "You look much worse, dear Gaston." It was not the first time she had called him by his name, but he had not heard it from her lips in a long while, and his wan cheek flushed with pleasure at the sound. lie held out his hand, and clasped hers warmly, as Maurice's brother surely had a right to do. "Thank you," he said, softly. "Yes, I am worse, but strong enough yet, I hope, for what lies before me. Valerie-" his voice sank-" have you heard the news?" All things seemed to grow black before her-the golden sunshine, the green lindens, the gay booths, were all blotted out in a moment. She leaned back against the carved door-post, sick and sbudderi~g- longing, yet fearful, to hear more. Gaston Darcy pointed solemnly into 'The dim church. "You were praying when I came. Say another prayer for the soul of the Emperor Maximilian." There was one moment's selfish relief!- then the awful shook that thrilled a world came home to her 1-She looked at him with horror-stricken eyes. "For his soul!" "For his murderers, if you can. lie is dead." She gazed for one moment longer in awe-struck astonishment, then she turned away, and he saw her traverse the aisle, and sink again before the altar. She had prayed for him minute before, as living-she prayed for him now, as dead. And, God forgive her, that she could not pray for those upon whose heads rested his blood-for the mongrel bloodhounds, and the crowned adventurer who shared that guilt between them. The kingly soul that had suffered, and struggled, and gone, neededlittle intercession, little save thankfulness of release; but for her whose name had been last on his dying lips-for the woman who loved him as even women rarely love-for the gentlest nature and truest heart among all the victims that crime and wrong have slain through others-what had not a woman's heart to ask, for her, of faith and strength-strength to await that meet~ ing from which parting shall be no more! page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] ( ( 20S VALERIE When th~y were walking slowly home together, Valerie asked Mr. Darcy what he thought of the chances for his brother. "Don't be afraid to tell me," she said, sadly, as he seemed to hesitate. "The worst has been with me for many a day." "I scarcely know what to fear, or what to think," he replied. "I have not heard from Maurice for so long that I know nothing of his whereabouts - only this thing I do know, that there will be a whole- sale slaughter of all the imperialists whom those-those men can touch." "Yes." "And Maurice has been too much noted by the emperor's favor to escape their ven- geance, if he does not leave the country at once." She answered nothing. The gray shades of evening were beginning, to close around them, and, as they crossed the bridge, they caught the gleam of a light from the saloon window, which looked so bright and home- liie that at any other time it would have cheered them. But now their hearts were too heavy for cheer-too heavy for any thought but that which was weighing them down. At last, when they were in the mid- dle of the bridge, Valerie stopped, with a sort of gasp. "I cannot stand this any longer," she said, hastily. "I have borne it until the burden has grown too much for my strength. Gaston, you know what Maurice is to me- tell me what you mean to do." ~Ee told her in a few words. "I mean to wait long enough to hear from him, and, if I do not hear, I mean to go and look for him." "You!" "Yes, I. Cripple as I am, if he be alive I will find him." lie lifted his wasted form as he said this-light came to his eyes, color to his pallid cheek, and for one moment he looked the man that Nature made him. And, as she gazed, a flash of resolve came into Valerie's heart. "You are right," she said, holding out her bands. "It will be strange, indeed, if you and I together cannot do this." He looked at her in surprised incredulity. AYLMER. "You and I!" "Yes, if you will take me with you." "Valerie, my child, you do not under- stand-" "I understand every thing," she said, impetuously. "I understand that I, of all people, should seek for him, since I sent him there to suffer-it may be to die. I under~ stand that I will never allow yo o go alone on such an expedition." "I will have Watkins." "Watkins is a very faithful servant; but he is only a servant. Hush! I will go! It is all my fault-every thing-and I must bear my share of the consequences. It is my fault that Maurice is away from you, and that you need to attempt any thing for which you are so unfit as for this voyage- therefore, I shall take Maurice's place by your side." The glow of sunset-what was left of it -fell on the resolute young face, with its firm mouth and glowing eyes; and Gaston Darcy saw at once that, unlike the most of her sex, she meant every word that she uttered. After a long pause, he said: "But who will go with you?" "Papa, of course." Mr. Darcy retreated a step, in his aston- ishment-astonishment as much at the tone as at the announcement. "You surely dQ not think that General Aylmer will ever consent to such a plan?" "Leave papa to me. I will answer for him. Gaston-" she came a step nearer, and laid her hand on his arm, while her eyes looked in his face, full of a pathos which it was hard for him to resist-" dear Gaston, don't try to dissuade me! I am sure I shall die, if I am obliged to stay here in this horri- ble inaction, and eat out my very heart with fear. Gaston, there can be no harm in it!- I am his cousin, remeinber!-and, although I am not worthy to say so, I loved him very much!" Ah, the proud head bent itself at last! What would Valerie have thought if this confession, and its attending circumstances, had been foretold to her twelve months be- fore? She the forsaken! This man, his brother! But at last, after weary struggle, there had come to her the best knowledge I THE BIGHT OF REPARATION. 