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ANNS l6o »58 INTRODUCTION The strange French Canadian marriage law on whicli this novel is founded has been, pecuhar as 't may appear, endorsed by British Courts in the province of Quebec. It is but natural that the French-spealcing portion of the population, which, 't may be added, g«atly outnumbers that of the English, should uphold the claim, put forth by the Catholic Church, as to its supremacy (supremacy even greater than that of the Civil Law) in all matters pertaining to the sanctioning of marriage; but. upon the other hand, it is not to be wondered at that adherents of other denominations binerly resent such claim, and are contending that the Courts, by their mandates, have practically made the faith of the Catholic Church a State religion in the vast province of Quebec. Although this marriage law has been in existence ever since the conquest of Canada by the British, it is. for reasons shown in the novel, in reality only now becoming in some X INTRODUCTION way generally known and its far-reachJng meaning understood. As it is quite a frequent thing for the daily press in Canada to give the names of persons who have been cured of diseases, considered hopeless by physicians, by direct miraculous intervention at the Church of Ste. Anne de Beaupr^, there can be no charge of exaggeration made against the author at scenes, weaving themselves through A Daughter of Patricians, and happening at the foot of the miraculous statue of Bonne Ste. Anne. The tiers of crutches, purported to have been left by those whom miracles have cured (an actual photograph of which is shown at page 1 60), will give the reader a very fair idea of how exceedingly frequent miraculous manifestations in the church must be. The Author. MONTUAL. A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS CHAPTER I A FATEFUL NIGHT And held lublime communion with her loul." Through the snow-laden air the sonorous tones of Grc« Bourdon, the largest bell in America. couU ^ heard echoing and re-echoing miles away f,om ,:^ o d Gothic towers of Notre Dame Chureh. in Pll^e d Armes Square. Montreal. As he thundered out ftteTr"' *° '^"'■*'*^"' *°«"«"d the grfndes ftte of the year, ten sister bells, almost as mZtc as he. blended their brazen voices with hTso voaferously as to thrill the whole massive ,1/ with sympathetic vibrations. ' ^'^'^'^ Although upon the hour of midnieht the ,n„„, covered streets were dark with peopf Lr^^-~ 2 ^^l-« could accommodate eighteen thourand cJl/"' .?"'*""'' ^•^*'= '° the devout French the bth T"'^\°' -ghts; the anniversa^ of «me t "r *''°' "'"•="=*=" hundred yearsV y'ro ourLord'^^Hf' 't""'"' ^o-ni^h, in the year ot our Lord eighteen hundred and ninety-six. A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS was to be given a musical festival, so imposing in character as to attract the faithful and musie-loving for many miles around. Artists, well known for their skill on stringed instruments, were to lead a monster orchestra and swell the imposing chorus of a thousand male voices. For over an hour the yawning doors had been swallowing up the ever increasing multitude, when there drove up to the church a handsomely equipped sleigh, and there stepped from it an elderly gentle- man, who with much solicitude assisted to the slippery sidewalk a young lady. ' ;bespite the furs which muffled her, it was easy to see that her figure was of more than ordinary grace. Slipping her arm beneath that of the gentleman, she said, in a tone bordering on anxiety, " I hope, papa, we shall not be too late ; if we are " (here her voice changed to one of bantering menace), " I shall surely lay hands on that musty collection of birds, mammals, and reptiles, and for ever destroy the fascination they have for you ; their total annihilation, I am sure, is the only thing which will ever cure you of your shameful habit of always being late." This dire threat had in no wise the effect it should have had upon its recipient: he gave a delighted little laugh, peered proudly through his spectacles at the attractive threatener, tucked her hand more snugly under his arm, and said in a tone of the most reprehensible levity, " What a ferocious, war- like little woman ! And only six months out of the convent, too ; I tremble with apprehension for the future." But his manner changing to one of tender earnestness, he went on : "I too hope, dearie, that we shall not be late ; I have been thinking of this pleasure for you for weeks, and if I spoiled it I should feel like destroying the collection myself." A FATEFUL NIGHT Cuddling his arm closer, she answered teasingly Who ever heard of such arrant nonsense! V™! know full well that you would not d ~o„e JZ ap^Sh^tS^r^yrti-^^ rdo^o s"* urTt^'t'^' '^'^^ '° *'-- Iktle «.h ^ How lightly their hearts beat, and how htte each dreamed of the di« events the inexorable Fates would weave into their lives, should they cro ! the sacred threshdld I ^ a J" Z"^' ff ™e« to ascend the steps the youne g.rl stumbled. The misstep was noticed bv f superstitious >J.3.V.„, close behind, Xhaftily d"'™?pedTrthtbir„r^ ------ - tHetin/theti:^!^'?;:^^^-^ ment at the scene which opened be ore heT she scarcely noticed that the scarlet-clad beadle who stood near the door with monster crook and iml= mg mien, had bowed to her father Tnd was iS hem down the main aisle to two. fortunalely "S seats in the nave of the church w»ii • l f sensitive heart be thrilltr Brfte hT^laTfl r upturned faces fixed on the gr^t orchestra ^„H cho.r hgh up in the organ-lofJTherrtow ^L'an organ of colossal dimensions. A thousand XT^- candies, mingled with a multitude ofTublj'S S • ^"^ ^^' ^y"' ^"'^ brought out wkh startlmg vividness the brilliant colourf on the arts unnn J'^'T'^ '''"^' °" *^ ^°'«"'" '^posing Xs' supporting tiers of vast galleries, on the Ln S resonant dome, on the numerous figured safnts In carven niche and tall pinnacle. ' °" A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS She seemed scarcely to breathe as she slowly took off her wraps, and then turned her beautiful clear- cut face to the marvellous altar, or apse, which rose straight to the very ceiling, scintillating with unnumbered lights and carrying masterpieces of sculpture. In the centre of the apse, suspended on a great cross, was the life-sized, scarred image of the Saviour ; while crouched at the base of the emblem of suffer- ing were the three scrrowing Marys. Numerous statues of the apostles and martyrs of the Church, surrounded by groups of angels, completed a scene upon which the habitant gazed with affecting awe. With a long-drawn inward breath, the girl finally turned her eyes to a small altar on her right, where sternly sat the Church's greatest saint — Saint Peter — in his hands the massive keys that were to for ever bind, or loosen. The extended foot exposed his carven great toe, well - nigh lost to all human semblance through the unnumbered kisses pressed upon it by the countless seekers after peace. The subtle influences surrounding her caused a thrill of devotion, almost painful in its intensity, to possess her. But presently a burst of melody from the organ-loft, blending with the answering voices of the priests who were gathered about the altar, announced the commencement of the impressive ceremony, and attracted her attention. Never be- fore had she witnessed such a scene of stately pomp and grandeur as now ensued — the pomp of princes could not have surpassed it On the dais, fronting the gleaming apse, with his back turned to the multitude, was a prince of the Church, the Canadian cardinal, clad in vestments of the richest texture and most gorgeous hues; directly behind him came four boys, carrying the long princely train A FATEFUL NIGHT . Which hung majestically from his shoulders; follow- .ng them were numerous acolytes, bearing candles of unwonted s.ze, swinging golden cenfers. and canymg. m upraised hands, the holy sacraments wh.le finally, behind them again, came offidating d.gn>tar.es of the Church, also clad in garments of beauteous design and varying shades th Ji"^ ""f '*"1^ !^ ^^'" P^""S =t *is scene from the densely packed galleries, the quaint ctothing Tn strangeness at witnessing such a scene in the early St leH "r '"^' '"'"'^^'^ *e imagination back to medieval times, when in the dark back- ground of such impressive scenes often loomed the grim spectre of the Inquisition. The impressionable nature of the fair girl was wrought up to a keen, nervous tension lon^ before completely change the whole tenor of her life Ihe chanting voices abruptly ceased, and the priests seated themselves around the altir For a few moments a deep, expectant silence reigned. A shght rustling in the organ-loft caused the attention fnJ T'f^ *° ''= ^ y°""g ™an °f Poetica" foreign cast of countenance had stepped to the front rltlh-'"^ r ^°""^ ^^^ him,Td waTslo'y raising his violin to his shoulder. For the brie2 vLtexLTaT';° '""^'^ ^ •^^ ^'--d "he sTudv aC H l^ ""'"-^^'"^ '""S y^^'' °f arduous study abroad he was to informally play to the ereat publ.^which, in the future. was%'o ^do hJm S It was known the composition he was to play- strvlhrnT *'' '"^'= ''°^ °f *he Chris'J/the story which has so wonderfully fired the genius of A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS the great masters in all the arts ; the story which has been perpetuated in such multitudinous forms ; whose interest but increases with the march of years, and which longing humanity never wearies of hearing. To the piece he had given the simple but pregnant title of Nasarenus. A look of sympathetic concern mantled the girl's expectant countenance as she noted the expression of hesitancy flit across the player's face ; but it fled the moment he drew his bow softly across the strings, and there floated through the church a wave of harmony, sweet as the fabled music of the spheres. Such was the marvellous simplicity and in- genuity with which he unfolded the simple, yet grand old theme, that a child could have followed si: : — " For unto you is bom this day." The joyous opening strains might have been sung out in seraph voice, instead of played, so perfect was the accord of the strings with the soul of the player. So grand and consummate was the opening portrayal of the ecstatic rejoicings of those who had watched so long for His coming, and of their adoration of the new- born King of kings, that the hearts of the vast audience awoke to a still ':eener conception of the sublime event they had met to commemorate. But presently, through the triumphant opening strains, were heard creeping subtle, monotonous notes : the rejoicing grew less and less, until, finally, it ceased altogether — the story was changing; the quiet of His boyhood was being told. Soon the vast dome was whispering back a refrain so even, dreamy, and touching, that it melted the heart and brought tears to the eyes of the girl who sat so quietly drinking in the weird, tender melody. The dark, impassioned face of the player drooped A FATEFUL NIGHT j abruptly over his instrument, a magnetic light stole ITnM '^ry"'' !?'" ''""^ ^'^^^^ t°°k » firmer hold of the bow. With the change in his manner had come a change in the music; aweing whisper- ings of the stupendous drama, which was so to aflfect the world, were being shadowed forth. The wistful face of the girl had also changed, and in her eyes was to be seen that peculiar expression one so often sees m the eyes of a child when it apprehensively Ven bt'S" ^''^"'' '° ^^'^"^ "' imaginings have From the kingly instrument were now surging tones of passionate warning-urging the wicked to flee from the wrath to come— denunciations, loud and clanon-hke against the whited sepulchres, the b^™S' ="d Pharisees -and anon harmonious breathings of forgiveness to the erring and penitent. dramatic notes, pregnant with impending disaster A growmg unrest had spread itself over the vast body of listeners. And now, with masterly con- ception of his theme, the player with a change of key swept away the warning notes, and boldly took ..p the event, they had so wondrously presaged-of which the Temptation in the Wilderness L the first. Shrieking from the strings came outburst after outburst of horrid demoniacal glee, vividly revealing the triumph of the sombre hier;rchy o"^^ hel over tfie po« .r given its chief, for forty days, to tempt Him to yield to the frailties of the race whose image He had so gladly assumed. nU ^'^r'u'^" ^^ "'S''* "°^ *■«" dismayed the player. With closed eyes, he stood as utterly Ob ivious of the listening multitude as though it did t"he r.f ' ^l ''°"' """^ ^^«P* 'trough the iloom of the ages and was seeing the horrors of That dire 8 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS siege which, by the grandeur of his genius, he was interpreting to his spellbound hearers. And now gruesome sounds, stolen by the enchanted strings from the caverns of the Prince of Darkness, filled nook and cranny of the mighty edifice, and the tumult of hell, over the recurring defeats of its grim monarch by the lowly Nazarene, was heard and under- stood by all. On and on went the weird portrayal of the stupendous temptation, until the imaginations of the ever superstitious habitants were completely mastered, and hands in all parts of the church were seen making the sig;n of the cross. The effect upon the girt was startling : her bosom heaved rapidly, while her eyes gleamed under the mastering excitement which held her captive. The tension on the mind of the listeners was for a time again relieved ; for weaving happily with the harmonious, yet hellish discord, were rhybimic chords of joy, leading anon to strains of triumph, portraying the gladness at His victory over the great Enemy of mankind. Following the joyous strains came an even bewitching refrain ; yet it was but the tone picture of the Master's short-lived peace after the great temptation, and but preceded the mockery of the trial in the Judgment Hall. Not one of the varying shades of emotion, as they flitted across the face of the player, had escaped the eyes of the highly strung giri, and it was with feelings of renewed apprehension that i,he saw the look of repose, which his face had taken on when he had drifted into the restful refrain, once more fading into shadows — shadow? which her quick intuitions told her were sure heralds of another scene in the swiftly moving passion play that was being depicted in such wondrous tone pictures. With the delicacy of an iEolian harp, the strings A FATEFUL NIGHT jj again expressed the player's chang' >g mood, and sinister notes, lifelike in thr-r semblance to the awe- mspmng and frenzied turn at of a mob whose heart js charged with religious hatred, soon marred the brief peaceful modulations. With an involuntary movement, the girl clasped her hands and bent forward. The musical unfolding of the mock trial was masterly m the weird power of its imegery. Under the spell of his own genius the player seemed to have absorbed the language of every emotion. Leaping from the imprisoned strings, and echoing to the very summit of the apse, came shouts hoarse with hatred groans of derision, bursts of ironical aughter, and discordant murmurings, all so marvel- lously vivid that the devout realised now. indeed. muTder. ""'' ""''' *^ "°'''''' ^'"^"='* J"'^'"'*' Under the influence of the entrancing strains there loomed before the mind's eye. out of the vista of years, the great hall of judgment, at one end the enthroned vacillating Pilate, and before him the Pnnce of the House of David, surveying with wistful mien the wrathful concourse so wildly clamorous for His death. Rapidly, and with exceeding skill, the musical fantasia portrayed the striking incidents of that brief legal mockery. from"tt,r"'-*r' ^""^ '""""' ^'^ ^'"S reached, and from the violin come wild and piercing staccato notes and chords, and there is heard, as though ^ were spoken, that dreadful, never-to-be-forgotten cry, from the race chosen of God, ■• Crucify Him c'hSr'"'-"'^''°°^^"P<'"--d°- frnl'Tr f '^' "'c'' '^'■ribUr-KY,^ exclamation fell from the I,ps of an aged habitant, as he listened. 10 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS with blanched face, in a comer of one of the vast galleries. " Mary, have mercy upon them for the murder of thy Son!" whispered the trembling lips of the agitated girl. Transported by the vivid music, she had forgotten that the tragedy portrayed was nine- teen centuries old. Before the narration of the journey to the cross, a short intense silence again ensued. When it was brolcen, the church once more rang with the uproar of the infuriated mob. But, rising above the lyric pandemonium, was distinctly heard a strange march, with distressing wistful breaks in it. The heart of the girl melted ; fain would she have been with Him and have borne the cross, the piteous frequency of whose fall delayed and enraged the mob in its eager march to Calvary. Raising her eyes to the player's face, '.e was again affected by the change passing over it: his eyes suddenly closed ; his shoulders straightened with a quick, nervous movement ; a lock of dark hair fell over his brow, and his sensitive lips parted with nervous eagerness. At last he had come to the final event in the world's woeful drama the crucifixion. Imposing beyond words was the beauty of its musical unfolding. Under its hypnotic spell the veil was lifted, and the souls of the listeners soared through the centuries, and saw, as if in the flesh, the last scenes of the piteous drama. The swiftly moving bow was now filling the incense-laden air of the church with all the tumult of that day, as the maddened soldiers delved, and reared the cross on which to crucify Him of whom the prophets had so long spoken. A brief pause, and then through the great church resounded sickening, dogged, chromatic chords, heart- A FATEFUL NIGHT II rending in their truth of monotonous hammer-falls. Convulsively the girl clasped her hands ; she almost cned aloud for very pity. But the tension of her mmd was not yet to be relieved ; for rushing im- mediately upon the harsh hammer-like thuds, came anew a pandemonium of shouts, cries, groans, and mocking revilings, and there rang in her ears the words, " And they wagged their heads at Him. . . . And they reviled Him, saying, ' If Thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross. ... Let God deliver Him now I ' " In vain she hid her face and tried to shut out the scene upon which hung a world's redemption. The musical phantasmagoria was not yet concluded, and as she sat and still listened, she felt that if the end were not soon, her overwrought nerves must surely break. ' Without warning, the taunting outburst at the cross ceased to pulsate on the a.r : there was a silence, a most like that of the grav.;, and then the violin filled the church with an outburst of human fear dreadful in its agony. Following quickly upon the lync cnes of terror, came crash after crash of bass chords. As they rumbled to a crescendo in the mighty dome, piercing wails, conjured up by the gifted player, were again heard ; only to be swallowed up, however in the crashes, which ag.iin succeeded each other in relentless succession. To the ears of the girl, and to those of the multitude of listeners came the vivid words, " And behold the veil of the temple was rent in twain, and the earth did quake and the rocks rent, and the graves were opened ! " The deep hazel eyes of the giri no longer see the pale face of the player, although they are fixed upon It ; her eyes are now on Calvary's height, watching the maddened flight of those who had crucified Him ta A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS as they strove to escape from the riven heavens, the yawning earth, and emptying tombs. Unconscious of her action, the girl partially rose to her feet, her fascinated eyes still fixed upon the face of the player. The last tremulous notes were just dying away, and the hand of the player, which had wielded the magic bow, was falling to his side. His eyes opened just as she reached her feet, and he saw below him a beautiful girlish face, its enraptured eyes fastened on nis own. She stood but for a moment. When the face vanished, he turned slowly and sat down, thinking, in a dazed way, that he had looked upon some beauteous vision which the divine strings had for a moment conjured up. So vivid was the impression the face made upon him, in his wrought mood, that he scarcely heard the loud murmurs of admiration rising from the vast concourse. He was conscious, though, of the proud words of praise spoken to him by the aged priest who had led the choir, and to whom he was indebted for kindnesses which but few men ever give. In answer to the old man's words of commend- ation, the player earnestly whispered that he would rather have his admiration than the praises of the whole worid; but startled the priest, immediately after, by abruptly asking, « Did you see her,/^«— . she who stood up for an instant in the body of the church? ' The audience, however, had risen, and Father Lacoste had time only to cast a puzzled glance at the player, to whom he was so passionately attached, before giving *•— -■ — ' •^- ^^ • • - closing song of praise begin the As the priest turned away, the musician stepped A FATEFUL NIGHT >3 impulsive y to Uje nUling which ^wened the choir, and drawing aside the curtains, looked eagerly down at the crowds as they surged towards the exit; but It was in vam he sought for the viJon again. *„ J '.u ' T '''"°'* "'~"Kh. and he was about to draw the curtain and turn sorrowfully away, when his gaze chanced to travel once more to the main aisle and there, almost beneath the choir, was the it? fT !u ^ *'"* *"■"• "" '°"8 «» «fe *»"'"ld last Either the magnetism of his gaze or the wish of her own heart gave him his desire, for just as suddenly looked up-theireyes for the briefest space met once more. *^ CHAPTER H GIOVANNI CORREGGIO "Exalted MuU Hire pudoiu in pioportiun violent ; Impoe'd by nature on pre*eminence." Winter had gone, and the glorious skies of Canadian summer were stretched far and wide over the land. It was an early morning in July, and the sunshine was creeping up the massive walls of the old presbytery nestling by the side of the church which, the Christmas previous, had resounded to the thrilling strains described in the last chapter. Slowly the sunlight creeps higher and higher up the walls till at last it darts through an ancient latticed window, and throws a cheerful light into a room made picturesque with massive, old-fashioned furniture. The absence of all feminine adornment in the room is revealed at a glance, yet withal it has an air of much comfort and decided refinement. On the walls hang paintings of many fathers of the Church who, in bygone years, wrought mightily for its advancement. Interspersed here and there among the solemn faces are pictures, too, of famous masters in the world of music — nearly all of whose biographies were