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ABRIDGJBD AND ARRANGED FROM THE DIARY AND PRIVATE PAPERS OF Mr. EUGENE MURAT. mw JAMEa HURRAY PE'CARTEMT ODEYAINE, H. M. 1st BATTA^. N 22x0 R1SI}T. "And therefore an a stranger give it toeleome." "Uiere are more thingt tn heaven and earth, Horatto, Than are drnsmt of in your ihilotojthv." Shakspbabi. SAINT JOHN, N. B., . J. & A. McMillan, 78 prince wm. street. 1867. cyz / i . • I / ] ABRIDG JAM J. & 1 PAPlETA. A STOEY. ABRIDGED AND ARRANGED FROM THE DIARY AND PRIVATE PAPERS OP Mb. EUGENE MURAT. >T JAMES MURRAY DE'CARTERET ODEVAINE. H. M. IST BATTALION 22nd REQT. "And thtrtfore at a stranger pive xt welcome.'* "There are more thinga in heaven and earth, Horatiot Than art dreamt of in your phUoeophy," SBAXSrSAN. SAINT JOHN, N. B., J. & A. McMillan, is prince wm. street, 1867. • ^uu--f,'i^ "■ '.r? g,-n The out to ] labfturec Most living. Whei dpect. the form impracti of false ( line of 1 in its ai for the r Fred TO THE I^EA.IDER,. The title page; of this work is sufficient evidence to point out to my readers the great difficulties under which I have laboured; in arranging the follow! '^ story. Most of the characters I liave so poorly depicted are fftill living. When we have to d^al with plain facts, we must be circum- dpect. My original intention was to embody these events into the form of a romance. But 1 found that such an idea was impracticable. To succeed, I must invent. The introduction of false characters would necessitate a deviation from the strict line of truth. I, therefore, prefened giving it to the world in its auto-biographical form; trusting to a generous public for the result. Fredericton, N. B., January, 1867 i My Darlu I have dead ! i best of T depres8e( I will last moTT] sicians pi the nigh bedside, he looke< tively. ] and only "Will eve: choke do vie us to c in^. Kn PAPETA. aPA.XiT TKCE FIR.ST. INTRODUCTORY. CHAPTER I. '-'It i BERKELE'' SQUARE, LONDON. Ist May, 18 . M^ Darling Mother, — I have sad news to tell you. Sir Charles Darlej- is dead ! Sympathize with me mother, for the noblest, best of men is no more. I write to you greatly depressed in mind and spirit. I will endeavour to describe to you, briefly, his last moments. On the 15th of last month, his pliy- sicians pronounced him beyond all human aid. On the night of the 16th, I was seated as usual by his bedside. How pale, and yet how calm and resigned he looked ! "jjpugene," he said suddenly, *' listen to me atten- tively. I am about partly to confide to you the one and only secret of my life. I loved ! alas, still love ! Will ever love I my first and only love. I cannot choke down this feeling even now. Of my life pre- vious to our meeting at Paris, you need know noth- ing. Know only this much :" 1 6 P A P Fi T A . J 1 ( ** Eleven years ago, I placed in the care of a certain Mrs. * Moflitt of No. — , J Street, Lirachouse, a child. I stole this child, Eugene I Jane Moffitt received from me the surn of five hundred pounds. She waH to adopt this infant as her own in return. The child's name is Ida Vernon." *' Since this took place I have neither seen or heard from cither. If you love mo, Murat, I beg of you to seek out this little girl, and, if still living, be to lier a brother wlien I am no more. Let her ever be to you and the world, Ida Vernon. I leave her twenty-five thousand pounds. P]ducate her, and in the course of time, introduce her into society. Will you do this much for me, Eugene?" «I will Sir Charles, faithfully." "Enougli! I trust you. You are the only earthly friend left me in this dark and mysterious hour. Give me some water ; my lips are parched." "All my letters and private papers I have de- stroyed. I leave no vestige of my past history behind me. I leave you all my M. S. S. : never pub- lish them, Murat. The world would call you a fool for your pains. Keep them, and read them, for ray sake. Continue to live in this house : it is yours, and take care of " Cardwell" — I leave it to you as a reraemberance of me. This is all I need tell you." About midnight he awoke. Doctor Fuller had but just left him, promising to call at an early hour. He bid me raise his pillow, and after a momentary pause, he smiled faintly, saying: "It is not morning yet Eugene !" Then, with a stern energy he ex- claimed, "The sternest sum — total of all worldly misfortunes Eugene, is Death ; nothing more can lie in the cup of human woe. Yet many men in all ages, have triumphed over Death, and led it captive, converting its physical victory into a moral victory for themselves, into a seal and immortal consecra- I tioui has I is bu that ( pain. die?' Iw you b cup y opinio the pa tudino alone i only f( ATHAN> nature. He niy an from C turn to He strugg though hand rd me an( down. Ther my voi( night o: ven for now fas •Carlyle. f'StiUit certain chouse, Moffitt pounds. return. seen or I beg of ving, be her ever ciive her r, and in V. Will y earthly lus hour. »» have de- t history ever pub- ou a fool n, for ray is yours, you as a cU you." uUer had irly hour, omentary : morning ry he ^x- 1 worldly )re can lie [len in all it captive, al victory consecra< 5 P A P E T A. T tiou for all that their past lives had achieved. What has been done Murat, may be done again : nay, it is but the degree and not the kind of such heroism that differs in ditforent aeasons."* "How Liiie is this! memory endures the only pain. Where, Oh! where the evil, for: — " Untergchend sogar iits' immer dietelbigA 8unne."-|- "Tell me, Eugene, do you think it is hard to die?" I was silent. ** You do not answer me. Oh ! youth, youth, did you but know, how full of bitter-sweets, is this poor cup ye call life. After all what is death, but an opinion ; the sleep of imagination. How secondary the pain, how transient the change, from the multi- tudinous cares, and ills of life, to reality. The future alone is life I Wherefore feardeath then ? Cowards only fear to die ! This passage from thanatos to ATHANAT03, what is it, but a long sleep of exausted nature. ' " Why do buds ope except to die ? " He rose himself upon his elbow; and grasping my arm, convulsively said, "Eugene! I emanate from God alone. Being a part of him, I shall re- turn to God." He fell back exhausted. It was the last faint struggle of extenuation. He looked so pale that I thought him already dead ; but a pressure of the hand reassured me. He slowly turned his face* from me and slept. I removed the lamp, and knelt me down. There kneeling, with all my sins upon me, I lifted my voice and turned my heart to God, in the still night of my misery. Offering my thoughts to hea- ven for mercy and forgiveness ; praying for that life now fast hastening to its Maker. Oh ! how ardent- •Carlyle. t" Still it eontinne« the self same sod. eT«n while it is siakiat." 8 P A P E T A. ^i i I I ly, fervently, did I pray. Exhausted by long watch- ing, I fell asleep upon my knees. I awoke with a start ; morning was dawning. I started to my feet, and turned my glance towards my friend. Great heavens ! how beautiful ! A faint smile hovered round the half parted lips, the right hand was clenched, the eyes fixed : it was the last look, the last smile, the last effort, — Sir Charles Darley was dead. * * * * Ever your son, Eugene Murat. He was buried near " Cardwell," in Devonshire. I found myself embarked upon a voyage, which, ere its close, revealed to me some extraordinaiy phases of human good and human baseness. My first thought was to call on Mrs. Moffitt. I reached No. — , J Street, Limehouse. Ida Vernon was not there. Mrs. Jane Moffitt had left the place eight years previously, and gone, I knew not where I I will now endeavour to narrate the future events of my life, as truthfully, and simply, as I possibly can. I have no ambition to appear conspicuous ; | or, do I further hold myself acccountable for sundry opinions and ideas interspersed in these pages. I am narrating facts. V P A P E T A 9 long watch- roke with a to my feet, md. Great ile hovered ; hand was Dok, the last y was dead. MURAT. Devonshire, rage, which, xtraordinary aess. . Moffitt. I jhouse. Ida ffitt had left one, I knew future events 13 I possibly onspicuous ; le for sundry 86 pages. I CHAPTER II. By the advice of my solicitor, f o folloNviiig lines appeared in the *• Times" newspaper, and in vaH- ouR other periodicals of the irnitcd Kingdom : ^ NOTICE. £100 tftVIWARO will be given to any person supplying such in- formation a.s will load to the di-covery of Mrs. Jaxk Moffitt, latp of No. — , J Street, Limehouse, London. Mrs. Moffitt is earncKtiy requested to place herself in immediate communication with Mr. Eugene Murat, of No. — , Berkeley Square; or, with hifi eolicitor, I». Francia, Esquirr, Lincolri«-Inn-Ficlds, London. A month passed ; still no news of Ida Vernon, or Mrs. Moffitt. On the 28rd August, I most unexpectedly received the following note from my old school-fellow and friend, O'Shaughnessy : Hackett's Hotel, Tuesday. My Dear Eugene, — I arrrived yesterday from Algiers. Pray come and dine with me this evening. I cannot call upon you, as important business will detain me in the city, until after six. I shall expect you. I was sorry to learn of Sir Charles Barley's demise. Yours truly, B. W. O'Shaughnessy. It is more than eighteen months ago since we parted; I therefore look pleasurably forward to our meeting. I promised myself some relaxation, from the dull monotony of my every day existence: I dressed, and was driven to Hackett's, in Piccadilly. Our rencontre was a warm one ; he congratulated me on my good fortune, and deplored my loss. Our 10 P A P E T A. t» conversation naturally turned upon Ida Vernon's mysterious disappearance, and my dilemma. " When I am settled in Chestei'field Street, I will help you. Be of good heart, Eugene; I have an idea." "Well?'* "Be patient." " Certainly ; now tell me how did you get on in Algiers? " "Famously!" " When you last wrote, — " "I had done absolutely nothing." "Have you been dealing in morocco leather? '' "No!" "Horseflesh?" "IS'o!" " What then ? " " I have become like yourself, my dear Eugene, a landed proprietor." "Permit me to congratulate you, my dear Bernard." "Never be surprised at what I do. You know my father left me a poor ensign in the army, with nothing but a captain's half pay in perspective. Ten years ago, I cut but a very sorry figure at my banker's : now, I can aflbrd a yacht ; I am the owner of miles of land in Algeria, ride my thoroughbred, dine with a Secretary of State, and can contrive to spend six thousand a year as comfortably as need be." "And you have accomplished all this, by what you are pleased to call, a nice adjustment of ideas." " Exactly ! for instance, I philosophize thus : There are too many tailors in London. Very well. I draw the map of the world towards me ; I fondle and twist it about, until say my eye lights on the Province of Quang-see, in China. I go there. To my horror, I discover that the savages are not guilty of knicker- bockers. What then ? Why hang them ! I must V Vernon's et, I will have an ret on in P A P E T A. 11 only make them fashionable. The novelty pleases, and behold all Quang-see in knickerbockers. And ! so I get on. Here is logic for the rising speculator ! A hearty dinner, with twice told reminiscences of the past, and we parted with mutual assurances of our continued friendship. lerr ? »' CHAPTER HI. ugene, a ernard." )u know 11 V, with ^e^ Ten 3 at my le owner ighbred, ntri^e to eedbe." by what f ideas." } : There I draw ind twist ivince of ' horror, knicker- I must Three weeks later, my friend, Mr. Bernard Willis O'Shaughnessy, had worked out his idea. W"e were seated in the library in his new house. " Tell me, Eugene, when you first went to Lime- house, did it occur to you to enquire who lives there now? " "No ; I asked for Jane Moffitt : she was gone." " Ah I I thought so. Now, it appears to me, as the landlady knows nothing satisfactory of Mrs. Moffitt's whereabouts, there may b« some one else living in the house, who does know." "Ha!" "So, with this hope, the day before yesterday, rigged out as a sailor fresh from the Levant, I set sail for No. — , J— i — Street." " You disguised as a sailor, Bernard ! What for ?" " Listen : I reached my destination without hav- ing formed any positive plans of operation. Looking round, I espied a stout female standing Flora-like, behind sundry baskets of cabbages and potatoes. I 12 P A P E T A glanced over the door : Mary Smiih, Grocer, caught my eye. I found myself, shortly after, grasping a pair of red, plump hands; and exclaiming in true nautical phraseology : ' Bless my peepers, if this isn't Mrs. Smith!"' I could not control a laugh. "You may well laugh, Eugene," continued my friend, considering that 1 never saw the woman before in my life. This process, I admit, was rather ab- rupt: but I had an idea you know. I installed myself in rear of the cabbages and potatoes. ** Why bless you Mary Smith, if you are not the image of young Jack." The woman stared. "You don't know me ? " "No!'' "I thought it advisable that she should know me. I produced a sovereign. Mrs. Smith dispatched a little girl for ' Old Tom and Cloves.' I smoked, and wondered what was to hap- pen next. I caught my Flora, once or twice, glancing slyly in a diminutive looking glass. *" Ah ! Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Smith, how awfully mistaken you were !" *' And did you really do all this, O'Shaughnesay?" " Of course. I^ow I reasoned thus : This woman may probably know something of Mrs. Moffitt. I questioned her as she mixed me a glass of ' Old Tom.' " " Do you remember Mrs. Moffitt? '' I asked her. "Do you mean Jane Moffitt?" "Yes! what has become of her ? " " Oh, thev have left the street these eight years.'' " Indeed ! Do you know where they have gone to ? '' No. Mrs. Smith did not know, and what was more to her purpose, did not care. "Who lives there now, Mrs. S. ? " was my next question. " Oh, snuffy old Brown, the watchmaker ; tfones, the clerk; and Robinson, the pianist." "No one else?" "Yes." "Ah!" "There's an old lady, said loquacious Mr. S., and this old lady — some called her poor ; others miserly ; Mrs. Jones thought 4 ti t( ?sis ! She opped her ! wall. e of good- 4 "I have not the least notion," answered the im- perturable 0'£:hau£:linessy. '* I guessed again." **I relit the candle with a lucifer I had about me, and turned towards her. She started forward, seized my disengaged hand, and hissed out : " This way, John Moffitt! this way!" "Bravo! old girl! this looks something like business!" Down a dark, narrow, flight oi stairs, leading to a low passage, we turned to the left ai^d entered a small room. A bright fire burned in the grate, relieving the chilly gloom. I placed the light on the table and sat down near the cheering blaze. I determined not to budge an inch until either by subterfuge, chance, or any other lucky means, I fathomed the cause of this lady's interest in John Moffitt. She stood by me, with one hand placed affection- ately upon my shoulder. There was a long pause. She drew back the hair from my forehead saying, '* So }'0u arc the son of Charles Moffitt ! " Fearful pf any plerplexing intei rogatory, Irf '"'^'l to come to the point at once. '• Sit down Mary, and listen to me." She obeyed. *'I have been a wanderer," I commenced in an assumed tone, " from home and friends for many long years ; I returned to my native land, hoping to end my days in peace and happiness. I found my mother and father gone ! I thought of you, Mary ! I knew you lived in London. After a long search, I found you. You Mary ! who have been the best friend of our family ." "It is a lie^ John Moffitt! a base, hypocritical, lie!" she wildly exclaimed. I was alarmed. I therefore wise- ly remained silent. " I loved you, from j'our child- hood, John ! I have often thought of yoUy in my misery ! I often wondered what had become of you, after you ran away from Taunton ; but, your father ! I ." " What, Mary ! *' She rose slowly and approached me. Pointing to the fire, she added m 16 P A P K T A. fiercely : " As a piece of paper would consume itself amidst those flames, so has your father's memory turned my heart to ashes ! Ask me not of your father, do not even breathe his name to me I" She went back to her seat slowly. ''And of my mo- ther?" "He dared to come here!" she answered, not heeding my question. "Dared to enter this house, with that painted woman hanging on his arm, and she smiled upon him, and called him husband ! Even here, he came to torture me with his heartless perfidy !" "But, answer me, inheaven's name, where is Mrs. MoflBtt?" With ah effort she forced down her passion, and the old woman said, " I know not ! Listen. Twelve years ago this very night, your fa- ther and mother came to live in this house. He came, as he left me, thief-like ! Little did he dream that I was an inmate of the same house. But it matters not. Eight years ago lie left, going away as he came, in the night time. I saw him go. I heard of his going and watched him leave. As he "went away, I cursed him, John Moflitt ! bitterly, savagely, cursed him ! John, your'father is dead ! " ** Dead ! " 1 muttered with well feigned surprise. "And my mother ? " " Of her I know nothing. She is not to blame. I know your father is dead, my lieart tells me so ; has told me so these three years past ! I felt it snap in two one day as I sat thinking of him, where you now sit ! It is thus I know, Charles Mof- fitt is in his grave ! You do not know my history? It is a common, though a bitter one. I played with your father long before you were born. I was fond of him as a girl, I loved him as a woman, I gave him my heart, my soul, my very honor ; and in return, he robbed me of all ; deceived, and then abandoned me ! When next I saw him, another was leaning on his arm ; Was not this enough to drive me mad, and make me curse him ? Some eleven years ago, I i heard Mrs. \ rcvon^ strike He we ished i lieard litt is advent '' Til "Y( You cr ,^oul, n "Y av()we( heart, for eve ro'^v', as " Yo " Let have d< "W( Vernon "Yei Now, abroad "Yo my frie " W( notices nals. vou wil this SOI " Ma have ei Ther i " Te] J> A P E T A 17 imo itself memory of your e!" She my mo- mswered, ntcr this I his arm, husband ! heartless ne, where 2ei\ down now not ! ;, your fa- (use. He he dream . But it I away as I heard he went savagely, "Dead!" And my is not to eart tells I felt of Lim, rles Mof- history ? yed with was fond ^ave him 1 return. andoncd ining on ne mad, rs ago, I t ! heard that a child had beer, placed in tlic hands of Mrs. MofHtt. Had the child been tii-i, the demon of revenge would have, I do not doubt, driven me to strike through it, at the man who had betrayed mc ! He went away witli his wile, and the little girl van- ished in the darkness for ever!" **A*tidyou never l^eard of them since in anyway?