209 that can come to woman-the knowledge that "her dignity Is this-to cast her virgin pride away1 And find her strength in weakness." Maurice's brother bent his head, and laid his lips on that soft hand-then he said, gently: £~ As far as it rests for me to say so-do as you will. But I cannot help thinking that your father will never consent." "I think he will." She let the words fall very slowly; and then stood with her hands loosely clasped before her, gazing down at the water which flowed so swiftly and darkly beneath their feet. "It looks quiet," she said, wistfully; "and of late I have so envied all things quiet." "Perhaps you are right, after all," said her companion~ looking at the thin, pale outlines of her face. "Perhaps your reso- lution may be for the best. Change of scene may do you good, and-" lie did not finish his sentence. He only stood quietly; gazing Jike herself down on the flowing stream which was hastening along to the boundless ocean, as we all hast- en forward to the joy or sorrow of the un- known future, until at last Valerie turned. "I should not have kept you here so long," she said, wearily. "I forget every thing, it seems. Let us go home." CHAPTER II. THE BIGHT OF ISEPABATIoN. A MONTH passed by, a month of waiting which sickened the very soul. At last, in the full rich loveliaess of summer's prime,~ the last day of July came-and no news of Maurice had yet been heard. Two of his comrades had written to Gaston-one from New Orleans, the other l'rom Havana-but only to say that they could give no tidings of him. He had left Queretaro, a few days before its fall, on a secret mission to the mountains; and they could only hope that 14 he was still there, with those of the native chiefs who proposed to inaugurate a guer- rilla warfare against the Liberals; but they did not attempt to conceal their fear that* he too had been included in the massacre of all that was good and true in the un- happy country which lay prostrate under the sword. The last of these letters came on the 30th of July. The next morning, Valerie electrified her father by an announcement of her desire to accompany Gaston to Amer- ica. "God bless my soul I" the general ex- claimed in sheer astonishment, and that was all he uttered for some time. "Well, papa?" said Valerie at last, hav- ing waited vainly for further comment. "Well, my dear,". replied her father, only to say that, if you wished to confound me with surprise, you could not have done so more completely." "I did not wish to do that, sir, I assure you." "I expected more from your common- sense," said the general, impatiently. "Mr. Darcy is no doubt a pleasant gentleman, arid a good friend, and all that sort of thing-l am sure I like him very much-but to wish to take an ocean-voyage solely on his ac- count is foolish, my dear, very foolish!" * "Papa, you don't understand: I want tc~ try and aid him in looking for his brother." "Worse yet," said her father, gravely. "Surely, my dear, you have grown singular~ ly forgetful of all the world would say of you, if you set out on such a Quixotic under- taking!" "The world need know nothing about it." The general shook his head. "The world would know all about it, and I wonder where your own self-respect has gone?" "Papa "-the girl's voice had fairly a wail in it-" don't you see-can't you un- derstand-I must go! You tell me I look badly, and you are right-I shall die if I stay here! Regard the matter only as other people will regard it-as a voyage for change~ of air and scene. We need not say to any- body why we go; and you may trust me not to do any thing to forfeit my own self- page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] ~21O VALERIE 4 respect, or lower your dignity. If I meet Maurice Darcy, it will be as a mere stranger. But, indeed, I cannot let Gaston go alone, and remember that we, too, are his near relatives. Surely it is right for us to make those efforts which he, being a cripple, can- not make. Papa, be kind-bc generous- let us go!" General Aylmer looked irresolute. Be- ing, in some sort, a cosmopolitan, one place was very much the same as another to him; and, intrinsically, Cuba would have been quite as agreeable-perhaps a little more so -than France. But, still, he felt strangely averse to this idea. He disliked Maurice Darcy extremely, and none the less because the prejudicewas an entirely irrational one. He disliked him because he stood as the rep- resentative of much annoyance and anxiety, and because he had been placed in an antag- onistic position to Valerie's claim on her grandfather's fortune; nevertheless, he had this dislike sufficiently under control to be willing to accept him as a son-in-law if he came crowned with the halo of M. Vac- quant's half-million. But to go in search of him-really, that was too much! He had no desire to be instrumental in reclaiming him from the hands of Juarez and Co.! Never, in the most secret recess of his heart, had the general done such a thing as to wish, or even to hope, that Darcy might share the fate of so many gallant murdered men; but he could not help thinking that the Liberal leaders would commit a great lAunder if they allowed h~m to slip through their fingers, and go scot-free! "1 don't see how I can possibly consent to such a thing," he said at last, irritably. "And here is your friend Miss Fane; pray what do you mean to do with her?" "Netta's aunt, Mrs Vaughn, is in Paris, you know. She has been meaning to go to see her for some time, and she would stay with her until we returned." "Humph! You have settled it all, I sde. But it is too unreasonable, Valerie I I cannot-positively I cannot consent to such a thing!" "Papa, would you not have taken me to Cuba if I had told you that my health made it necessary for me to go?" AYLMER. "Yes-of course." She raised her hand and drew back the curtain of the window beside which she was sitting. "Look at me, then, and see if you do not think I stand in need of change." The general looked, and felt rather un- comfortable as he looked. The pallid skin, the hollow cheek, the eyes with dark circles under them, told a story which it was im- possible for him to disregard. He moved a little uneasily. "You do look wretchedly. I have huen telling you so for some time. I will take you to Madeira." She shook her head with a faint smile. "The physicians say, you know, that a patient must sometimes prescribe his own remedy. You must suffer me to prescribe mine. Nothing but the West Indies will do me good." "By Jove, Valerie, this is very provok- ing, and very irrational!" said the general, getting up and walking im~ipatiently to and fro. "I am surprised at you-a woman of your sense-to persist in this manner. I don't know what you mean. I am. sure I am willing to do any thing in reason-but this is quite beyond reason!" "Papa," said his daughter, wearily, "I thought you would be more considerate of' what I have represented to you as so ear- nest and urgent a desire. It was my fault that sent Maurice Darcy to Mexico; and I should feel as if I was his brother's murder- er if I let him set out alone on a journey which he cannot stand without great care. I have suffered-I do suffer-unutterable things. Oh, surely it is enough to tell you this, to induce yen to listen to me-to heed me-to go!" Her voice broke down in a burst of tears -tears of agitation which the physical strength was now unable to restrain-and after one astonished look the general struck his flag. "There, there!" he said, hastily, "don't