to be found among the many volumes on the long bookshelves a little to the right of the fireplace. In the middle of GIOVANNI CORRECCIO |j the room stands a ubie littered with books of muric, and a little distance from it a finely carved organ. Standing near the fireplace, with his arm resting on the mantelpiece, and looking with contracted fiI!ri°T*^' ""^ ^'""^°^- '» »»« '^ho so weirdly fired the hearts and imaginations of the multitudes the past Christmas Eve. His tall fig„„. measuring but a shade less than six feet, is well proportioned, l^i^ ■ *1' ^"^ °^ '^'""8 so ex^edingi; temperaments when attuned to perfect physical organisms. His handsome dark eyes, warm brown skm, and entire cast of countenance, strongly be- speak a foreign origin. s / "= More and more emboldened, the sunlight steals yet farther into the room; yet its cheeriness utterly fails to attract the attention of the thinker or interrupt his abstraction. So deeply are his thoughts engrossed that he fails to hear the opening of the door behind mm or see the imposing, noble - looking priest standing on the threshold. Quickly noting the dejection m the attitude of the young player he p„,^t hastily closed the door, and strode towards him a troubled look coming into his face. Reaching the young man's side, and laying his hand on his shoulder, the priest said in a tone OJ keen regret, "Giovanni, men garfon, still brood- ing? How IS It to end? Would that you would fane r*"* determinedly against yielding to this "Fight against it more determinedly, pire\" exclaimed Giovanni, with a touch of vehemence turning to the priest ; " it would avail me nought If you knew how, during the months that have gone i6 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS since that night, I have striven to banish the persistently haunting face, and how peculiariy un- availing every effort has been, you would no longer think I have made but feeble efforts to master these moods possessing me." He restlessly threw himself into a chair. Standing beside him, and resting his wrinkled hand on the curly dark hair of the young man, Father Lacoste said, tenderly as a woman, " Pauvre Giovanni ! Perhaps I am too impatient, and do not make allowance enough for the passionate Southern blood in your veins." Giovanni was touched with the love and sympathy in the old priest's voice, and said, "Would, for your sake, pkre, that I had come from a less dreamy and ardent race ! Such a fancy would then have died early, instead of growing with time." " Nay, nay, Giovanni, give voice to no such wish ; I would not have you different from what you are for all the world holds ; it is from your impulsive race that you have inherited the divine fire in your soul." Giovanni looked thoughtfully at the floor and said in a low voice, " Sometimes the idea comes to me, pin, that if I could but see her once more, and know really who she is, curiosity would be satisfied, and power would come to banish her persistent image from my memory." Father Lacoste had lived for three-score years and ten, and the wayivard human heart was to him as an open book. Slowly shaking his head, he said patiently, " You but deceive yourself, Giovanni ; the physician does not seek to cure a disease by accentuating its cause. It is useless, Giovanni , but I cannot believe, as I have said before, that the face GIOVANNI CORREGGIO 17 you think you saw was anything else than the creation of your vivid fancy ; you know how great was the strain upor yccs- imagination that nieht and " — Rising hastily ;id walking to and fro, Giovanni broke out: "No, perr ro, . am harbouring no delusion ; she was no creature of fancy. I saw her the first time as distinctly as I now see you. She was standing alone in the centre of the great church her grand tragic eyes fixed on mine, an expression m them that I know will be with me for all time. I saw her, the second time, as clearly as before though but for a moment, as she disappeared be- neath the galleries, her wistful eyes meeting mine once more." Seeing the pain at these words, which the priest strove in vain to hide, Giovanni stopped his restless walk at the priest's side, and said in changed, regret- ful tone, "When I recall, /^;-^, all the sorrow I have given you since that night, conscience is keen in its reproaches. Knowing how intensely anxious you were that I should return to Paris, immediately after the Christmas holidays, and finish my studies It was but natural you should have been sorely hurt that weeks stole by before I went, and still more so upon my revealing, on the day of my departure, that my many mysterious absences from you had been spent in haunting churches and other places, in the hope of again seeing the face that was 'so affecting me. " But, ^ire, it is only just to myself to say that when I returned to Paris, I really cherished the hope that devotion to my art might so occupy every thought that memory of her would cease— would for your sake, pire, my hopes had been realised I As I have told you, I advanced rapidly in my I8 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Studies, and in a few months more I should have completed them. Yet I am visiting you again— on my summer vacation, it is true; but it has ex- pired. I should be in Paris now, and yet I linger and distress you with a search that you think little better than madness. Such conduct, I know, is ungrateful and but poor payment for a lifetime's love, for a refined education, and for a competence that will make my life comfortable even without art. There is nothing, indeed, which I do not owe you, pkre. To-day I should have been utterly unknown and " — Further words were stopped by the priest in- terrupting: "You have never been ungrateful to me, Giovanni ; and as for your remaining unknown, that could never have been ; genius such as yours could no more have remained hidden than could that of Paganini." In the priest's voice there was infinite pride. Giovanni made no reply, but his hand closed tightly over that of the priest, and the old man went on, half sadly, half apologetically : « My hope and pride in you have been so great, Giovanni, and I have looked forward with such confidence to the day when the world shall bow before the genius I know so well you possess, that I am jealous of any- thing which threatens to come between you and your art. Art is such a hard taskmaster, Giovanni, and demands all or nothing." He paused, and stood looking at the young man in silence with a peculiar expression in his face. When he spoke again, his manner was intensely eager and pleading' " Giovanni," he broke out, " I have been thinking for days past of speaking to you of something that has been dwelling upon my mind : it is of a way by which you may get back your peace of mind. If I GIOVANNr CORREGGIO 19 you have faith but as a grain of mustard seed, it will not fail." He paused for the briefest space, but without waiting for a reply, went rapidly on: "You have known, since you were a boy, Giovanni, of the famous shrine at Ste. Anne de Beauprd and of the unnumbered miracles performed there at the statue of Bonne Ste. Anne— miracles that the press, the country over, have attested to. This summer Ste. Anne has been answering prayers, and restoring the afflicted in a degree never surpassed before, and thousands are daily crowding the church. To-night, Giovanni, a train-load of pilgrims leave for the shrine. If it is a truth, then, that Bonne Ste. Anne can restore consumptives to health, give eyesight to the blind, straighten limbs that have been distorted for years— in fact, heal every human malady— is it reasonable to suppose her power is not great enough to give ease to a distracted mind? Giovanni for my sake, will you take the train with me for Ste Anne de Beaupre to-night?" His voice shook with eagerness. Looking straight into the kindly eyes, Gio- vanni said, with an effort, « I will go with you pire!' ' "And you will strive to have faith, Gio- vanni ? " ' " I will strive to have faith, pkre." The priest slowly raised his hands. Giovanni bowed low his head for the blessing. After invoking it, Father Lacoste turned from the room, his lips moving in thanksgiving. Giovanni stood looking after the imposing priestly figure, a fine expression lighting up his face. " What a beautiful character," he said, speaking to himself, "and how firm his faith in the power of Ste. Anne 20 A DAUGHTER Of PATRICIANS to heal ! I know he will be disappointed when I return ; but I could not refuse to accompany him. Pray to have faith!— yes, I have promiseu ; but I know the memory of her will be with me even at the very foot of the statue, and turn with me from it." CHAPTER III h FACE TO FACE " Custom forms us all ; Our thoughts, our morals, our most fii'd belief Are consequences of our place of birth." The shrine of Ste. Anne de Beaupr^, which Father Lacoste was so eager Giovanni should visit, was but a night's journey from Montreal. When the pilgrim train which bore the priest and Giovanni drew into the little village below Quebec, at the foot of the vast Laurentian range of hills— which dictate the course of the stately St. Lawrence to the Atlantic —It was yet early morn, and the sun had not long risen. Giovanni had not been in the section of the train where the hundreds of suffering pilgrims were, and as he stepped to the station platform with Father Lacoste, a scene such as he had never witnessed before met his eyes : hobbling along the platform, in the direction of the church near by, or being lifted from the long line of cars, were suffering beings who had been gathered from almost all parts of the continent; some from the teeming cities of the great American republic ; some from the hot climes of far-away Mexico ; and some from the lonely hamlets of the vast Canadian North- West —beings for whom the physician's art could hold out no hope, and who, in their extremity, had turned for succour to the famed Canadian shrine. The 33 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS hacking cough of the consumptives, the contor- tions of the palsied, the twisted limbs, the sightless eyes, the discoloured bandages — that all too plainly spoke of the gruesome covered sores — coupled with the half-suppressed cries of pain, caused Giovanni's heart to ache with pity. The rush of the afflicted to the church must have been, in its pathos, like the rush of the afflicted to the pool of Bethesda, when its healing waters were about to be moved. In vain the priests and nuns in charge of the excursion proclaimed that Bonne Ste. Anne could heal the last as well as the first, urged patience, and approach to the church with decorum — the rush went on ; for deep in the minds of each sufferer was the ineradicable fear that many miracles might not be performed, and so the great importance of being early in the church could not possibly be magnified. Those who were unable to walk, seeing the rush, and dreading to be late, broke out into fretful cries, and urged the men who were approaching with the litters to make haste. When the rush finally had gone by. Father Lacoste and Giovanni (they had stepped aside) also turned their steps towards the church, whose graceful Corinthian architecture the sun was just beginning to illumine and beautify. Depressed by the scenes he had witnessed, Gio- vanni walked in silence by the priest's side. In the hope of dispelling his gloom, and fitting his mind for entrance into the edifice. Father Lacoste began impressively to speak of the great antiquity of the church, and of its widespread fame for miraculous manifestations. Pointing at the church, he said, " How one is impressed with the thought, Giovanni, that for over two centuries Bonne FACE TO FACE 23 Ste. Anne, in this secluded French Canadian village, has been performing miracles! Little wonder the church should be known the continent over. Well, indeed, does it deserve its name, ' The Lourdes of America.' " Thinking he perceived interest in Giovanni's face, he continued very earnestly: "There is the most absolute proof, Giovanni, that more than two hun- dred years ago. Bonne Ste. Anne began to show special favour to this edifice ; for besides numerous other evidences of the fact, there is a letter, still extant, written in 1665 by Mary of the Incarnation, foundress of the Ursuline Convent of Quebec, in which she says, 'Our Lord vouchsafes to work great prodigies at the intercession of the Holy Mother of the Blessed Virgin at the church of Ste. Anne de Beaupr^; for the paralytic are made to walk, the blind to see, and the sick, no matter what their malady, are given health.' " More than this, Giovanni, the church was .so famous in 1670 that Queen Anne of Austria sent a superb chasuble embroidered by her own hands, and still preserved. Finally, there is in the church to-day a finger bone of Ste. Anne herself, sent to the church in 1 670 with a fragment of a rock extracted from her room in Jerusalem." The priest ceased, and cast a sidelong glance at Giovanni, who answered, somewhat absently, " Yes, pkre, the church has indeed a wonderful history." The lack of interest in the reply brought a shadow to Father Lacoste's face, and he looked at the ground in a troubled way. They walked on now in silence, Giovanni preoccupied as ever. When they reached the steps of the church, Father Lacoste turned to Giovanni and said, with a look of confidence, " Although your faith, Giovanni, 24 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS has never been what I have longed so often for it to be, I know you will not forget the promise you have made me, that when you kneel at the foot of the statue you will earnestly try to believe." " I shall not forget my promise," answered Giovanni earnestly. Father Lacoste clasped his hand warmly, and then entered the church by a side door, leading to the organ, at which he had been asked to preside. When the priest had gone, an irresistible feeling came over Giovanni that lie must be alone for a few moments before entering; and as the service had not yet begun, he strode down a picturesque path by the side of the church. After walking a little distance, he stopped in an absent way, and looked back at the famed edifice. Presently he said ruminatingly, " It was in a church I first beheld her, and I never see one now but it deepens my desire to look upon her face ag^in. Of all the places in the universe a church is the last which should have been chosen to banish her memory." He had long stood, lost in thought — thought that must have grown very pleasant, judging from the tender light which came into his face — when there reached him the muffled sound of chanting voices, blended with the rich leaven tones of organ music. Starting from his reverie, he looked intently at the church, and said softly, as he moved slowly towards it, " Every instinct of my being tells me that nought on earth can make me forget her. I know, too, that if I thought recollection of her would be banished by entering the church I could not cross its threshold." In this unregenerate state of mind he reached the church, threw open the heavy doors, and entered the FACE TO FACE 35 place of miracles. Wondrous was the scene which greeted his eyes. Prostrate in front of him, from the doors to the very altar, he saw hundreds of men, women, and children, their eager eyes, full of sufler- ing from bodily ailments, iixed on a great statue of Bonne Ste. Anne, which towered close to the main altar at the far end of the church. Prayers, almost delirious in their earnestness, rang from every part of the edifice. Fastened round the statue, and stacked at the different entrances to the church, were a strange collection of crutches, bandages, spectacles, surgical instruments, and countless other things, left by those who had been cured in the past, to attest to the healing power of Bonne Ste. Anne. The scene was made more impressive to Giovanni by the exquisite decorations on the walls, on the azure ceiling, and the collection of large paintings, depicting some of the famous miracles performed in bygone years by the patron saint of the church. One great picture, near where he stood, showed Bonne Ste. Anne descending from the realms of the blest, and saving a whole fleet from shipwreck dur- ing a dreadful storm; another depicted the saint miraculously saving a vessel that was about to be ground to matchwood by a field of ice; while yet another portrayed the Mother of the Virgin hiding, by a cloud, several vessels, whose destruction men- of-war were seeking. Among the faithful, faith was greatly inspired by a host of pictures showing Ste. Anne restoring to bodily vigour many whose feet were on the edge of the grave. But the cries of the afflicted, which jarred harshly with the music stealing from the organ — seated at which crvjld be seen the bowed silvery head of 30 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Father Lacoste — quickly drew Giovanni's attention from the paintings to the sufferers about him. As he listened to their cries, saw their pitiful out- stretched hands and pain-lined faces, a feeling of sadness, almost of awe, crept over him. Suddenly a scream of gladness, followed by a crash, ranj through the church, and startled Giovanni. Looking quickly towards the altar, he saw an aged, withered woman standing, and per- ceived she had hurled down her crutch and was proclaiming aloud that, for the first time in many years, she could stand without it. The organ burst into loud peals of triumph, while the ministering priests chanted thanksgivings. This new manifestation of miraculous power fanned the enthusiasm of the other sufferers to fever heat, and strange scenes ensued. Those who had the use of their limbs began to crowd from the pews towards the statue, while the helpless called franti- cally to be borne thither. Many in their frenzy threw their crutches away, declaring they had faith to be cured, and would walk alone ; they made heart- rending efforts to demonstrate their faith, but their poor distorted limbs failed to glow with life and support their drooping bodies. Cries of the bitterest disappointment followed, only to be drowned by the ejaculations and prayers of those who hoped to be more favoured of Heaven. " Poor, poor humanity I " involuntarily broke out Giovanni, as he looked upon these scenes ; " may the Mother of the Virgin indeed hear them 1 " In his pitying mood remembrance of his promise to Father Lacoste, that he would pray at the foot of the statue came to him, and he began to walk down one of the aisles in its direction. Before he had taken many steps his progress was FACE TO FACE 27 retarded by two females, also One moving to the statue. was a woman quite old. but the other could scarcely have been out of her teens. At every tottermg step a dry. rasping cough shook the frame of the young girl, and caused the hectic flush on her cheeks to flame out still more vividly. At a glance It was apparent to Giovanni that the dread disease of consumption had all but devoured her lungs, and that the days of her earthly pilgrimage were numbered. With glassy eyes fixed on the statue, the girl tottered on, her lips moving in prayer for the miracle which should slay the devouring element within her, and bestow again the inestimable blessing of health. When a little more than half-way down the aisle, Giovanni saw her push the supporting arm of the elder woman away and attempt to walk alone ; but she had sorely overrated her strength, and swayed so violently that Giovanni put out his hand to support her. Without turning, she pushed his hand away saying, in weak, husky voice. " No, all shall see my faith, and then Ste. Anne will cure me." She staggered on with still greater d'ifiiculty as she neared the statue. The elder woman followed close behind her, and besought Ste. Anne, in voice choked with tears, to behold the faith of her daughter, and heal. Such was the ghastly look upon the giri's face that many of the afflicted ceased their prayers to gaze at her, and some in pity moved aside, that she might reach her coveted goal. At last the dreadful journey was completed : her nerveless, attenuated hands were seen to rise imploringly towards the statue, and her hps to part as though uttering a prayer for succour; but the words were choked by the crimson flood which gushed from her mouth and dyed her bodice 28 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Seeing her reel, Giovanni, who was close behind, started forward again to save her from falling ; but, ere he could reach her side, a figure which had been kneeling at the foot of the statue and urging the afflicted to faith and patience, started up and en- twined her arms around the sinking girl. Uttering a stifled cry, Giovanni dropped his hands. The expression of astonishment on his face could not have been greater had the statue stepped down from its lofty pedestal and succoured the sufferer ; for holding the dying girl in her arms was none other than she whose banishment from his memory he had promised to ask of Bonne Ste. Anne ! Her eyes had looked into his as she caught the girl; but before he could perceive whether she recognised him or not she had knelt to minister to the sufferer. t , 1 CHAPTER IV THE SUMMER HOUSE OF MONSIEUR D'EGMONT " Nor sits expectation in the air." The habitants of Ste. Anne de Beaupr^ had many material blessings to be thankful for. For more than two centuries pilgrims had been visiting the place, and all had left more or less money behind them ; for pilgrims had to have places to sleep, food to eat, and relics and mementoes to take home with them. Such were the thousands that now visited the famed place every year that most of the habit- ants of the village realised sufficient in the summer to keep them through the long months of winter— a piece of good fortune keenly envied by the residents of surrounding villages, who had to earn their livings by tilling the sullen rocky soil at the base of the Laurentian hills. A recent occurrence in the village of Ste. Anne was leading the inhabitants also to look forward to the time when they would possibly add still more to their earnings by providing for permanent summer visitors. This hope was due to the construction near the village, the year previous to this story, of a handsome summer residence for Monsieur Gustave d'Egmont, a gentleman of much means and rumoured noble family. The title-loving villagers, m their eagerness to add woridly dignity to the place so favoured of Heaven, so improved upon the rumours as to the noble birth of the gentleman 30 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS that not unfrequently visitors were impressively told he was a direct descendant of the brilliant Louis XV. It may be said that Monsieur d'Egmont could not have been more proud of the blood in his veins and of his patrician descent had the statement of the habitants been true, and he were, indeed, a descendant of the proud wearers of the fleur de lis. Monsieur d'Egmont's house was situated