*' '' Charles Mof- litt is dead t tell you ! '' '' And so ends my strange adventure, Eugene." " The battle was well foui^fht Bernard." •'Yes, but we have learned nothing particular. You can now easily guess what brings that lone, old, .^oul, nightly to the door of Xt, — , candle in hand. '• Yes, Bernard, she hopes still in spite of her avowed hatred, — that the only jov of her once vouns" heart, though beauty, honor, aiul happiness are gone for ever — will return to her in the night of her sor- ro'^v', as he came, and as he wont — in the darkness." " You are riicht." "Let me thaiik you, O'Shaugbness}-, for all you have done for me." " We have ascertained then, positively, that Ida Vernon was with these people eight years ago.'' "Yes." Kow, Eugene, may not this family have gone abroad ? " "You are right," I exclaimed, forcibly moved by my friend's remark. " We must not lose a moment then in inserting notices in Jl the American, and continental jour- nals. I will undertake this business for you, if you will permit me. I know a man who understands this sort of work thoroughly." "Many thanks. As you say, the Moffitts may have emigrated after all." There was a pause. " Tell me, Eugene, have you any idea why Sir 18 P A P E T A Charles placed this girl in the keeping of Mrs. Moi- fitt ? " " Not in the least." " Now, candidly, do you think she is his daugh- ter?" " It is hard for me to say ; hut most prohahly you surmise rightly." *' Are there no letters or papers to help us ? " ** None ! Sir Charles destroyed everythinpr shortly before his death. He told me that Ida Vernon's antecedaneous history, must remain for ever a se- cret." " Have you spoken to his late hankers on the sub- ject?" "No." "I advise you to see them, and endeavour to glean some information from that quarter." "I will do so." '* Can we not trace some particulars of her history from the mother's side ? " "Should I be justified in doing so, Bernard?" " Why not. Sir Charles b(;und you over by no oath ; or, did he ever for a moment think that this child had disappeared. In my opinion, you are per- fectly at liberty to take any honorable steps in your power to find her, and so carry out his wishes." " You are right." " Very well, then, go to Messieurs B , to- morrow, and, I wuU look up the other business for you." " Agreed.'' " We will allow these notices to remain public for six months. If after the lapse of that period we hear nothing, you may safely conclude that either all these people are dead ; or, that for some reason Ida Ver- non is kept from your knowledge." " I will never despair of finding her." "H( ly line, "Yd J "Ac 1 And i 1 1 1 Ten pare nc "Ih "Th "Ids and fift liberty her dis' "Yo "Id "Wl "Th. expense "Mo " Pri So, tha sand pc for a sp "Cb "I a you do "lea "W< P A P E T A 19 Mrs. Mol- lis (laugb- )bably you us : ing shortly vernon'fl ever a sO' m the sub- ur to glean her history [lard?" )ver bv uo k that this ou are per- sps in your Lshes." , to- >usines3 for 1 public for od we hear ler all these ►n Ida Ver- I 4 " Hope on, hope ever : is a very good and friend- ly line, Eugene." "Yes, O'Shaughneasy, let us hope." "Adieu." And we paried. CHAPTER IV. j Ten days after, O'Shaughuessy and I met to com- pare notes. I " I have sent off to the papers, Murat." "Thank you." " Ida Vernon is advertized for in three hundred and fifty-one newspapers. I have further taken the liberty to increase the sum you offer as a reward for her discovery." " You did well. I never thought of it." "I did so for the best." " What will this business cost, Bernard ? " « "The first cost of insertion, including all other * expenses, will be two hundred and ten pounds." "Moderate." " Printing is not so cheap as some people imagine. So, that my dear Eugene, for the sum of two thou- 1 sand pounds your notices will appear in the papers for a space of four months." "Cheap for the money." " I am glad you are satisfied. Now, what have you done?" " I called yesterday at Messieurs B '• offices.' ' <* Well ? " 20 P A P E T A " I saw the Hccond partner of the firm, and hricfly told liini my huHitiess. lie knew absohitely nothing of I)arh\y'H private liiHtory. From a large folio, 1 have eopied these particularp, pray read them." 0*Shaugluiessy read aloud the following: — SIR CHAKLES DARLKY, BARONET, Born 12lh Decomben 18—. Diotl iruh April, 18—. Only son of th« late Sir FriMlorick Darlcy, Bt. hn'ome £9,000 per iinniim. Estate, *' Cardwoll." AsueHKcd value, £1500. Hit for the borough of D— — — , in 18 — . Married, i3lh A()ril, 18 — , G.^orpimi Helen, only daufjlitcr of the Inte Henry (Jruiloy, Esquire, of Taunton, Devonshire. No dowry. Town rroidcnco, No. — , Berkeley 8«|unre. An ullowunce of three hunJred pounds per annum, made to Ijady Darley, on Gth May, 18 — , during her atay in Franre. This annuity was never drawn by her ladyship. Wife died abroad, about Jure, 18 — . O'Shaughnensy returned me my pocket book. *' There is nothing here to guide ns.'' "Unfortunately, no! Of the late Lady Barley's family, the peerage makes no mention. '^ *' What can this allowance of three hundred a year mean ? '* "And she never touched a penny of it." "Strange!" "Why?" " I can see it all now ! Sir Charles separated from his wife, allows her three hundred a year." "Well?^' " Some terrible motive parted them. Ida Vernon is thought illegitimate by the husband. Jane Mof- fitt adopts her, and there ends the affair." " Do you know, that I also have thought as you think, Bernard. But, on his death-bed he gave the lie to this hypothesis, he made the child his heiress, and told me he still loved his wife." " Why call her Ida Vernon, then ? '* " Nature bids us speak of the dead virtuously and wisely. Whatever motive prompted Sir Charles to these ends, we are not in a position to censure or condemn them, Bernard." "Bi must the mi Let past to "At "L« "W " W " w traordi "IlK "He " W "If He hai! (( iS • " Ye plishm capital % would he put I mire tl ; and un swears into hii I lau "Yo him. "He "A away e terestir ; " Is : ^ "No "Wl be?" V P A P E T A. 21 , and bricfl}' toly nothing irge folio, I tbcni." ng:— IT, -. Only son of )0 per iinniinn. jr the borougli of Dfitm Helen, only iton, Ucvonshire. . An ullowiince Icy, on Gth May. J never drawn by Bt book, ady Darley's id red a year i es separated • a yeai'." Ida Vernon Jaue Mof- light as you he gave the I his heiress. rtuously and r Charles to D censure or "But, to arrive at some probable conclusion, we muBt oonjocturc. Vou arc right, onr duty lies with the misHing Ida.** Let us (io it manfully then, and leave the buried past to itself.*' " At present we have done all we can possibly do.'' *' Let us dismiss the subject.** "Willingly.** " What news ? " " Why, to-morrow, 1 will introduce you to an ex- traordinary character.'* "Indeed!" " He is rich, clever and handsome." " What a lucky fellow.** " I first met him at Munich ; afterwards at Paris. He has just arrived from Italy." "Is he an Italian? " " Yes ; in style thoroughly English. His accom- plishments arc numerous. lie sings well, is a capital musician, and holds forth in what the world would call a pseudo-philosophy. So cunningly does be put forward his reasons that one can not but ad- mire the fellows audacity. He nourishes a morbid and unjustifiable antipathy towards the fair sex. He swears he will never marry unless he school a woman into hia way of thinking." I laughed. " You will like him though, but never understand him. He is an enigma." " He interests me." " A man with four millions of francfi to throw away every year of his life, must of a necessity, be in- teresting.'* " Is be of good family ? " " No. He glories of boasting of bis plebeian origin.** "What ma\' this extraordinary individual's name be?" ^ 22 P A P E T A j i m "The fami.y name is Bartelli. He calls himself Count Carrer Cadras." " What a name ! Is he old ?" " I fancy, in spite of his good looks, that he has passed the rubicon. He looks five and thirty, but I have no doubt, is older." O'Shaughnessy now rose to leave. " I will be with you at seven to-morrow evening, be ready. We will dine with the Italian Count." " But I am not invited." " Tut ! he bid me bring ray best friend with me.*' "I will be ready." "He dines preposterously late." " He wishes to astonish us." " No. On the contrary, he has taken a small place in Charles Street, and intends remaining incog, Don't forgot, seven o'clock." Off went this noble fine fellow. Six feet two, of true, and good Irish blood. O'Shaughnessy was a man void of any superficiali- ty. A sound, honest, upright, thinking friend, was Bernard Willis. He had made a fortune by his owe indefatigable perseverance, aided by a happy knack of turning the most trivial incident to account. Hit system of doing business was a healthy one. Hi; maxim an old one. Do everything yourself. Trust to no one. Keep your own counsels, and whatever is worth doing, do it well and promptly. So, rea- soned O'Shaughnessy, and so died O'Shaughnessy, a rich man, esteemed and regretted ! "I an Murat.'' " I asi " Yon Shaughi " I ha Italian.'' " Indc " I ha^ *-No\N nessy's : native o: what coi friends, \ With "icd door. Let m •ketch o nent par He w; plexion, A well taehe ; e flexible cover all ty of de ability it well reac a passio gastrolati with ori Count C ' MMMi ^ P A P E T A 28 calls Mmeelf , that he has [ thirty, but I TOW evening. m Count." nd with me." a small place lining incog. X feet two, 01 y superficiali- ig friend, was le by his own happy knact iccount. His hy one. His irself. Trust and whatever tly. So, rea- laughnessy, a CHAPTER V. *' I am happy to make your acquaintance Monsieur Murat." "I assure you Count, the pleasure is mutual." " Your friend's name sounds familiar to me, 0'- Shaughnessy." ''I have no doubt," I replied, '^ mv father was an Italian." '* Indeed ! And yourself? " ' " I have the honor of having been born in Dublin." '•iTow, here is a happy coincidence. O'Shaugh- Dessy's mother was born in Italy ; your father, a native of the same country, and I, an Italian. Xow, what could be more delightful. We must be great friends, Murat." With pleasure." " Lc diner est servi ! '' exclaimed a domestic at the door. Let me give you reader, a slight photographic •ketch of this man, who is destined to play a promi- nent part in this story of my life : — He was tall, and well proportioned. His com- plexion, though olive, was clear and beautiful. A well shaped mouth, shaded by a drooping mus- tache ; eyes, large, dark and expressive ; a rich, and flexible voice ; fine, aristocratic hands and feet ; and cover all this, with a pleasing and fascinating suavi- ty of deportment ; a captivating gentleness ; a rare ability in conversation and style ; a perfect breeding; well read, novel, and eccentric ; a boon companion ; a passion for llowers and music; a fjourmand and ^a.'9/ro^rt^r<' ; charitable, unostentatious, and flowing with original anecdote. Picture all this, and lo Count Carrer Cadras is before you. 24 P A P E T A. I II ,' \ h His only fault, apparently, was his smile. It wai a little too cynical. The Salle a Manger was iindergc ing extensive re- pairs, we dined in the library. A small, green, and gold room — with rich, crim- son hangings, soft cushions, and neat, light, furni- ture. Round the room, and placed alternately with vases of flowers, stood several delicate, spiral stands, superbly carved, containing numerous volumes. Each class ot works, surmounted l>v busts in marble and bronze, such as yEschylus, Bnlfon, Goetlie, Socrates. Corneille, Ilafiz, Voltaire, JBalzac, and i^apoleon ; pointdd out the fine taste of Carrer Cadras. On tho walls were stands of arms, of Arabian, Asiatic and Circassian manufacture. Swords, wielded in tho years of the Crusades ; battle-axes, blunted in the wars of Timour the Tartar; or Genhis Khan! A A hirge glass, surrounded with rare miniatures, and some other chef (Tmivre lit up the scene. A curious- ly fashioned escritoire, a large oval table in the centre with covers for three ; a bright tire, screened off, completes the room. We sat down. I, opposite to O'Shaughnessy ; our host between us. Pressing the ivory knob of a small silver alarum ; a sharp, jingling, pleasant, noise, and the entry of a venerable domestic, resplendent in inapproachable cravat, coat, vest, and frills was the result. The dinner commenced with oysters aw naiurel. The servant left us. " It will appear to you, my dear Murat, rather absurd, this whim of mine. I can not possibly tole- rate servants at my table when dining with my friends, not even my good Maitre iV hotels Louis Vand ! He is, I assure you, the* first distinct thing I can remember, far back in childhood ! *' "Do you not find your plan inconvenient ? " gary ni f to disp •little ' dine al I the ru /plush-^ thougl the ne ) diaraoi • " Ai ! and ap ' O'Shai "Fo mine -^ guishe ackno^ ignora "Pi «Ht a la I\ sea I " "W "W "N( "Pi "D( "T "I O'Sha ofSei of yoi : "B Hiitoi P A P K T A, nile. It was extenaive re- :h rich, crim- light, furni- rnately with spiral stands, lumes. Each n marble and tlie, Socrates, d Napoleon : Iraa. On the , Asiatic and Eilded in the lunted in the s Khan ! A niatnres, and . A curious- in the centre screened oif! [, opposite to Iver alarum ; be entry of a approachable alt. aw naiurel. lurat, rather possibly tole- ng with my hotels Louifi listinct thing ient ? " " No ! I consider servants one of the many neces- sary nuisances. Yon see,! have my table laid so as I to dispense with their services. All it costs one is a I little additional trouble. Friends, should always Vdine alone ! At a great man's dinner, it has become ithe rule, to gather a number of these ignorant «' plush-wearing fellows around you. They carry your I thoughts out of doors, for analytical examination in the neighbouring pot house, and there criticise your I diamonds, plate, and wife I " "And to what blunders, even the most expert, jand apparently discreet servant, is liable," remarked O'Shaughnessy. " For instance : I remember a certain friend of mine who gave a dinner at Vienna to some distin- guished fashionables ; and, who nearly lost his acknowledged prestige as a gastronomist by the ignorance of his maiire d' hotel! " " Pray, how was that ? " "He had the impertinence to substitute punch a la Bomaine for sorbet au rhum^ between the cour- ses » 'J i ** What a dolt ! " " Was this pardonable ? " "No!" " Parbleu ! then down with servants.*' " Administer to your own inclinations." " Do you enjoy your oysters, Murat ? " " They are delicious." " I adore Pliny, and worship oysters,'* exclaimed O'Shaughnessy. " What a luxury they must have been in the time of Sergius Orata,*' I remaked. " Why so ? The Roman gourmets knew nothing of your English testacea.'' "But, Pliny did,'' said O'Shaughnessy. *' And pray, mon cher ! where the deuc0 did your Uitorian w%x eat tht m ? " 16 P A P K T A. I *• He does not tell d8." **Ha! What a pity!" " Conte ! did not Malherbe make a small mistake when he pithily remarked, that he knew nothing better than melons and women ? " " You are right,*' laughed Cadras." I really do not know which of the two is the most insipid." " All people cannot live on melons," put in 0'- Shaughnessy. " Or, exist on the smiles of a Venus," answered Cadras. *' ^ow, an oyster never produces indigestion," I said. *' Or is insipid," echoed Bernard. ** And is the only philosophical animal in crea- tion," said the Count. " Philosophical ! " "The oyster never opens its lips, save to preserve health, strengthen constitution, and so prolong life I What modern would-be Socrates, or Plato, does this ? " " Good I let us discuss the oyster." " And confute Malherbe." "Let us annihilate the * melon' philosophy." "Well! What next?" " Had Malherbe said oysters and women ? " " He would thus have reached the acme of all rea- son. ff "IS"©!" • "Well!" " Had he said wine and oysters ? " " It would have immortalized him." "With the late distinguished Marquis de CuBse} , I pledge the diamond of the kitchen." " Glorious tubercle ! " " King of Mullusks ! " "Drown them in Saturne." "An Turtl (delicioi I ask "Wl ^osmop jind av5 advent "Do . "Ba tetter I lick of inind t matter "Bu "Sal mosqui the soc tence ii •moke one ha" dreams tip thei when s pro four ment !' "Yo gcneroi "Gri am for of Eng like Ca Here, gloriou clergy, sailors, not he. a P A P E T A 27 small mistakf knew nothing ' I really do t insipid/* s,'* put in 0'- us," answered idigestion," I dmal in crea- te to preserve prolong life ! * Plato, does losophy.'