cry about it! I suppose we shall have to go, since you have set your heart on it; hut it is all a confounded piece of nonsense! Dry your eyes-do! I hate tears! When does Darcy want to get off?" THE RIGHT ~' As soon as possible." "Humph I-there might possibly b4 more definite information. Where is he I had better see him about the matter." "He is in the saloon. Shall I ask him t come to you?" "Yes," said the general, still rathe] shortly. She left the room-a degree more light. hearted and light-footed than when she en~ tered it-and went to the saloon. When she reached the door, she wa~ not a little astonished, for she had not expect. ed to see anybody but Gaston and Netta; and there before Mr. Darcy's chair stood a tall figure that looked like Eugene, and yet was not Eugene; and which, turning when she entered, proved to be Charley Hautaine. There followed all the rush of unexpected greeting and welcome, for she had thought him far away in Hungarian barracks, with little or no hope of meeting soon again. When this subsided, it was Netta who said: "You have come just in time. He only arrived a few minutes ago, and oh, Valerie, he says that he is going to Mexico! " To Mexico! Were they all crazy, or had she gone distraught herself? She looked from one to another, from Hautaine's reso- lute face to Netta's swimming eyes, and then to Gaston's pale cheek. "What does it mean?" she asked. "It means that I am going for Maurice," answered Charley, quietly. "There is no use in anybody's saying a word. I deter- mined to go as soon as I heard of the em- peror's death; and my furlough is made out. I know all about the country. I have been there time and again; and I think I ~know one or two people on whom it is pos- sible to count. I am all ready to start, and I only came out of my way thus far to tell Gaston that he might set his mind at rest,, for that I will find his brother." "It is like you, Charley, to mean it," Gaston said; "but for all that, it must not be. Stop! I have a rig~it to speak, and I will do so. For you, an ~Austrian officer, to go to Mexico now, would be to rush into danger of the worst kind, and-" "Do you suppose I mean to wear my uniform, or carry my commission in my OF REPARATION. 211 pocket?" Hautaine interrupted, half-vexed- s ly, half-amusedly. "You may trust me for that. If the devils find out who and what I am, I shall deserve to be shot, and there's an end of the matter. But I mean to come back safe and sound to you and to Mix." "I wonder what Alix will say when she hears of this?" Netta cried. "She said, 'God-speed,"' Charley an- swered, with his eyes brightening. "Did you think I came through Germany with- out seeing her ?-and did you think that * she, of all women, would put an obstacle in my way? No; she said, 'God-speed,', and she meant it! "It must not bet" Gaston repeated~ "I * should never forgive myself-Maurice would never forgive me-if you came to harm. Charley, it must not be!" "My dear, good fellow, what is the use of this?" said Charley, good-humoredly. "I am going. Really, if you are so. un- reasonable, I shall be sorry I did n~t sail from Trieste; but I wanted to see you- and-" "And Alix," said Netta. "Yes, and Alix-God bless her? So there's no earthly good in talking about it. The thing is settled." "It must not be," Gaston said, repeating those fQur words, as if they were his strong- hold of defence. Nobody knew, what a temptation this was fo him, or how hard it was not to yield, not to echo Alix's "God- speed," and put his hopes in the strong loyal hands outstretched for them. But he thought in his heart that it wouliLbe cruelly selfish to do so-cruelly selfish to send this brave young life into danger and death, enly that he might learn Maurice's fate; so he sat in his chair, pale, but rigid as steel, with Maurice's own look about his mouth, repeat- ing the same set form, "It must not be." "It must be," Ilautaine said, beginning at lastp grow impatient. "I have told you before that I did not come to argue about it. I don't mean to argue, either-for it is set- tled. You have a right to say a great deal, Gaston; but you have no right to say that." "I have the best right in the world," Gaston said-" the right of near relation- ship." 4 page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 VALEIUE "And I have a,. better one yet," Han- tame answered-" the right of reparation." After that, each paused and looked, at the other-both resolute to have their own way; and neither meaning to yield an inch. It was all perfectly unintelligible to Netta Pane, who thought that Charley had lost his senses. What was Maurice Darcy to 0 him, that be should cross an ocean, and go into the very jaws of danger for his sake? -aud what could he possibly mean by "the right of reparation?" She saw that her own intervention would have no effect; so she turned imploringly to Valerie. "For Heaven's sake, speak to him. Make him hear reason," she said. And at the mo- ment Valerie stepped forward between the two disputants. "Gaston, Charley is right," she said. "He can do more good than you can; and he should be the one. He can find Mau- rice," she went on, looking at him with her sad, earnest eyes; "and he will lnd him, I am sure.-You are right, Charley you must go." "Of course I am right," said Charley, "and of course I mean to go. Gaston may have as many rights as he pleases; but I have mine, too-the right of reparation." "Yes," said Valerie, gravely. "You have that. When do you start?" "I leave here this afternoon, and I sail from Marseilles to-morrow." So they settled it, while Gaston saw the responsibility of decision quite taken from him, and Netta sat byin speechless indigna- tion. Before either of them had time to frame his protest in words, Valerie turned to Mr. Darcy. "Papa has consented," she said; "and he bade me ask you to come to him. He wants to consult you about our route." "Your best route," said Charley, "is from Marseilles to~ Cadiz, and thence to Havana. Itake it for granted you are only going to Cuba." "We are only going to Cuba, if you meet us there with Maurice," she said. "If not, I think you may probably see us in Mexico." "And then-" "And then I expect papa will go back AYLMER. to Louisiana," she said, with a sigh. "You can go with Gaston, if you wa~it to, Charley. Papa will be glad to see you, and you can offer your advice to him." Charley was very willing to obey; so, after Mr. Darcy had gathered up his crutches, they took their departure, while Netta and Valerie, left alone, looked at each other silently for some time. Then- "Oh, Valerie, how could you do it?" the former cried, with a hurst of reproach. "What has Charley ever done that he should