about a quarter of a mile from the church, and could easily be seen from the village. The appearance of the house was most pleasing : its numerous bay windows spoke of commodious rooms, while its many turrets gave it a quaint, romantic look. The habitants always pointed out the structure with great pride, and it was no unfrequent thing for them to gravely inform pilgrims that Monsieur d'Egmont had built the house from a plan given his ancestors by the once owner of this great Canada — Louis xv. The evening following the day Giovanni had entered the church and so strangely met her whom Father Lacoste so desired him to forget. Monsieur d'Egmont might have been observed in a room in his house which was so curiously furnished, that had the habitants but chanced to have seen it, they would quickly have ceased to idealise its owner, and would have classed him with dreaded persons of the Middle Ages who imperilled their souls with the dark art of witchcraft The manner in which Monsieur is clad, and the implements he is holding, would have deepened such fearful suspicion. In his hands, which were arrayed in a pair of thick leather gloves, are two curiously shaped, bloodthirsty-looking instru- ments. Monsieur's body is enveloped with an apron which falls to his feet. In front of him is a bench, running the entire length of the room, littered with THE SUMMER HOUSE OF MONSIEUR D'EGMONT 3 1 bottles whose labels show they contain arsenic and other compounds of like dangerous nature. Monsieur is holding firmly on the bench, with one of the instruments, a gruesome-looking reptile ; while into its cavernous mouth he stuffs, with the other instrument, a stringy-looking substance heavily saturated with the poisonous ingredients of the bottles. On the wall behind Monsieur hangs the skeleton of a man : the fleshless jaws are slightly parted, and appear in the subdued light to be leering at the owner of the room : in brief, it has been put together with reprehensible skill. In addition to th' , unlovely object, there are, in every comer, animals rarely seen outside of a museum. Some are standing, others crouchmg; but all are alike in one characteristic— an imposing air of menacing stillness, which would have been little conducive to an habitants ease of mmd. On perches around the walls, with wide- stretched wings, are three or four great birds, whose voracious-looking eyes are unblinkingly fastened on a number of small birds, also on perches, but safely ensconced in glass cases. Fishes, too, are to be seen reposing with unquivering fins and motionless mouths in water which never knows in its glass confines the unrest of storm and wave. Assisting Monsieur d'Egmont, in his peculiar occupation, is a young man whose physical appear- ance is almost monstrous. His huge frame, over six feet two inches in height, is gnarled and out of all proportion : one of his shoulders is so very much higher than the other as to give him an appearance of deformity ; his arms are so long that his sledge- like hands reach nearly to his knees— his whole appearance denotes immense strength. The face is ugly well-nigh beyond description : the mouth is so 38 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS large that it seems to stretch from ear to ear ; its appearance, unhappily, being in keeping with the prodigious nose, massive protruding chin, and low retreating forehead ; while his eyes are so very small as to look, under the meagre eyebrows and scant lashes, like mere black beads. His complexion could not be of a deeper and more unhealthy yellow were he a constant sufferer from jaundice. Every lineament of the face lacks intelligence. There is, however, about it something cunning and exceedingly dogged. He is dressed in the peculiar garb of a friar. At short intervals Monsieur d'Egmont holds, at arm's length, the unattractive reptile, and views with evident pride, through his glasses, the result of his labours upon it. The absent-minded manner of his doing this has something very pleasing about it. Monsieur's face is a distinguished one and strong in French characteristics. Few looking upon it ard seeing its intelligence, refinement, and geniality would deem it possible that Monsieur could be capable of a narrowness which would not scrk:tile to sacrifice everything which might antagonise him. The day was drawing ligh when this one failing of an otherwise exceptionally fine character was to work woeful results. As Monsieur was about to lay the reptile on the bench again, the ring of a bell was faintly heard, and the friar partially turned towards the door. Monsieur d'Egmont paid no attention, however, either to th': bell or to the friar, being too much engrossed with the stuffing of his new specimen. The truth is that Monsieur had for many years been a most zealous taxidermist, and the silent glaring animals around him, as well as the birds, reptiles, and fishes which THE SUMMER HOUSE OF MONSIEUR D'EGMONT 33 peeped from every nook and comer, were witnesses of his preserving skill. Soon after the sound of the bell had died away a knock at the door was heard, and Monsieur said absently to the friar, " See who is there, Jean, please." Jean Fontaine, ever pleased when he could be of the slightest service to Monsieur, strode quickly to the door and opened it, and there slowly entered the room Baptiste Monette, a servant of Monsieur's. When but a very little distance in the room he halted, and said nervously, as he cast a respectful gla.ice at the leering skeleton, « A gentleman is in the reception-room and is waiting to see Monsieur. He has sent up this letter." To have handed the letter to Monsieur would have necessitated the doughty Baptiste passing the object of his undying dread, the skeleton, and so, with a side glance at his bite noir, he thrust the letter into the hands of Friar Jean Fontaine. While Monsieur slowly laid down his stuffing knives and put the reptile to one side, preparatory to reading the letter, Baptiste exhibited symptoms of the liveliest affection for the door. Happily for Baptiste, the note was not a long one, and Monsieur quickly glanced through it. It read as follows : — "My dear Monsieur d'Egmont,— I arrived in Ste. Anne yesterday morning with Monsieur Giovanni Correggio, the youth I told you I had adopted and sent to Paris, and of whose musical genius you had an opportunity of judging at the grand festival in the Notre Dame Church last Christmas Eve. For a reason which in the future I may reveal to you, I had a special motive in getting Giovanni to come to Ste. Anne. He was 3 34 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS in the church yesterday morning during very im- pressive scenes, and from his mannerism, after the sei-vice, I feel positive he received great good. He has signified a wish to remain over for a few days, and so I take the liberty of introducing him to you in this manner. Had I not been compelled to return unexpectedly to Montreal, I would personally have introduced Monsieur Correggio to you." The letter bore the signature of Father Lacoste. " Tell the gentleman I will be down in a minute," said Monsieur d'Egmont, turning to Baptiste, " and also tell Katie to ask Mademoiselle Severine d'Egmont to meet me in the drawing-room." Scarcely were the words out of Monsieur's mouth before Baptiste was out of the room, muttering under his breath maledictions against the bony object of his unconquerable dread. As Giovanni waited in the reception-room, his eloquent face aglow with the keenest expectancy, he looked singularly prepossessing. The happiness of his expression deepened as he sat and waited, until, feeling that he could scarce contain all the joy in his heart, he rose and began to pace the room. But soon the eager expectancy and gladness left his face, and he stood suddenly still : the thought of how unsuspectingly Father Lacoste had given him the note to Monsieur d'Egmont had come to him again. Once more he remembered how, after the service in the church the day previous. Father Lacoste had met him at the church door, and seeing the new gladness in his face — and mistaking its cause — had turned aside to covertly mutter thanks to Bonne Ste. Anne. As he had seen the old man's rejoicing he had felt he could not explain to him that the gladness THE SUMMER HOUSE OF MONSIEUR d'EGMONT 35 he had read in his face was not due to any miraculous causes, but to again seeing her for whom his being so craved. He had told himself that he would surely explain to the priest later on ; but it had so happened that Father Lacoste had been called suddenly away. When parting with the priest he had endeavoured to reveal all to him, but his heart had rebelled so fiercely that conscience had been vanquished. He remembered, too, how gladly the old man heard of his desire to remain over for a few days and how gladly he had given him a letter to Monsieur d'Egmont (whose daughter he thought was still in a convent), that he might not find the time lonely. It was true he had not asked for the letter, so unexpectedly offered; yet his conscience smote him for taking it ; for he had learned the name of her he had met in the church after the service. While memory was recalling these things, he heard a footstep in the room, and, turning, saw advancmg towards him with outstretched hand a somewhat delicate, but extremely patrician-looking gentleman. "I am deeply indebted to Pire Lacoste for this honour," said the gentleman, with kindly courtesy. " I am Monsieur d'Egmont." " The indebtedness is mine," answered Giovanni, the happiness coming back to his face as he clasped the outstretched hand. Monsieur d'Egmont shook his head deprecatingly and said, as he seated himself and pointed to a chair at his side, « I had the pleasure of listening to your p aymg, Monsieur, on Christmas Eve, and can say in all smcerity that I never heard any violin music to surpass it in beauty of conception and realistic un- folding of theme. Monsieur has great gifts for one so young." 3« A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS There was a touch of fatherly interest in Monsieur d'Egmont's voice. He had known for years that Giovanni was an orphan, and so youthful was his appearance that he seemed to him but scarcely on the verge of manhood. It was a grave mistalce, and repented of afterwards ; for despite his looks Giovanni had turned twenty-three, and, even now, was en- thralled with life's mastering passion. " My art is very dear to me," answered Giovanni simply ; " but there are heights to which I have not yet reached, and never shall, I fear. Study, unre- mitting study, alone gives perfection." He ceased somewhat abruptly, remembering Father Lacoste, and her whose bewitching face was responsible fo^ his present idleness. There was silence for a few moments, and then Monsieur answered, in slow, absent manner, "Yes, art such as Monsieur's must be very exacting." His words were scarcely audible, for despite himself his mind had wandered to the fascinating room he had left, and was dwelling upon the difficult problem of how to complete the stuffing, without breaking the skin, of the hideous object he was working upon. His hobby, an engrossing one, was constantly responsible f?T little breaks of etiquette — which to one of his natural courtliness was the source of sincere, but unavailing repentance. Remembering his seeming discourtesy, he looked up quickly at Giovanni and said, with a little laugh, " I am a taxidermist, and my hobby is always lying wait to surreptitiously whisk away my good manners." As the speaker smilingly arose, Giovanni, to his surprise and amusement, saw in his host's hand a crooked, dangerous-looking weapon, which he was evidently utterly unconscious of holding. Seeing the amused look on his visitor's face, and j THE SUMMER HOUSE OF MONSIEUR D'EGMONT 37 following the direction of his glance, Monsieur saw the instrument. Holding it up, he shook his head in amused hopeless manner, and burst into a peal of hearty laughter, in which Giovanni could not helo joming. "What a bloodthirsty host I must have looked with this in my hand!" he said at length but ,n truth it is only a stuffing iron. I thought 1 had left It behind me in the room, but I evidently put It in my pocket instead. I was completely un- conscious of having unearthed it. My daughter truly says Monsieur Correggio, that I am hopelessly incorrigible." ' The pleasing little incident strongly impressed Giovanni. He felt sure that his host's character was simplicity itself— had he, however, but devoted as much time to the study of human nature as to the viohn. he would have been far more wary in thus quickly deciding. Turning to the door. Monsieur d'Egmont con- tinued, "But if Monsieur will kindly follow me to the drawing-room, I will introduce him to my daughter and sister, whose memories are far better adapted for social purposes than mine." As Giovanni bowed, in consent, a rush of colour deepened the brown of his cheeks— he dared not trust his voice to answer. As he followed his host out of the room and up the stairway his passionate heart beat with intense joy and expectancy (And at this very moment Father Lacoste, away •n his qmet room under the shadow of old Notre Dame Church was seated at his organ chanting a song of thanksgiving to Good Ste. Anne for her mercy to one who was more to him than a son. No doubt troubled him that aught now stood between Giovanni and his glorious mistress— Art ) Crossing a broad corridor, Monsieur d'Egmont 38 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS drew apart two heavy curtains and inclined his head to Giovanni. Entering the drawing-room, Giovanni found himself in the presence of two ladies — one elderly and the other quite young. As the ladies courteously arose, Monsieur d'Egmont first introduced the elder lady, his sister, Josephine d'Egmont ; and then turning to the younger lady, he said to her, "This gentleman, Severine, is Monsieur Correggio, whose playing so deeply impressed us last Christmas Eve — Monsieur Corr^gio" (turning to Giovanni), "my daughter, Severine d'Egmont." With graceful ease the young lady stepped forward and with outstretched hand welcomed the musician. CHAPTER V THE MEETING "Maiden, when luch loul u thine U botn, The morning itm their ancient miuic make." tT°''l^''''T' '^°°^ ^ 8^^' J"«t ""tering upon womanhood: that mystical time in girl-life wC creepmg in upon placid, unthinking content, dawn moods of strange unrest; when the pleasures of girlhood have not yet palled, yet in some peiplexine way seem to be losing their ^est ; when te^tart to tL Mr ";?" ^'"'' ^r'" *°"8^ °^ gladness are on the I.ps_the magical borderland of life, when the awakenmg soul begins to try its pinions, longing able, and there question the si nt deities as to days."""" ''"""^ "P '" *^ *°'"'' °f ""born From the open brow of Severine d'Egmont was brushed Wk.and kept by imprisoning ~fro^' a wealth of brown hair of the most delicate textu^ Her hazel eyes, clear and bright with perfect health showed a ,^a.y intelligence in their changeful S' The clear skin, the giriish, rounded cheek, the per-' fectly modelled throat, and the lace gentl^ heaWn^ to'r^" ^''.^^^ ""« °^ ^•'^ ^som", mad "f Deautiful in Giovanni. Enhancing every charm too, was breathed that subtle feminl^nity Xh tws' 40 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS men before it, and wini a devotion mere physical beauty can never command. There was a peculiarity about the fair face which Giovanni, however, did not notice this night — a singular droop at the comers of the mouth which frequently gave the features when in repose an expression of wistfulness. Despite the youthfulness of the countenance there was that about it which an artist would instantly have chosen as a study for great dramatic possibilities. Giovanni, with perfect outward composure, but rapidly beating heart, clasped the welcoming hand, and seated himself on a chair by her side. Her words of greeting had been cordial, but there was not the slightest intimation in them that the events of the past Christmas Eve, or the previous day, had been given more than passing attention. As was natural, the theme of conversation first taken up was music. " I have always regretted," said Josephine d'Egmont, turning to Giovanni (he was struck with her likeness to her brother), and giving the conversation a per- sonal turn, " that I could not go to Montreal last Christmas Eve and hear you play ; I am exceedingly fond of violin music." Looking at Severine, she went on : " Fortunately, my niece has been taught to play the violin, so, although I am considered an invalid, I am not altogether deprived of listening to it. Made- moiselle d'Egmont plays with much skill. Monsieur. She too is very fond of the instrument, and gave much time to its study in the convent." " I was inexperienced enough. Monsieur," said Severine gravely, " to think I could play with some skill before I had the privilege of listening to you and learning what it is possible for genius to do. I have had clever masters, but they could only teach THE MEETING 41 what they knew — genius is not to be learned by rule." " No," said Monsieur d'Egmont, continuing th.: theme of discussion, "creative faculties, and te.n- peraments which e\'er understand the varying moods of the human heart, are gifts from God ; gifts for which one cannot be too grateful — they are so rare. " But get your violin, dear," he continued, speak- ing to his daughter, "and play me Stevenier's ' Les Regrets.' It is a favourite of mine. Monsieur Correggio ; so much feeling can be put into it." Of too sincere and true a disposition to demur because of the presence of Giovanni, Severine arose, took up the violin near the piano, and as she raised it to her shoulder, said simply, as she looked at Giovanni, " Monsieur will remember that I am but a novice." Very beautiful she looked, as she stood there, with raised arms, the soft light falling on her hair, partially shading her exquisite face, and re- vealing, more clearly from her position, the perfect outlines of her girlish figure. She had just begun to play when the huge, un- gainly figure of Friar Fontaine entered the room. It seemed strange to Giovanni that no attention was paid by his hosts to the new-comer, who seated himself in a dark corner, and cast furtive glances, now at the beautiful player, and anon at Giovanni. Had the spot where he sat been less gloomy, an unusual glitter might have been seen in his eyes. There was decided cleverness and ability in the manner in which Severine played the beautiful composition, so expressive of varying shades of feeling and lending itself to such beauty of inter- pretation. 42 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS From the changing expressions on the girl's face Giovanni could see she was striving with all the power of her susceptible nature to catch the divine fire and make the strings speak with new life. When she ceased there was a shade of disappoint- ment on her face. Without speaking, she walked to Giovanni's side, and holding out the violin said, with a touch of regret which she could not hide, " The soul would not come, strive as I might ; but Monsieur has the gift, and I should like to hear him play it." " Mademoiselle thinks too lightly of her playing," said Giovanni quietly, taking the violin from the outstretched hand. Without further comment he rose to his feet. His manner pleased her; had he extolled her playing, her sensitive disposition would have been jarred; intuitively she recognised his utter lack of affectation. Soon the little party was sitting in silent, rapt attention, yet the theme was the same — and still how utterly different was the effect! Not one of them, when the beautiful melody ceased, could have defined just where the enchanting difference lay ; yet to their souls it was as tangible as was to their eyes the instrument they had so often seen Severine play upon, and by which this master-hand had wrought such glorious transformation. Under Giovanni's genius every subtle shade of feeling in the fine composition had glowed with a life so fervid and striking as to incite feelings of wonder. The witchery of the plaintive music had come to Severine with a force which would have been in- comprehensible to one less imaginative. There were tears in her eyes when Giovanni ceased, and THE MEETING 43 J it was hours before the influence of the music left her. Science has demonstrated that there are natures which music has the power to rouse to ' e keenest delight, or sink to dangerous depths of :iespair such a finely wrought temperament had Severine. With his intuitive insight into the effects of music, Giovanni had seen the power just exercised over the fair girl, and he rejoiced at the thought of the happiness his art might give her — could he but have known what dread effect his art was destined to have in her life his lips would have paled with fear. While playing, Giovanni had not thought to look m the sombre corner where the friar sat; had he done so he would have been startled with the contending expressions of wrath and fear which suffused the giant's frou ning face. When the music had ceased, and while Severine was m the act of turning to Giovanni, Friar Fon- tame stole softly and swiftly from the room, his exit causing no more attention than his entrance. Marred in body and intellect, a dependent upon the bounty of Monsieur d'Egmont. and a being to be pitied, the idea of him harbouring thoughts that were nought less than monstrous, and which might lead to acts of madness, never even remotely crossed the minds of those who had so lone be- friended him. Giovanni never thrilled under praise, yet it gave him pleasure to hear the sincere homage rendered by Severine to his art. After the playing, and before the conversation had become general, Monsieur d'Egmont rose (the memory of the specimen he had been preserving was strong upon him) and rang for a servant, saying to Giovanni, as he looked mischievously at his 44 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS daughter, " I must show Monsieur my taxidermist- shop— a room which Mademoiselle d'Egmont has placed under the ban because of the unpardonable w ay it has of taking up my time." With an arch elevation of her brows, Severine turned to Giovanni and said warningly, "Do not be deceived. Monsieur, with my father's apparent anxiety to show his musty treasures, which so shamefully fascinate him. I know, from the most unmistakable symptoms, that his unhappy yearning to get back to the room and preserve some ghastly treasure is simply overpowering him." While Monsieur d'Egmont was protesting and laughing, Baptiste Monette (the servant who bore such ill-wfll to the room in question) entered, and was instructed to go to the workshop and turn on the lights. This duty was usually performed by Friar Fontaine, but unthinkingly Monsieur had rung for Baptiste — a mistake the poor superstitious fellow would have given a month's salary to have