* men ? '' 5me of all rea- de CuBse} , I " And toast the memory of Catiline.'* Turtle soup was now served, accompanied by delicious iced rum punch. I asked Cadras, how he liked England. " Who could dislike it ! Mon cher ami, though a fosmopoliten member of society, being here to-day and away to-morrow, I always look forward to the advent of my visit to this country with pleasure. " Do you not prefer our beautiful Italy ? '' " Bah ! A blue sky to look at pei'petually is no better because it is always blue. One learns to grow lick of orange blossoms. To an ideal and romantic tnind these ephemeralities are seducing, but in a matter of fact view, monotonous.''' " But your glorious climate, my dear Count ? " " Salubrious, no doubt ! The air charged with mosquitos and other worse particles. But, mafoi! the society ! A race of people sleeping away exis- tence in a Cafe, and talking regeneration midst the •moke of cigars, very paroquets in conclave ! The one half of life in Italy is wasted in purposeless Ireams. They grumble from day to-day, holding ip their self- afflicted sores to the world's view, ana '^hen some unforseen calamity overtakes them, they )rofoundly exclaim — ' Do we deserve such treat- Dent!'" '' You are too severe. A more noble, brave, and generous race does not exist." " Granted ! I am no dreamer, O'Shaughnessy. I am for the roast beef and plum pudding philosophy of England. Polenta, does not suit my taste! I am like Cardinal Wolsey, *a man of unbounded stomach.* Here, everything is fat ! Your very criminals are gloriously fat ! Your dogs are fat ! Your bishops, clergy, aldermen, judges, lords, yeoman, soldiers. Bailors, paupers, all are well fed ! By jove I I can- not help giving the preference to a nation carryin-i; I 28 P A P E T A a I the indelible stamp of its wealth, health, and power, ao visibly in her hardy sons. You know what Mrs. Ilemans says of Italy : — ''' There are bright scenes beneath Italian ekies, Where glowing suns their purest light difTuve, Uncultured flowers in wild profusion rise, And nature lavishes her vrarmest hues; But trust thou not her smile, her balmy breath ; Away ! her charms are but the pomp of Death ! " ** I agree with her," replied O'Shaughnessy : " I drink to Old England in generous Chablis.*' And Carrer Cadras smiled his cynical smile. Vand entered with numerous entrees, and helped us to Chateau Morgaux, Lafitte, and Sparkling Cham- pagne. *' Do you admire our beau sexe as enthusiastically as you do our men. Count? *' I asked. "I cannot say I do. Some of your blondes are magnificent creatures though — to look at. I only met with one English woL^an entirely to my taste, and she was, unfortunately, married.*' " What a pity !" " Will vou try this Fricandcau ? ** '* Thanks." Our friend's cook, Eugene, has been a pupil of Antoine Careme." '* Indeed." •' IIow exquisite these pales arc. Permit me " — '' Thank you. I prefer these truffles, the cham- pagnc sauce is capital.'' *• Careme," said CadraSj '-I always considered the Talleyrand of cooks." " And Lasac and Robert ? " ** Passable. The unfortunate Laqupiere was a justly celebrated Chef. Careme on the other hand, has not a bete noir about him. Read his * Cuisinier Farisien,' or his *Le Principal de la Cusine,' the man is a philosopher." " He i *« Ilovi " By 1 I replied " Deci "Who "He great gsa "It is •erved oi world, st "Indi\ ibis also, "We ! **by end< paying a Count of went to oook our the prodt lacked th brains no were wor Vand, moving t Ctemes, 7M tdurtes, i( VolaU' V ciously. " Pardc mouth ful magnifice trifles, lig ftjlure. ' •" Gentl must stud Uie best. -WHM 1 P A P K T A . 29 ,nd power, what Mrs. neasy : **^ I mile. md helped ling Cham- usiastically ilondea are it. I only my taste, a pupil of >? t me the cham- idered the re was a ther hand. Cuisinier sine,' the •*IIe imitates Corvisart then.'^ **now?'' asked O'Shaughnessy. I " By harmonizing talent, with a good stomach,** I replied. "Decidedly,'* said Cad. as. ' "Who is Corvisart?" asked Bernard, tilling his glass. i "He was physician to Napoleon the First, and a great gastronomer.'* "It is curious that the French savans only,** ob- lerved our host, " have materially contributed to the world, stomachic health.'* I "Individuality in taste, has done much to destroy Oiis also,'* I observed. " We spoil the original recipe,** replied Cadras, •*by endeavouring to improve upon it. I remember paying a visit, some years ago, to my friend, the Count of Gottschalk's farm, near Warmbrum. We went to the top of the Riensen. I volunteered to oook our extemporized dinner. I signally failed in the production of my j)/aA9. Wherefore ? I simply lacked the science of manipulation ; my fingers and brains not working in unison, my poor hors d^ccuvrr were worthless. Vand, at a giving signal, now appeared. Re- moving the second course, he substituted oundry Ctemes, merhujues^ 2i. ^uhQvh Sucdoise pudding, various tdurtes, ices, blanc-mangers, and a new and peculiar Vol-au- Vent. Of these entrements, Cadras eat vora- ciously. "Pardon ay epicurean taste," he said, with his mouth full of souffle ; Vand had just brought in a magnificent silver dish. "I am a lover of those trifles, light as air I The second course with me is a failure. The cloth was removed. f" Gentlemen, the sacred 'quarter' approaches; we must study the laws of digestion : a quick desert \%. tihe best. Do you take Frontignan, Murat ? " 8a P A P E T A I "No, I prefer your Saint Julien.'' " And you, O'Shaughnessy ? " "My desert wine is Pacarete — when I can get it.*' The signal was given, finger glasses were brought, and we rose. We adjourned to a large room, warm, well carpeted, and curtained. Several fine water- colour drawings of the Count's adorned the dark, blue, and silver-papered walls. A novel, crescent shaped chandelier, with perfumed wax lights, hung pendent from the painted ceiling : a perfect bouquet of dancing nymphs and satyres! Jour large and soft divans, covered with light, yellow silk, circled the room. Two fine busts, of Mozart, and Handel, flanked a large piano, lighted up by massive silver candelabra. On a small side table was a gold tray, on which stood a silver urn of peculiar make, six thimble-shaped cups of exquisite workmanship in filegree stands, and a spirit lamp to match the urn. I noticed a small gold box, set with pearls, and the words " Cafe Noir " set in the lid, and sparkling with diamonds. We were enchanted I Throwing ourselves each on a separate divan, we lounged back, sipping oui Curacoa, Maraschino, and Kirschwasser, happier thai the nectar loving gods. "This is my boudoir, O^Shaughnessy.'^ " And this, the most pleasant evening of my life,' he answered. " It is the happiest hour of mine ! " I exclaimed. " I will make you a cup of my best coffee in re turn for your compliment, Murat," said Cadras smiling. He lit the spirit lamp. "Pray examine these little Arabian curiosities? bought them of a French colonel of chasseurs ii Algiers." 1 took up ono. "1 "I "]S enthi] *'I have ] ^oisellc "SI day si week i graved essenc and p panion The polite ] real cu Jie accc '» "Ih ine the |ng my little u iay'Ca We "Ar "Pa "Le , He 8{ f "Fj mom( >wing lusicl s P A P B T A. II ; can get it." ere brought, room, warm, [ fine water- ed the dark, ivei, crescent lights, hung it They are very beautiful!" How finely these horsemen are drawn.*' Notice the spirit that figure bears in proximity • ») LMithusiastically put in Bernard. "And so full of a bold harmony." I *' I prize them very much ! Many queenly lips have pressed these trifles, and kissed them.'* ^ ** As I do ! " gallantly said Bernard. "This gold box is a present from the late Madaru- rfect bouquet ^oiselle B f.** ar large and r silk, circled , and Handel, nassive silver 8 a gold tray, iar make, six rkmanship in "Ah!" "She has left the stage to marry a baron. One day she was a guest of mine: I made coflPee. A week after she sent me tliis — Inside the lid are en- graved these words in Italian : 'Preserve thy precious essence in this box. Gold should kiss its surface ; and pearls and brilliants, are alone its fit com- aatch the urn. panions.' " earls, and the The coffee was made, and handed to us by our md sparkhng polite host. For the first time in my life, I tasted a real cup of coffee. Cadras proceeded to explain how jurselves each j^e accomplished this feat. k, sipping oui ,, a j jj^ve at Mecca, a man who selects and sends r, happier thai jue i\^q choicest berries. I superintend their roast- ing myself, then grind them. With the aid of this jy*" little urn, and a knowledge of the art, I produced ig of my hfe, i^y < Qafe JSloir, ' ' ' W"e smoked. " Are you fond of singing, Murat ? " "Passionately! " " Let me play to you." He sat at the piano and dashed into the beauties " Faust " with wonderful eclat. He paused for moment?; then, in a fine tenor voice, sang the fol- wing verses of Thornbury's clever ballad, set to usic by our clever Mend : — I exclaimed, st coffee in re said CadraB I curiosities? of chasseurs ii g I I 82 P A P E T A. i-i ^ i'!:l I " Cleir the way cry out the lacqaeya, Elbowing^ the lame and poor, From the chapel'a atately porchea, Way for Madame Pompadour." " Old bent aoldiera, crippled veterans, Sigh and hobble, aad, footsore, JoMtled by the chariot hordes Of this woman — Pompadour." in mei "flowern pink, h numari forget-] BOniC 81 |ieaveTi ** Thank you.*' *' TJi "Do you remember those lines, Bernis, is said to O'Shaii have improvised at Choisey during queen Pompa- "An< dour's palmy days ? • * "No, I cannot say I do,'* replied Cadras. " I think they run somewhat thus : — Les nymphes dans Cythere, Faisatent un jour, Un eloge sincere, De Pompadour. ' Le trio dea graces sourit, L'amour applaudit, Et Venus bouda, Gai ! Lanla ! Lanla ! "Ist "Exfi Of Oin], of his II cannot I "Iftt "To' wort] I y in his'h, lie caioi granger rty, a b aainutelj ^acted T jarty; tjiing l^proacl objeot o 4b 11 cute, " Capital I Bravo, Bernis ! " " Count, what say you to your favorite story ? said 3*Shaughnes8y. " The lucifer match ? " "Yes." " With pleasure. Light a cigar, Murat." "Thanks." " My grandfather, then, in his youth, was a garc llelers. ener." of tlie g . "A gardener!" suddenly "Yes; number forty, genealogical Bartelli, wa Jlonsjen a lover of flowers. At the early age of^ fifteen, t tfon had evinced an extraordinary aptitude in horticultiir:|ja borate study. Yet he abhorred the artificial part of his fsAialifica vorite science. Nature was to him his all; flower j|c tori I y were to him a truth, and not a conception. No^tilijily 'm it ill •l! '. ■i;i P A P E T A 33 in memory <>f grandfather Bartelli, which of two flowers do you coiiBider the prettiest ; a variegated pink, hot-housed and tortured into a dozen hues by human ingenuity and ])orseverance, or a wild, blue forget-me-not, growing nncared for, by tli(3 banks of Bonic silvery stream, and sparkling with the dew of heaven ? " ** The pitik attracts the eye most," answered nis, isoaidto O'Shanrr} messy. ifiGn Pompa- "And your o] iieen Pomp iras. (Torite story? pinion, Murat? " " I select the forget-me-not." "Exactly! One is the production of man; the other of G<»d/' replied Oadras. ** At Pisa, he laid out one of his natural gardens — see it ! and believe, that we cannot beautify nature." " I agr -e with you." *' To continue : One fine summer's morning my wortliy grandfather went out botanizing He held in his hand a large bunch of hyacinths. Suddenly, he came upon a g»'oup of six gentlemen : they were •trangers to him ; and he paused. The elder of the Sarty, a lofty, aristocratic looking man, held some- aing between his forefinger and thumb, and was minutely examining it. Ilis boyish curiosity at- tracted my grandfather to the spot. He continued to approach them unobserved. He now saw that the object of attraction was but a little grey insect, with Jjjicate, fibrous wings, long legs, and protuberant _, _ elers. Mistaking a sudden movement on the part of the gentleman holding the insect, young Bartelli suddenly exclaimed : ' jjo not hurt the poor thing, 1 Bartelli, wa Monsieur!' Now it appears that the person in ques- 3 of^ fifteen, t ^on had been holding forth to his companions, in an n horticultuK ^aborate and learned manner, on the zoographical part of hislijiialifications of the said insect. To be so unsatis- lis all; floweijctorily disturbed, by an urchin of fifteen, was cer- ception. No^ llinly rather unpleasant. A glance of unutterable urat. I I _i 84' PA 1^ K T A . h I I '4 contempt from the group followed my jjratul father's oxclamatioii, and Bartelli pulled hia lijacinths to pieces in consequence." " I will give you a hundred francs for a lucifer/' exclaimed the gentleman holding the insect. " I have one Monsieur,*' eagerlj replied my grandfather, anxious to remedy the fault of his ohtrusion. '* Give it me." The hoy hesitated. " Give ine the match, sirrah," and he snatched it from him. " Here are your hundred francs." He ignited the lucifer match, and as the sulphur lit up he raised his hand gradu- ally in a direct line heneath the body of the helpless and now writhing animal. With a bound and a shriek of pain, my grandfather seized his uplift'id arm, crying out — '* Cruel I Cruel ! It is inhuman I Messieurs I " The lucifer fell amidst the scattered hyacinths ; the insect released from its captivity flew away. The would-be torturer, experimentalist, or whatever you choose to designate him, turned wrath- fully upon my boy relative and was about to strike him. But my grandfather's mild steadfast glance, met his unfoiled, and the uplifted arm was stayed. "Give me thy hand, boy," he now said mildly; " you have taught me a good lesson." " Gentle- men," he continued turning to his companions. " never harm even a fly for the gratification of at idle, and cruel curiosity. Boy ! you have taughi Prince V— — n a lesson in humanity. Take uf your flowers, and follow me. I will make a man o: you. He faithfully kept his word. Ten years later, my grandfather was private Secretary to the Prince, and died at a good old age, decorated, esteemed, titled, and worth thirty millions of francs." " What a curious episode." ** Do not marvel then, Murat, at any of my doc- trines. You see, my v/hole system is based upon phlo gistic principles. From Monsieur Phosphorous Bar I telli him "C O'Sh "I "^ me t kno\f then Ha! An Coi The him. Thred Vem( V P A P E T A rraiulfather'B hyacnithe to Dr a Inciter,'' iuseot. ** I grandfather, don. '' Giv le the match, " Here are [ucifer match, I hand gradu- f the helpless bound and a I his uplift-^a : is inhuman I the scattered captivity flew imentalist, or turned wrath- bout to strike idfast glance, tn was stayed. said mildly: 1." " Gentle- companions, ification of ar have taught ty. Take u\ lake a man o: en years later, to the Prince, :ed, esteemed ics." ly of my doc -seduponphlo- )sphorous Bar- I ^ 35 telli sprang Phosphorescont Cadras." We thanked him and rose to cfepart. "Count, pray breakfast with us to-morrow ? " said O'Shaughnessy. " I am such a sluggard." " Well, a quiet dinner then." '* With pleasure. Let me tell you what has brought me to England this time. You, O'Shaughnessy, know my opinion of women generally. I have come then to find a wife ! She must be a phenomenon ! Ha! ha! ha!" " Good night ! " , And Carrer Cadras smiled his cynical smile. CHAPTER VI. Count Carrer Cadras and myself are very intimafe. The more I know of this man the more I admire him. O'Shaughnessy is in Ireland on business. Three months have elapsed, and still no news of Ida Vernon. I dine with tne Count. * * * * You advocate woman's rights, Murat," he was or. (( 8aym5. " And honor the dear sex." " Let me defend myself by a few opinions, based upon a passable experience." " You cannot shake my fidelity." . " Pardon me : I do not wish to do so. Pray, pic- 36 P A P E T A . ll ,! nil i'i ture to yourself Madame Eve plnckinej the forbidden fruit." "With what view?" " Wh}^, by this act she laid he • primeval founda- tion of right, over all our passions and feelings. She has thus as it wore become the pomiferous bearing tree of all our ills." "And at the same time the Polyanthus of our lives." I replied bowing. "Alas! the pistil, of your mo^al polyanthus con- tains a horrid poison. My dear Muiat, from the cradle to the grave we have but one centrifugal sphere of action. All we strive for — wealth, know- ledge, fame, power, has but one object — woman. For her sake, we wade through sin and misery ; toiling, fretting existence away for a smile ! Why had Adam no strength of purpose to guide him ? Eve, in her coulmr de rose beauty, sang her tempting song beneath the weeping stars, and innocence, wisdom, truth, strength, manhood, fell ! " " And on the other hand, woman's lot after all is the least enviable." " We mre not to blame for that, and we pity them I Why her very weakness is her strength." " Are we not the cause of all her sorrows?" " You must be joking ! Have you ever loved a woman ? " " Yes ! my mother ! " " But, I mean what is called ethical love." " No ! " " Then consider yourself a very luckyfellow. All your ethereal sentiment, this nonsense of the heart ; this tinsel once rubbed off, what is it? A poor matter of fact, ridiculous piece of humbug Your angel love has fallen into a state of * fat, fair, and forty.' The lips that once allured you and enthralled you with their honev. Dreach now nothing but caudle lecture swallo all, i\u * "Jo ,able I ^'cloud ( *pluck i ^,memor ^ndiffei ter futi , "I^\ Victim, .polling golden flashes envy, a But, those w "I^ot any civi yiors, ar lem o [ave tli science, A "The ipl our " WsLi song, su "We ras. It «ln." .. " Can : " We< ^' "Who pftlaceH I 8 a P A P E T A . 