be sacrificed to-to this Maurice Darcy? He will be killed-I know he will! And then how can you answer for sending him on such an errand?" "You don't know what you are talking about, Netta," Valerie answered, a little wearily. "I did not send Charley. He was going of his own accord. If I had told him to stay, he would not have paid any at- tention to me. And he ought to go. You don't understand any thing about it-but he ought to go." "No; I don't understand any thing about it," Miss Fane retorted. "But I un- derstand this-if he is killed, you will be sorry for having thrown the weight of your influence in favor of such a mad resolution." "I hope he will not be killed; but you are mistaken-even if he were, I should not be sorry for having exerted my influence; because I believe it is his duty to go." "Why is it his duty? What is Maurice Darcy to him?" "He is a great deal to him. He is a man whom he loved, and a man whom he in- jured, and-and you don't know what it would be to Oharley, if he could do this. It would be paying off a greater debt, and lightening his life of a heavier burden, than you can even imaginO.~~ Miss Pane was silenced. She did not understand in the least, not any more than she had done before; but Valerie's tone awed and hushed her impatient reproaches. When she spoke again, it was very differ- ently. "I don't pretend to judge of things that I know only by halves. It seems to me very strange; but you may be right. I only know that it would be hard on them E OUT OF THE all at home, and hard on that poor child in Germany, if any rn befalls Charley. And so it is settled that you go, too?" "Yes, settled." "Hum! I hope enough people are go- ing in search of Maurice Darcy." "I am going to take care of Gaston," said Valerie, flushing. "Then, if-if Mau- rice meets us, papa and I will return to Louisiana." Miss Pane sat down in a chair, and looked, sadly enough, out of the window. "Well," she said, after, a time. "I sup- pose one must take for granted that some good will come of it, but it is very vexa- tious. Valerie I have only one word of ad- vice to offer. May I do so?" "Say what you please, sister of my soul," Valerie answered. "Then, if you meet Maurice Darcy, be wise, and don't-don't be too hard." "Netta!" cried Valerie, turning first crimson, and then pale, "what do you take me for, that-that you should say such a thing? Do you think I would go in search of him, if such an event as that at which you hint was, in the least, possible? It is a good thing that duty bids me do this, or such grievous injustice would make me stay where I am." "Now you look like yourself," said Miss Pane, approvingly. "It is really a pleas- ure to see you angry once more." "I am not angry. I am only indignant and grieved." "Because I wish you to be kind and forgiving toward a man who may be dead." "Netta 1-how can you?" "None of us are immortal, Valerie," said her friend, gravely. "I. havft.noticed I lately that these letters have made you buoy yourself with hope that may prove false, and render the final truth harder to I bear." t "Netta, you are cruel." "No, Valerie. But, I do not think ~ there s any probabilityJL-only a faint possi- ,~ bility-that he may be alive. And I want s to ask you, how you can cherish resent- a ment against a mere memory?" "I-resentment? Oh, God forbid!" "You forgive him, then?" n 3AWS OF DEATH. 213 "I havo nothing to forgive. Forgive- ness would need to come from him." "And why could you not say as much to him if he were living?" "Because it would be worse than use- less. It would humiliate me as a woman should never be humiliated; and it would not move him. I can see how he would look-as he looked at Oharley. You don't know him-he is as hard to himself as he is to others." "I am not sure that I care about know- ing him, under those circumstances," said Miss Pane, rising. "When do you start?" "Next week, I expect. At least as soon as we can get ready." ~ This proved to be very soon. Five days later, they sailed from Marseilles-westward bound for the Queen of the Antilles. -4-- CHAPTER III. OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH. "MAURIcE! Maurice I', Such was the sick man's yeai~ning cry from morning till night-ever tossing in restless delirium-ever calling on that name, which was now, in all pl'obabiity, only a name. Many times had Valerie cause to think God that she had persevered in her resolu- tion to accompany Gaston Darcy to Amen- Da; for, scarcely did his foot press the soil ~f the New World, when he was stricken lown by a sudden illness-arising, the phy- ~icians said, from mingled physical exhaust- on and mental anxiety-which, but for her presence , would have cast him helpless on he hands of menials and strangers. As it ras, the care he received coul4 not possibly iave been more tender, or more unremit- ing, if his own sister had rendered it. )ay and night, she scarcely left his side; nd day and night she was tortured by that noan which seemed an echo of her own ad heart-that voice, plaintive and pitiful .5 Rachel mourning for her childi~en: "Maurice! Mauricel" Only that-through long hours of Lever, ever changing in word or cadence. page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 VALERIE AYLMER. It was a fierce fight with the death-an- gel over that prostrate form, for many days. Through the scorching heat of the tropic noon, and the glorious beauty of the tropic nights, Valerie never stirred from beside the pillow on which that lined and wasted face lay, or suffered any other hand than hers to press to the burning lips their cool- ing draught. "It is only what I came to do," she said, when her father remonstrated, saying that such close attendance in a sick-room was impairing her own health. "After he is gone, it will not matter." And often, as she kept lonely vigil in the dim chamber-telling over her beads, like a Sister of Mercy, during the long hours- while that constant cry came from the parched lips of the man whom she thought, even then, in Azrael's arms, she would bow her head yet lower in awesome prayer; for it seemed as if the brother's spirit beckoned from the silent land to the yearning love which made this ceaseless moan, and spoke a summons from the shores where hands, oflce clasped, unclasp no more at the bid- ding of grief and pain. No one dreamed that he would recover, that ~ constitution so shattered could en- dure so great a shook; but at last the crisis came, and resulted favorably. Then he once more opened his eyes to the daylight, and knew the faces around him. lie did not ask the length or severity of his own illness; he only held out his hand to Valerie with one question: "Any news of Maurice?" And