prevented. The mistake was, incidentally, to lead to the prediction of impending calamities by an old servant of Monsieur d'Egmont's — predictions which, strange to say, were to be fulfilled. With a slight inclination, and a sudden catch of the breath, Baptiste turned from the room to obey his instructions. As he slowly strode down the passage leading to the hated workshop, he cast longing glances at a corridor branching from the one he was traversing — and which, by an abrupt turn, would have landed him in an exactly opposite direction. Baptiste was a good-looking fellow, about twenty- five, with the French Canadian habitants typical dark skin, dark hair and eyes, sinewy frame, and wholesome dislike of anything that in the least savoured of the uncanny. THE MEETING 4S As he drew near the abhorred room, base nnagination conjured up with cruel distinctness the gn>esome skeleton-which he must pass close by m the darkness m order to reach the lamps. As he thought of the ordeal before him, he couTd scarcely repress a groan. For a few moments he stood, marshalling his smkmg courage by recalling divers doughty deeds wh,ch certain of his ancestors were accrllitL Sh havmg performed in the stormy days of th. ear y settlers when the taking of white men's scalp^ by Indians was of such frequent occurrence as to Actors. ^"'^^ comment -to the Baptiste had just begun to take comfort from his cogitations, when it suddenly occurred to him that none of the heroic deeds of his ancestors h^ £ , performed m rooms where the devil, and witchcraft I might treacherously have been hiding with Sent of i thtrfclrr ^^"^ °^^' *^'"- The advent ^ [ this recollection restored Baptiste's superstitions to more active ife than before, and under his breath I he uttered lusty maledictions at his folly in ever having come to a house where the bones of t^e 'Sethe7'^'^"^"P^"^-'*-^"' ski., strung For the benefit of the reader, it may be said thaf no?w T^^S" ^""'-l have left the p^a had • Kati?1c"imbaf '"r " '" '""^ •>°"- °' - ^ huln^ u ' \P^"' ^'v-^i""*. domineering bit of mg and followed in the most slavish manner. opened if "fT "^"^"^ *" ^°°'' ""'' ='°'""y «"d ^^°^^y ielTsfrom th.T'r'"°".' ^'■°"' ''"''^^ B«P««te's wlSanll.u'' '"''""'-^nd he shut the door wth an alacrity that would have been a revelation 46 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS to Monsieur d'Egmont. But scarcely had he done so when he recollected, and muttered angrily, in broken English, " Uat's only de saere dog of Friar Fontaine, and it's crazy like its master." Somewhat relieved, he opened the door again and spoke to the beast, which he knew was crouching under the long table. It ceased its growling. Gingerly entering the room, he began to feel his way in the direction where he thought the lamp bracket was. With laudable forethought, he tried to still his growing apprehension by thoughts of Bonne Ste. Anne — a saint for whom he had great respect, but whom he was in the habit of sorely neglecting when his environments were more to his liking. His one terror was of coming into contact with the skeleton, which he knew was on the side of the wall where hung the bracket For a dozen cautious steps or so all went well, and the explorer had made up his mind it would be a wise precaution to give thanks to the saints — who had evidently been sent by Good Ste. Anne to guide and guard him — when his outstretched hand suddenly encountered something sharp and bony, and he started back with an exclamation of terror. His very hair seemed to rise on end. He turned to make a grand stampede to the door, when it occurred to him that it was utterly impossible for the skeleton to be in that part of the room, and that the bony substance must be a part of the anatomy of one of Monsieur's stuffed animals. With extreme caution he put out his hand to verify this hoped-for conjecture: his conclusions had been correct; his hand encountered a furry substance, and presently slipped into a bony, gaping mouth. The relief on the mind of the adventurer was so great that he almost felt a glow of affection for the beast; certain it is that a hazy determination THE MEETING 47 crossed his mind to be generally less prejudiced against Monsieur's stuffed specimens in tlie future. Once more, with outstretched hands and bated breath, he took up his hated explorations. He steered, for quite a little distance, straight as a die for the bracket, and would doubtless have reached It, had not some elfish sprite perfidiously instilled into his mind the thought that by taking a sudden turn to the right he would find the object of his search. What happened Baptiste remembered to the day of his death: scarcely had he turned, and advanced half-a-dozen steps, when his exploring hand became entangled in the small ribs of the skeleton— the horrible thing rattled gruesomely against the wall As he tried to withdraw his hand, a button on his sleeve was caught in one of the many joints of the bony fingers, so that the skeleton hand actually seemed to be clutching his sleeve This appalling evidence of animation on the part of the grisly object, coupled with its evident intention to strike up an acquaintance with the marauder who was fumbling in such a disrespectful manner among Its ribs, filled poor Baptiste's cup of horror to thl brim With a frantic wrench, he released the flesh- less fingers, and then (completely forgetful of the oft-boasted courage of his ancestors) turned about and bore towards the door with incredible speed. The ominous sound made by the bony hand as it swung back against the wall, coupled with a growl from the forgotten dog, were no mean factors for the extraordinary sprinting achieved by Baptiste on this momentous occasion. As he dashed open the partly closed door, and jcharged into the dimly lit corridor, sounds of voices [fell upon his ears. Before, however, he could arrest 48 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS his momentum, he was sailing past Monsieur d'Egmont, the two ladies, and Giovanni. The fear- stricken visage of the doughty pacer, coupled with his unwonted speed, caused the ladies to draw aside with exclamations of alarm. Monsieur d'Egmont looked at the apparition through his glasses with an expression of concern which, under other circum- stances, would have caused much mirth. When, finally, Baptiste brought his meteor-like progress to an end, and turned with trepidation to Monsieur d'Egmont, he blurted out in fearfully mutilated English, as he pointed in the direction of the dreaded room, "Don't go now. Monsieur, into dat room, wit' de two lady, before firs' get de pries' to bring holy water, and drive de debble out of dat man dare who is hang up on de wall and who has notting'on his body but bone." The recollection of the horror he had gone through made the speaker pause and shiver. Something of a smile broke over the faces of Monsieur d'Egmont and the two ladies ; but the shade of perplexity on Giovanni's still remained. " The skeleton somehow must have startled you, I suppose," said Monsieur d'Egmont soothingly, taking advantage of the pause in Baptiste's oratory. " Startle me ? — Oh, out, out, Monsieur, he startle me so much dat I near die," went on Baptiste, with bulging eyes, " for jus' when I put out de han' for fine de lamp, he— dat skeleton man — take hold of me on de ris' and want for make me stay in de room." Again Baptiste paused, his teeth chattering. "You did not stay then to light the lamp?" asked Monsieur, stroking his moustache. " No, no. Monsieur, I not light it ; I too 'fraid wit' some debble ting like dat in de room." Monsieur partly turned his face and said, " Well, i THE MEETING 49 out of this skeleton, Baptiste. attend to the light." ""* '"" ""^ ^°' ""'^ ' ^'■" Hoping that the worI " exorcise " meant that it was Monsieur's intention to scatter ft,»T, / . skeleton to the four ILTlT Sit ^"1>°' ."'* hurried away without Cher 6^1^"' ^^"""^'^ When the little party laughingly reached th. room-Giovanni having been%nSten^ as to Baptiste's fear and detestation of the skeleton th. were surprised to find the lamp lit and Friar PoTtaine quetly standing in a comer near the long tlb"e pulhng to pieces a bundle of tow He h^^ 7 J the room immediately after Ba^Tistetd eft fanl knowing the party was coming, had lit the Imp The only notice taken of him was a reauesiLm and Irom thence to the clearlv r-i.f a^v . , ' of Mademoiselle Severine d^gmo^; ''*"" Fontaine, who quickly avertfd HT \ ** ^"^' in the Hghtpacl'fyingUnri^.J';: Te^^^^^^^^^^^^ or one mentally afflicted, "Where vounri we are always sure to find Pataud"' "^ ''' ^'^"• looking masti.. and sti. jj Z^t^S^ r so A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS i saying, in slow, clerical voice, " Peace, peace, Pataud, peace." So quickly had he turned that no one had noticed the hot flush which rose to his sallow face when Severine had spoken to him. But had it been observed, it is not likely it would have attracted even passing attention, as he was weak of intellect, and had been treated for years as a child by Monsieur d'Egmont and his family. As Monsieur d'Egmont had taken the ugly reptile from Friar Fontaine the usual kindly look on his face had turned into one of positive benevolence. Beaming at it through his spectacles in silence for a few moments, and then turning abruptly to Giovanni, he said with proud satisfaction, as he held the unlovely i object up for admiration, " A splendid specimen. Monsieur, is it not?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued, with increasing gusto, " It only reached me this morning, after a journey of many hundred miles. I shall set great store by it. I was preserving it when you did me the honour to call — but possibly Monsieur does not know what a very rare family it belongs to ? " Giovanni had to admit ignorance even of its name. Nothing could have delighted Monsieur d'Egmont better ; the opportunity to expatiate upon the fad so dear to him was never allowed to be lost. " It is. Monsieur," he replied promptly to Giovanni, " a fine specimen of the spotted iguana. The skin is in capital condition, not a scratch upon it ; an excel- lent subject for the taxidermist's art. But I must give ycu its lengthy pedigree. The first record we have of this family of reptiles dates back to " — " Oh, papa, papa," broke in Mademoiselle Severine, coming to rescue Giovanni from what she knew was in store for him, " you have compassion on no one. THE MEETING j, Monsieur Correggio will never get round the room, jf aunty or I do not take pity on him and rescue him from your clutches." With a look of discomfiture, mingled with merri- ment, Monsieur d'Egmont ruefully shook his head and tenderly laying the reptile down, said to Giovanni. "Monsieur is very fortunate in having he lad.es with him; strangers go through fearful torments if they happen to fall alone into my Shaking her head hopelessly at her brother. Mademoiselle Josephine d'Egmont said, "Gustave the fact cannot be hidden that this hapless fad is engrossing you more and more eveiy year" Her smiling face, however, showed much content at the hobby she jestingly belittled. In the look she t^osL. *'" ""^ " ^"'"' ^"y P'«»«"t Laughing and chatting, they began to move about the room and inspect its numerous objects of interest. Stored in it were found birds, animals, and rep lies from almost every clime, preserved by the taxidermist's subtle art. It was a room in which one could have spent many hours and not have sTr^V J^T'" ^ u^ ";" '''^' °^ '"■^ g"«'. Mon- sieur dEgmont, in his pleasing, courtly way. gave ready and valuable information about his coLuon A dozen times he had betrayed alarming symptoms of supplementing a few brief remarks, howevTr about some specimen, with details long enough to' detam the little party till daybreak but Tvers admonitory tugs on his coat-tail, fr^m his e^er tTus .'""'r- '""^^'^ ^"^ '"""■■"-* danger of thus spending the night. Thanks to his daughter too. Monsieur d'Egmont was prevented, on Lveral' occasions, from entombing i^ his p<^cket miny 52 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS small specimens, instead of putting them back in their lawful places. Giovanni, as he noted Monsieur d'Egmont's un- affected delight in the strange heterogeneous family he had collected and preserved, was keenly im- pressed with the openness of his character. Coupled, too, with Monsieur d'Egmont's unafiected mannerism, was a courtesy so unvarying and natural that it could not but deepen the impression as to the simplicity of his character. Giovanni thought he read with ease the apparently uncomplex nature before him : " Such a nature," he thought, " would be completely incap- able of prejudice or unconquerable dislike." But before Giovanni left the room an event occurred which cai^d him to doubt the accuracy of hb impressions. They had been almost around the room, and were about to take their leave, when Monsieur d'Egmont's eyes lighted upon a bird of gorgeous plumage, near where Friar Fontaine, with clouded face, was stand- ing, and he asked Giovanni and the ladies to return for a moment. Upon seeing the party approaching, Friar Fontaine noiselessly moved to an opposite comer of the room, where his face was shaded, but where he could very plainly see Giovanni. As Monsieur d'Egmont took down the bird, which was singularly perfect in outline and graceful in bearing, he said to Giovanni, " I value this specimen, Monsieur, very highly. As Monsieur sees, it belongs to the Paradisea apoda family. It is one of the Great Emeralds — a variety almost extinct." He was pointing out the brilliant plumage of the bird, and dwelling upon its proud bearing, when he abruptly said, in a tone entirely difTerent in its strong intonation of pride from that which had hitherto characterised his speech, " How very THE MEETING 53 Ztnr.u'"'"'^' S°"'^^°- «'*" '■" 'he lower order of things, i, the distinction of kind ; while fn moJ'sTit" '""r^' '""'•=' "^ '•»""'=«''" infinite y As he uttered these words there stole into his patrician face a look of unutterable pride and haughtiness. With a sinking at the heart for which he could not account. Giovanni swept a glance at the two ladies, and perceived something of the same haughty expr^ion in the face of Josephine d'Egmont O^ slighS'Sct// ^''^"'°'-"'' "--'- ■'' - »'» ch^m which Tr ^'"T""' P*'""='y ''ereed as to the chasm which the accident of birth is ever supposed to make in the human race, and then, to hK S the conversation drifted to another subject. As ii did so Monsieur d'Egmont's manner changed once Ter hrd'^. "'^ r'^'^'y- The incident, how- ever^ had strangely depressed Giovanni, and some moments passed before he could shake off tTe feeling-which. somehow, he felt he would not 1 ke his hosts to notice. When they left the room a few minutes later. Giovanni's old brightness^kd not S sTe?^ '-'' ^"- '"■^ -''- ''^P-'- ha" Fril"'Font^!r ^^ "? '^°°' ''°'^ ^^^hind him than ^eat fist aS ^" '"'""^ '° '^' '^°°'' '^°°'' hi! great nst after Giovanni. Every muscle nf n,» tKaW r^"^ "'■^'^ "'^^' -••■^ '•" hteyS w^ the baleful light of insanity. ^ late^?n"th?!!!""' 'f M°"^i«»rd-Egmont's 'house o return the r^"^' ^"^ ""^P'^'' ^" '"-t-'ion dui^lTh \'^''y ^"'^ ^ '' e"«' °f Monsieur's during the remainder of his stay. S4 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS As he walked along the winding country road towardi his lodgings in the village, his mood was one of restful content and happiness. The scene which spread out before him could not but deepen content. Away in the distance, the tin-dad tower of the famous church glittered under the lavish brightness of the moon like burnished silver; the quaint, whitewashed French Canadian cottages, nest- ling together, had hidden, under the charitable light, the many stains that relentless time had made, and appeared actually beautiful in their reflecting white- ness ; while, finally, patches of the serpentine dusty road looked, against the horizon, like clear pools of placid water — pools in which Giovanni almost imagined he could see the reflection of the vain queen of the night. But had the night been tempestuous, happiness would have reigned in Giovanni's heart — at last he had seen and conversed with her who had so influenced him. In the days of the past he had sometimes been troubled with the thought that possibly she might be lacking in depth of character, and that, if he ever met her, he would find he had set up an impossible ideal in his heart; but such fear was now dispelled. He recalled again and again, as he walked along, the many events of the day, and how her every act and expression had shown the sincere, intellectual nature — characteristics which naturally intensified her great physical beauty. As he recalled also how passionately her nature was swayed by music, he rejoiced in the common bond between them; yet, with the rejoicing, there was a vague feeling of unrest, and he could easily have wished that in some way her nature was not quite so highly strung. Visions of what he might accomplish in his art with I THE MEETING 55 such a woman ever at his side now fired imagina. tion, and, bowing his head, he strode along in the Sliver halo, almost unconscious of where he was, till he happened to plunge into the deep shadow of the church of Ste. Anne. Instantaneously, with the blotting out of the moonlight, came a different train of thought, and he recalled in the gloom the int- nse pride with which Monsieur d'Egmont had spo .c, of thr distinction, and chasm, which birth creit.rl, ,ind itcallr-d, too, the reflection of MonsieujV pride, if in les-, i-^^arked' degree, on the counten. i t.., of th- two adies. Suddenly, and unaccountably, .^hc who var, ,.!ready so dear to him seemed ^s thoi.^h she were lost to him for ever. With somethir.- lii.c a shudder, he hurried mto the moonlight agai:i, hot iiig jn the magic of the silvery light that he would be able to throw off the inexplicable chill the shadow of the church had cast over him; but strive and chide himself as he might, he failed to banish it even for an instant ', CHAPTER VI THE riRST LESSON "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will." Some of the depression of the previous night re- mained with Giovanni even in the sunlight of the following day, and was only escaped when, in the afternoon, }ie was again in the presence of the girl who was so occupying his thoughts. His reception by Monsieur d'Egmont was so warm and cordial as to make certain impressions he had had the previous night in regard to him seem hard and unjust. But conscience had son c< King to do with Giovanni's unrest. When he awoke, thoughts of Father Lacoste had assailed him. He had re- called once more all he owed the loving old man whom he knew he was not dealing frankly with. His duty, he knew, was to write that it was not for the sake of spiritual things he was remaining, but for the sake of her he had been so earnestly told was but a creation of his fancy. Giovanni was naturally frank, but while he ear- nestly regretted that he had let the old priest go away without acquainting him with the truth, the difficulty of informing him by letter, and bitterly wounding him, as he knew he would, was more potent than all regrets ; so comforting himself with lUt THE FIRST LESSON 57 the argument that in a few days more he would be able, by word of mouth, to fully explain everything, he had simply penned a few brief words to Father Lacoste, saying his stay at Ste. Anne would last for a week. When writing the lines, he knew he was making niggard return for a lifetime's kindness and confidence, and was equally aware that it was the witchery of a woman's influence which was causing him to act as he had never thought he could. The afternoon of the day Giovanni became Monsieur d'Egmont's guest was spent in seeing some of the quaint sights in the neighbourhood of the church. Monsieur had excused himself from accompanying Giovanni and the two ladies on the plea that if he did not complete, without further delay, the specimen he was working upon, it would surely be ruined. The afternoon was beautifully bright and clear. Walking by Severine's side, with the faint perfume from her soft white garments now and again reach- ing him, the music of her voice ringing in his cars, and the hope of some day winning the peerless girl possessing him, Giovanni felt the sweetness and desirability of living with a power never before experienced. It was during this walk that he be- came acquainted with a striking trait in Severine's character. The first place of interest shown to Giovanni was a famous well of miraculous water close to the church. Gathered around it were scores of afflicted, some of them bathing eyes that had never seen the light of day, and which nothing but a miracle could make see ; others were openly applying the water to sores, and praying aloud while they did so that they might be cured. Those who could not remain ir" r •' 58 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS over longer filial bottles of every description with the bel.eved-.n fluid, in the hope that in their far! away homes .t would bring down the miracle they had vamly sought for here. ^ While Giovanni was standing watching these scenes Sevenne suddenly stepped from his side to he well and part.ally immersed her handkerchief meS aTh'- \*'' "''' '° *^'' ^^^^^ "^^anced to ZTlhf Tu^'" '^^'■' ''"■■"'"g *i* ^ religious zeal that caused him strange concern ..sTT'"« /'?,'" *« well. Giovanni was shown the Scala Santa " or " Holy Stairs." where fresh scenes of human suffering met his eyes. Painfully ascend- ing a long flight of stairs, at the summit of which stood statues of Bonne Ste. Anne, the Virgin. S Saviour, ana the apostles, were climbing aU con! malady. By th.s penance they hoped to move ^nZT *A P"^;""*' "'" '^^" intercession with Bonne Ste. Anne for their cure. So great was the suffenng of some of the sick that thefrested thei ra?htr°!! " "'l"' ""^*"P': ''"' they would far «tn r 'f "'^ ''"""^ '" '^'" self-imposed penance than have returned without reachinrthe conTantI '^"'•'^ '"'^' ^'°^="'"' ^^ Severinef ^s constantly movmg in prayer. Other places, almost as replete with human self- den,al. were visited. Stationed near one and all of them were seen villagers calling upon the sick to purchase from them pieces of the "true" cross of sale, all of which were declared efficacious in curing diseases or in protecting from evil influences, no matter how malign. From these scenes they turned their steps to the renowned church, where Giovanni saw more of with far- they lese : to hief to ous the nes id- ich iie m- 3le ve th he iir ar :d le 3S f- }f o )f ir Il SCAIA SANTO, OR " HOLY STAIRS.' THE FIRST LESSON 59 Severine's religious ardour, which still more accent- uated the inexplicable feeling of apprehension on his mind about her. The church was again filled with pilgrims, and their agonised prayers, mingled with groans of suffering, so affected the sensitive girl as to cause her to show symptoms of actual physical pain. Sinking on her knees in the church, and heedless of all around her, she prayed with an agony of entreaty to the great statue to have pity on those who were suffering so keenly, and for the Blessed Christ's sake to heal them. So intense and broken finally be- came her petitions, that Giovanni in his love and sympathy felt that he must surely gather her in his arms and carry her from the church. The anxiety which her religious zeal caused him was increased by perceiving her aunt looking nervously at her niece, and finally anxiously whispering to her that it was time to leave. With evident reluctance, Severine rose, her face white and strained. When they were descending the steps of the church, she turned to Giovanni, and looking seriously and wistfully up into his face, said in voice broken with pity, " The mystery of human suffering, how great it is, Monsieur! It always wrings my heart." Before Giovanni could reply, her aunt hastily interposed, the shade of anxiety still on her face : " Yes, it is a mystery, dear, we shall never be able to solve ; and hence, knowing this, our grief should be tempered with reason. It is impossible that Bonne Ste. Anne should heal all who call upon her, and so, Severine, you should not give way to grief which may be dangerous to your own health." Turning to Giovanni, she continued, but with a side glance at the girl, " I suppose. Monsieur, that old persons like myself grow unduly solicitous, but A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Giovanni was not then aware thJ st«,ng second natu«. '^Coupld^thl.i^rf "^ training, her „:side™:e duringpart of'Sl ^^*""' '^ the great Canadian shriTe a^d th. ""!f S.