37 e forlVidden ival founda- ilinicij*. She ous bearing thus of our ran thus con- it, from the centrifugal salth, know- voMAN. For cry; toiling, Why had him? Eve, nipting song tice, wisdom, ifterallisthe e pity them ! yy ows ? " ever loved a >» DVC. fellow. All )i the heart ; it? A poor ibug Your fat, fair, and d enthralled g but caudle lectures. You submit to all this with the best grace ; ^swallow cold mutton three times a week, and after all, the fools talk of woman's rights forsooth!" ' " Joy, sorrow, beauty, wealth, life, are all perish- *^able ! Circumstances, tlie wear and tear of existence, ^cloud our bliss. We take woman to our heart as we *pluck a Hower. When she fades, she is still a happy ^memory ! When she dies and leaves us to our cold Indifference, she is the hope guiding us on to a bet- ter future I" '* I will draw you a picture. Sec that fellow crawl- ing, knife in hand, tracking down his unconscious Victim. Presto ! the throat is cut ! A pet ' Triviata,' polling: back at home in her rich sliawls, receives the "golden harvest in her lap- And then this regal sin flashes pa^t next day in her purple garments; the envy, and hatred of her fallen sisters !" But, we do not all murder, my dear Cadras, for those we love." "Not indeed, perhaps. Take up the history of any civilized nation you please, and select there from kings, statesmen, philosophers, poets, authors, war- riors, and tell me what power it is that has moved tl^iem one and all through their different actions, ^ave they not murdered religion, name, fame, con- science, and an unknown future, for — Woman ? " : "The will of an inscrutable Providence marks ^1 our actions." " Was the world buiit up and filled with flowers, song, sun, moon, stars, for such an end ? " " We have all been born to a good purpose Cad- ras. It is our passions that clothes all purity with i|n." ^, " Can we master Eve's first act of disobedience?" , " We can atone for our errors. Hov/ many do so." * "Who has not sucumbed to the serpent ? Build me laces ! Track me out a route moon wards ! Be 4\ m 38 P A P ETA. I thief! play the hypocrite! do all I bid thee, be i; «j ever so mean and despicable! Colour your action^ ur as you please, I care not. Do it ! exclaims the beau- a x ty ; and straightway we, poor, deluded moths, rusl Jiood on to our destruction ! Should we return from th( ^^^ q ordeal successful, we glorify. If unsucessful, we cu' whose our throats, and thus add suicide to the catalogue, a; ImDer a final and supreme token of submission." << j^. " We have not reached such a deplorable state o dirJnii things yet. ^f^,^^^ " Move in society ! close your eyes, and the sha D}|y dows dance imp-like before you. These prattling f[ie be intriguing, popinjays, lure one on to the abyss, ii innoce spite of faith and'reason." ^^^^ -g "Our own selfishness has caused all the evil yoi ifn^-y^v, so unjustly complain of." jj^.^ ^r " True ! I admit you have come at the root of a (frnah d evil ! My dear Eugene — baby, child, girl, boy, mai'jiitQ ^j^ woman, take us all as you will, we are snugly env- ^^ ^jj lopod, rich in our robe of — selfdom ! as the spidt ^^qq . in his web, intricate ! This cancer, rooted in tl: ||k j.^jg' vitals of truth and originality is making us the poi Aortar despicable mortals we are. This evil has obliterate ^ ^j^^ nearly all religion from our souls ! We prostra' A^ ^ ourselves amidst its very dust; kiss its mammc -^nitv feet; nature is perverted in us, and a glorious sf (^owr d flshness reigns triumphant ! '^ a jj,^ " You are right, Cadras ! The dog licking t italvsiJ jeweled hand of selfdom w^ould turn with disgr "loJ from such pollution. It will not do I know to t (J^mes society openly that they are nothing but a pack shrieks hypocrital, selfish, wretches, aspiring to virtues il awav— never experience or understand. Yet, do we not ; *^gg . all this, and more daily growing, expanding, bene^ % n ^^ our very eyes. One must look upon life as a chime: u Yesi man, as a nonentity ; and consider mammoths ^]^Q ^ arisen in our],stead." jg^j. (j^ Lii 'lil :l, :i 111 P A P E T A 39 id thee, be i: L' your action^ lims the beau- 1 moths, rusl :urn from th( cessfal, we cu: 3 catalogue, a; DD." lorable state o J, and the sha hese prattling ) the abyss, ii ill the evil yo: t the root of fl. , girl, boy, mai .re snugly env' : ! as the spidt •, rooted in tl :ing us the poi I has obliterate We prostra' IS its mammc a glorious s( dog licking t: '11 with disg^ I know to t g but a pack g to virtues tli et, do we not J )anding, benea Life as a chimer mammoths " Let us continue our previous conversation." « Certainly." " You do not surely, Cadras, condemn all woman- hood for the glaring faults of a few ? History records, find our present day points, to thousands of woman,* whose virtues, goodness, and worth, is as clear, and imperishable, as the stars." " It may be so ; but I have met with none of these divinities. Why the very painted savage, ignorant of refinement, and void of our looking-glass philoso- phy, can play the coquette to your vanity as well as Vie best bred demoiselle in England. Poor, dear, iinocents, it is their nature to love us. Life, my dear Eugene, is divided for us into theoretical parts, Jind which we all study well, and do justice to. They ire these : — First theory. — Contemn God's mercies, dirush down all your better nature, and turn religion ilito an easy step-ladder to self agrandizement. 8ec- (feid theory — Trample upon one another ; crush, kill, gfcuse ; pile up the millions of sinful bricks it takes ||> raise up temples to woman, mammon and vanity ; ortar all this with an outward philauthrophy ; and who, in the end, can boast of the finest woman, e most money, and the best and most refined Imity, has lived well, and as becomes the christian nd pre All earth ! with no thought of heaven ! " '* Yes " But this advancement has its limits. Firstly taps, hi regeneration is born. "We grow, flourish, invigorate, rained, in a new and useful system. As Athens, Home, ^cts. I Carthage, or Palmyra fell, so shall the progression, f ossessi of our day, fall. We can but reach a culminating l^ve be point." pe firs "Very well put! But this does not lessen the fnowle( existing evil. In the next era, from the ruin of our old progression, a new one will rise, like the Phoenii from her ashes, fresher, stronger." " Yes ; but your future humanity will have to re build, invent, for hundreds of years, before they car ^^ ^^ag reach even the point we left off at. God, I suppose _^" Kno permits a people to advance to a certain limit *fend! y Then, either war, pestilence, famine, crushes them ; " So, ] and progress falls back to an indefinite superiority The world is only modified, my dear Count ! Ont SECOND of time holds the actions of hundreds o years at its mercy." i *'l8pj ^ "No! " Yes I " Wei "For rtherai hen we :! m... PAP K T A . 43 } operatic li, a rhat have we all I Future ury, draw up he*^ Austriaus ^er Hungary. Dgression is a Lch watchful- We invent hundred suc- len vessel ol Progress ; and ssings, which jnd,^ will he only function rress ! Bah '. n humanity! flits. Firstly }h, invigorate, thens, Rome, progression. a culminating .ot lessen the le ruin of oiii ze the Phoenii ill have to re efore they cai od, I suppose certain limit crushes them te superiority Count ! Ont hundreds o n m are after all hut defending my opinions, hy a more logical condemnation, which is hardly gen- erous. 1 aim at an aualvzation of what we term progress." " Providence is munificent ; Cadras, and we un- grateful ! " "What is Progress?" "Mind!" " And Knowledge ? " "Power!" , " Ah I Eugene ! Eugene I I am sorry that you too, tiy friend, have fallen into this superficial way of thinking. Picture to yourself again the garden of Eden, and Eve, plucking the traditionary apple of all our knowledge, and tell me if this gift is power." " Tell me, do you admit a preordination of past tnd present? " " Yes, under certain clauses ! The world, per- haps, has passed through certain stages, never preor- dained, but made absokitely necessary hy our after $cts. Had we always retained our aboriginal state, possessing no superior knowledge, we should still lave been powerful. Our ignorance, our truth, in file first creation, is more powerful than all the knowledge of a cultivated mind." "Is power, knowledge? " * "!N'o! Samson was powerful," replied Cadras. "Yes, but blind," I retorted. ^ " Well, supposing he had seen the pillars he was to drag down upon the mass ? " " Knowledge would ha'/e whispered : ' Stay thy Ifend! you are the strongefjt in this case.' " " So, power gained the supremacy." " For once, and once only ! Supreme, but for the irtherance of a purpose ! Powder is knowledge, rhen we prove it to be so ! " i ' I. 44 P A P E T A . " As a friend, you will not consider me rude, if I ask you a few questions. O'Shaughnessy has partlj enlightened me u With pleasure I then, at his request, entered into a full and ex- plicit account of all the particulars connected with Sir Charles Darley and myself. He heard me with great attention to the end. " And so, if you find Ida Vernon, you are to edu- cate and adopt her? " he asked. '^ Yes." " Supposing you do not find her ? " " I shall be grieved I " "I really cannot see how I can advise you, Murat.' "I would willingly sacrifice half what I am worth, to find her! " "I believe you ! " " I will treble the reward I have already offered ! ' " Do so ! it may prove successful. And now let us go and see P f dance the new ballet." CHAPTER YH. Cadras has returned from Paris after an absence of three days. " Wonders will never cease ! and so you have really discovered your phenomenon in petticoats." "Yes." " N'ow do tell me all the particulars ; there's i good fellow." " Tell me first, has O'Shaughnessy written ? " " I heard from him this morning : he is in Gal- way." "What doing?" geria ■] "fj " V "]S home bnrth ^please moon liariv ^staodi f orangi poorly, con fug with t what I street first w was th Ijrards Had I ^is tl tThere nd wo his wa own t followe id her. oked ig Joe And nee kr P A P E T A. 45 tie rudo, if I iy has partly full and ex- nnected with sard me witli ,u are to edu- | "Buying up horses." "What?" " Tie tolls me the animals are intended for Al- geria. *' Horses for Algeria? " t '» you, Murat." it I am worth, jady offered!' And now let t ballet." ;er an absence so ypu have petticoats." [ars ; there's i /ritten? " he is in Gal- " Who can fathom O'Shaughnessy "Mark my words, he will die a millionaire ! " "Now go on : I am all attention." " When I left you last night, I walked slowly homewards, full of thoughts and fancies that never ibnrthened me before. I felt low spirited and dis- j pleased. I know not why. At the corner of Half- ■rnoon Street, my footsteps were arrested by a pecu- liarly expressive face. It was that of a 3^oung girl, standing in the shadow, and holding two, or three oranges and a bouquet, of faded flowers. She was poorly, but cleanly clad. Iler hair hung in* a rich, confused mass about her head ; her eyes, shaded with their long lashes, were downcast. I know not what secret impulse prompted me, but I crossed the street and stood near her. " Look up ! " were my first words. She did so. I started back. What was there about the girl ! my soul seemed drawn to- ijrards her ! Our eyes met, and my heart beat wildly, tiad I seen this face in some bygone dream ? Was |his the counterpart of a boyish love? Bathos! trhere she stood in the flesh, with her large, blue, find wonder gazing eyes ; her rags, a reality. " Come this way gin." I moved a few paces in advance iown the deserted street, and stopped. She slowly followed. " What is your name, my child ? " I ask- Idher. "Pappy,*' she said, in a low, sweet voice. ** Pappy ! What a curious name ! " I replied. She lookea up. " Grundy calls me Pappy ; Sue, and )ig Joe, call me Pappy; every one calls me Pappy." * And who is Grundy ? " was my next query ; " I mce knew a woman of her name." " I don't know, 46 P A P E T A I I sir ; she beats poor Sue, drinks gin, and is bad ! " she answered. '* Does she ever beat you? " "Beat me ! No ! I sell my oranges, and my flgwers, and bring her money. But Sue cries and does not sell her things ; so Grundy beats her — awful ! " "Where do you live?" "In the court." " What court?'' "I don't know ; far from this ; near the river." " I know it." "Have you no father, Pappy ? " I then asked her. "No!" "Mother?" "No!" "Brothers? sisters ? " " No ! I have no one but poor Sue." The head lowered itself slowly ; low, lower, as the tears chased each other, and fell one by one amidst the withered flowers in her hand. I was, somehow, deeply touched. ",Do not cry, child, of sorrow ! I will take you away from this wretched life; from drunken Grundy, Dig Joe, and the vile court near the riv^ !" She looked up quickly, and with a joy- ful eagerness exclaimed : "Will you save me ! " and she seized my hand. " I will be a brother to you, Pappy; I will try to blot out the past for you." " My poor heart ! " she cried ; " how good, how kind, you are sir ! But, poor Sue ! poor, hard beaten Sue ! " Even in her happiness she thought of her more wretched companion. I hailed a cab. " Get in ! " I said to her. She looked up timidly in my face, then got in. " Drive to No. — , S Row," I said to the driver. " Give me these, Pappy, they are of no use to you now." And I threw the flowers and oranges away. Take back your withered flowers, misery ! take back your fruits ! oh ! crime ! and so ends the flrst act of the drama, Murat. "I am interested, pray continue ! " * * We reached S — Row. Here dwelt my laun- dress, Mrs. Talbot. I had resolved to place the young girl in her keeping, until I could form some future plan regarding her. A ten pound note si- lenced all qualms of conscience, and little Pappy was duly 1 testati iji«'m \y eno " xM !will M an thro reason ,you ill noble, l^ociety ; ''As of all t ''He ''Do '^ W. "Tri only pi "Sei "Pai "Is 6 "No "Th Bince ? "Ye Grundy lect, an fcetic I "Po( "Ye intelli tood t r " Tn t! ^1 i V A P K T A . 47 id i8 bad ! " I?" "Beat flgwcrs, and loes not sell !" "Where court?'' "I ," "I know [then asked "Brothers? poor Sue." ower, as the y one amidst ,s, somehow, f sorrow! I d life; from e court near d with ajoy- 'e me ! " and )ther to you, ist for you." d, how kind, hard beaten 3Ught of her cab. " Get midly in my Row," Pappy, they w the flowers lered flowers, me ! and so svelt my laun- to place the d form some und note si- le Pappy was duly received by the buxoiu niutron, witli nianv pro- testations of kindness. I reach n the morning of the 5th January, we arrived Marseilles. e reached the cemetery of St. . ^e stood outside the large ornamental gates, e sun shone bright, and clear, over the city of the d. Here, where young hopes and joys had gone vn to earth, side by side, with the sorrow of poor rn out hearts ! We entered. sA. neat lodge, stood beyond the gates. O'Shaugh- nessy accosted an official. *' We wish to be shewn a certain grave." I' Monsieur must refer to the Registrar, M. Du- 8. You will find him in the lodge," the man wered. *• e passed on. n the lodge we found an elderly personage in a y suiloutj seated by a fire reading. How indif- nt this appeared. Death, and graves were noth- to him. 0*Shaughnessy made our wishes known him. He rose slowly, took a book from a shelf, 3 ! Pto^G^ i^ on the table near him, and turned the leaves oUr until he came to the letter * V.' He paused, il I see, with n |* Did Monsieur say Vardon ? " he asked. '* No ; Vernon, " I replied. j watched with a beating heart the long, bony fi%er glide down each page in succession. The fisher stopped, and the man looked up. J' Here it is, gentlemen! Ida Vernon, number :led skein of lit»809." Q. iThere was a pause. ; for a long tin; lave appeared i )ers. You lear st have been i 3W, suddenly a[ Dn of her death LCIS ? >» 52 P A P E T A I ' \ "Will you kindly answer me a few question; M. Dupuis ? " " I am at Monsieur's service." He closed the book. " Have you any recollection, or knowledge of tl person, or persons that buried number 151809 ? " " Monsieur, I have been thirty years here. I hai learned to be indifferent to these matters. Mat are brought here daily : I take no notice : One the living comes here, answers a few questions — '' " Ha ! questions ? What questions ? '' " A few entries are made in this book. Monsiet may read those in connection with 151809." He opened the book again. The entry was i follows ; — . ) '' I § I ■! Kkqisteb NUMBKB. 151809. Name. Sex. Ida Vernon. Female, Date of Interment. Remarks. ?i lOth This young girl died in a 8tr»: ,,. December, j^^d, and was laid in herl, ? restinif place by strangers. M 18- O'Shaughnessy looked over my shoulders, at read with me. "Who is supposed to fill up this last column, ) Dupuis ? " I asked. " The deceased's friends, or relatives. It is a ci tom, Monsieur." ^^i^''^ " Try if you can bring the person who made tt*^™' ^ particular entry, to your recollection." ^I^'^lfr " Monsieur, I will try ! Jacques, shew these gc "}; i^ tlemen to number 151809." ^ ^.