she could only utter in gesture that negative so hard to speak, so harder yet to feel. "Who is this 'Maurice' for whom he inquires so constantly?" asked the physi- cian, somewhat impatiently, of General Ayl- inert when the latter followed him from the sick-room. "He has done nothing but call him evcr since his first hour of fever." '.' He is his brother," the general replied, with brevity more commendable than grati~: fying. "His brother? Then why does he not come to him, and relieve hi~ mind?" " Unfortunately, nobody knows where he is. "He was one of Maximilian's officers," said the general, feeling obliged to answer that little interrogative interjection, "and has never been heard of since the fall of Queretaro." "Indeed! Shot, no doubt." "No doubt." "A good many officers were," said the doctor, philosophically. "And does his brother still hope to hear from him?" "'He came to Cuba for this purpose." "Poor fellow! Well~ well, let himhope, for the time being. A strain on the mind is bad; but despair might be worse. You must take him, as soon as possible, to a less enervating climate. Good-morning." A few days later, one of the gallant For- eign Legion, who stood so nobly by their royal chief to the very last-the same Valdor concerning whom Maurice had once written to Gaston-joined General Aylmer, as he was slowly sauntering along the Plaza d'Armas, in the brilliant glow of the tropic sunset. "No news of poor Darcy yet!" he said. "I am really afraid we must surrender all .hope. How is his brother to-day?" "Better," answered the general. "The feveg has left him, and he has his head back again-but he is very weak." "Yes, of course-people always are. Is he well enough to see visitors? I was re- fused admittance very summarily the other day." "Oh, I suppose so. That is-" as a timely recollection of Valerie occurred to him-" I will inquire. But perhaps it would be as well if you did not come. He might think you brought news of his brother." "Ma foi, I wish I did!" said the other, heartily. "A better soldier-well, well, it is only the chances of war, and may be mine to-morrow. I hear that Yafies has been made prisofter and shot," he went on. "That looks badly for him-IDarcy, I mean." "Who is Yafies?" "Yafies! Vraiment! I wonder you never heard. He was the boldest, bloodiest guerrilla-chief in all Mexico-the one to whom Darcy was sent." "And he has been shot?" U 215 "Yes-together with most of his com mand. Poor fellow! He was a perfect devil for fighting, and was said to have pul an end to more than a hundred Liberal dog~ with his own cuehillo." The general shrugged his shoulders, wiff a laugh. "He is a great loss, then," he said "Such a man as that is a loss at any time- especially in Mexico. And you think this looks badly for Captain Darcy?" "Of course. If he was taken with Yafles, there was an end of the matter." The general was silent, and looked so disturbed, that, from respectful sympathy, his companion was silent also. Yet, in truth, he was thinking less of Darcy than of Hau- tame, concerning whom, or from whom, they had heard nothing. "I hope he will not be fool enough to risk his head," the general thought, feeling more irritated than ever against Maurice Darcy-if, indeed, any increase of irritation were possible. As much as he liked anybody not immediately con- nected with himself he liked Hautaine; and it provoked him beyond the bounds of pa- tience to think that the young free lance had rushed headlong into such danger as that which certainly threatened him-and for what? When he came back from his walk, he told Valerie that he had met young Valdor, and that the latter wished to see Mr. Darcy. "It is impossible," she said. "He would only come and talk of Maurice, and of all the chances for and against his safety, until Gas- ton's fever would be brought back. He is too weak to see anybody. Pray tell Captain Valdor so, the next time you see him." "But the doctor said he might see a few visitors." "I cannot help that. I think I know his state better even than the doctor does. At all events, I cannot consent that any risk should be run." "The doctor says he must be taken away from this climate as soon as possible." "He will never c5nsent to leave the island until there is some certain informa- tion about Maurice." The general was on the point of saying, "Confound Maurice! "but he-stopped him- self in time. "He need not leave the OUT OF THE JAWS OF DEATH. - island," he answered. "He can go to the hill-country." "You can speak to him about it yourself, papa. But I doul~t if he will consent even to that." "He had better, or he will not have an option long of consenting to any thing." "Does the doctor think that removal is absolutely. necessary?" "lie said so." Yale~ie sat twisting and nutwisting, with absent fingers, the watch-chain that hung at her girdle, while her eyes gazed past her father, full of painful thought-gazed out of the window, through which came the soft murmur of a fountain playing in the court below. "I know how Gaston will feel," she said at length; "because I share the feeling my- self-a sort of instinct that we ought not to leave here." "Why not?" The general spoke sharply, because he was irritated. "I don't know that there is a 'why,' papa. It is, as I said, only an instinct which I feel. But I know that he feels it, too-an instinct that we shall receive news of Man- rice, or at least of Charley, if we only wait long enough." "I hope that you will notput such ideas into his bead." "You may trust me not to do that. But I think you wrn find them there, all the same. Besides, you forget that we promised Charley he should find us here." The general was so vexed and uncom- fortable, that this last remark quite upset him, and he could not forbear endeavoring to make Valerie share, if not his vexation, at least his discomfort. "I don't know that you need consider Hantaine," he said, significantly. "From what I hear to-day, it seems very probable that he has found the fate he might have expected." "Papa! "-it was a long gasp, and the pale face looked at him full of quivering apprehension-" papa! - what have you; heard?" "Not much - nothing directly about him," answered the general, sorry now that~ page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 VALERIE AYLMER. he had spoken.. "Only you remember he said he knew some of those guerrilla-chiefs, and that he was going to them-well, one of the most noted has been captured and shot." "Do you remember the name "Yafles, I ~ Valerie shook her head. "I don't think that was one of the names Charley men- tioned," she said. "But it may have been -I do not know. 0, papa, papa, why did you tell me any thing so horrible?" * "I don't know, I am sure," said the general, hastily. "But don't alarm your- * self foolishly, Valerie. I certainly did not mean you to do that. This -uan's death may have no connection with Hautaine." "But Maurice !