^V'"^°"" ^'=-°" Sje^tedVr Monsieur leaves I shall hf =.Ki- ♦ • "^^ ,%f fK- J . *°'^ to convince mv aunt of h», ^""^s*^"'- H.S jesting and making light THE FIRST LESSON 6l The short walk home was pleasant and unevent- ful; but, just as they were entering the house Giovanni chanced to glance up at one of the windows in the upper part of the dwelling, and saw Friar Fontaine standing at it and gazing down upon him, his weak, almost repulsive face wearing an expression of distress and anger which Giovanni could not understand. Seeing he had been ob- served, the watcher turned swiftly away. It was Giovanni's good fortune that evening after dinner to have the pleasure of Severine's company alone in the drawing-room for a time. Monsieur d'Egmont had hied straight from the dining-room to his workshop again, while Mademoiselle Josephine who was somewhat of an invalid, had to take rest before she could join the young people. The conversation between Giovanni and Severine which was first upon the events of the day, drifted to art and artists, and Giovanni was struck with her wide knowledge of these subjects— that her educa- tion had been thorough was at once apparent There were times, however, during their conversa- tion when she was not quite at home in regard to certain technical knowledge of some subject, and then her quiet hazel eyes would look openly into Giovanni's, as she unaffectedly confessed her ignor- ance and asked for information. The quickness with which she understood demonstrated to Giovanni an unusual perceptive mind and bright intelligence From painting, sculpture, and other arts, they pre- sently turned to the theme of music. Speaking of Its influence upon herself, Severine grew very animated, and her eyes brightened. "Music and religion, Monsieur," she said passionately, " are two controlling factors in my nature; they sway me with a power I cannot comprehend— and— and " 63 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS (she hesiuted and became perplexed)— « and which I seem sometimes almost to dread. "And your matchless playing, Monsieur," she smiled, but the shadow did not quite leave her face " affects me as never music did before ; it can raise me to almost delirious heights of happiness, or sink me into depths of fear and anguish." This high tribute to his art brought to Giovanni a feehnfT of sincere pleasure, and also a peculiar sense of power, that hitherto he had but vaguely expert iT red. ' "Bd demoiselle," he answered, speaking very earnestly, "has the imaginative, divining tempera- ment of a true artist herself, and so music will appeal to her with a force understood by few others. The same characteristics, however, are also capable of going to extremes in a cause that per- haps" (he hesitated, thinking of her zeal in the church) « might have unlooked-for consequences" She did not reply at once. His meaning she understood, but she had a feeling that she would rather not discuss this subject agaia Finally a bright, playful light came into her face, and she replied, as she rose and seated herself at the piano " I am afraid Monsieur is about to turn traitor and ally himself with my aunt in her fight against mv devr ion for the Church." Lying open before her on the piano was a song she loved for its pathos. Being anxious to change the conversation, she ran her fingers lightly over the keys, and began to sing — " And we the riven, how they nin Through the woods and meadows, in shade and sun SomeUmes swift, sometimes slow. Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life, to endless sleep ! " THE FIRST LESSON 63 Her violin was lying on the piano In iti accus- tomed place, and when she ceased singing she took it up, and asked Giovanni if he would play for her. As he acquiesced, and as she handed him the instrament, she said, " Monsieur must not think me selfish in so frequently taxing his kind- ness, but I could listen for ever to playing so glorious." He did not reply till he had tightened one of the strings, and then he said slowly, " And Made- moiselle will pardon me if I say I could play for ever to .uch a listener." There was no intonation In his voice, but there was something in Its quality that for the first time strangely stirred her heart. An overwhelming desire to touch her heart with something of the passion which dominated his own seized him. Possessing him, too, was the fascinating desire to ascertain if her nature would respond as promptly to the pleadings of a passionate love serenade as it did to the Influences of sacred music. His eyes lit up with a new hope. Like an inspiration came to him, " Le R^eil de I'Amour," a tender, glorious serenade he had studied in Paris, and, aglow with the desire in his heart, he began to play it. The sentiment of the compoaition, breathing of undying love and devotion, was in perfect accwd with his own longings, and soon the thraldom of his art so possessed him that there were intervals when he was scarcely conscious of the presence of his listener. And so true and responsive was the girl's tem- perament to the attack upon it that, before he had been playing many moments, the impassioned story of Tennyson's "Maud" flashed to memory, and «4 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS ttwe^ng in her mind the words of the ImpMsfoned " Oh kl the Klid ground Not &il beneath mj feet Before my life hu found Whit tome have found lo tweet I " He was giving living tongues to the strings- tongues that pleaded for love so eloquently L to There was that now about the passionate yearning ta dje ve«« which affected her as it had neL donf brfo«. She sat perfectly still, her eyes riveted on the floor, and the feeling strong upon her that she must not, raise her face to that of the player He was looking down at her now, as he was playing, inexpressibly glad and hopeful. As he continued to look at her. hope was strengthened, and ttySo1I°"' ''' ^"" ""'^ ^'"'"^*« ''"-y h.,^'!!ii''%'''"' °^ ^^^ ""'«'"''"■ •>« *°" her from her mood of restraint, and ere he ceased she was sutmg w.th her head resting against the back of the chair, listenmg with a look of compassion which did more honour to his art than could any words of commendation. He saw her lips slightly move, and knew she must be repeating some lines. Had the strings been silent, he might have heard her murmur Saud"- ^°"^' °' """ '°^" '^ ^^ '"'"■'«^ f°' " There hat fallen a splendid tear From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear i She is coming, my life, my fete ; The red rose cries, 'She is near, she is near' And the white rose weeps, • She is late" • The larkspur lUtens, ' I hear, I hear ' ; And the lily whispers, 'I wail.' THE FIRST LESSON «s urged turn o da« and hope almost all thing.. I think it a very beautiful and impressive serenade; does not Mademoiselle?" HewassKn' Slowly, Yes. it is a very, very beautiful serenade Sniurtha?:?' '"/""'"'= ""' '*^" MonTeS genius that gave it its expressiveness." She rose Ah, I would give the world to be able to interDret a composition in like manner " ""wpret QuitklvYT/ '!;'''''" •"'P'"»e. Giovanni turned quickly to her and answered. "It is often said Mademoiselle, that what is called genius is but anrdi'*'" .'r'"'^- Mademoiille 7s Joui^g and does not know what persistent practi<^ "an do. If_if I „,ght but have the honour of teach- ing Mademoiselle during my short stay I "_ He ceased suddenly. But she understood and «n ont Lf ? ?""' " »««=d'»gly kind, and I can only trust I may learn quick enough to be worthv of being taught." She looked up. and thSreyr^^ In his face there was that which in some S way once more conjured up Tennyson's "Maud" Ind again the words of the lover rang in her ea.^-1 "Oh let the wlid ground Not (ail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweel." MtdOCOrV MSOUITION TBT CHART (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHAUT No. 2) 12^ lii Hi I2J 1.8 liilL^l 1.6 ^ /APPLIED IfVMGE Ine ^S t653 Eait Man StrMt Roch«t«r. N«« York 14609 US* {7ie) 482 - 0300 - PhoM (716) 2M- 5989 -Fax 66 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS IB I fnl f fyes fell. Giovanni turned to the music- fb ho and selected a piece from it. It was Stevenier's «i, f-T'u''?''" ^''' P'^"^ ^' '^^d heard her play, and which she loved so much. His manner was composed when he turned to her agam and asked her to take her first lesson, were she not too fatigued. She gladly acquiesced, and took up the violin As he bent over the music-stand, near where she stood, to lay the piece he had chosen upon it he heard the sound of soft, swift footfalls, and T l^J'^u f.'^ ^"■^'' J^^" F°"t^ine, his huge hands clenched behind him, his chin almost resting on his chest, and his restless eyes fixed on the carpet. kinHr""« ^''° "°*''''' ^'' ""'^="=«- «nd said kmdiy. So you too are attracted by Monsieur Correggio's playing. Jean ? " J"^,"^' ^t'' ^^^^'""■■selle. yes." he answered heavily, without turning, as he strode over to the to'gethT ""' ^"'' '""'""^ ^'"^ '^^ '=""«'"'' Severine seemed to think nothing of his peculiar m^annerism. but upon Giovanni it had a disquieting Presently the silent listener was forgotten, and was not remembered again till the lesson was nearly over. when, finding it very difficult to give a passage he proper delicate shading and expression. Severine looked up into Giovanni's face and said she feared she should never be able to master it While she was speaking and looking into the face of her teacher, the curtains were parted, and, as abruptly as he had entered, Friar Fontaine slole irom the room. There was something so restless in his manner that Severine said thoughtfully, as she looked after I THE FIRST LESSON 67 him "Poor Jean, this is one of his restless days, but It seems to me he is worse than usual " Giovanni would have liked to ask her who he was, but she had spoken in that contemplative way as though the subject were a matter in'which a stranger could not possibly have any interest, and so Giovanni made no comment. d'E™r°^T ^"'' ^^°"' °^" ^'«" Monsieur d Egmont and his sister entered. Both expressed pleasure at Giovanni's kindness in offering to teach Sevenne something of his art while he was with w«^=n1 "'^ ''T ""^ ^°' '""'""S' Giovanni's hope was still more buoyant: the first lesson had been to him one of unadulterated happiness, while the bond between them-music-had been still more lesson "' '°"^''' ^°' *' ''°"' "^ 'h« " °=^t As for Severine, her emotions were conflicting- there were times when the day seemed to her to have been the gladdest she had known, and yet, again, at times she felt strangely depressed ' ' « "• CHAPTER VII A BOOK OF ILL OMEN " What avails it tliat indulgent Heaven From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come. If we, ingenious to tonnent oursolves, Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own?" Madame Picard, housekeeper for Monsieur d'Egmont, and her husband, Delphis, Monsieur's gardener, were, as French habitants ever are, obedient children of the Church, and most faithful believers in its power to work miracles. Such being their faith, it was with feelings of the most profound consternation they heard one night un- folded to them by Baptiste— of whose affection for skeletons the reader has cognisance — a series of stupendous miracles that had been performed out- side of the Church— performed, too, by fearsome celestial beings, whose names had never been recorded in their voluminous Prayer-Books. Before narrating the disturbing event it will be well to say a few words concerning these two old servants of Monsieur d'Egmont's. Madame Picard was now fifty years of age, and of goodly and comfortable proportions. Like nearly all French Canadian women of her age and station, she had discarded, for comfort's sake, annoying stays, and had girded her imposing waist with a broad ribbon, very festive in colour. Her dress also was very bright in hue. A BOOK OF ILL OMEN 69 isieur ieur's are, ithful Such most : un- n for :s of out- some rded iting few sieur and iarly tion, ying :h a also A peculiar penchant of the good lady was a love of slippers so roomy that, in order to keep them in their lawful places, she had been compelled to adopt the habit of scarcely lifting her feet; the result being a gliding motion, very original, if not very picturesque. Both her beaming, self-satisfied countenance and gaudy dress were in striking contrast to the physiognomy and habiliments of her good-man, Delphis, who was exceedingly lean of countenance, and who, the year round, was clad in nondescript, indestructible Canadian homespun. On the evening Giovanni had been teaching Mademoiselle Severine, the devout couple had been sitting in the kitchen after the labours of the day, marvelling over new miracles reported to have oc- curred that day in the church of Ste. Anne, when their placid content was disturbed by the entrance of Baptiste, who had ur . his arm a portly worn book. From the expression on his face it was quite evident that he was wrestling with unwonted excite- ment. Striding to the table where the old couple were sitting, he laid the book upon it, and, with bulging eyes, said, " Men Dieu, Madame Picard, Monsieur d'Egmont has brought into the house a wonderful book. I heard him say he got it in an old book-store." Drawing up a chair to the table, and craning his neck towards his listeners, he said in awed, im- pressive voice, as he pointed at the book, "It is the strangest book I ever read; it tells about re- ligions we have never heard of, and of miracles performed a hundred times greater than those Good Ste. Anne performs, and of dozens of real gods, and But Madame Picard was too horrified by these 70 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS I fearful assertions to hold her peace ny longer, and, making the sign of the cross, she interrupted, " You are mad, Baptiste, to say such things. What if Good Ste. Anne or the priests should hear you I " She raised both her hands aghast. Old Delphis, her husband, knitted his brows in alarm, and looked apprehensively at the volume; while Baptiste, somewhat disquieted by the words of Madame, also crossed himself, vehemently asserting, as he did so, that he had meant no disrespect to Good Ste. Anne, or to any of the priests of their Church. The keen sense of the marvellous, however, had been so. thoroughly aroused in Baptiste that he could not abandon his theme, and so, after a slight pause, he went on, in a tone meant to revive the curiosity of Madame Picard : " It was, as I have said. Monsieur d'Egmont who brought the book into the house, and he is a good Catholic. If all the wonderful miracles the book tells about were lies, he would surely rot have bought it. How do we know but that Monsieur may be thinking of having another church built in order to have worked in it miracles like those the book speaks of? The sick, you know, Madame Picard, would not care who cured them." As he ceased, he deftly opened the book, craftily exposing the picture of a man the lower part of whose body was like that of an animal. Madame Picard caught sight of the picture at once, and said falteringly, " How did you come to get the book, Baptiste ? " Her wavering was not lost upon Baptiste, and he answered airily, "Oh, I got it on Monsieur d'Egmont's table in the library ; he told me once I might take any book I would like to read. I went to get it— er— er— late last night; I was not" (he A BOOK OF ILL OMEN 71 J cleared his throat) " sleeping well." He was very careful not to explain that his sleeplessness had been caused by the haunting recollection of his encounter with the skeleton ; for in the quiet of his room, and in the absence of valour-giving daylight, he had actually begun to fear that the thiig might stalk into his room and entwine its bony fingers once more around his wrist. It was in the hope of distracting his thoughts that he had gone to the library to get something to read, and had found the volume. Madame Picard knew that Monsieur d'Egmont was a good Catholic, and hence Baptiste's arguments in favour of the propriety of reading the book had much weight with her. Still, she scarcely knew what course to pursue, and so, turning to her hus- band, Delphis, who was very chary of speech, she asked him if he thought any harm could come of looking through it. Delphis, who was far more superstitious even than his wife, briefly answered in mistrustful, dogged way, that no good could come of the evil thing. Paying no heed to the old man, Baptiste boldly took the risk of expounding the volume. Madame Picard edged her chair nearer to him, her eyes very wide open. Delphis did not move, but his brows contracted heavily. Now it had come to pass that Baptiste had ac- quired much honour among his acquaintances for the fluency with which he was supposed to read ; but the reputation was poorly deserved, the truth being that he was a very sorry reader indeed. Thanks, though, to a very active imagination, he was never known to be brought to bay by any epistle, no matter how illegible or abstruse it might be. If words and sentences chanced not to read as he 72 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS deemed it wrs their duty to do, he simply concocted new ones. Owing to a very ingenious method of half reading, half explaining, this novel manner of Ignoring whatever puzzled him became possible. On the present occasion he contented himself not with reading, but with explaining what he said the book contained. " The book says," he began, as he pointed at a full-page picture of a creature wi^h horns and legs of a goat, and arms and feet of a man, " that this is a god. His name is Pan." Noting the look of concern on Madame's face at this surprising information, he added soothingly that the god did not preside over the destinies of people li'je French Canadians, but of people called 'Gyptians. These 'Gyptians, too, and their many gods, were in countries an immense distance off, and so could not possibly have anything to do with the blessed Church to which they belonged. The latter part of this information brought more comfort to Madame than anything else, and feeling more at ease, she bent over and looked more closely at the picture. For quite a wh-"- she was silent, and then, commiseratingly shaki.ig her head, she asked how it was that the unfortunate deity was so deformed, and if the people he reigned over had bodily ailments similar to his own. She concluded with devoutly wishing that the poor creatures had known Bonne Ste. Anne, who would quickly h-ve cured them of their afflictions. The learned Baptiste, with- lUt a moment's hesita- tion, explained that the 'Gyp.ian gods were a little peculiar in the forms they assumed. As for the 'Gyptians as a people, they were all deformed like the god Pan. He was just about agreeing with Madame that it was a pity that both gods and I A BOOK OF ILL OMEN 73 people had not known Ste. Anne, when he suddenly remembered the prodigious miracles accredited to such gods, and being very desirous of not antagon- ising any of them, he hastily and inventively added that the 'Gyptian people at one time had been formed like other people, but that the god, in order to show his power on one occasion, had in a single moment changed the entire physical condition of the nation. Little wonder that good Madame Picard raised both hands and uttered a pious ejaculation at such an unheard-of miracle — the authenticity of which seemed to be borne out by Baptiste's citation of other acts out of the book well-nigh as marvellous. Briskly turning over the leaves of the volume, and pointing at pictures here and there, the great ex- pounder began to tell his dumfounded listeners, of three girls, called the Fates, who lived for ever, and who had the power of dictating even to gods what they should or should not do ; of three sisters, called Furies, whose heads were clothed with living snakes, instead of hair, and who turned people mad ; of female gods, who loved to reside in the sea, who had faces and breasts of women, but whose extremities dwindled down into serpents' tails, and who turned anyone unfortunate enough to see them into stone; of a monstrous god also, who had fifty heads, and whose cruel delight it was to prevent lost souls he was in charge of escaping from hell. To the relief of Madame, the narrator presently arrived at a part which told of daughters of gods called Nymphs, who lived in forests, lakes, and mountains, and who brought much comfort to human beings. The feelings of the good body were greatly excited, though, when she heard of a man named 74 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Prometheus who had something of a god about hm and who had the honour of forming ourof hatred of ""= '"' ""'"^ *""=•' •'« ■■"-U the hatred of a very powerful god called Jupiter In order that Prometheus might be destroyed Jupitlr wlThe hadT' '°' ^ "^■'^ '^ woman out ofX When he had done so, she was handed over to two fema e gods, one of whom made her very Ilutiful and the other ve^. deceitful. Finally Jhewomai' wTthTU° ^"T'^"^ ">' *•= g^d who hated Wm she was ." r '"'"' ""^^^ ''PP*'""g disasters, and V^Jl "^ '° '"''"« •'''" '° °Pen it. But beauty and treachery, and sent her back again • to a rock and sent a vulture to feast on his liver wh.ch grew in proportion as it was devoured ' thJ t-^Tu"'""^''' °^ *"<=•' ^"ffering was more since a '^"'"^•"'. ""^f ""^ ^'=-'' -"'^ beaT^ nJ^Z ^''-T'' ^°^""^'^'y. was much lessened by Bapt.stes mformmg her that the victim was finaSy While the dear credulous soul heaved a si^h of rehef, Baptiste tacked on a piece of informat ^n (o h s own manufacture) to the effect that, on account of the pecuhar formation of Prometh;us's Hver i was not subject to the pains of ordinary livers and so was completely indifferent to vultures' bills fac? tt;. •'"' !