}^^ We went out silently. d, ^^ Without exchanging a word, we reached a ' M ]^ where some leafless sycamores grew- ^^* P A P E T A. , few questioni nowledge of tl )er 151809 ? " irs here. I hx> matters. Mai ) notice : One V questions — " "This is number . forty range, gentlemen," said ir conductor. Turning to the left, we proceeded down a narrow ithway. The man suddenly paused, and pointed : A few dry leaves lay about tne loose ground : My heart rose to my lips ! I looked, and saw this : ns ? »' book. Monsiet | 151809." he entry was :1 Remarks. oung girl died in a strait and was laid in her I IC place by strangers. iBisoe. IDA VERNON Bom 27th October, 18 . Died 8th December, 18 . ^^th U nears anb B montlje. O'kb this yocng obati, stranger, shed a tear. Thy pbayeb; 01 pause, and breathe it here. shoulders, m last column, i ives It is a ciM^^ unchecked grief found vent and fell in large cfcps, amidst the dead leaves at my feet. A tribute )n who made ttW^/'^^'J^f^own memory ; an oflmng of sorrow to dead, kind benefactor ! 'Shaughnessy was about to draw me away. * Stay ! I must make a copy of this ! " '. did* so. *Are you convinced now, Bernard?" I asked , closmg my pocket-book. , shew these ge: e reached a i / 54 P A P E T A. 1^'^ i "Would that I could still doubt!" was the kind and mournful reply." But why all this mystery. Eugene?" " What was Ida Vernon to these strangers ! " " Who knows ! They may be friends ! " ** Poor Sir Charles, did you but know this ! " " Let us (TO, Eugene ! '* ** Yes, I>ernard, Let us go. All is over now ! " " God's will be done ! " "Amen." We left the grave. The first glance, as we entered the lodge again told me that Dupuis remembered nothing ! " Monsieur, I never told a falsehood ! I knov nothing of number 151809 ! " " Enough ! I thank you ! You can still do me i "llien \v favor." \ "An The old man bowed. JS^" Yes " I will send you some iron rails this afternoon Mid we< will you see them properly placed round the grave ? * "Yes, Monlieur." " When the flowers are plentiful, will you put ' good assortment of them, and some plants, witliii the rails?" " With pleasure ! " "Here are three hundred francs, to defray you: preliminarj expenses." He took the money. " Will you devote a little of your leisure to thii grave ? '' " Owt Monsieur ! " " Then pray accept these ^fty francs as a remuuei ation. I ^vill remit quarterly to you a similar sum. " Monsieur is too generous ! '' " Further ; if any person should ever call to mab M^^ger any enquiries about number 151809, if you wish t( |f 11 the e dea i A mc nessj r A P E T A 00 was the kind ^I'li two thousand francs, never lose sight of this this mystery, Jerson, until you know who, and what, he is ! " angers ! " s!" ion Monsieur may rely on my discretion and devo- .wthis!" 5ver now ! Many thanks ! There is my address in London. have yours. Your hand, M. Dupuis ! " We parted and stood again outside the gates of ath. " Eugene ! you have done your duty ! '' ) " I hope so, Bernard ! , !'. '' Do not despond ! Life has still bright hopes in e lodge again ^ore ! " hing ' J " Damon ! " lood ! I knov ^ " Pythias ! " - We will look back at this hour, some day, Eugene, L still do me i 'fpien we are happy." N. " And not regret it ? '' J]]^"Yes, as brothers in friendship, we will rejoice, this afternoon and weep together." id the grave? will you put', plants, withii to defray youi leisure to thi; 3 as a remuuer I similar sum. er call to makt if you wish t( A month after, I had pledged my word to O'Shau- inessy, to join him in one of his "Ideas." I read countless volumes on all topographical, [cial, political, and financial subjects connected with irkey. We contributed a joint capital of ten iousand pounds. We agreed to leave England in larch, proceed to Malta, and thence on to Constan- lople, in O'Shaughnessy's yacht. I made my will. la Vernon's fortune, I bequeathed to the endow- [ent of an orphan school, to be called the " Vernon larity.'' Thus far satisfied, I turned my thoughts I a new and useful life. * * * . * As that star, which guided the shepherds to the [anger at Bethlehem, nineteen centuries ago, rose, ill the self-same star ; I gazed my parting look on ^e dear old cliffs I loved so well. Poor Sir Charles 56 P A P E T A Darley ! Poor Ida Vernon ! What wish ? what hop«^ to bind me to my original purpose. They are bo: gone ! Room ! room, in the world's expanse Action, and a place, amidst mankind. Guard me to good ends thou unseen spirit Truth ! As angels bear to God a pure soul, fro: earth's painful sorrows; so, I trust, my prayers f forgiveness, my supplications for strength, may e up to heaven, purified. i'l END OP PART THE FIRST. 1 ,i ish ? what hopti They are hot orld's expanse! i. ansecn spirit pure soul, fro; , my prayers f trength, mayj F-A.IIT TKCE SEOOISTXJ LOVE AND SORROW T. CHAPTER I. ip rose the crescent moon, in a flood of light ! welcomed her, and in our dolce far nienie indo- lAce, kissed our hands to her. e lay on the deck of the gallant little "Amy," oking our Havanna's, and enjoying our grog. fair breeze carried us bravely past the dark en isles of Lemnos and Tenedos. Imbro loomed istinct ahead. n the golden crested waves, a flock of snowy s cleaved the waters round us, dashing the white |rred spray from bow to stern. On they ran, like a p of gamboling children, on some silver sanded feUch; all song and laughter. Up moon, through spangled path ! Splash on, O ! sea ! for this is erty ! * Da you believe that everything we see, O'Shaugh- sy, hath its moral lesson ? Or, with Carlyle * * ♦ * every Reality, nay in every genuine Shadow of / 58 P A P E T A Reality * * * * there lie a hundred such, or a millio: such, according as thou hast the eye to read them." "Tennyson somewhere beautifully asks: < And is there any moral shut Within the boijom of the rosel' " " Yes ! Its expanding beauty, its fragrance, charms, all point and teach a moral lesson." " Look at those two brigs, Eugene ; each is near' equal in size, build, and the canvas they carry. IIo eagerly each is striving for the victory. Both a: proceeding to the same haven ; perhaps on the saE errand. We will say one comes from Mexico, at the other from Australia. Are they not prototype of ourselves ? Are they not fighting, failing, su ceeding, as we do through life? Do not thoi' two vessels point a moral lesson? All is nature dumb pantomine. One sees, and if he pleases, u: derstands ; as he hath the eye to read." Captain Edwards, our sailing master, now joined i "I have been calculating the probable time tl ' Pera ' will reach Gallipoli, Mr. O'Shaughnessy." ' "And the result, Captain? " " She should reach Constantinople four days aft^^ i a us. "So soon," I exclaimed " We cannot hope to beat a vessel of her class many days, even taking into consideration our pr sent advantages." " So that the engineers, and machinery, will 1 landed at Gallipoli, as we reach Constantinople." "Yes, Eugene; in a fortnight we shall astoniil the natives." Captain Edwards left us. ** Bernard, I am longing to see the Dardanelles- " Grow ecstatic, when you see the Bosphorus, ol fellow!" ' ^ V ^ , P A P E T A 59 iich, or a millio: to read them." Y asks: eV" ts fragrance, i* lesson." D ; each is near: hey carry. Ho itory. Both a: laps on the saii rom Mexico, ai >y not prototype ing, failing, su Do not thoi All is nature i he pleases, u: id." er, now joined i robahle time tl Shaughnessy." le four days alt | 4i el of her class \ deration our pr achinery, will 1 nstantinople." ive shall astoni: the Dardanelles le Bosphorus, o'^ ^'I wish we knew a little more about Caralla, erres, and Chiezi^, O'Shaughnessy." ''Eugene, we have undertaken a difficult venture; 1 our experience will have to be bought. We have so a subtle race to deal with. For instance : one your educated landed proprietors, in this country, nds out his money to his poor tenants, at an exor- tant interest. In return, he appropriates half the oduce. Next steps in a grasping, impoverished vernment, \vith its ruinous taxes. What has the fortunate peasant left ? What are the conse- ences? The well robbed labourer turns rascal his own account. Is he not perfectly justified in eating every one he comes in contact with ? Ev- y thing in Turkey is done with a bare-faced impu- ty. To ameliorate this evil, and to succeed, we ust first gain the good will of the crop grower. studying his interests, and making him our end, we strike at the root of an existing evil. We ill make enemies, no doubt. But what of that; J shall ffain ten friends for every foe we make." Onward, little "Amy," on thy way ! * * * * We cast anchor ofiT Scutari. And this is Constantinople ! This, the famous irthly heaven of Mahometanism ! Hail ! once re- )wned Byzantium ! I salute thy domes, minerats ; ^y palaces, and thy glory. To the left, stands Justinian's priceless mosque of mcta Sophia. Rising like lesser satellites, are Soly- ian's, Ahmed's and Selim's, transplendent in mar- ie and mosaic. I was enchanted ! Well may the jmanli place traditionary Eden on the banks of ie many hued, and sparkling Bosphorus ! We inded — what a contrast. Is this then the golden (ty. What filth ! What misery ! Flow on Hellespont ! Beautiful, serene ! Onward, poor fsdlacy ! Live on, — and dream ! 60 P A P R T A . iw !l |i! Ten daj.^ sufficed us to transact our affairs wit' the government authorities. On the twelfth day, ^v landed at Gallipoli. I will re briefly give k. reader a cursory synopsis of ouk plans. Turkey, were it in proper hands, would become ^ formidable rival to America, as a cotton growirJ country. My friend, Mr. O'Shaughnessy, knewthi| Our first object then, was to remove certain existitj evils, and endeavour to stimulate the people to more healthful action. Money was bringing tli usurer twenty-five per cent. Our firm woul(J IcrJ at five par. The introduction of mechanical powd would facilitate our plans, and remove many o grievances. By establishing small depots, in tlj central parts of the cotton growing districts, havit' Gallipoli, Salonica, and Cavalla, as ports of depa' ture, we hoped to form a cordon of communicatio. easy of access, to all parties. Our arrival at Gal:, poli, therefore, created no small sensation. Wht they saw, a few weeks later, steam power accoti plishing, in an hour, the w^ork of weeks, they b; lieved in us ; praising Allah and the prophet accor;|| ingly. Our success was an established fact. I found the seaport town of Cavalla, a sma: walled-in place, with an open roadsteac. The islar,^ of Thaso stands in close proximity. A number i monks occupy convents, and lead the same austeij life of their brethren on Mount Athos. Not a femai exists amongst the Thaso community. Some fi^i hundred future Koran expounders are educated i Cavalla. A charitable institution, endowed by tQ late Imbrain Pacha, clothes, feeds, and educates, large number ot the poorer classes. We erected UA hydraulic presses at this place. I shall never forg«i tne open mouthed wonder of the poor Turks, as the^ saw bag after bag of cotton vanish from before theE* and as quickly become metamorphosed into a net 'V , P A P K T A 61 tie bale, some twelve foot sfiuarc. Where docs the tton go to? and hydraulic power echoed — Whore! Leaving an agent to act for ns, we took horses and Irted for Scrres, the capital city of Macedonia. \Ve paused on our way for a moment, to gaze on J ruins of the once famous Philippi. We tliought Brutus. At sunset, we reached the small but Ituresque village of Zigna. Next day we reached rres. [t is a large, clean, but straggling town, contain- some twenty thousand inhabitants. Remaining • days, we purchased a house, for our winter quar- 3, and then proceeded southward. ~^e were bound, reader, to a village, not marked I the map of European Turkey. A place, I pre- ne, you never heard mentioned before. O'Shaugh- Isy based all his hopes of future success, on this rlected and out of the way spot. It is called (eze. Some twenty wooden huts, and a large store house, istituted the little village. VShaughnessy, by ingenious calculations, imme- tely saw the great benefit we would derive by apying this spot. I will tell you why : lU cotton, for the market of Cavalla and Salonica, ling from Serres, and its vicinity, was transported 1 long and tedious journey, of five and six days [ation, at a cost of tw^o pounds five per load of hundred, and sixty pounds of material in pod. profits then to the merchant were very small, m the article reached its destination. The plans foflfered were these : journey can be performed from Serres, or from I furthest northern district, to Chieze, in sixteen Irs. The cost of transport, consequently, is a at deal less, for three pounds ten shillings,' we would press, M n « ■. 62 P A P E T A . \ t i'lii N giu, and forward five hundred pounds weight cotton to Salonica. Ilere were palpable and decided advantages. T^ *'Amy" was called into requisition; and before I03 we had more work to do than we could well attend' ' Flushed with success, I went to Salonica, leavq O'Shaughnessj at Chiez^. Whatever the ancient Thessalonica may have be in her palmy days, its present appearance is bd poor one. Money and trade is plentiful. Soniel the richest Jews m the world occupy palatine re dences in this seaport. Its only attractions arc a:j umphal arch, erected in the days of Alexander'! Great, and the church of Saint Demetrius. I shewn a stone pulpit, wherein tradition says, Sa Paul preached to the Thessalonians. In December we were at Serres. Fortune smiled kindly upon us. Reader, in d| down at heel Turkey, the firm of O'Shaughneil Murat and Company, incredible as it may appt realized in the short space of nine months, in these] civilized regions, the sum of ten thousand pom Bravo ! O'Shaughnessy. Wc were very hap| when, lo ! a change came o'er the spirit of our dre CHAPTER n. " Mr. Balsotti seems a very good fellow, Berna:' *^Decidedly ! and the girls are charming.'* " He gives good dinners in this land of sj maigre,'' " And speaks capital English.'' " Which you^must allow, is no small advantJ I' A P 15 T A . 68 t( small advanta ♦* By all means, then, we go to Balsotti's House." '' Will you answer his note, Bernard ? " Yes, immediately. I will send Metafa round th it.'^ Metafa was our dragoman. A fine, honest, brave, (I noble Ionian ! Hip indefatigable zeal materially :lc(l us in our ignorance of the language, customs (1 rascalities of the country. Metatii, in his own y, was a genius; always either drivini? bargains, beating the poor Turks. His great and only fault ri smoking. Nicoli Mctafti, and his nargille, were eparable companions. say, Eugene," observed O'Shaughnessy, " do 1 think Balsotti has an eye to our business ? " ' Perhaps so. Tell me who has not, pray ? " ' True ! For my part, the firm of Murat, O^Shaugh- sy and Company will never receive my sanction its augmentation." ' Or mine, Bernard." * Bravo ! We can then each exclaim with Caesar : [ni ! Vidi ! Vici ! If we fail, we have no one else lame but ourselves." ' So that when we return to England — " * Yes, when we do return." * Why, you speak as if you are going to stop here twenty years ! " And why not, Eugene ! We came to Turkey ake money ; as long as we succeed, I say, let us ain ! " In five years we will have made enough, Ber- And in five years the firm will not exist ! " How so ? " Simply thus : Before long, merchants and specu- rs will find out our advantages ; they will follow our footsteps ; the whole country will be covered machinery ; raonoply at an end, tarifiTa will fall ; 64 P A P E T A 1 m m-H a i u government will tax, and competition will beconi' the order of the day. But before this comes to pasi I intend that we shall be worth one hundred thou sand pounds ! Then let them fight away ! " The house of Mr. Carlo Balsotti stood in a: open space in one of the upper streets of the towr isolated from the other fashionable residences, i was a commodious and substantial building. M: Balsotti was rich. He laid the basis of his large fo: tune on the lucky discovery of a stream swarmir, with leeches. They sold in Italy, and elsewhere, i that time, for enormous prices. At the age of fift; Carlo Balsotti considered himself the richest ma in Macedonia. We made his acquaintance on our first flying vi; | to Serres, and found him then very kind and atte; tive. One day he wrote to us, and invited us to pa j « week \frith him. We accepted his kind invitatio His three daughters, Paulina, Ma. garita, and Helen I we considered them to be the three graces p; | sonified. I found them so different from the gt:'^ erality of young ladies one meets in eastern sociei They were refined, olever, and spoke French, Itali: and German, with remarkable fluency and corre: ness. Carlo Balsotti was born at Naples. He car with his parents as a boy to Salonica. Madarl Balsotti was a native of Italy, and born at Ron She was a pleasant and vivacious dame, full of li pitable kindness. So we went to "Casa Balsott'^ as It was called. How little did we dream to what results this simi friendly visit would lead. But I am anticipating We were in the saloon^ enjoying our tete a tete, wj the mesdemoiselles Balsotti, and thought oursel^ entres neus, no small fry. The young ladies left us to dress for dinner. "V/hat^fine eyes Miss Paulina has, O'Shaughnessv 1 P A P E T A. 65 on will beconi' 8 comes to pasi 5 hundred thoi iway ! " :ti stood in a; ets of the towt ! residences. 