-has it any connection with him?" "Hem 1-well I do not know," said the general, who thought he had done mischief enough for once. "We will hope not. Now, can I see Mr. Darcy?" '~ 0, papa, for Heaven's Sake, don't men- tion this to him." "Do you think I am crazy?" asked the general, sharply. "Of course I have not an idea of doing so. I would like to speak to him about going to the hill-country, though. Can I see him?" "I will go and find out." She glided away, with, the noiseless tread of a born sce~r de bons seeo~ts's, and entered the sick man's room. The shaded lamp burned so low that she could only see the outline of his figure, and tbis was so motionless that she thought he was asleep. Pausing a moment, however, to bend over the table and discover if Watkins' had ad- ministered the usual night-draught, his voice called her name. "I thought you were asleep," she said, approaching the bed. "Indeed, I think it would be better if you were."' "Papa wants to see you, and, if I tell ~iim to come in, he will talk so much that there will be rio sleep for you to-night." "Has he any thing to tell me?" "No: he only wants to inquire how you are." "' Oh!" he gave a little weary sigh-the weariness of hope IQug deferred. "Let him come in." "Will you promise not to talk much?" "Yes-indeed, I am not likely to be tempted. After the general has asked me how I feel, hoped I will soon be better, and said that the weather is very warm, our topics of conversation are nearly exhausted." "He has another one to-night," Valerie thought, but she did not say so. She con- tented herself with another caution, and then went to summon her father. "Don't talk to him much, papa," she said; and the general promised he would not. Not that this#romise stood for much-he made it every time he paid a visit, and generally for- got it two minutes after-but Valerie al- ways exacted it, as a sort of precautionary measure that would keep her own conscience. clear, if it did no other good. Left alone in the sitting-room, she went to the window, and, resting her arms on the sill, looked mournfully forth at the glorious tropic night, at the heavens, brilliant with a radiance unknown to colder latitudes, and at the Southern Cross-that constellation of her unhappy country-which was burning just above her head. They were near the harbor; and now that there was a breeze from the northward, she could hear the waves breaking with sullen, regular sound against the parapet. Ah, ft was weary work -this waiting-this hoping-this expecta- tion-this continual disappointment! some- times-to-night, for instance-she felt how vain it was; she felt certain that he would never come back again; that there would never be another meeting until it was given to the disembodied spirits. And it was hard-very hard, she thought-that his last recollection of her should have been angry, passionate, and defiant !-her last picture of him cold, stern, and forbidding! Oh, had they but been a little wiser-on either side, a little more patient-how different it all would have been! Alas! alas! There would be no bitterness in retrospection, if there were not always such thoughts as these; if from the past there did not rise up those mournful shades of harsh words and wronging thoughts, of unkind looks and more unkind deeds, which, large or small, U i t C 12 'I a c L I '5 g b THE SUNLIGHT FROM THE SEA. 2l~ come back to us-.when it is too late for He gave a quick bound, and clasped atonement-and when we can only cry, eagerly, almost painfully, the hand lying up- from the depths of our remorse, "Oh for one on his own. hour in which to win forgiveness!" And "You-havQ you heard any thing?" then, Charley I-she must needs be wretched "No, no," she said, hastily, frightened on his account, too-wretched in the thought at the effect of her words. "Nothing-be-~ that his bright young life was possibly sac- lieve me, nothing. Only, like yourself, I rificed in the vain effort to atone; the vain have watched and waited until the last spark effort to save the man whom he had in- of hope has died out." jiWed. She tried to pray for him, but the "I think it is all gone until something horrible thought that, even then, it might be like this occurs," he said, faintly, as he sank all over with him, came to her, and the words back exhausted on his pillows. "Then I died on her lips. She could only lay her know that I am hoping yet-longing yet- head down on her arms, and feel as if her heart was breaking from unutterable misery. 'the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that Is still.' You asked me, a moment ago, what you should do-repeat those lines for me." She obeyed-much as she doubted the CHAPTER IV. wisdom of the request. Nature had be- THE SUNLIGHT FROM THE SEA, stowed on her a rarely melodious voice, with a richer, deeper timbre than is usual in "You look so tired," said Valerie, the woman, and her quick perception of the aext day, anxiously watching Gaston's face, shades of poetic meaning, together with her as he lay back against his white pillows, highly-trained musical ear, combined to pro.. Can I do nothing to entertain you?- duce an elocution better than all the rhet- iothing to divert your mind for a little oric of the schools. It was pleasure at any while?" time to hear her read aloud, and still greater "Thank you," he answered, with a faint pleasure to listen while she repeated some mile. "But you have done so much already, verse that had lingered in her memory, even hat you must be very tired yourself." if that verse was not so perfect in pathos "No-never tired, if I can only succeed and beauty as the English poet's immortal n amusing you. But that has been par- lines. Ah, how many a mourning heart has icularly hard to-day." echoed that lament-welinigh the' most "Yes, I am afraid that I am becoming touching ever spoken by love-and how ingratefol as well as troublesome." many a sorrow thrilled as it were into new "Hush! You must not say-.