^'=" listening with darkening face ugged nervously at his shaggy beard as Bapt.ste paused The old man's fS^rust of the book was rapidly deepening. But the credulity of the listeners was to be A BOOK or ILI, OMEN 75 Baptiste began to tell of the existence of gods whose slightest nod shook heaven and earth; of gods who move chariots through the air; of gods whose duty .t was to lead the dead to the Ifnd of shadows; of gods and goddesses who presided over othJ?^' r 'u' '^r"<=d-as well as numerous other gods of whom the two faithful old souls had never before heard a whisper. The enumeration of broult f„ ^^^ ?""■*''" ^'^°'"""^ ^y '•«=««= deities brought forth frequent ejaculations from Madame Picard, and caused the wrinkled face of Delphis to pale. '^ The mention of a god called Talos, who destroyed strangers by making himself red-hot and embracing them as well as others who turned people into animals, made Madar Picard mutter aloud a prayer of thanksgiving that she did not live in te"ngs"' ""*^" ^^^ ^^" °^ '""'' '^"'*'"'"' f.I^^A 'i* last Baptiste got through his pleasing task and closed the book, a sudden silence fell upon them. Madame s interest having been satisfied, her mborn supersti;; n returned with tenfold force An uneasy feeling stole over Baptiste also, and he began to wish he had never seen the book—which the tying silence made him begin to think was nothing less than sacrilegious. ^ Delpl. , sat staring at the volume as though he momentarily expected all the m..vels he had heard from Its pages would leap forth and annihilate Madame Picard was the first to i,reak the silence, lurning to her husband, she said tremblingly as she pointed to the book, -' It says awful things, Delphis. Ah. If the pnest were only here, or if we had some 7<5 A nAUOIlTER OF PATRICIANS b^k^TtlT" '"""'*" '""' '*"" '^'=" '" "?"""<'« the Bapti,te listened to these awe-inspiring words with witESfacl"'",''' •"''' " ^P""'«"<= •"ovement.his stened to h>m. "Evil has come to this ho^^ cure'-ai'^tt^Sir °Ht^ ''•^^"- .^-" ^-^^ sunk to a hoarse whisper " '*^ """^ "^'^ terSd^rteT? ^"'^ ^"^ "^"^ ^"'^--'^ -'^ «p^:s.rtrSk^rsjrrt^.S feltTlJ, P^^ ' ' '''°"^' ""S''"S in his ears, Baptiste tl?.^ 1^',^"'"°"' '° °''''g«' Madame Picard and a rt^utft^ J'^ ^"■'^'''■^^ ''^^°"''' •>- '^" and hrinT fK '^ ^"""^ *° *•"= '•'=^'"'* of Pluto of day ^ the monstrous Cerberus to the light His only answer to Madame Picard was to ri«. "Cf '':," ^"^'> '^^ -'* was at an end."" m,Jt "7 development tais action of Baptiste's might have led to is unknown; for the door o^d prepossess ng young woman, of /etHe figure the pert serenity of whose countenance spoke of' ant thmg but superstitious characteristics. ^' A BOOK OF ILL OMEN jj As her eyes fell upon Delphis, who still stood pale and erect, and then wandered from him to the disturbed faces of Madam. I'icard and Kaptiste she stopped abruptly, and exclaimed, •■ Gracious me, what m the world's the matter ? " The words were spoken m English, and though they were abrupt tncy had no tone of any peculiar concern. Baptiste turned with somewhat of a sheepish look and said, with evident relief, in queer broken Eng- nsh Oh otting.notting de matter. Mademoiselle Katie; only I tmk dat Delphis and Madame Pieard be a httle scare'." To Baptiste the vivacious and supcrchous little being was dearer than all the saints in the calendar; and v -II she knew it, and a sorry time, m consequence, e gave the poor fellow Katie Kimball had oeen Mademoiselle Severine's waiting-maid since her emancipation from the con- vent during which time Baptiste'. peace of mind had been seriously undermined, the . -eliness of the little English 2irl having been d. .^erously fasci- nating to the big, simple-minded fellow. As has already been hinted, the sincerity of his affection lor Katie was amply proven by his continuing to stay in a house where skeletons were harboured In religion Katie was a Protestant, but as there was no Protestant place of worship in the villa-re she occasionally attended the great shrine. A student of human nature would very quickly have described Katie's character as lacking depth but exhibiting withal a great deal of natural shrewd- ness. To Baptiste, however, Katie was simply the acme of simplicity, frankness, gentleness, and learn- 'ng. To tell the truth, Katie was in no wise averse to the good-looking, good-hearted fellow. As she frequently poked fun at him for his super- stitions, it was no wonder that Baptiste now looked 78 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS sheepish enough, and endeavoured to make out to her that it was Madame Picard and Delphis who were " scare'." But if Baptiste was embarrassed at seeing Katie, Madame Picard decidedly was not. In answer to Katie's query, Madame said, as she drew the visitor into the room, "Dare is plenty ting de matter. Mademoiselle Katie; dat Baptiste has been read some awful ting out of de book dare, ting dat make de blood creep." She pointed at the book, and seated Katie at a respectful distance from it. Katie, somewhat mystified by Madame's words and manner, turned her dangerous blue eyes on Baptiste and asked him to explain what was the matter. Thus accosted, the expounder of mythological lore, and master of the English language, gnawed for a few moments at his dark moustache, looked appeal- ingly at the fair questioner, raspingly cleared his throat three or four times, and then broke forth in the following lucid strain : " De trouble all come of dat book on de table which Monsieur d'Egmont bring home yesterday. It tell of plenty new religion, plenty new god, plenty new hell, and plenty new diabU. I read dat book, and den bring it down here to read to Madame and Delphis. But so soon I get finish to read, Delphis say dat some bad ting going happen dis house, sure, right off; den Madame she's get scare', and — and— and I'm jus' de leas' bit scare' too ; and den you come in. Mm Dieu, I'm wish I'm never see dat villain book some more." With her comely little head tilted the least bit to one side, Katie walked over to the table, took up the book and glanced here and there at the pages. Presently she dropped the volume, and, with a laugh that intensified Baptiste's belief in her learning, said. A BOOK OF ILL OMEN 79 "Well, Baptiste Monette, I think you are very stupid: the book is simply a collection of fairy stones ; I remember well reading something just like them when I was a little girl. These are stones for children, and there were never any such gods or miracles, and no people ever believed there were. Good Madame Picard leaned her ample figure back on the chair with a sigh of relief that filled the room ; while Baptiste looked at her who at one fell swoop had set at nought the doings of mighty Jove and the gods of his council (doings in which count- less thousands had had as implicit faith as the thousands who yearly went to Bonne Ste. Anne), as though he thought her a monument of learning and wisdom. The truth was that Katie's education had been of the most superficial character, but Baptiste would willingly have fought anyone who had dared to make such an assertion in his hearing. Made loquacious by the soothing sense of security Madame Picard had just rolled her eyes to the ceil- ing and was about to call upon Bonne Ste. Anne to credit her with the fact that whatever others might have done she had never for an instant believed any miracles could be worked outside the pale of the Catholic Church, when Delphis, whose face had lost none of its tenseness, spoke again. Pointing once more at the volume, he said, with weird solemnity, What I have said will come to pass : woe is about to fall upon this house; the book is full of evil and bnngs evil with it." With a toss of the head which showed a world of contempt for such prophesying, Katie picked up the book and took it from the room. When she re- turned a few moments later, she saw Madame Picard had filled a goodly pot of tea from the blatant kettle So A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS on the stove. The good body had hoped that under the influence of this soothing concoction the harmony of the evening would be restored. And it doubtless would, had it not been for old Delphis refusing to be mollified thereby, and continuing to sit cowering in a corner, muttering depressingly himself. CHAPTER VIII A SINISTER INCIDENT "To the generous mind The heaviest debt is that of gratitude." THE day set by Giovanni for his departure had at last arrived. In Montreal it was hailed by Father Lacoste with great rejoicing; but, in Ste. Anne de Beaupr^ Giovanni stood in the early morning of the unwel- come day, watching the sun rise out of the broad bosom of the St. Lawrence with feelings of regret and sadness. He knew that when the sun was setting behind the frowning hills which sheltered the favoured village he would be borne away from Sevenne— never had a day dawned so unwelcome to him before. But in life it is ever so- the smiling day which to one brings happiness and anticipation of still fuller joys, as surely for another iines the horizon of the future with menacing sorrows. In the totalling of life none are greatly favoured: the relentless marching hours surely come when those who have had their period of mourning are comforted and made to rejoice, while the burdens they have been bearing are transferred in turn to the shoulders of those who have had their period of rejoicing—thus, backward and forward, the pen- dulum of time slowly but surely swings, sorrow and joy, laughter and tears hovering for all in its train i he fleeting June days had been full of gladness 82 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS to Giovanni, and had so cunningly knit his affection about Severine d'Egmont that he knew her com- panionship, through the years that were to come, was the one thing necessary to him in life. And yet each hurrying day passed with her had been un- marked by any startling incident. The weather had been fine, and the afternoons were nearly all spent in the garden, the ladies engaged in fancy- work, Giovanni reading to them ; while the evenings had been almost exclusively devoted to music. This close companionship with Severine, besides intensifying Giovanni's love, had strengthened his first impressions as to her intelligence, artistic tem- perament, and girlish worth — a worth which dawning womanhood was daily enhancing. His love of the taxidermist's art deprived the ladies and their guest of much of Monsieur d'Egmonfs company ; but frequently at night, when Giovanni was playing, or teaching Severine, the courtly old gentle- man was drawn from his den by the sound of the playing, and, leaving the silent friar, he would repair to the drawing-room. Very often Giovanni caught an expression of intense pride flit across the patrician face of his host as he sat ai -i looked at his fair, high-bred daughter. Giovanni knew it was but natural that he should have such pride in her, and he could not understand why such evide..ces of deep parental affection should always cause him moods of depression How delightful and precious these musical even- ings had been to Giovanni ! They were the brightest memories of his short and closing visit, and would ever be remembered; for they would recall more vividly than anything else the days when love was being revealed to him in all its mastering power. At times Severine had often seemed reserved and A SINISTER INCIDENT g, beyond the influence of his unvoiced longings during the hours of the day; but waen the evfZ came when he had lost himself in the thraldom of hisTrt' and when she had sat with averted face drinkingYn hke one fascinated, the bewitching strains of M=' v.ol,n. then his keen sympathies told htathat he whole nature was full of tenderness, and tha L heart at any moment might awake f om the repose of g.rlhood and bow before love's dictatorial Lrp't" . On this the last day of his visit Giovanni had nsen early and after watching the sun g^S ^he landscape, had slipped noiselessly out of The Lse Gomg to the riverside, he walked\ery slowly Zg the steeply sloping land, till the house was left faf behm^, then, in absent way, he sat d^,^ on the rocky, precipitous bank of the river \?,H saddened mood watched the arlV. ■ '■ '" as they moaned anf rlt^S ^^^ the rocks away below. ^ ^ °" His thoughts were of Severing and Father A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS tracted. The love of such a woman would be a perpetual inspiration and happiness to me. No, I cannot leave her." He partly rose, with a nervous gesture, as though the subject was definitely settled ; but, as he did so, conscience swept down upon 1 im and appealed resistlessly to his sense of all that was fair and just. It began by painting all the claims that Father Lacoste had upon him for consideration — claims to which honour could scarcely give a secondary place. Sinking again on 'he bank, and unheeding the roaring, tumultuous waves below him, which the rapidly rising tide and stiffening breeze were lashing into fury, Giovanni in changed mood listened to the stern mentor as it recalled the years of his boyhood and of his recent manhood, and also brought to memory how almost every good that had ever come to him could be traced to the old priest. Was kindness such as this to have no more generous return than partial deceit? He winced under the question ; but such was the way conscience termed his conduct, in keeping Father Lacoste ignorant of the true motive detaining him in Ste. Anne. Had Giovanni's thoughts been less absorbed, and the tumult of the waves less boisterous, he might have become aware of the slow approach of the huge, ungainly figure of Friar Jean Fontaine. Slouching at the friar's heels was the powerful mastiff, Pataud. When within a dozen yards of Giovanni, Friar Fontaine paused, and, with lowering face, looked for many minutes at him as he sat on the brink of the precipice, all unconscious of the proximity of any human bein^j, As the friar continued to gaze, the great brute caught sight of Giovanni, and uttered a low, sinister growl ; but the breaking of the surf drowned the animal's voice before it reached the rapt thinker. The ferocity c the voice of the dog brought a still A SINISTER INCIDENT 8S I more evil light into the face of the half-witted friar and holding the animal in a grip of steel by the collar he began to move, as though by some uncon- trollable impulse, towards the reclining figure of the young musician. Silent-mouthed, the dog strained hard, m front of him, at its collar. Every step brought the roar of the waves clearer to the friar's ears, and drew him nearer to the precipice—where a push from a hand such as his, or an attack from an animal like Pataud, would mean the end of life to any living thing. And yet Giovanni sat unconsciously on, wrapt up in the struggle within him. It was not till the sinewy fingers of the friar were slowly releasing their hold of the mastiff that the conflict between heart and conscience chanced to come to an end, and, starting to his feet, Giovanni exclaimed resolutely, "No, I cannot disappoint him. It would be black ingratitude: come what may, I wil repay some of his kindness, and leave immediately for France." He stood as he uttered the words, with his face turn^H '^ !^^^'°'"^. «P^n«« °f 'vater, and, as he turned, Fnar Fontaine, with the quick cunning of o the dog which unwillingly fell behind him, and Stof^GW:!?^ '"""^^ '" ""^ -'^'i-^-^ht " Ah, you are out early too." said Giovanni, in no little surprise, as he saw the friar. slow?"* ^*''^' ^^'' °"' ^''^'" ^^ answered very rn,S°?""' T'*^ ''^^^ ^^^^ ag^i". but before he cou d do so the giant turned sullenly round and calling to Pataud, strode away. ' Giovanni stood and watched them till some trees 86 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS near by hid them, and then, with troubled face, turned and retraced his steps to the house. Try as he might, he could not shake oiT an impression of distrust of the friar that had come to him, and he began to recall how often he had unexpectedly met the fellow, and the strange behaviour of the crazed creature towards him. "Could it be possible," he thought, with a start, " that Friar Fontaine harbours some evil intent towards me ? " But with the sun- shine beautifying the landscape, and with the know- ledge that he had never done the colossal creature any injury, such idea seemed preposterous, and a smile came to his lips at what he termed his fanciful- ness. By the time he reached the house the incident had gone entirely from his mind. It had been arranged by Severine and her aunt that the last afternoon of Giovanni's stay — he was to leave at sunset — should be spent in driving and visiting some of the farmhouses in the surrounding district. The idea had originated with Severine. The truth was that she had missed in their visitor that depth of devotion to the Church so strongly characteristic of herself — and of most French Cana- dians — and was secretly hoping that it might be awakened when he should observe for himself the peaceful, happy lives of those who walked in faithful and unquestioning obedience to the mandates of the priests. Giovanni, who was all unconscious of this mis- sionary feeling towards him, had been cherishing a hope in regard to the drive in no wise as commend- able as Severine's, and which was none other than that the elder lady, Mademoiselle Josephine, might not find it convenient to accompany her niece on the proposed visit. But a few fleeting hours remained, and he felt their pleasure would be A SINISTER INCIDENT «7 J 4 I entirely spoiled if more than two persons spent them together. Just as he had given up all hopes of being alone with Severine on the drive, word was unexpectedly brought to Giovanni that Mademoiselle Josephine d'Egmont — whose health was always so uncertain was feeling indisposed, and she trusted that Monsieur Correggio and her niece would excuse her from accompanying them. It has to be confessed that the hardened lover sent back a most solicitous reply, although, at the very moment he was concocting it, his heart was beating with riotous happiness. Baptiste, the famous anatomist, acted as coach- man. Driving eastward, they soon left the village be- hind, and presently imposing- as well as quaint scenes were on every hand. Far above them, stretching into indistinct lines, were seen the un- changeable Laurentian hills; while nestling along their base were constantly being revealed oddly constructed French Canadian cottages, one storey in height, with peering dormer windows, and shutters massive and imposing enough to protect the Crown jewels of England. Making picturesque the land- scape, too, were seen working barefooted in the fields young girls and women, their heads covered with immense straw hats, and their short strong figures clad in bright prints. By their side worked the men, ignoring all modern methods of sowing and reaping, and using implements of the most primitive description. Frequently meeting them on the narrow road were French hay-carts, utterly guileless of springs and drawn by oxen. Many of the carts were laden with products of the farm- portions of the peasants' labour which the law of the land ordered must be regularly taken to the 88 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS I priests. Here and there by the roadside were laree rustic crosses, which the habitants never pass«l without crossing themselves or stopping to prajT Baptiste finally stopped the carriage at one of the primitive cottages, and Severine, with Giovanni close by her side, entered. Delightlul as the drive had been, it had not won Severine's mind from its earnest intent to try to increase the religious zeal of her latnet's guest. In answer to Severine's knock, the door had been opened by a typical French housewife, in her ample arms a bUck-eyed infant. With the usual polite- ness of the French Canadians, no matter what their walk in life, she had warmly invited the visitors to enter. Before seating herself on the wooden rockine- chair. which the good woman had dusted with much hurnedness, Severine stretched out her arms for the infant which went gladly to her. As she sat and held the httle one tight to her bosom with womanly tenderness, she was to Giovanni the personification of all that was dear and attractive in woman While th; mother was extolling the precociousness of the babe to Severine, Giovanni was noting the pecuhar decorations of the room. It was the main room of the house-the dining-room, which in all such cottages serves the varying uses of dining- room, parlour, sitting-room, and, in cases of stress impromptu bedroom as well. In one corner he saw a large wooden cross. Near the cross, hanging from a nail, were the beads of the devout woman, speaking eloquently of much usage ; while in another corner was suspended a bottle of holy water used for unnumbered purposes. When the heavens threatened lightning, it was sprinkled upon the threshold, and also sprinkled over it when the tvil One was purported to be abroad seeking the A SINISTER INCIDENT 89 «' .10', .„*J^^;„S'"1. "»'•?' ""xw m would norio so "^'"^' '^'' ">« t">th, he werf sL^'tTmS'r "''" ""■*^' ^^ '" -»> and devotion to th^Sh'?/'"'^ °' '"'^P^' primitive mode of HWni^ • '• ?** '^""= "'"Ple. cottage the French tin . °^ "'^- ^" «^«'y Frenfh customs alJe^!/'""! "''^ ^Po^e". and Treaty of pL-rj-Tu ""^h— thanks to the .-n customs -/ belief frotSL^y,-?