1 building. M: I of his large fo: tream swarmii; nd elsewhere,! the age of fift- the richest rm ' first flying vi- ' kind and atte nvitecl us to pa 3 kind invitatio: rita, and Helen iree graces p^ t from the ge: 1 eastern socier e French, Itali: ncy and corre aples. He can lonica. Madai i born at Rol lame, full of 1. " Casa Balsoti results this sini; n anticipating )ur iete a tete^ w bought oursel for dinner. O'Shaughnessj " Think of Margarita's hair ! " " Pray remember Paulina's little feet ! " "Margarita's lips ! such carmine ! " "Paulma's dimpled chin ! " " Margarita's waist ! " '' Tut, man ! to finish it, they arc the two prettiest rls out of London! Hush ! here comes Balsotti." The little man came smilingly towards us, rubbing s jewelled hands in his usual happy manner, and oking the picture of good humour. "Ah ! I have found you. Hush ! I have a delight- 1 surprise for you ! " and he closed the door mys- riously. " Pray what is it ? " said O'Shaughnessy. " 1^0 w, I like doing things systematically ! " he ntiDued, seating himself. Have you any objection consider yourselves ministers, undergoing exami- tion, before a Cardinal ? " " Oh, no ! certainly not ! " we replied, laughing." "Very well ! Now, Mr. O'Shaughnessy, how any Englishmen are there in Serres ? " " Two, your lordship." " Good ! JSTo others, M. Murat ? " "None, my lord Cardinal." ' Do you not know, gentlemen, that an English y resides in Serres ? " " An Englishwoman in Serres ! Impossible ! " " Yes ! and now listen : as you know, not fifty rds from this is my drawing room. In that room ave just left a lady; you will be introduced to her. ier name is Helen Matley." " About four years ago she came to me with a let- r of recommendation from my friend, M 's , e banker at Salonica. Her previous life, I believe , sheen an unhappy one. She desired peace, quiet , d seclusion. She undertook the education of my 'Is ; and before long, so won upon our affection, I I I:! 66 PAP E T A 1 ■' Hftl by her kindness, sweetness of temper, and goodncs?, that Helen Matley became the pet of the ' Casa Bal sotti.' " " She brought with lier a little girl, about sevc!: years old, a very angel in golden ringlets. Tlii< child died nine months after Helen's arrival. I ncvo: witnessed such terrible grief as hers. I really thougli: she would die under her sufferings. She kept lie: room for two months. A protracted illness follo^v ed, and we were all in despair. So much have \v learned to love and respect Helen Matley." "Excuse me; has she ever been married?" i asked. " 1^0. This child belonged to her only sister Poor little Ida ! " " Ida ! " I exclaimed, starting. " What is the matter, Mr. Murat ? " " Pardon me ! — nothing ! — a mere passing reracm brance." " Meet her freely. She objected to seeing you fi first, because she fears some unguarded recollectio: of her former days, may break her peace." " Fear nothing, Mr. Balsotti." "Very well. Be off now and get dressed, we hav »| not much time to spare." An Englishwoman in Scrrcs ! A lady of fashioi isolated amongst heathen Turks ! What next ? I hurriedly performed my toilet, and went belev Madame Balsotti, Margarita, and Paulina, in thci quiet and appropriate evening costume, joined us i: the drawing room. Shortly after, Carlo Balsot: entered with Helen Matley leaning on his arm. My dear reader, nothing on earth can be deare: to you than the face you love. What feelings ar yours, as you gaze on the fond picture, and kiss tlK lips that speak no other kinder thought than tlK love she bears you. Have you not looked on tlii P A P E T A 67 and goodness, the ' Casa Eal- rl, about sevei. ringlets. Tlii- 'rival. I ncvi: [ really tliongli' She kept hi" illness folloAv much have w; .tley.'\ L married? " ' icr only sister passing remcii seeing yon : ed recollectio ace. >> ressed, we hav ^idy of fashioi '"hat next ? id went bclev aulina, in tlici ic, joined us i: Carlo Balsot: 1 his arm. can be dearc lat feelings ar re, and kiss tb >ught than tlif looked on tlii )ortrait of some dear and departed friend, with mel- Liicholy, but pleasant recollections. When you kiss rour only child, what thoughts are yours ? When rou sigh, or hope, when joy, or sorrow, come upon rou, how is your heart ? Some such contention of latural feelings, some such thoughts, passed through ly mind, as my eyes rested, for the first time, on [elen Matley. So beautiful, so melancholy, so calm. Quitting the side of Paulina, I advanced to meet ler. " This is Mr. Murat, Helen," said Balsotti. — "Mu- it— Miss Matley." She bowed gracefully ; and then, as if by sudden tipulse, held out her small, snowy hand. " To meet you. Miss Matley, beneath the roof of iiy friend, Mr. Balsotti, is a double pleasure." j " Thank you, Mr. O'Shaughnessy ; I am happy to "ficiko your acquaintance." She turned to Miss Balsotti, and, in perfect French, lid: "How well you look this evening, darling! " I '^ Mai foi!" answerd the young beauty; "and |ourself Miss Matley." " Margarita dear, pray run up to Helena's room, )r a moment before dinner, and compel her to take ^cry drop of that nasty medicine the doctor has just int. 1^0 one can do it better." Margarita went out. Let me endeavour to describe Helen Matley to rou. Tall, slight, but well proportioned ; the face pale, \\\t wonderfully expressive; massive dark hair, as >ft as silk, parting in two rich bands across a high, ioble, and intellectual forehead ; long, drooping eye- Lrtlies ; shading dark, and unfathomable eyes ; a t'cU turned lip ; a cupid's mouth : rosy, fragrant, lud pearly ; a fine neck : arching, and graceful ; a 68 P A P E T A. t:li^ ji; full bust ; a white, clear complexion ; a captivatin: carriage ; a quiet, unobtrusive manner ; and an in explicable charm in conversation, are a few of tht characteristics of Helen Matley's beauty and gooi ness. I conducted her to the dining room, and sat net to her at dinner. Our conversation, restrained a first, gradually became general. Literature, tl opera, the drama, and a hundred other similar su jects, gave Helen Matley the opportunity of showir, off to advantage, her rare talents. I saw with r' gret the ladies rise to leave us. . We drank tea; the drawing room, made by Helen's fair hands, ar. shortly after seperated, having passed a very deligk ful evening. I accompanied O'Shaughnessy to his room. " Well, what do you think of this new phenom non, Eugene ? as Cadras would call Miss Matley." " I have been puzzling my brain for the last thr. hours, endeavouring to hit upon some satisfacto: conclusion, to account for her presence in Serres." " Something mysterious no doubt." "Who knows! But she is charming." " Are you going to bed ? " "Yes ; we go shooting to-morrow." " Good night, Bernard." " Good night, Eugene." I paused at the door, and whispered : " I say old follow ! how about Margarita's liii now, eh ? " " Go and dream of Paulina's eyes ! " "And Helen Matley?" " Be satisfied ! Margarita Balsotti is matchlcv Hence, tempter, get thee to bed! " He pushed me quietly out, aod closed the door. P A P E T A 69 a captivatinjj cr; and an in Q a few of tl • luty and gooc [n, and sat nei I, restrained i Literature, tl her similar su' nity of showiL I saw with r' Tq drank tea; fair hands, ar. a a very deligt his room. s new phenom Miss Matley." for the last tlir. ome satisfacto: ce in Serres." »> Ling. j> Margarita's ba Itti is matchlcNJ loped the door. CHAPTER III. <*Pray, Miss Balsotti, join in my fruitless persua- [ions ! " I was saying. <* Oblige us, dear Helen ? " interceded Margarita. "You are all against me," said Helen Matley; fcsing and seating herself at the piano : " I will sing }ou one of my own composing ; a melancholy, bad (omposition, to vex you ! " In a low, soft, touching, and sweet voice, she sang le following simple stanzas : SONG. 1. Snow flakes, falling slowly, 'Midst the dead lei ^es on the ground ; Snow flakes, falling slowly. On the tiny cross top'd mound. II. Drop, snow flakes, on the trees, On the plain, and mountain wild ; Fall snow flakes, o'er the seas. On the lonely, houseless child. III. Snow flakes, falling slowly. On the young and open grave ; Snow flakes, falling slowly, On the free-born and the slave. IV. Snow flakes, falling ever, On life's dark, and tearful page ; Snow flakes, falling ever, On the hopes of youth and age. I" Many thanks. Miss Matley. Now, O'Shauffh- |8sy shall sing to us." lie took her place, ran his igers lightly over the keys, and then, in a good ^ M 70 P A P E T A . I i i (II ! 'V ■! m baritone voice, snug the following lines, compo^. | and set to music by our versatile friend, Gams Cadras : I. What are the stars, Tell rac 1 Sparkling afar amidst the blue. . What are the stars, Tell me ] Bright glimmering to my view. II. What are the stars, Mother? Are they planets of the blest ? What arc the stars, Mother 1 Arc they homes where angels rest ? III. What arc the stars. Tell me ? U ! so fair, so bright, within ; AVliat arc the stars, Tell me 1 Arc they worlds for ev'ry sin ? IT. What are the stars, Mother ? That look so calm o'er the sea. What are the stars, Mother ? For they do not answer me. Margarita Balsotti, by O'Sliaughnessy's rcqiii Avitli a'^littlc blusli, sat down and saug the follow] tiiHe in Romaic : Ximeroni, ce hierete cosmos / Vrathiasl, ce hierete 1 yis ! Ego stekume ombrosu ce clco ; Sa-na immuna, pkon thistihi's ! ThistihVs ! epithis, cefovume — Mi pos alios sc pari thca ! Ena logo ziito aff^ta senna .• iVrt thimase cc mc, mia fora J )ticed [ains ( night sat ii 3^ P A P E T A . 71 lilies, compo^^ I J friend, Carr IV. 8 rest ;ca. ^'hnessy's rcqii aug the follow' OS I' What an enchanting air ! " I said. p What a pity," remarked Bernard, "that wc do understand the words." »ul8 twine rouTid ercb other as one soul." " The world calls this language * love,' Eugene. Jas ! I have none to give you." "No love for me? " " Hush ! — bush ! — Let us hope ! " .♦ "Hope only?" ^ " Who ever stoops to pluck a withered flower? '' " Many do ! Love and pity tend it, and it blooms :ain. Is not all life withered, when it is not bap- " Deck tbe blackened heart witb snowy garlands ; II up tbe space above us witb one hundred million jars— tbe dark spot is still there ! Tbougb tbe stars 82 P A P E T A t I 1^ } li { be douhlc in multitude, .some part will st'll rona Tindenkc .1 by fi golden world. " Lot me at least, cast a ray of sunsliine jN sorrow." " My heart is dead, Eugene ! It is but the scprj. clire of my past hopes. All its young life is (hi) up. It is but a living charnel-house. Shun it, E'; gene, as you would a leper. As innocence, my bro ther, tastes for the first time the fruits of crime, v imagination clothes tlie forbidden act with rf dC cious sweetness — so have I awakened from the lai- hopes of the past, to find nothing but gall and ii'i terness remaining. I trusted, and loved. I ^v• betrayed, condemned, without a hearing. What c; be pure, and spotless, after this ! " "Thy worth, thy honor, still live. Your sulU ings have exalted you. Bury all you have ondur in a new and useful life. Do not l)la3t v(»ur st; young life; your happiness. I must call this bir generou.". inconsistency.'' " Give me your hand, Eugene. Tell me; can y count the feeble pulsations beneath it? j^oos it i, tell vou that all is dead there. jS'othin;4' but lu ven's mercy, and your brotherly esteem, are U' left me." "Change thy hand. T'lere! How eagerly m; beats, Helen. Every throb is full of love for y Do yon doubt me ? " "0 ! my Eugene, that I could devote the renui, ing hours left me to your entire happiness. Clu- ing you on to God, hopefully. You see, brotl in this, I am not inconsistent." " Love me then ! " " I should wrong your generous affection d" ^ 8CV that I loved you." ^ "Forget the bitterness of the paat ! Do noi in. yourself indilierent ! " no nd 'Oh 'Am 'As ' Thd 'My end 'YoJ 'A.S '' Cal wil giitly ^ V A V K T A 88 mslniio J *.;i tli'v viil Bt'll rona: | u iT-,.:iticrcnt ! Did you but know what tlio oflort s cost me to choke dowu th^j secret impulse of my ul, in justice to you, you would not think, or cnll c indifferent." " Be my wife then, Helen ! Be thou the mother all my great love! Share with me all my joys d ills ! Oh, do not reject me ! " "I do not reject you, Murat. But I feel that my nl alone can love you." " ! my Helen ! " " I cannot altosjcther turn from the man who has generously ofiered me his n,ame and his love, T ist forget the past. Believe me, Eugene, my soul cs you." I clasped her to my panting heart, gazing deep those lustrous eyes, as I read there plainly — IS but tho scpr,;. mg life is (h'kl c. Shun it, E locence, my bio its of crime, v act with Jt r st call this bir Tell me-, can y it? i'".)OS it;, ISTothing but li> esteem, are u' low eagerly nii: of love for y evote the renin appincss. 01k You see, brotl as affection di'i st ! Do not iiK lUTn ! Y' Mctsi ton c(cur sur mon ccvAir ; fa bou<;hr, sar ma wliispered, throwing back the rich mass of raven, ^vy hair from her fair brow, as our lips met in one ig communion, and soul told soul — '' We love ! " " You have no more sorrow now, Helen ; it is inc now." ' Oh ! lips that speak such honey." I' And you love me, Helen ? " ' As soul loves God." ' Thank Him for this hour, Helen ! " ' My first thought is ever of Him, Eugene ; my [end one has become yours for ever." J You will be my wife ? " I'As he has Avilled to repay me for all I have en- "Ted, I will be thy wife, Eugene." I' Calm as yonder silvery Carason glides through wild pasture lands ; so, I hope, life will glide utly with us." if- III • ' I'; ' m m n 84 P A P K T A . " You are decking the i*uin of the past with ever- greens." " Let them flourish ; all else may fade ; but iiij love, — never ! " " Oh ! what have I done to deserve all this." " Your sufferings are repaid. Sum up all that is passed between us, Helen, in these two lines : " • " Give gorrow words. The grief that does not speak Whispers the o'er fraught heart, and bids it break." "Ah! how true!" " You love me ! " " Eugene ! " "Helen!" Two sorrowed hearts — two souls as one ! CHAPTER VI. m " But consider that Balsotti gives me ten thoi: sand pounds" urged Bernard; "I will sell off even thing, build myaelf a home, and settle down, li: most contented and happy fellow in the world." " The picture you have drawn, is a pleasing ont But, for my sake, O'Shaughncssy, carry on this bus nesB of ours for a year or two longer. I am sti poor." O'Shau. gLnessy bowed his head in silence. "Your m. Triage takes place next month." " So medtifae has arranged." " I and Melafa can do the remainder of this year work." *'My dear Eugene, I am ready to do anything." "You are always the same good friend." P A P E T A 85 past with ever- f fade ; but iiij J all this." n up all that is vo lines : " not speak 3 it break." ,s one ! 3s me ten thoi ill sell oft' even ettle down, li; the world." a pleasing on( irry on this bus ger. I am sti silence, month." der of this year do anything." riend." " Nonsense, man ! a fellow must naturally lose little of his own will, when a woman supplants all Ither ideas." " Now tell me, as we have agreed to remain here, rliat shall I do with ' Cardwell ? ' I do not wish le old house to go to ruin." '* Sell it." '*For shame, Bernard. Have you forgotten ul- iady under what circumstances and conditions I Iccame its owner." " Well lease it then." " Bravo ! now you have hit the mark. Another lestion: What is to be done with the house in )wn?" "Refer to your last letter from Jack L k, id your question is answered." *'By jove ! Yes, L k shall have the house. ^Ifow I am easy." "Eugene, do you seriously contemplate remain- ing in Serres all your days ? " "Excepting Helen changes her mind." "What a change in both our lives." " Petticoats, my dear Eugene ; only petticoats, — less them ! " " You love Margarita, Bernard ? " I " With all my heart." " Well said ! You will be happy." " And you, Eugene ? " "Very happy ! " M " Confound it, man, do not beat about the bush. e shall be the four happiest creatures in christpn- )m." i" I know it." " Have you written to Cadras ? " "Yes." "And — I wonder how the phenomenon Papeta fogresses ? " i . i m 86 V A V M T A "' Til liis ]ai=> igcs. iim forgettini: in of busincs.r 5, with a ponii 1 niihoh. .Bar trcams ; niiisii iworks bhizcd; linglcd in tli: ic ; and Scitc- id a shower o: 11, and cynil»a: his young lui'. ir adieus. M; 1 dearly. 0(3 it days, since : ow, I am ahou: crhaps for eve s^ers ; and snov ClIArTER VII. Helen Matley has become my wife. u And you will always think of me, in my absoncu from you. Always pray for me, Hi^len. (( Eugene, my last thought at night will be of you. As I kneel dow suppli I will til lance ing image in my heart, ana still ue with you, — en in my dreams.'* "I go forth, my wife, to bid all I hiive known liurctofore, a long farewell. I do so, without a sigh of 'ogret; for, my darling, I shall return to you, to my lappiness, peace, and love." " I am satisfied." "It was thus wc spoke one evening, about six iioiiths after our marriage, as we wandered, hand in laud, towards the spot where her child Ida slept, he told me, as we went along, that there only, by ler grave, could our future happiness bo satisiiod. The sun was sinkinic slowlv behind clouds of ixold nd purple. The river beneath us murmered on its vay, and the now songless birds llitted to their oosts. The hardy peasants, returning with their iveary oxen, came slowly up the winding pathway, owards Serres. The chapel bell, hard by, tolled the summons to ven prayer ; and high from wliite, and golden min- ret, rang, clear and sharp, the wild words of Ma- omet's Koran : calling the faithful to Allah. Through the long and drooping grass we v/ound ur way. We stood by a simple stone. A mother's love could be easily traced there. It bore, simply, 88 P A P E T A. the name * Ida,' the date of her birth and death, anc these words, from the book of Ecclesiastcs : '*(2ri)at iol)ici) liati) been io nam ; anb tl)at tobict) is to i t)atl) aireab]} been ; anb (!3ob requiretl) i\)at obicl) is paot. "Here, Eugene," she said, mournfully; "let in kneel ! Here, at the grave of * that which is pas; hear me swear, by her grave, that all I have told yo is the truth." " And kneeling by you, Helen, — may heaven wi- nes my vow ! Never ! never ! not even in though- have I allowed one suspicious evil to cloud my lovo, " Then one look more ! one last tear ! " she wil«; ly said, twining her arms round the marble Iicul stone." " Let us pray together, Helen." "I must not* touch, or see thee more ! Never ten thy flowers again ! I go to other duties, my dea Ida ; to otlier hopes ; to a new and better lov: I bless thee ! and, as I kiss the earth of thy buric memory, I ask God to forgive those who caused il all my suffering." * *^ Remember thy promise, Eugene ! " " And thine, Helen ! " " You will write often ? " "Daily!" " I will hasten back." " I shall be alone." " And I, my wife; when shall I look into tin eyes again, and kiss these loving lips, as I do now. " God be with you, Eugene ! " " Farewell ! " " Fare thee well ! " Slowly from the house, I went upon my way. 1 4 END OP PART THE SECOND. and death, and liastcs : \\ai tDJ)icl) is to b. at rji\)\t[) io past. nfully; "let in ; which is pas; I have told yo [nay heaven wi: svcn in though: cloud ray love, ear ! " she wiL; le marble heat F-A.R.T THE THIRID. JOY >re ! Never ten. duties, my dea md better lovi kh of thy burio e who caused n * e I t ?' look into the« )s, as I do no^v. Don my way. )ND. CHAPTER I. "A thousand welcomes back!'' exclaimed Cadras, ^armly embracing me. " How well you look 1 " " And you, Cadras ! ever the same happy fascina- ng man.