~rou must life by the yearning music of that cry! iot think-such a thing for a minute. The There was silence when her voice ceased; Question is, what can I do? I hni sure you silence unbroken even by a sound, although re tired of hearing reading-especially as Gaston's wasted fingers covered his face, and ur supply of English books is so limited. Valerie's heart felt as if it must faint away hall I sing to you, by way of variety?" under the burden laid upon it. "I-believe not. Music pains me when It was some little time after this that am suffering." they were startled by the general's step on "Suffering?" she repeated, quickly. the stairs, and the. sound of his voice, together How? Does your head ache?" with another, which they both recognized at "No. My heart aches-and that is the once as Valdor's. rorst of the two. Valerie, I have almost "I told your father he might bring him iven up hope." to-day," Gaston said, in a tone of depreca- She laid her hand gently down upon his. tion, as he saw Valerie's look of surprised "Gaston, dear Gaston, perhaps it would annoyance. "Don't blame anybody but e wisest to do so." me." page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 VALERIE AYLMER. "But I do blame papa. He ought not to have mentioned the matter to you. I told him you could not see visitors." "He did nQt mention ~ said Mr. Darcy, eagerly. "I asked him if he had met Val- dor lately, and said I was very anxious to see him." "Why are you anxious to see him? What good will it do?" "I want to hear once more all that he thinks about Maurice," he answered, sadly. "I want to know his opinion now-be is better able to judge than we are. And, if I am to be taken away, I want him to prom- ise that he will let me know-any thing he may hear." Valerie sighed. But it was too late for expostulation. Her father was already re- questing admittance at the door, and, a few moments later, Gaston was warmly clasping the hand of the young officer who had been Maurice's sworn comrade and friend. "Come, my dear," said General Aylmer to his daughter, "I insist upon your taking a little exercise while Captain Valdor is here. He will entertain Mr. Darcy." "Pray, mademoiselle, go," said the young man. "You are looking pale-and I assure you Mr. Darcy shall not be dull while you ~ Gaston seconded the request; and, al- though she did so with much reluctance, Valerie was forced to submit. Yet, as she tied on her bonnet, and looked in the mirror at her pale face and sunken eyes, she began to think herself that a little fresh air might not be amiss. So she negative her father's proposal of a 'eoZante, and, saying that she preferred to' walk, took his ~rm as they turned away from the ports coch~re. "Let us go down to the Cortina," she~ said. "I have heard the waves all day, amid I want to see them." Down to the Cortina they went accord- ingly. Something of a gale had been blow- ing all day, and the sea was dashing in high, angry waves against the stone battlements of the Punta and the Moro-a sight well worth witnessing. It had been cloudy ever since daylight-was still cloudy on land- but afar out on the sea, beyond the barboA lay a glory of sunlight gilding the foam- crested waves, as they rolled in with a so5d like distant thunder, and shining on the white sails and tall masts of a ship just sh~p- lug her course between the two frown~g forts. "Look!" said Valerie, watching it with half-sad eyes of interest. "It seems bring- ing the sunlight to the shore." And truly it did. For even as the ship ad- vanced, the broad line of light advanced with it, and that much of gloomy shadow retreated sullenly back to settle yet more grayly over the dominion left it. Forward came the ship- forward the golden flood 'that was giving a thousand glittering sparkles to the dashing surf and spray. With sails outspread, like an angel's great white wings, the vessel bore down between the lofty' battlements that guard the entrance of the harbor-and the flashing glory fell over the stern fortresses, and gleamed upon the royal banner of Spain. Nearer yet the ship-and sunlight crowned all the rolling amphitheatre of hills, and all the coronals of waving palms. Nearer, yet nearer-and sunlight flung its broad mantle of gold over city, plains, and sea. "It has brought it to us a little too brightly," said the general. "You had bet- ter lower your veil, Valerie.~, But this Valerie did not care to ~do. She was interested in watching the animated scene that ensued upon the ship's coming to her anchorage, the bustle upon her deck, the boats darting over the blue water to her side. "She is from Vera Cruz," she heard a voice near her say. "Let us go aboard, and hear the last news of whom Juarez has been shooting.~~ From Vera Cruz! Ah, foolish heart, be still! Every week comes some white- winged messenger from the land where anarchy and murder reign; but it has never yet borne the freight that would make its coming aught to you. But, to do Valerie justice7 her rushing eagerness did not anticipate his own com- ing. She only thought, she only hoped, for letters or for tidings. An~ tidings would be better than the suspense they had been enduring. We all say such things as this. We all say, "Any certainty is better than suspense." But when certainty awful and undoubted, comes, we shrink back, crying vainly for the mercy of that suspense whicl~i, at least, knew hope. General Aylnier was standing by his daughter, meditatively watching a boat which had just received two passengers of the ship, and thinking to himself how very uncomfortable they must have found the shipboard accommodations (supposing them to know any thing about any better), and how very much he would have disliked a voyage under such circumstances, when his arm was grasped with a force which pained even its firm muscles. "The devil! " he cried, turning abrupt- ly. "Why, Valerie, is it you? By Jove, your fingers have some strength in them! What is the matter?" "Papa," said Valerie, with a strange gasp in her voice-not heeding him at all, but keeping her eyes fastened in a strained gaze on the very boat her father huinself had been watching. "Papa-look! I am afraid to trust my own eyes? Who--who is that yonder?" ~ asked the general, staring in the faces of all the people about him. "I don't see anybody I know. Where do you mean?" "Yonder--in the boat! The boat that has left the ship. Papa, papa, who is it?" The general looked, but he could make out nothing. He was rather near-sighted, however, so he mounted his eye-glass; then 1 he saw two military-looking men, one of 1 whom was sitting down, and the other standing up watching the shore. His glance happened to fall first on the latter, and he ~ exclaimed joyfully: "Itis Charley!" t But Valerie's voice, all shaken with emotion, made him start, as she said: "It is Maurice! "' Then looking at the other, and the boat h coming nearer with every moment, he saw that she was right. lie, too, recognized d the man from whom he had parted in Bal- 5] timore, two years before-the soldier of fortune whom they had almost given over C as dead. He, too, knew at a~glance Mau- rice Darcy. h4 JI1~OM TIlE SEA. 219 "Papa," said Valerie, in a quick, eager tone (her