-£ 90 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS When the visits finally ended, and the homeward journey was bejfun, Severine, with feelings of keen enthusiasm, heard Giovanni break into earnest praise of the content and beauty of the lives of these simple people, and of the reliction which could keep them so unsuUied^«ven If so backward and primitive. His words brought a glow of pleasure to her, and she dwelt with much earnestness upon the blessed- ness of being completely devoted to the Church to which they belonged. As she talked on, her sensitive Intuitions sudder'- wamed her that something foreign to the subject she was speaking of was stealing over Giovanni and diverting his thoughts. Looking quickly up, she saw a shadow of sadness on his face. He was looking towards the west, to which the sun was hurrying with pitUess haste. Could she have read his thoughts, she would have found he was wishing that he, like Joshua of old, could arrest the progress of the glowing orb. In her zeal and earnestness, the nearness of the hour of his departure had escaped her; but It somehow came to her now as she caught the look on his face. For the first time since their nter- course an inexplicable shyness came over her, and her eyes abo sought the west. The silence which fell between them was at last broken by Giovanni, who said, in absent voice, without turning his head, " How relentless time is, Mademoiselle 1 In an hour or so I shall be compelled to leave behind all this beauty of nature and sim- plicity of life — they will be but memories." She never remembered feeling before, that time was relentless, and it seemed strange to her she should suddenly think so now. Answering the A SINISTER INCIDENT g, Ste'^An'n" SiT ']•• '"''' "'"'^'y' "»»'■ Monsieur, and iTJ T^ ". "°' •" ^*'y '■»' ^«"n Montreal and I am sure Monsieur will always be made . welcome guest at my father's house. ' recollection of his mental struggle of the earlv "^"e'io'h-''''^"'? '''''''' =""' °''>" «^«^-" o be true to his sense of right and to Father Lacoste and to leave for France «:thout further delaytut' he enthusiasm of self-sacrifice to duty and co^ of thelT"!^" '" '*?"«■ "»^ "°-' '" 'he presence of the one so dear to him, sadly wavering. wor^, h K?"'*.*.'''' ''"^ *° ^'P'y t° h«* hospitable mien J*^ ^ ^"" """^ ''^'^""^ ^im with pleading mien to pu temptation away and to frankly tell hef ofh^spromisetogoabroadimmei-ately He had just made up h-s mind to follow this sudS r„d '^'Vk""""' '-'''" '''•= carriage tuLd, sudden bend m the road near her home, and a few momente later had halted before the house As he lii'^mS^mf'" ''^ ^""''^"' ^'«= "«^"«""'y head .StatTon Z"'"" '"°''''' °^ appreciation of her IccepS it '° ^°* *' ''"P''=*^'°" *at he had quiSv"trhr "'* •'"^J" *''^ '•^"' G'°^anni went Toi as ithL"^"- ^"J^ ^"" "° '0"&er beamed window hi ^,'" ']"= ^'^y "'°'-"- Standing at the -SS,;''at"t'in "' r '" "''*^'' ^"^ '°°''^^ be at an .„H ^u "^ ''°"' "'^'■*' his stay would vehementTy ^ *"' ""'^"''' ^'''^ he shut the case the'^fei'S^V"^'.^"'' '"•="* '■" 'he fadir.j light. 92 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS he was regretting he had not had time to tell her of his promise to the priest before they had arrived at the house, while almost at the very next he was feeling intense relief at not having done so. The mental conflict brought the irresistible longing for the soothing influence of music, and, hastily leaving the room, he went to the drawing- room, and taking up Severine's violin, began softly to play to himself the soothing refrain he had woven into the matchless composition which he had played the night she haU first come into his life. He had not been playing many minutes when a small white hand, unseen by him, was laid on the curtains, as though to draw them aside; but the minutes slipped on, and still they were not parted. Unconscious that he had a listener, Giovanni played on. Very wistful grew the girlish face in the shadow of the heavy curtains as the vividly remembered air stole through the room. From where she stood, she could just see the player's face bent over the instru- ment, and its look of great longing, tinged with sadness, peculiarly affected her. The wish came to her that he were her brother, and that she might steal mto the room, slip down by his side as she sometimes did by her father's, and inquire into the cause of his care. Twice she essayed to draw the curtains and enter ; but the old witchery of his playing held her in breathless attention, and, fearful of interrupting, she listened on and on, till finally she saw him lay the mstrument down and dejectedly pillow his dark cheek on his hand. The simple action, so full of sadness, brought instantaneously to her eyes what she dared not let him see, and, turning, she walked swiftly away. Unaware of how near she had been to him, he sat A SINISTER INCIDENT g, rol^Z^lT''"' '"''. •"■' ''°^* ^"^-^'^d the dining, room, the lad.es were already awaiting them. In a pause m the conversation during the meal Monsieur d'Egmont, arresting the cup he was about to put to his hps. and turnin| to Giovanni^a d S much warmth in his pohte. well-bred voice, « I C^ Mo„s.eur Correggio. that we shall soon have Te pleasure of having you visit us again ? " The crucial moment for Giovanni had arrived It was on h>s tongue to say that he must go abmad mmed,ately, and that it might be long h^fo«°he wavered, fate stepped in, and left him no oneer master of the situation. Turning to her Ser Sevenne smilingly answered. " Monsieur Cor^gg^' that m the care which was evidently engrossing p^s^s^-^sT^t^r^sr the :^lve io r r^""'' ^^'=" ^^ '^^ ^^^^ «- consent to S.- ^ *°.P"''"ade Father Lacoste to By tie ti ir ^.°"'"« '•'^ '*'*""' to France. «y the t.me lunch was over it was almost possible 94 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS for Giovanni to feel there had been a little unreason- ableness in the promise his patron had exacted from him. When finally he bade his host good-bye, and held for a moment Severine's hand in his own and looked into the depths of her wistful eyes, the resolve not to go abroad until he had, at least, seen her once again, was firmly rooted in his mind. When the carriage rolled away with him from the door, SeVerine, instead of re-entering the house, turned from her aunt and father and entered the garden. Seating herself near a bush of roses, she opened a volume she had chanced to bring with her at a marked page, and her eyes began to travel slowly over the lines. It may have been that the lines were difficult to comprehend, for they were read, re-read, and yet read again. The mis- chievous wind began to toss the leaves in sad disorder, hopelessly blurring the print; yet the eyes appeared not to heed but to be reading on. Even when the book slipped to her lap, she sat looking at the wind-tossed pages as though what she saw there was of the most absorbing interest. In a distant part of the garden sat Friar Fontaine, his gleaming eyes watching her every motion. From his hiding-place he had seen her parting with Giovanni, her entrance into the garden, and her abstracted mood. While he watched her, there broke upon the stillness the shrill whistle of a locomotive, and there flashed over his countenance a triumphant look. Starting to his feet, he ran, crouching through the thick undergrowth, to the end of the garden, where rose a hill almost completely hiding the house. Springing over the garden fence, he soon with powerful strides reached the summit of the ! i A SINISTER INCIDENT 95 hill: in the distance the train which was rushine towards the station was plainly in view. Raising his hands, he began to wave them madly, as though he would hasten the train to its stopping-place. Not until the station had been reached, and the tram took up its journey again, did his wild gestures cease. Then, standing as though carven out of granite, he watched, and watched, until the distance hid the train from view; then, with a shout of gladness, he turned and sped down tne hill as sure- footed as a deer. CHAPTER IX TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS "Fain, my lord, Might I not pain thine ears by this unfolding." A PROFOUND silence reigned over the presbytery sheltered by Notre Dame Church. The long watches of the night had come, and the priests, who all day had sat in the grated confessionals of the ancient edifice, listening to tales of wrong- doing, suffering, and unnumbered disappointed hopes, are no longer oppressed with the memory of human frailties— sleep, the great comforter and healer, reigns among them. In the s .bdued light of Father Lacoste's study is revealed the same old-fashioned furniture, the music strewn about the organ, the quaintly bound books, the mediaeval latticed windows, and the painted faces of the fathers who had wrought so mightily for the Church in doctrine, diplomacy, art — and the thousand other coveted graces which has given such import to the smile or frown of Rome. The weather is somewhat chilly, and a fire glows in the grate and casts a ruddy light on the silent canvas faces. The glow falls caressingly also on a majestic figure seated in a massive carven chair drfiwn up before the tire. The night has been long, and when thrc -score years and ten have filled their measure, sleep becomes TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS 37 ^^^ Imperious as in childhood-and so Father Lacoste ■•n its tender s"lver shade " T7 " ^""^ "^^"''f"' fire enhances t Lutv 'a .*''" ^'"'^ ^'°"' ^^e "ned the broad fittow t"d b^t T T '"^'^ the face of the stren' turned up Ae LT if" -^'l^-^' ^^ ^^'^ ^"^'y Then.steSing quiSto ht H 'r^' ^^"^ '°- space fondly^r L ° d n, -' ^f '°°^"' ^°^ » ,^Sl5--ntb^a^:S;^--. 98 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS the young man afTectionately to him, exclaiming, " Mon ehtr GlovannL" Ere Giovanni could speak, the priest released him for a moment, hurried over to the lamp, turned it to full height, and then, hastening back to his visitor, held him at arm's length, quizzically in- specting him, his head now on one side and then upon the other- Giovanni looked at the priest, a fine light in his eyes. " Now," said the priest, with intense satisfaction, " what did I tell you ? Was I not a good prophet 7 Can not our Bonne Ste. Anne minister to diseased minds as well as to bodies ? Why, your every look speaks content and happiness." Pausing, and closing his eyes, the priest whispered thanksgivings to the benignant saint. When he looked up, he saw Giovanni had, unexpectedly, seated himself, and that his face was turned away from his direction. It caused him no concern ; he simply thought the young man must suddenly have felt fatigued. Seating himself by Giovanni's side, he went on, with longing in his tones : " If you are not too tired, Giovanni, I should like to hear how the blessing came — I shall never cease to give Ste. Anne thanks." With troubled face, Giovanni was looking into the fire, almost wishing now that his new - found happiness had indeed come from Ste. Anne, so that he could have made glad the grand old man with details of a miraculous cure, and coupled the news with a ready acquiescence to return at once to Paris. As was customary with him when men- tally distressed, his hand began nervously to brush back from his forehead the dark clustering hair. His lack of frankness to the old priest in not TOLD AFT ;R MANY DAYS gj, tion that he had l^isJJ" tttl' '"*' ?" '**=°"«=- to the home of the d^!^*? "'*""' shortly again mcmo^ With dis *rett,?S„^r ^'""^ "''='' *° cati^th:Xe;'::;L;ti t '"-r^ '» and something like a loT of r ^"'^'""'' ''*'=»• own. BendinI wi:t„°^ ^^^ «- Jnto his Giovanni's knee, he said, "vouf fare °" open book to me, Giovanm' SomeZ ?'/"** "" has troubled you is it that I h ? *^''*''' hasty in concluding that a« I had h' ^u " ""'^ to pass ? » ^ "*^ '*°Ped had come The shadow in Giovanni's ev^c «„i • have Plentyof time; ^ou can tdlmr./t ''''" then. You know, my lx>v " rh?^ ■< ""^ '' the young man), '.yo"^ tow ^ n."' '*'" "'*'•=' master. If_if t did n^^iT *"■ '^'''' " t""''- and longing if s'S,.! "/our S" rcafbe""'^; SXi ^m«„rto^L^e"r^^"' -'^ -^^^^^^^ will sur^y te fort.? ^^ ^'"' ''y *'"'^ fancy The gracious, wistful words went straight u and unsealed Giovanni's lins Ti ^^[^'S\^°'^<'. ■nan's hand, he said unstead fv " m ^'"^ *^ "''^ /-; I must tell you o nthi 1°r "°*/?-"°"°"' t° say tha, ,j„ cau'se you pat .' """ ' ''^^' *''''' Father Lacoste shook his head, as though such a 100 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS thing from the speaker were completely impossible. Giovanni felt a slight tremor in the aged hand rest- ing on his knee, and it increased the hardness of the task before him as no upbraiding words could have done. He made no preface ; he felt that he could not. " I have seen her, pire," he said abruptly, "she who came into ray life the past Christmas Eve; she whose face has never since been absent from my mind." " Ah yes, you have seen her, Giovanni ? " There was no astonishment in the query, nor was there any inflection of pain or anger ; but the aged eyes were turned quickly to the floor, lest they might involuntarily betray the pain in thera. " I met her, pire, by accident ; met her in the very church to which you » jk me. She was at the foot of the statue, where I had promised you to pray for release from her haunting memory. When my eyes fell upon her, I knew it would be useless for me to pray; my lips could not have r-frained from uttering thanksgivings had I knelt before the statue. We came face to face as she sprang from the foot of the statue to save a young girl, who was dying from consumption, from falling to the floor. My new happiness you read in my face after the service was over. In your gladness at what you surmised had happened, you turned and gave covert thanks to Bonne Ste. Anne. But I knew, pire, it was for something that had not occurred. For the first time in my life I was not perfectly frank with you. At the time, I had not the heart to tell you the truth, and comforted myself with the thought that I would tell you all later on. But, as you know, you were called suddenly away. When telling you, as you were leaving, of my desire to remain for a TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS ,o, «me.tSte Anne. I ap.in felt I could not explain .tcSlii^inrSr^,,^^^';;;; '>«^ «- >ooki„g been somewhat restrained n "1""""' *'''^'' '"'«' ■•ng impulsively trtrSes" L' w"'r'' ""' '""'■ enthusiasm he could nctTster-Mf"' °"^ "'■*»" Pire, as I now do, you wouTnof ' ''/°" ''"«* her, look into her face affeTn °"'^"' "'«*"'««* noble, beautifuf^'Srl But b^-tL"; ""V t " « pen-onamy"' ; n^" aS' °' '^■^'^j'"-. -" any beauty could have Sne "'°" "*'">' '''''" this, I will return at "nee to Pari, " ^ '^'''*'''" her reply to me mav Z I ' "° ""'"«^'' *h*t she,/^r," (he was s^,5^ ""'°" *'*•• """^ ^'"^h «* now' '• instead of h^? ^^ ^"^ '^P''"^ ^"'^ '^^'•"^''"y be the sSv t '""^ ""y ""'^'■^^^ <■"'"'«=. would nature iC I'^'T'""" '° *""'"?''•• ^ers is a -y gifts I ma^hJe T '^''^ '"■°"'' ''"* ^"'^ *"■ everything I h -l' ^ °^^ y°" "'"ch, tire — andTknoVthaT "" "'^ T'"''' °' ^^^-^ ^hall have- over my oVr^ ;r[:t'=^ ^'>°""' "-« P-ede;ce happin^oTmyie Iferho*".*"'"^^ *=** »">«= ^^nd to relieve L fJr thf p ^e^""? "P '" *''- ^H returning to France anH.? "^ P™"""^ °f I03 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS frankness, pirt. In letting you leave Ste. Anne as I did, I can ofler no proper excuse ; perhaps the fact that I never before sought to hide the slightest thing from you may plead for me." There was a sincerity in his closing words which none could have doubted. Slowly raising his eyes to the young man, Father Lacoste said, with sympathetic kindness, " You need nought to plead with me for you, Giovanni ; from your boyhood it has been as natural for you to be frank with me as to breathe. You have been frank again : if for a few days you refrained from telling me what I now know, I am sure it was as much out of dislike to distress me as for any other reason." He hesitated, and there was a pained look in his eyes as he went on : " Giovanni, a great passion has come into your life and possesses you entirely. Yet, be that passion what it may, I cannot be unsympathetic with you. From the day you entered my life I cannot re- member refusing you anything that would be for your good. But I am depressed, Giovanni, and I would that I could shake off the presentiment that ill may come to you through this love. I cannot analyse and account for the feeling; perhaps it may be caused by the fear that the great gifts you possess will, instead of being helped, be retarded by the cares which the married state so frequently in- volves. Disappointment, too, at your unwillingness to immediately return to France may also tinge my forebodings." His manner changed again, and he continued, with an effort at lightness, " Or perhaps, Giovanni, my heart conjures up woe in order to drown a feeling of cruelty in desiring to deprive you of what you are so sure will make you happy." Appreciating, with his sensitive temperament, all the kindness and generosity of the priest in thus TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS 103 receiving his confession, Giovanni said huskily "The nobility of your nature,/^*, should have won greater consideration from me than I have had the strength to give." The priest stretched out his hand for Giovanni's and together they sat looiting in silence at the fire -resently the priest aslced slowly, "Does she know you love her, Giovanni ? " "No," replied Giovanni haltingly; "she is but eighteen, and to the subject of loving and being loi-ed I am sure she has given but little thought." Father Lacoste sat pondering, the feeling growing in his mind that he must accede to Giovanni's re- quest and to his postponing his visit abroad, when it came to him, like a flash, that in the warmth of their conversation Giovanni had omitted to mention the name of the lady, and, turning to him, he asked, You have forgotten to tell me her name, Giovanni. You mentioned her as being of good family. Was she one of the visitors, from abroad, at the shrine? " Giovanni turned and looked at the priest with an expression of astonishment, and answered, "It is strange I should have forgotten to mention her name; my omission must have been due to the im- pression that you knew her— an impression caused by the letter you gave me, and which led to my introduction to her. The letter, you remember, was to Monsieur Gustave d'Egmom, and she is his daughter— Mademoiselle Severine d'Egmont. I " But further words died on the speaker's lips ; for as the name of Severine d'Egmont fell on the ears of Father Lacoste he started to his feet with a low cry of consternation. "His daughter! the daughter of the patrician rhar"' °"*'*''* ''■Egmont 1 " interjected the priest. 104 A DAUGHTER OF PAT! iCIANS The words ard manner of the priest thrilled Giovanni with an indefinable dread. He roM hurriedly. Looking into the face of the distressed old man, he answered apprehensively, "Yes, pirt. Monsieur d'Egmont's daughter. I do not under- stand J why do you look and speak in this strange way ? " A great sadness came over the priest's face, and he replied with a world of pity, as he looked into the troubled, handsome countenance searching his, " Giovanni, you could not marry the daughter of Gustave d'Egmont were you the greatest master of your art who ever lived, and if you possessed the wealth of Croesus." Clasping his hands, he con- tinued : " Ah, how true, Giovanni, are coming my strange presagings of sorrow for you on account of this passion I " Giovanni stood grasping the back of his chair, waiting in tense suspense and whitening face for the priest to continue. Seeing the agony in his face. Father Lacoste went over to him and said, in a voice which meant to be calm and comforting, but which still trembled, " You were alwa. ; brave, Giovanni, and I know you will not flinch now, nor take too deeply to heart that which I must, at last, make known to you. The healing years pass rapidly, and you are young, and strength will come to live down this love. The Master Himself has said that he who can overcome himself is greater than he who can take a city." The words brought no change in the look of Giovanni's face, nor wavering of his intent gaze into the eyes of the priest " I have known Monsieur d'Egmont," went on the priest, after a trying pause, " for a number of years ; but of his daughter I knew very little, she being TOtD AFTER MANY DAYS 10$ of the time of my In convents during most mcquainUnce with Monsieur." needed .U his strength to continue. Giovanni stood motionless by his side. Pointing to the rug at his feet, Father Lacoste ooked up and said, « If you stand. Giovanni in down at my feet; you remember how you loved to s^iran'd Thr, "''T/ ^y-^oM you were on^ still, and that I could still protect you from dis- appomtment and trouble I" Touched by recollections of the past thus called up. and seeing the pain in the noble.^ndly old fece The priest stroked the da.k curly hair in silence for many mmutes. and then began slowly: "Even up to a year or so ago. when Monsieur d'Egmont referred to her as a child. I certainly thought of SL« r„rr' "'r ^ ^^'^^ >'- »"« note fo her t";Ta?cIristrastr^ ' ^" ''' '"« ^°"''»'' " The importance of what I have to tell you lies ceS ' *"1''^«»' ^'«° a''0"t yourself, and how certain prejudices, powerful as honour iuelf in Monsieur d'Egmont. will make your union wit. ' Z daughter an utter impossibility" but^iHM ' Tf "' '^""^^ ^^ '^"'= »'^"t to speak, " Durfn? "°* '^° '°' ^"'^ ^^"'"^ Lacoste continued you muftr' '^^"^ :!.'* *' d'Egmonts. Giovanni. iW Zh .t "'""'*' *•""' ^'^'^ •"«>« of addres.,- 'ng each other, coupled with many of thci, I06 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS mannensms, were more in accord with Parisian customs than with Canadian. Monsieur d'Egmont IS sometimes spoken of as a Canadian, but the truth is he is a French nobleman and comes of a race of patricians. His family was one of those that suffered the most severely during the Commune of 1 87 1 . At that time Monsieur d'Egmont chanced to be absent from Paris, and, ere he could return, his wife, a lady whose family was also of high rank, had fallen a victim to the guillotine. Her loss, and the death of other members of his family, so embittered him against the land of his birth, that he left France for ever, and came to Canada, with his eldest sister. Josephine, and a younger sister named Marie. For a few years Monsieur resided in Quebec, but finally removed to the village of Longueuil, where he pur- chased an old and historic manor-house, and made It his home. His house at Ste. Anne de Beaupr^ is as you know, only his summer abode. " Five years after his arrival in this country, and while in Quebec, Monsieur d'Egmont again married Iwo years after this second union Severine dEgmont came into the worid, her mother dying when she was three months old, leaving Monsieur d Egmont a widower once more. Monsieur d'Eg- mont's two sisters, who were still with him, now took care of the little one. " In Paris Monsieur d'Egmont had the title of Count, but after his arrival in this country he rarely used it. From the first, however, he evinced an unusual regard for what he believed was the pre- eminence of birth— never makii :g a friend of the rich, or even famous, if lowly born. " Josephine d'Egmont, his eldest sister, had also something of this pride of birth— a pride, though which a tender, womanly disposition kept from being TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS ,07 unjust £i.t Monsieur's youngest sister M, • wase trQlv larkin . ■•„ *!.• L ^ sister, Mane, am a,..o,..t to rt re d-' characteristic, as wl,at I ™,i. • demonstrates— as well as r- d-S;;;r" "^"^"•'■'"'"^ p°- over trsie:; .reitrrtt^rd'rVuTir B^^r'-'^ *--- French Canadian advocate of - K ' ''"""^ Although not of noble Tmi,;.' he"": s oT^d E^d spTunT ur?t ^^A °^ ^^ ^^-^" «iau sprung up between his si«tpr o,,j 4.u advocate, Monsieur d'Egmont exhibLd I . humiliation, and after % Wf. the greatest young girl, wro?; the lo r '"*''^'"'" *'* "^e she left her broths,'/ ° °'"*'; ^'^om the moment met a man more truly courteous Of fl ' «rJinab.nt^.i„aedn^ess,aS^f.