^' " Tut, my dear friend ; my glass tells me plainly lat I am growing old. See, here are some silver ireads. The warning gifts of old father Time. I [ish O'Shaughnessy was with us. Do you remem- jr our first and happy meeting, Murat ? " *' I have ever treasured it in my memory. And )w is Louis Vand, Cadras ? " " As strong and hearty as ever. He is always the ime honest and faithful fellow." '' And Bacca, your cook ? " t" Still flourishing. I bid him excel himself to- ^^ht, in honor of your return." V and now appeared, summoned by the magic of tea master's bell He welcomed me warmly, and Wspectfully, as I shpok the old laaa's band. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 !|: «- l« I.I 1.25 2.5 16 3 !^ m 2.2 2.0 1.8 1.4 IIIIII.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4!p W<5 90 P A P E T A. a m ll |h O'Shauglincssy, settled down np< a staid family man at Scrres, surpasses all my comprehension." " He is not unhappy notwithstanding." " I do not doubt it in the least." " You should have been present at his marria^-e. Such a joyous uproar I never witnessed. They car- ried Bernard on their shoulders, and scattered llowcrs before the bride." "And Madame O'Shaughnessy ? " " She is perfect." "Howl envy him. "What a bitter lot mine lia^ been, in comparison. And dolts, calling themselves philosophers, tell us that wealth is power. Bah! " "Bernard's wife loves her husband." "Who could help loving him. And you too, Eugene, are married, and are about to desert us." " For shame ! I am at your dinner table." " Forgive me ; I am an egotist. But tell me ; how did you get on out there in Turkey ? " " We have cleared thirty thousand pounds each!' " Cospeio ! Why Turkey must be a very mine oi Plutus ! '' "You should see O'Shaughnessy at work, to un- derstand him ! " " I can fancy him amidst the clank of machinery, bawding, directing, working, among the Turks an' llayahs." " In about eighteen months more, we shall retire. and turn, probal3ly, cotton growers for a change. " Serres must be a confounded hole ! " " ^o ; I find it very comfortable." " And do you intend to live there always ? " " Certainly ! " " Why you will die of ennui !'^ " O^Shaughnessy intends to become a Pacha, am: I a Bey. Despotic, in our little sovereignity, in lov^ and happiness, what more can we desire.'' 1 m^ #ang l»it Ci ^ta.= r^Y 1 1 P A P E T A . 91 a, staid family rcliGnsion." Dg. ?> ,t his luarriag'c. ;cd. They car- cattcrcd flowers 3r lot mine ha> ling themselves lower. Bah!" 1." And you too. to desert us." : table." lut tell me ; how L pounds each ! " 5 a very mine oi at work, to un- .k of machinery, the Turks ami we shall retire. or a change, le ! " always ? " ne a Pacha, aiui reignity, in lovo jsire." u ii ''But surely Mrs. Murat, who is an Englisliwoman, 'ill never permit 3'ou to carry out this horrid idea of ?xiHng yourself from society ! " On the contrary, my wife wishes me to remain." And you really mean it ? " " I have been nearly three years in Turkey. I lavc built myself a home, drawn round me new friends, and found a wife. My business prospers, Lud enriches me. "Why should I permit trifles to nar my contentment and happiness. Why quit a )]acc where Providence has kindly dealt by me ? " " And you are happy, Murat? " " 31a foil Never happier.'' " Have you never heard of Mrs. Mollitt 'i " "Never.'' " Strange ! She must be dead.'' " I have no doubt of it now." " Yes ! Ida Vernon being dead. Sir Charles' wife lead, and Mrs. MofHtt lost, I cannot see your hopes |f clearing up this mystery." I have given up all hope. Count. * Now tell me yourself? " I have been living incognito, ever since you left le. I have had nothing but my periodical visits to [apeta, my box at the opera, and other trifles, to I vert me. My young protegee has made wonder- il progress since her return from Paris. She is Liite a different creature. I have learned to esteem ?r. Her beauty, her goodness, her gratitude, have [on upon my heart. I have been chasing shadows [1 my life. I will do so no longer. The purpose my later years is now complete. If I cannot lange nature, I may draw models from her perfcc- 3ns. If I strip my moral pagoda of its gold, I am ht Carrcr Cadras still. I will do my duty to Pa- jta." " You will be happy, Count, I feel confident." 1^ 1 1 1: 92 P A P E T A. " She will be my wife two years from this." "You told me in your last letter, that the Duchei of F has charge of her." " Yes, they are in Scotland together. I am sorr for it, or you should see her before you go." " I am sorry to hear it." " We intend travelling soon. Who knows ! n may come and surprise you at Serres." . « We will be delighted ! " " Now let us go up stairs, till dinner is ready.'- CHAPTER II. '^' ^ili»i Mr. Francis, my solicitor, was a good man business. *• Cardwell " was soon advantageou" leased. A certain Sir John L'Estrange was t^ applicant. My house, in Berkley Square, John L k, Ej: took off my hands. As he affixed his signature the contract, he said: " My dear fellow, rest assurtj I will not displace a nail. K I make any necessa alterations, I will go hy the original plans ; so t^ if you ever return to live here again, you will if the house in detail, exactly as you left it." I thai ed him sincerely. With a heavy heart, I quiti| the old familiar house. I intended to leave England early next morni:j I therefore sat down to acquaint Helen of my spee return. My heart longed to be back to her. " ^s pants the hart for cooling streams, When heated in the chase ; So longs my scul— — ," P A P E T A. 93 from this." that the Duche; ther. I am son you go." Who knows! j es." iner is ready.'' I liad just scaled my letter, when a waiter of the )tcl entered, and handed me a note. I broke the bl. I felt myself grow cold, and my head swim, I read the following words : [Mrs. Moffitt presciits her compliments to Mr. Eugene Murat, and )icit8 the honor of a few moments private conversation. " Shew the person who brought this note into the ixt room." What new mystery is this ? Years gone by, and iw when I have abandoned all hope, this woman tsses my path at the eleventh hour. II passed into my sitting room. Mrs. Jane Moffitt (1 Eugene Murat were together at last. She was the first to break the ominous silence. ''I thought, sir, you would be gone, and — '' she oojninenced in a trembling tone. >' Pray be seated, we have much to say to each ,8 a good man m advantageous Estrange was t^ bhn L k, Es; id his signature ellow, restassurt ake any necess^ lal plans ; so t^ gain, you will £' left it." I thai, y heart, I quitiJ arly next morniij lelen of my spet] ack to her. streams, ie ; ler.'^ Jhe sat down. I closed the door, and stood con- [nting her. y For more than two years, Mrs. Moffitt, I used }ry endeavoL to find you. In five hundred news- )err , I advertised for you, and all without success ; now, a few hours before my quitting this coun- |, for ever, you come to me. Answer me, Mrs. )ffitt ! Where is Ida Yernon ? " Ihe moved her hands nervously as they lay in her j, apd stared stupidly at me. I narrowly scrutin- ' her. She had been a fine woman, but now was |ly changed. Her grey hair, straggled about her Jhead, and her total appearance, told me plainly, Jane Moffitt had fallen considerably in the ial scale. I ask you, where is Ida Yernon ? " 'As God is to judge me, Mr, Murat, I know 94 P A P E T A "Listen to me attentively, tmd pray answer r, explicitly, every question I ask you." " Yes sir." " You knew the late Sir Charles Darley ? " "Yes." " lie placed a child in your keeping about > teen years ago." "Sir Charles Darley brought me an infant giii take charge of." "lie desired that this child be known as Ida V non, did he not? " " You are correct sir." " He gave you live hundred pounds ? '- " Yes." "You were to adopt and educate Ida Vernou. this consideration ? " "I did my best for her, sir ! " " Eleven years ago, you left J Street ? " "It is twelve years ago next montli, Mr. JMu: since I left No. — , J Street, Limehouse." " You see I am tolera])ly well informed, 3' Moflitt." " So it seems, sir." " Now tell me, where is Ida Vernon ?" " Listen, sir, and I will tell you all." "Do so." ""We went to Dublin from J Street, as: hnsband had hopes of a better situation there. " Is your husband dead ? " " Yes Sir, he is dead." I thought of that poor woman who had spokoJ 0'Shau«:hnessv of this man's deatli as a certai:! long years back, but I said nothing. She contir.':| " Ida was nearly three years old. My little A^ was then of the same age, and resembled Ida ^ much. My husband obtained his situation, am; were all very happy, I loved little Ida very ii;i| P A P JO T A 95 pray answer r. ,te Ida Vernon. tuation there. was so li'ood and beautiful. I never saw Sir arlcs Parley again. I fell ill shortly after. Du- g my husband's absence in Belfast, on business, afternoon a man called and asked to see me. ras then confined to my bed. lie sent me up word [the came on important business from Sir Charles rley, and was the bearer of a letter from him to . I admitted him. He introduced himself as Charles' valet. He was a tall, elderly man. handed me a letter : I read it. I have that let- by me now\ Here it is, pray read it yourself, took it. Bbbkeley Square, London, 18/A June, 18 . Moflitt,— ic bearer of this is my valet. He will pay you the sum of three Ircd pounds, as a .^compensc, for your kind treatment and atten- to my wighes, regarding the child Ida Vernon. ?u will place Ida in the hands of this person, who has my instruc- to bring her to London. She must come by the next steamer, ^ill now take charge of her myself, as I have changed my plans [ding her. lank you for all you have done for me. If I can be of any fut' o :c to Mr. Mofiltt, or yourself, pray communicate with me. Yours, &c., &c., CHARLES DARLEY. handed her back the letter. [That is not the late baronet's hand writing, Mrs. itt." Il know it now, sir, but then I did not. I w\as loss what to do. What could I do but obey ! 'ted with Ida Vernon, in bitterness and tears." J)out eight months after, I awoke one morning, id that my little Agnes had been stolen from A strange suspicion now took possession of Had I been deceived ? I slowly, and with ["ul caution, communicated my suspicions to my land. By my desire he obtained leave, and went til 96 P A P E T A. I to London. By cautious inquiries ho ascertain' that Ida Vernon had never been brought hack to ^ Charles Barley ! This letter was a forgery ! " " Terror and remorse followed. I v/as in despa; Shortly after these events, we went to Scotland, was fearful of any discovery. Two years after, I re^ of Sir Charles Darley's death, and simultaneouj with it, appeared your notices in the nevspape My first impulse was to come to yo.u and expk all ! My husband overruled me ! We fled to A: erica ! " " Things went badly with us there, it seemed me as if heaven was punishing me for my breact faith. My husband sickened and died. I was !; alone, a homeless outcast! I read your adverti. ments in the New York papers. I sat down a doz'^ times to write to you, but my heart failed me. month ago I returned to England, with the det mination of seeing you, and confessing all.' " Day after day I wandered to Berkeley Squai and as often turned away. Last night I knock] You were gone. I nearly fainted at the door, servant seeing my distress, kindly told me youri dress, and added, that you wore on the point of q| ting England.. I found you. And now, Mr. Muj I swear to you, by all I hold sacred, I have told \ the truth ! " I drew in a long breath of relief. "And you have never heard of Ida Vernoi! I said. " No sir." " Or of your child Agnes ? " "Alas! sir, I have never seen or heard of| since ! " " And you etill believ^^ that Ida Vernon was fr^ ulently taken from your charge ? ?> P A P E T A . 97 3 he ascertame -ought hack to ^ forgery 1" I v/as in ^^sp^ it to Scotland, years after, I re. id simultaneouj 1 tlie nevspapc: YQU and expli We fled to A: • ,ere. it Becmed le for my bread ,d died. I was . jad yoar advcrti: I sat down a doz' leart failed me. nd, with the del 'easing all." to Berkeley Bqu'^ it nigbt I knock: d at the door, ly told me your on the point of q' .nd now, Mr. ^i ired, I liave told ief. ^ , d of Ida Vernoi^ ien or heard of' Ida Yemen was frj " I am confident of it, Mr. Murat. My husband's ftcr inquiries prove this beyond a doubt.*' " Ana this is all you have to tell me ? " '' I have told you all, sir ! '* I looked fixedly at the woman before me ; and len said, solemnly : *' Mav God pardon you, if you [ive not, Mrs. Moffitt. — Ida Vernon is dead ! " " Dead I " she uttered, rising to her feet. "Yes, Jane Moffitt, Ida Vernon is dead ! I stood her grave three years ago, at Marseilles, in France. .e was buried by strangers ; most probably by the ,nd3 of those who stole her from you. This ^act s made know to me by an advertisement \u the iloniteur,' " I" My poor child ! my poor child ! " 3hc sobbed '•th, covering her face with her nands. 'his grief touciied me. Calm yourself, Mrs. Moffitt, and listen to me." ihc looked up. •Sir Charles Darley, on the night of his death, fided Ida Vernon to my care. 1 went to J [eet; you were gona ! I did my best tO find you. hen learned of Ida Vernon's mysterious coiuh. u have filled up some of the blank history. Can give me any reason why my late friend placed child in your hands ? " No sir, I cannot ! " Can vou account for the loss of your own d ? " No sir ! But, when I discovered that Ida Ver- was stolen from me, and then the loss of my child happening shortly after, I naturally ght that some dark mystery was going on." You thought rightly." K I have done wrong, pray pardon me, Mr. •at ! " Mrs. Moffitt, I believe you ! " D \i m 'fi ii n f| ' 'f !lt' 1 h '.! i'l ll 98 P A P E T A . " Thank you sir ! I feci happy now ! " " God'3 will be done ! It seems this mystery i> never to be unravelled. Now, Mrs. Mofiitt, wlia; can I do for you ? " No answer. "Come! no false delicacy! I quit England to-mor- row. I should not go away comfortably, except I know that you arc provided for. You see I forgiv and believe." " I do not deserve this kindness, sir ! " "Stay, I will give you a letter. You will take; to its r.ddrcss to-morrov/. You will be provided fur I will leave you my address also, in Turkey ; yo; may v/rite to me. If you should ever v/ish to coia^ out there, I will give jou a home." "I have no ties to bind me to England, Mr. ]\Ii: rat." I wrote a letter to Mr. Francis, and gave it t her open. She read it, took my hand, kissed it, an: burst out crying. " Is there anything else you wish to say to met She looked up in my face, but her tears choked her utterance. There was a pause. " God bless you, Mr. Murat ! " " Good bye, Mrs. Moffitt, and do not forget : write." She ^vent slovs'ly out. Poor dead Ida ! It was thus your second motlic parted from Eugene Murat. * • * * * Two days after, I was standing by number 1518i' grave. " Monsieur Murat ! " exclaimed a voice near me. I turned round. It was Dupuis. " Ah ! is that you ! " I said, holding out my han to him. " You have taken great care of this spc M. Dupuis ! " I said, pointing to Ida's grave. P A P E T A . 99 V ! " this mystery i- . Moffitt, wha: [^^iiglaiid to-mor- rtably, except 1 ou see I forgiv. ir 1 You will take r be provided for in Turkey; yo; ^er v/isli to com' nglaud, Mr. I\Ii: , and gave it t nd, kissed it, an to say to me't" ler tears choke. do not forget t ir second motlie * y number 15181' a voice near me. "ling out my ban Icare of this spf La's grave. <' Some' ow, sir, I love the Howcrs, and have town attached to number 151800 ! " " I am grateful ! " " You have been generous, Monsieur ! " "' Let us go tr wards the lodge. I have looked my list on number 151809, Dupuis. To-night, 1 (juit ruuee for ever ! " " J am sorry to hear it ! " '•Continue, my good iJupuis, to tend her grave. ■ you should (|uit your office, pray appoint a suit- lb fe succetssor. I will ])ay him." ' I will never ibrsake that grave ! When I am cry old, I will come to it ! '' '*'l thank you, from my heart, I thank you !'' Striuigc workings of a human heart. This man ved Ida's grave. " Pardon me, but you seem, M. Murat, to be 'oply interested in fiumber 151809 ! " • 11' you but knew what mystery surrounds that or dead child's former life, you would not wou- r at my interest in lier." " Life luis many sorrows, Monsieur ! " '•True!" " I may write to you ? " '•Yes, often, if you please. I shall be glad to ur from you." "Adieu!" " God go with you, M. Murat ! " :tti House!" as^ — Welcome ; )ured flags, we sallied fortli to meet our expected triends. We halted a little beyond tlie old bridge, spanning tlic Caraaon, and sent out Metafa, as a vidette, on the main road, to our left. We waited anxiously for some moments. "Hallo I here conies Metafa at a <5allop ! " ^^Ombros Pethia! — Forward lads! and setting spur TO dashed gayly forward. Before our vidette could [eiu up we passed him, and saw a party of horsemen, pout a quarter of a mile on the road before us. We were shaking hands. "How kind of you both !" said Cadras. "Ah! O'Shanghnessy ! is that you?" exclaimed ic Duke of F "Eugene, this is Miss Carrer!" ^ I started ! How beautiful ! " Lord Dell is longing to shake hands with you, fugeno !'' cried out O'Shanghnessy. "Lady Dell !"