veil was down now), "this must not come upon Gaston suddenly-not, at any rate, without some preparation. You stay here and meet them as swoon as they land, while I go and tell the news to him2' Before the general could utter a word, acquiescent or otherwise, she ha4 left his side and was speeding away. I She found Valdor gone, when she en. tered his room, and only Watkins mounting guard over his master. "I made him go," said Gaston, in a tone of apology. "He wanted to stay; but some one called for him, and I made him go." ~ "I am glad he is gone," said Valerie, sinking into a chair, quite breathless; and something i~the tone and manner attract- ed the invalid's attention. "You seem to 'have been in haste," he said, looking at her curiously. "Yes-I was.!' "Did you come back al~ne?" "Quite alone." "Why,. where is the general I"' "He stayed behind, to see-a friend." "A friend?" Gaston was, growing suspicious. He raised himself on his elbow, and the color came and went on his pale cheek at a rate that alarmed Valerie. She remembered suddenly the physician's warning against my shock or excitement, and she reared ~hat she had not kept herself under suf- icient control. She rose and went to he bedside-outwardly calm once more, hough every pulse was throbbing tumult- iously-and stood looking down on him vith eyes that glowed with something of heir old, lustrous light. "Gaston," she said, and she strove in am, to quite steady her voice-" let us hank God for His great mercy-I have eard news of Maurice!" For the first time since he laid his head own, three long weeks before, the sick man wung to an upright, sitting position. "Of Maurice! Oh, thank God-thank 'od! You are quite sure, Valerie?" "Quite sure "-she had flung herself on ~r knees beside th&bed. "He is living- page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 VALERIE he is safe! Oh, what have we ever done to deserve such a great blessing?" "What have I ever done?" said Gaston, faintly. Then he closed his eyes and sunk back upon the pillow. With a frightened cry, Valerie sprung to the table, and seized a bottle of ammonia which stood there. But the swoon-if swoon it really was-only lasted a minute. He gave a gasp as he inhaled the strong aro- matic spirits which~ she held to his nostrils, and then the long lashes lifted again. "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "It was only a sudden spasm of the heart- from joy, you know. But joy never kills. I am better now. Ah, I shall soon be well, if Maurice is coming! Did you say he is coming?" "I hope so-I believe so. But you must not talk just now. I will tell you all about it after a while." "And Oharley?" "Charley is safe, too." He lay silent for a moment-then looked up again with an imploring glance. "Did he tell you he had seen Maurice?" " Did who tell me?" The man you Saw. Surely you said you had seen somebody who knew." "I-yes, I saw somebody." "Who was it?" Valerie hesitated. She did not know whether to tell him or not. While she hes- itated-wishing, and yet fearing to do so- part of the truth at least flashed upon Gas- ton. He threw his arms up, with a cry: "Charley! It is Charley who has come! oIl, where is he I-where is he?" ~ she cried, authoritatively, "this~w~ll never do! I did not say it was Charley! You must compose yourself; or you will be ill again. Oh, if only the doc- tor was here!" "No," he answered," you did not say it was he, but I know it must have been. And he would never have come without Maurice, if Maurice was living. Valerie-" he raised himself up again, and caught the hand near- est him-" Valerie, has Maurice come?" "Gaston!" "Ab, I knew it-I knew it! Thank God! And-stop! There isHautaine now!" AYLMER. It was, indeed. As he spoke, a step came bounding up the stairs, the door was burst open without ceremony, and Hau- tame's handsome, bronzed face appeared, as Hautaine's self rushed in upon them. Of what ensued Valerie had only a dim con- ception. All of a sudden, she grew weak and faint, and a black mist came over her sight. Unconsciously, she sank into a chair behind the sweeping curtains of the bed, and she heard Hautaine's voice as in a dream, when he poured forth his eager story, tell- ing Gaston how he had found Maurice con- demned to death with Yafies, the guerrilla- chief, and on the very verge of execution; how it was only through those friends in power of whom he had once spoken, by their influence, and especially by their brib- ery, that he obtained his release in the offi- cial form of banishment; and how- But here it was that Gaston cut him short with a joyful cry, that rang through the room like music: "He is coming! Maurice is coming! I hear his step!" The next moment, a tall form darkened the door-way-a quick step crossed the floor- Gaston sprang forward- and the brothers were in each other's arms. For a full minute there was silence. Hautaine drew back, and went toward Gen- eral Aylmer, who bad paused in the door. They passed away together, but Valerie was fast prisoner in her retreat; and, even if she had not been so prisoner, she was powerless to move-powerless even to speak. Maurice's voice was the first to break upon the stillness-the quiver of something that was almost a sob in every tone. "Gaston, Gaston, can I ever forgive my- self? Brother the best !-friend the dearest! -to think that I should, in my selfishness, have gone away and left you to suffer like this, alone!" "Brother, no-not alone," Gaston~ an- swered. "There has been one who has taken even your place !-one who has soothed my pain, and nursed my sickness, like an angel sent from Heaven !-one, but for whom I should never have lived to look upon your face again!" "Gaston! My God !-you cut me to the 221 4 THE END. THE SUNLIGHT FROM THE SEA. heart! A stranger to do this; and I-I, he knew that she was there, he had not cx- who ought never to have left you-far pected to see her so soon. Then they stood away !" and looked into each other's eyes. Both "A stranger, Maurice! Ne-there is were sadly changed-upon the faces of each but one person alive who would have tended sorrow and care had laid stern signet-but me thus, or been to me what she has-more what of that? They looked into each than friend and siste~.. Brother, she is other's eyes, and they read there the love there! Have you no word of thanks for and faith that had never faltQred with her?" either, and were forever beyond the things He turned; and almost, as it were, of Earth and Time. Maurice opened his against her will, Valerie rose from her seat, arms with one cry: and stood before him-her face shining up- "Valerie I" on him fair and pale as a star. 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