— Delighted, I am sure !" And so, amidst warm greetings, we met. " Mount, Gentlemen ! " said Cadras. We jumped into our saddles and rode back to jrres. Our body guard, bringing up the rear; and Metafa, his superb kavass costume, osteiitatiously leading le way. Many a dark eye peeped curiously from its lattice, [any a sage Turk paused on his way, stroked his ^ard, and staring, praised Allah, that he had not ^generated. jThrough the narrow streets up to O'Shaughnessy's ')use. j" We cannot accommodate you all at one place, >unt, I am sorry to say." J" As you please." ["Our largest house i^; undergoing repairs; you II have to separate ! " 104 P A P E T A ||i, w ! I ''■'1 i! . Ill '■•ii |; I "Agreed!" "Yourself, Papeta, and three others, go to Shaughuessy's ; Lord and Lady Dell, and the re> to my house. We had better tell them." " As you wish." "Remember, we all meet at nhie o'clock, at 'Ca« Balsotti ! ' " shouted O'Shnughnessy after us, as went away leading my friends to my house. "All right!" * Soft music fills the air. A blaze c f light illumiii: the scene. The moon is up, and the stars are brii:. around her. Flovvers smell their sweetest. Ey look their brightest; and lips are all smiles ai laughter. Ravishing toilets and beauty adds to f: scene. Silks rustle, and brilliants flash. Two liu: dred people mingle in a fairy like confusion. You: and age are happy ! A rocket hisses through the air ! A moment after, a hundred others follow in rap succession, and eager faces look upwards. A party arrive at the gates. A rainbow of yellow, red, purple and blue fir) runs across the lawn, facing the entrance, and t:^ word "welcome!" in as many different coloir| dazzles the sight. Loud clapping of hands is hear! Before the guests can recover from their deliglf fi.fty young and beautiful girls, dressed in siur white tunics, and wearing wreaths, come out amiiJ the guests, and from their baskets distribute flowej and bon-bons to them. I was making my way to Cadras. I found hij talking to O'Shaughnessy and Margarita. "I have found you at last! Pray come this wayj " A thousand pardons, Murat ! " 1 was moving off" with the Count leaning on arm. \ r A V h: T A. 105 )tbers, go to bU, and the re^^ bem." '' Eugene I" whispered Bernard, Margarita has )inething to say to you." *' What is the matter?" -Go j> , o'clock, at ' Cas sy after us, as ly house. ; of light illumin; he stars are brij:. 1' sweetest. Ey re all smiles a: beauty adds to t: •' One moment, Count ! " ''Eugene, the salad has not come. What shall do?" "Confound ! — O'Sliaughnessy, take Cadras to ielcn and introdace him. I shall not he ii moment. <' Carlo Bartelli ! " * Helen Barley ! " :S: * * * *' Where is Helen ? " I asked, coming up to Shaughnessy. ila^li^ Two liu: B*' She has gone home," he answered, confusion. You:^' What is the matter ? " 'She was taken suddenly ill." 'Good heavens ! " etafa came up at this moment. Monsieur! Madam's compliments, and she re- sts you will remain. She told me to add that t.' is hotter now." Where is Cadras, Bernard ? " He also is gone ofl'." I don't know wdiat to make of this ! " ay dawned ere the last guest quitted Balsotti se. lers follow in rap ipwards. 1 pie and blue fi!' entrance, and i different colon- of hands is hearj rom their deligi dressed in snol s, come out aniiij " distribute flo\vet ts idras. I found hi] argarita. ay come this wav| r ount leaning on U I! t 106 P A P E T A CHAPTER IV. ;^i i'i "I'M f m "Eugene, there is some mystery In this ! " " What extraordinary conduct on his part ! " "I went to his room just now. I found this It ter and packet on the dressing table. They a: addressed to you." I broke the seal hurriedly and read: *' Circumstances. Mr. Murat, compel me to quit Serre? immediaUf Make my apologies. I will leave Salonica in my yacht. I am gon into oblivion ! Anywhere ! out of this world ! " " This is complete madness ! " " What can have happened ? " " And this packet ! " "To E. Murat, Esquire, — Read this privately: will explain all." " Go then, in heaven's name, and let us knowLj motives for this strange behaviour. I will acquaij his friends. How is Helen ? " " She is sleeping." I locked myself in my room, and sat down to rei I opened the packet. Firstly, I drew out a check on Messieurs V — the bankers at Vienna, for the sum of fifty thousa pounds, made payable to Miss Papeta Carrer. I read. I give you, reader, an exact copy of the papt| still in my possession. How strange are thy ways! how wonderful good are thy mercies, O, Providence ! Carlo Bartblli to Eugene Murat. Serves, Mid7iight\ And has it come to this ! Am I after all to find myself hurled upon the roj of my own perfidy! Is this the end of a life's; PAP K T A 107 inge f in this ! " in Ills part ! " . I found this le table. They a: •ead : quit Serres immediate 1 my yacht. I am go;: I!" Ah ! poor fool that I was I Where the brie I have toiled to build up and lied for? Where e revenge I have nursed so long and so bitterly ? forth to hide my face ! The face I can never ew the world again, unblushingly ! I was all indifference. I played the hypocrite for end. I throw off the mask now. Read me, urat, as I am, and curse me, for my inhuman iwardice and baseness ! You, who thought me good and kind I How tie you know the demon ! I have no time to say oh. I must fly. Listen to the history of my ^rrom my boyhood, I have known but one selfish sh. To know myself superior to all things, and men. The creature who beat me at school, in thematics, was the first thing I learned to hate. esolved his ruin. I did ruin him ! lie fell from pinnacle of his fame and ambition, a worthless gar ! and I laughed ! Judge by this what I am. ave always been a despicable, moral coward ! m the grandson of a gardener ! Who has rivaled on any one point, but has not suffered the pen- • of my hate ! Can you understand a man void ruth ? Can you respect a man, hating all things e self? An egotist ! A heartless, irreligious ffer ! I am all this, and more ! 'Shaughnessy is the only man I ever respected. u ! I hated ! You have been an obstacle to me. copy of the pap^Uged you but for a purpose. I blinded you. And i this privately; mdlet us knowb IT, I will acquab d sat down to m\ Messieurs V — m of fifty thousa^ apeta Carrer. low wonderful nee ! BNE MURAT. Serres, Midnigm urled upon the ro e end of a life's ^ loved once, and once only. All else, before and jr, has been but a dark dream. Oh ! I feel the [ny rising at my throat ; and I feel as if 1 could tell it from very passion, and strangle out the inants of this accursed existence ! 'urn from my memory and curse me ! / iii:*l 108 P A ;» K T A Publisli these confessions ! Let the world bJa: with these words! For I have been your secret at bitterest enemy! b^ I am about to repair in some vvay the wrong ' have done you. All I have plotted for is at an end. It costs i: much to i;'ive the lie to my entire life; but for/ sake I will do it. Listen then ! As thy heart grows cold with i gust, and your blood curdles in your veins, !(■ to what evil a human heart c^m stoop. I. — It is more than twenty years since I first t Sir Charles Darley. Yain fool ! I thought myself, then, the in: handsome man in Europe. I met him in Par I was introduced to him. With the first look learned to hate him. He was the handsomest m. of the two. I vowed his ruin. We parted. V were friends. Friends! I went to England shor after he was married. I saw Helen Darley. Accursed be that hour ! It is now that I fct'h: humiliation. From tlie hour I iirst looked on D: ley's wife, I was a changed man. I loved my friend's wife ! Imagine to yourself how a man like Carlo E;J telli can love. She became a passion, an idol. would eru.^h all things beneath my heel, descoiid any level, to conquer. And now, to split upon* rock of my own perfidy; dragged, as it were, toi| surface, from unfathomable depths of shame a| baseness, a beaten, disgraced man ! We went abroad together. IIow well I pla3^ed the hypocrite you shall sec, | Ah ! how often have I looked back to those djf when I loved. What happy days were those to in Switzerland and the Tyrol. J> A I' E T A 109 way tlie wron:: IWe reached Paris. [ow gooc*. and kind Iluleii Darloy thought me. )w confident was Charles Barley. [y hour came. Darley was suddenly called fay to !Nice, to liis only sister's death bed. [They parted; and I vowed they should never jet again. have kept inal vow ! t took me ten days to mature my hellish scheme. n the eleventh day a forged letter, purporting to e from Helen's husband, reached her hands, e was to join him at Naples, and T her escort. t was then I understood how much Helen Dar- loved her husband, and how much cause I had ihate him. e reached Marseilles. embarked on board my yacht, and I steered the Island of Maderia. My plan was this ; nee upon the wild waste of waters, she was in power. My men were devoted to me. I would her of my great love. I never thought of fail- I thought Helen Darley loved me. How little nderstood her. If I failed, Helen was lost. My cnge thus w^ould be worked out on her and her band. n the seventh day we w^ere still at sea. lelen Darley rushed into my cabin. started to my feet. The suspicion flashed upon that I had been betrayed. "he moment for action had arrived. I told her 5he turned upon me like a fiend, and spat upon. She cursed me in her wild despair. She would thrown herself overboard had not one of my n caught her in his arms at the moment. had lost my love. had broken two hearts instead, and was satisfied. 110 ? A P E T A . 1 1 I'll I I ri Wliiit next? I cliangcJ the vessel's course, laiK cd Ileleu Darloy at Naples, and wem on to Algior I traveled in India. I could not rest. I must essay another trial. ^ was not satisfied. I cliano^ed niv name. I wa;-) no more Carlo Bartclii. I became Cjiit Cadras. False in name and honor, I reached Londn: Disguised I went on my sejirch. Are fifty millions of francs anything? All tl: and more, I would throw nway, to satisfy my ]i;; sions. 1 was right then. Charles Darlc} had discard his wife ! Her child had been taken from her. Helen Darley was a maniac in Caen ! IT. — Why waste in useless words my precio; hours ! My first plan was to get possession of Sir Charl? Darley 's child. It cost me much to accomplish tl.i- At length, after many months search, I was si: cessful. I intended to take this child back to its moth-' I know she hated me. Curses ! I would be i venged ! Mrs. Jane MofFitt was then in Dublin. I \vi:| there. I represented myself to her as Sir Charles' vn and gave har a forged letter containing instruct! ^,j to place the child Ida in my hands. Mrs. Mot:l obeyed, and the girl was in my power ! I took her to a low wonn^n in London. I g; Sir Charles Darlev's child to her. I bid her sir it in oblivion. Not one of his race must rcmaii I then went to Paris. Seven months after, Martha Smith wrote to i to tell me that Ida Darley was lead. I did not 1 lieve her. Mrs. Smith sold this child to anotl r A r K T A HI another trial. readied Loi uy ih'mcr V All tll> jrds my precio': 1 Dublin. I ^vu roinau for a bottle of ^iii, wliile in a drunken fit. I had one more pui'pose to make. It was this : Jane MoHitt had a child. 8he was of the same re as Ida. I stole this little girl from her mother id fled to Caen. I .'bund Helen Darley. She had recovered her ^nses, but was still kept a close prisoner. I left the child. Mrs. IVIoilitt's child took the [ace of Ida Darley. They resembled each other. Agnes MotHtt completed my revenge. Iwent to Constantinople. Fury I Helen Darley was hunting me down ! She Ime suddenly to Constantinople. I resolved to lllle her for ever. I became a convict for a day. ICliained, and branded as felon, I awaited her ming. made my hiding place known to her by an Rent in my employ. She came to my cell. Fale, IJsTeck of her former self, she stood before me. )oes she curse me now? as I curse myself! believe she would have torn me to pieces ! She lipon her knees before me, and asked me to Mr the wroncc I had done her. For her child's :c, to restore to her, her name and honor ! The 'Id still believed her guilty ! She clasped my 363 in her agony, and wept tears of misery, was stone ! [ere is the answer I made her : You ! Thou moral curse ! Leave me I lest I :e you dead at my feet ! You have embittered ry hour of my life ! I loved thee once madly ! love has now turned to hate ! Suffer on ! as have made me suffer ! " turned and spat upon her, as she did on me, ^n I told her I loved her ! le fell prostrate to the ground ; and I fled, with 112 I> A P E T A . iri I! I flu 1 my false felon chains about iiic, and demons in niv heart ! I went to Am'^rica. I heard of Charles Barley's death. I laughed tb laugh of a victorious revenge, and was glad! I returned +•» Rngland, from Italy. You nov .iQ upon the scene. My deceit and perfidy was not yet ended. III. — I heard a rumour of Helen Darley^s death Another victim gone ! I read, for the first time, your notice in th: "Times." I felt confident Jane Mofiitt would not revea the secret. She had discovered the trick player upon her, and she would be silent. I then oulj kneW the secret of Ida Vernon's disappearance I determined to make your acquaintance, find on all you wanted to learn, and act accordingly. Fortune favored me. IraetO'Shaughnessy. Yoi were friends, and we met. I found Papeta. Shall I tell you why I took , a fancy to her ? Look at her closely ! Look a your wife, and then judge me ! You were deterinined to find Ida. You remember my going to Paris ? I did not g' there, but to Marseilles. A poor man's child died that day. I buried her in the cemetery of St. . He ■ name was Marie Duplex ! She it was that I buried as Ida Vernon ! ! ! The grave at Marseilles is a lie ! Ida Darley, if dead, is buried elsewhere. You returned to England from Serres. I u thoroughly satisfied that you were deceived. W revenge was completed ! I came to Series. P A V K T A . 1 1 :i I demons in my O'SliiviiizlincHsy introdiu-ed mo to your wit'o. My (iod! IIklkn Dmujoy and ('Aklo Piahtkij.i stood lUoo to ice I lU'd on \ho iirst opportiniity. Your irif(\ Eikjchc Muraf. iras f/n' irifr of i/oftr (had inid, Sir Charh's JJarln/ ! I ^o to my liidinii; phicc ! \ ^o to rori]rctru]iioss ! Jo the i^nivc of my evil passions ! To my rcpontanoo ! ^' ;« tv! 1 Helen Darlcv in a.s pure as tlio aniircls in lieaven r notice m lu; ■ ,p x^..^ ,„,.,.^ „.i... r,... r '.. ,. -ii. i.i • . ould not rcvea the trick playec at. I then oul; s disappearance intance, find on lordingly. aughnessy. Yo: )u why I took, osely ! Look i is ? I did not g' Turn yonr face westwards: tor [ «i:o witli the siidi- \y the un[)rot('ndin5^ i^^ate. ''Ida dear, you and your niothor liave a duty to h)er(bnn. Knter; and as you kneel at your latlier's «,M'ave, reinend)er tlie proverb which sjiys : ' Ix'fore honor is humility, Helen ! ' 'Faith is the substance |ot' thinii^s ho])ed tor, tlio evideneo of tliinirs not ^een.' (Jo ! 1 will wait for vou. I sat down and wrote al)sontlv on tlie wliite sand lit my feet. "Xol I will not be a witness of ber n'riefl 8h(^ is r/',y wife now! He that is dead, wroui'-ed her I I forgive him I Let lier do so, from her heart I " * How vain for us to fasliion, or to hope ! All is ^vith God ! All is ever for the best ! When sorrow bows you down, reader, litt your 3ves submissively to heaven ; for it is lie wlio thus visely chastens thee. When evil tlioughts come to ^ou, crush them down with all your force. If you [ack an earthly friend, turn to your God in beaven ; le is your best and 07ili/ friend I Cry out with Lu- llier in all things : (Sine ffste ^urg ist iimzx (Sott ! * • Praise God from whom all blessings (low. y TJEiE EFIX.OGS-XJE. I ' i ^ ( III i ^ 1 1 i 1 1 '■ s n j ? ii '. f i i HL « ill Marie Duplex, the instruTiiciit of Carlo Bartellis liate, sleeps now with her own name above earth. Dupuis still places flowers round number 151801*. iMetafii has followed me to Eniii-land. O'Shaughnessy lives in C/urzon Street, and giv(>| fasliionable dinners. My wife moves again in society. And Carlo Bartelli ! The fifty thousand pounds he left with me wori| returned to the baidcers at Vienna. Let us hope that his bad heart has been taufi^htl a severe lesson. Let us further trust, that in liiJ exile he learned to shudder, and repent him of tlitl past. I hope He will forgive him, as you and l| reader, are bound to forgive him. I am very happy now. i Farewell ! Remember, that evil is not always mortification! All that moves and lives, all that we do and thiiil'l of, is for a purpose ! Life, in all its actions, hat!:| a good motive ! Hear what the immortal Shakspeare tells us : Sweet are the uses of adversity ; Which, like the toad ugly and venemous, Wears yet, a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. Adieu ! THE END.