^^^^^^^^^^ study of taxidermy, coupled with his natural pohte! n«s. has made .t almost impossible for one to^^l io8 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS at the indomitable strength of purpose underlj^ng his mannerisms. So much, Giovanni, for Monsieur d'Egmont's character. Now as to how it concerns you. Some years ago, Monsieur d'Egmont was recalling on one occasion, with his old bitterness, the disgrace brought upon his family by his young sister, when the conversation chanced to turn upon his daughter Severine, who was then in the convent, and he took the occasion to say that if by any chance she should ever disgrace her family, as his sister had done, he would cut her, for ever, from his life, flesh ^of his flesh though she might be. ' I would sooner,' he broke out, ' a thousand times, see her dead than contaminated by an unequal mar- riage.' " As Father Lacoste paused, Giovanni moved rest- lessly, and looking at the old man in a peculiar way, said, in a restrained, hesitating tone, " And, pkre, am I too lowly born to dare to aspire to Mademoiselle Severine ? Who am I ? What is my birth ? I must be a gentleman born, as you have told me I was a son of an old friend of yours, that both my parents were dead, and that you had adopted me." The anxiety in the tone of the speaker made the priest wish, as he had never done before, that what he must now tell had been revealed to Giovanni when he was a boy, and not at a time when it meant the blotting out of all that was most precious to him. Rising, the priest walked about in a troubled way for many minutes. Giovanni still reclined against the chair, a dread stealing over him which he could not shake ofl! As the priest continued silent, Giovanni turned to him and said, " You told me, pire, that you had something to reveal about myself, something which, TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS 109 on account of the prejudices of Monsieur d'Egmont, would render my union with his daughter an impos- sibility. Has what you wish to say to me to do with my birth ? " Father Lacoste, without replying, walked over to his chair again, seated himself heavily, and began, after a long silence; "One bitterly cold night in December, Giovanni, over nineteen years ago, shortly after I had been installed in this church, I received a summons, late in the night, to go to Notre Dame Hospital, to give the last sacraments to a man who had been run over on the streets. On arriving, I found the man unconscious, and from the nature of his injuries it was but too apparent that the sands of life had all but run their course. I stayed with him for a long time, hoping consciousness would return, but it showed no signs of doing so. The physicians were doubtful if it ever would. I had to go at last, but left instructions that I was to be sent for at once if reason showed signs of returning. The night had grown wild and stormy while I had been in the hospital, and when I reached the street the wind was sweeping along it like a wild thing, driving before it dense clouds of snow, which the storm, in its fury, had whipped into fragments fine as flour. I was soon chilled through. It was a night long to be remembered. When I reached the old church beside the presbytery, I kept close to the steps for shelter. Just as I was about to pass the last door of the edifice, and turn into the presbytery, I stumbled against something, and as I did so a child's cry reached me. A moment later I had gathered up in my arms, from the steps, a little boy not more than four years of age. Holding him tightly to my breast, I ran into the presbytery and up to my room. There I found that both the little feet and hands no A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS were frost-bitten, but I had been in time to save him from very serious injury. He was a grand little fellow, Giovanni, with great dreamy dark eyes, and round beautiful face. The moment the light shone upon him I yearned over him as would a father. As he lay that night in a little bed close to my own, I kept the light burning that I might see him as he slept. " Before he awoke next morning I was summoned again to the hospital. I found that the injured man had regained consciousness, but he was dying. As I entered the ward his glazing eyes brightened, and he huslcily called me to come to him. I saw his mind was deeply troubled, and as I knelt by his side he spoke as though he feared he might die before he could acquaint me with what was burden- ing him. He told me he was an Italian organ- grinder, that he was utterly friendless, and had lived for many years in the deepe«t poverty. The accident had befallen him while he was looking for his little son, who had wandered away in the storm the previous night, and who was lost. The dying man hid nothing from me : the boy, he confessed, had been bom to him by an Italian woman, in Italy, a woman in his own hard station of life, and who — who — had been weak enough to not insist upon marriage sanctioning their bonds." The speaker caused ; Giovanni sat motionless. "The dying man," continued the priest in a still lower voice, "was intensely anxif-is that I should put forth every effort to iind the child and place him in some institute where he would be guarded from want. It was only after his story was finished that a suspicion entered my mind I had somehow never imagined it possible that so unhappy and destitute a being could have any con- TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS ,,, nection with the noble little fellow I harf .= -^ my room the night previous '^"■'«' '° atiL^'crmrt^rthT'f "?.'';;^' ^"'' '^^^ *«=-?'- I retul^Iei to"he%'"f ; '"' ""^ '^"'>' ^^ <=>«ar. back with me The S*^' ".' """^''^ ^'''^ '=''"<' the moment he saw ZZ b?\*'' '^'"^ "^" me, ran to his bedside Hn "^ ^^^^ '■'■°"' tl>c grave as thrmln "°/^""g °" the border of his l!ps moved The T' ^' ''"'" *^ '='''''^. -"^ bed /nd bS Ji; 'bLrVhe '"V". *^ grief made the flarn^ ofmn^iVnT °' }"'' moments ere it was extingui hed for evi /°', ^, '^ eyes were turned on the child with aTc^k ^r '^^'"^ strength to the utmost ^ '^''*'' ""^ /''«; it is all ve.V clear^° ' "'■'''^"'^"d, Giovanni Correggio." ""t—the name was 113 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS There was such a depth of agony in the whispered suflering voice, that Father Lacoste would have given the world could he but have said the boy and the dying man had not been related. Suddenly Giovanni's manner changed, and, stretch- ing out his hands, he said brokenly, " Pire, pire, it would have been pain enough to have known that I was the son of a street musician, but ille- gitimate ; an object of pity to the world, an — an — Oh, my God, the disgrace is greater than I can bear!" The intensity of the outburst brought a quiver of pain to 'the countenance of Father Lacoste, and starting to his feet, he said, with shaking voice, " For the Virgin's sake, Giovanni, do not take it to heart so terribly ; this secret is known to none but you and me. I have kept it from you all these years, and it should never have been revealed could I still have hid it ; but it had to be revealed ; you said you must win her, and I knew there was that which would make your suit hopeless. Should you ask Monsieur d'Egmont for permission to win his daughter, he would immediately demand the clearest proofs of your birth and antecedents. Now he simply knows that you are a boy whom I adopted — nothing more. Once he knew all, he would surely acquaint her whom you love so dearly with the truth. You know how sensitive you are, and how great would be the pain at the knowledge that this had been told her. Monsieur d'Egmont would immediately forbid you any further intercourse with any member of his family. I was compelled, as you see, to prevent such humiliation to you." Looking up into the handsome face, so fraught with anguish, the priest continued, the fine out- lines of his face standing clearly out in the TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS u, flickering firelight: "Take comfort and courage Giovanni; but few in the world have such unrelenN .ng jdeas of birth as Monsieur d'Egmont, an.' as wh™ f^'r" "°"°^ '•"■' '^"y- '^ «•"" ^i" come when famihes more ancient and noble than Mon- sieur d Egmont's will deem an alliance with Giovanni Correggio an honour; for great genius i. above all birth and wealth. You are passing through the darkness; but after darkness, Giovanni, ever^comes he dawn. My heart bleeds to see you suffer like this and memory recalls your boyhood, such a bright and happy one. spent day after day. with your violin, in my study. Even in those d^^s you seemed in your imaginative way to live by music You made the study a home. You can never know all you have been to me. Those of us who devote our lives to the Church, and leave none behind us to bear our names, have crosses to bear peculiar to ourselves. It means much, Giovanni, to brdeprived of the joy of looking forward to the day when those who are the bone of our bone shall lend us Teir arms when the burden of years begins to weigh heavily. But the Blessed Mother was singulariy wM""';,""'^ ^°" ^^'■^ ^^"' '"t° ""y life, and have been all to me that a son ever could b^ I have watched you. Giovanni, grow from boyhood to manhoods estate; watched the unfolding and developing of your mind ; guarded with jealous care nlT^r'^u °^ y°"' exceptional genius, never doubting that the world would some day bow in glad homage to it." The speaker's tone changed to sadness, and he continued, with hurried anxiety: "And now. Giovanni. wh!n ^\^^^"r °^ *^'""^ ^'^ "" ^»* g°n«^. and n .u l-r^^ °^ 5'°"' *""'"?*' ^^ «" but arrived, another life crosses yours and threatens to sweep 114 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS away all my cherished hopes. God knows I \ ould not distress you ; but to-night I could cry aloud in my disappointment. Giovanni, I plead with you; if not from dread of what I have revealed to you being imparted to her you love, and if not from dread of her father's bitter reproaches, I beseech you by the memory of the happy days of your boyhood, and by the memory of the hopes I have nursed so long in regard to you, indulge no further this mad passion, but leave immediately for Paris, conclude your studies, and give the world the benefit of the genius God has given you." Giovanni looked into the pleading, anxious face with an expression that quickly eased the lines of care on the dignified countenance, and said tenderly, " If the memory, pkre, of past kindnesses should inspire gratitude, and the recollection of unwonted love and sympathy, give comfort in hours of dis- tress, they should certainly do so to me ; never until to-night did I really know how much I was indebted to you. To save me from pain you have tried for years to hide from me the truth of my birth and antecedents. Your interest in me was always wonderful, even when I was under the im- pression that it was because of friendship for my father that you adopted me and gave me a father's kindness ; but how much more wonderful it is when I know that instead of being the son of a gentle- man, and a dear friend of yours, I am a strolling beggar's son, one whose birth is besmeared and " — " Nay, Giovanni, nay, nay I " The fingers sud- denly pressed across the speaker's lips smothered further humiliating words. When the seal was removed, Giovanni, with a vehement, unexpected change of mood, went on : 'Ah, pire, would to Heaven you had chosen one k/ I TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS ,,j you. n,y love is up i„ armf, "^ '"debtedness to »"'' " urging me ?o face IT"'* ^'"" y°" ''«'«. ine in deep distress. *'"'•'• '"* '"''« ^ork- can h J, J,; oir^tL:::" tt- *'"* - heart, know the dpnm „<• ' ''"°«' your that you wi„ cho^rthelrr p^^'^'^' ^^ ''- » right I v.ill do i^H Th^°''^'"="= "What shall not be forgo ten Loye^h'";?" °^ '^' ^^'^ forget all I owe you nor leL 'i' "°' ""'''« ""e !" the eyes of rnC;^4ro:°t'nr''rr^''^'^ >s so much to me Vo„r „ • ? u .; ^°' °^ ^er who will go at onceXoad "e "^" ^ ^«'fied; I and try to forget." ^^ ^''"^ "P *° ">/ studies, and^'sSl.So: Skd', P"^^'- <^-- h--lf up ^ ^Hould not be'^di^SeS ■;: ^-' ^-"nf hef^t^^lrsro'^f^ro;d°? ^" - -ly prayers. gSLSI ^ " oTk ^'go'T^ *° to your room and rest • ft,» a ^'°'^'^- ^o at once fraught With man'yrrdet^o'?;u'"^ '"" '°"^ ^^ to be alone for I L ^11, 'f' *'* ^ should like °'d nK,m. to think it o^er-ri:""'. ''='" '" ^''^ "Vou will not leT^^^^u•'^^'^"•^*''«''"ture." Giovan^i?■• *' *** *'"''•"& 1^ too long, Ii6 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS " Ho, fir*, not too long." " Then good-night, my son, and the Holy Mother give you rest and peace." As he spoke, he raised his hands, and Giovanni bowed low his head beneath them to receive the blessing. A few measured steps, a rustling of priestly robes, and Giovanni was alone. Going to the lamp, Giovanni turned it low, drew a chair to the fire, and leaning heavily upon the carven arms, gazed long and steadily into the coals. He began to recall all that Father Lacoste had told him of the. prejudice which dominated Monsieur d'Egmont in regard to birth, to think over his own wor«e than lowly origin, and to weigh all it would cost to cut Severine d'Egmont out of his life. From what he had just learned, he believed she was for ever lost to him ; he dared not tell her the secret which now lay so heavily upon him, and yet it would be dishonourable to continue his attentions to her without acquainting her with it. Tb-i old days of dispassionate content that had been his before he had met her he knew were gone, never to return. "Yet I must forget her, I must forget her," he repeated restlessly to himself. He tried to dismiss her from his thoughts, and to fortify himself by thinking of the renewal of his studies, and by calling up possible triumphs in his art; yet somehow these fancies, which once had been able to fire his ambition, had lost their potency now. The realisation that they couid no longer rouse enthusiasm was sorely dispiriting ; and so his thoughts presently wandered off to Ste. Anne de Beauprd, and he began to recall the happy week he had spent in the mediaeval village with Severine d'Egmont — days that must always be indelibly printed on his memory. TOLD AFTER MANY DAYS ny Passing from the memories of these halcyon days. ^ f "IIT'k!''' '"'""• " °"'y SeverinTwere to share it with him; and with a quiclcening at the SiTi^^^" to conjure up joumeyings with her in foreign lands, their poetical natures entranced by ^l'!'. handiwork in cloud-capped mountain, im- posing torrent and mirroring lake; and to picture. ^^'Jl'l "*^ ""■°"«'' 'I""'"* ancient towns iTtn th!?l" picturesquely clad. Then, still further ^to the future travelled fancy, and he saw the one «o dear to him. in the ripeness of full gracious womanhood with all the powers of her Lmpre! hensive mind fu ly developed, and in sympathy and harmony with all his ideals-a fount of perpetual inspiration. ^ i^iuai A restless glowing coal fell noisily through the bars of the grate. Had the noise lien a ^al of thunder It could not have more effectually swept Tl *?•'"'"*'""" •»' """^ »^" •>"""y began to conjure up, from the fire, the lineaments of her sweetly serious face; and. as he did so, feature by feature, as though by some magician-s wand, rose slowly from amid the coals, until at last the dear intellectual counte- nance was as distinct and clear as though it were not ancy and she were before him in the flesh. As he looked into the wistful pictured eyes, there slowly but unmistakably dawned a light in them he had never seen before; a light that was ever in his own Il8 A DAUGHTER OF PATKICIANS when he wm in her presence — a light dearer to • lover than even whispered vowi. On the tired face resting against the ciutir now shone an exquisite look of gladness. The fire gradually died out, and left the room dark and cheerless ; but the look of content did not fade from the handsome face. His lips moved, and there came dreamily from them the whispered words, " Once, once more, pir*, and then — then Paris." Hours after, when Father Lacoste entered the room, he f<{und Giovanni asleep in the old chair, with a smile of happiness on his lips that he had not seen there for many days. CHAPTER X TO love's dictation " ^*' "'' '""^ *"'' '»">''«'«'> of itself, AUowi no ties, no dicutes of iu own. To lh*t mysterious arbitrary power, Reuon poinU out ud duty pleuls in vain." "Severine, I fear you are spending too much of your time in the house practising. You really must take more fresh air; the confinement is malcmg your eyes heavy, and it seems to me you have been depressed of late." It was lunch-time, and Monsieur d'Egmont was s«.ted at the table with his sister andTughter while near one of the windows stood Friar Jean fontaine looking impassively out at the river Upon hearing the words an alert expression crossed" the fnar-s face, and he inclined his head in a listen- ing attitude to catch Severine's reply. "It is but your fancy, papa." replied Severine, w.a. a quick rush of colour. « I am not depressed myhS» " ""'' """* '"'^°°" '" "°* *fi"«=«=«ng Before her father had addressed her, she had been sitting silently at the table, the wistful ex- pression of her countenance more noticeable than usual. Her face also had not its wonted colour in spite of her reply. Monsieur d'Egmont looked cJn^',^ J°"?^ ""'^"' *"^ ^'"S »>« *" n°t convmced, Sevenne. with a quick change of manner, 120 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS continued laughingly, "You know, papa, you are always imagining things about me." As during the remainder of the meal she was unusually bright and talkative, Monsieur d'Egmont, in his accustomed absent way, decided that his idea as to her health must have been but fancy, and the moment the meal was over he stole off to his den again, with a contented mind, to try a new process of stuffing specimens. When her brother had gone, Josephine d'Egmont looked anxiously at her niece, and said, "I think Gustave is right, Severine, you must certainly not confine yourself in the house so much; it is days since you were out for a drive." She crossed over to Severine, and laying her hand on the girl's glorious brown hair, said gently, " I have thought that there has been something on your mind during the past few days. Am I wrong, dear? " Rising and putting her arm around her aunt's waist, Severine said, as she drew her towards the door, "You are getting as fanciful as papa about me, aunty. My life, as you know, has been almost without a trouble, and " — The remainder of the sentence was lost to Friar Fontaine by the door closing behind the two ladies. He stood looking in the direction they had gone, his weak face expressing peculiar concern. After leaving the dining-room, Josephine d'Egmont exacted a promise from Severine that, if she would not drive that afternoon, she would at least spend an hour or two in the garden. Parting with her aunt, Severine went first to the drawing-room, and took up her violin, holding it in her hands for many minutes, and looking absently down — her thoughts evidently far away from the instrument Finally, raising her head with an 1 TO LOVE'S DICTATION ,3, irnSw"°''°"\'''" '°°^ "P *« ''°^and began f"* *' P«<="=e only lasted for a few minute ano^ lorgetful of the exercises, she began to plav As she played, the wistfulness of her face h«r»n to fade and into it came something of he LS expression it wore when Giovanni had reve^eSS the emotions of the composition to her helJt „ Ji !Lf ""*' •""■ ^y** '^'''"'^'^ to wander to the law A? T"""' '"' "'* » '■g'' ''he aboip*; Z, sLT^"'"'. ''°^"- ^''""■"g across Ae f^tTJ tK '^ u''""'='" °' ""^^^ fr°™ a vase, fastened them on her bosom, and taking a oah- of ^ssors, entered the garden. As thoufh deC "?S;:;r" °f «- depressing mo,S £h 'nt fTom^r!'' '^'^^ ^^' '^' "'■"«'' unhesitatingly from one flower bed to another, clipping here and sS " uL "^"^ '° ''"** °"' to the sunlight snb Z :^ "^^""^ '"^ "^ «'»«: but the stefdy snip of the scissors by and bv was h^»r^ i frequently and soon the^ sound'ce^ XtlT/ 2h«l„iT *k!^ ""PP^ ^'"^ »>- handsfth^J- ttsrrrert'i;L^;--risr conscious of how quickly th^ min'ut« \f flL„g Md unconscious too. of the click of the g3* stel 1^' l"""?' '"'"'='' °f approaching fool^ steps. Soon he who had entered the garden fa 122 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Standing directly behind her and looking lovingly down at the meditative figure. As he was about to speak her name, and thus make known his presence, a line, which seemed peculiarly appropriate to her, came to his mind, and he quoted softly, " In maiden meditation, fancy free I " " Monsieur Correggio I " She stood before him for a moment visibly sur- prised, and then, quickly turning away, said, as she stooped to find the scissors, " I — ^you surprised me. Monsieur." He stood in silence. His heart seemed to cease beating. Was it mad fancy, or in that fleeting look from her eyes had he really seen a counterpart of the expression that had stolen from them into his the night he had conjured up her face out of the glowing coals in Father Lacoste's study ? She was long in finding the scissors, and he waited breathlessly for her to turn again, that he might see if it were indeed the same expression, or whether or not he were once more but the victim of an hallucination. The truant scissors were found finally, and she turned to him; but now neither in her expression nor bearing was there anything to encourage the hope which the face pictured in the firelight had aroused in him. There was, it is true, a slight flush on her cheeks, but the exertion of seeking for the scissors might have caused that. She could not but notice the sudden disappoint- ment in his face, and said quickly — and not with perfect composure — as she held out her hand to him, " Monsieur is very welcome." His lips uttered some commonplace, and they moved towards the house. He told her his visit would extend for two days. He had seen her in TO LOVE'S DICTATION ,23 mLfl^M f ^^ "" '''^'" *° «"*«=' the house, and made bold to come where she was h JJT "^ * P'^^ '°°'' °" '>«^ <■»<=« when she heard he was not to return immediately, and she lowered quickly. "Papa will be veo^^py to see taur; he was speaking about yl onTthi^ as U°ht'M'^??r°"*' *'"' '°°^ "°*« °f «">«' only welcomeTr • ""^' °^ '""^ "^ ^P«='«'e". hW^Z. ?r ^^""' '" '"'' ^hsent way. questioning hnn about Montreal and Fat„ar Laco^e as though he had not seen his guest for many months Giovanni frankly told him that he was to go abroad almost .mmediately. and his host courteously tished h.m eve>y success in the future. As they w«e talkmg,- Josephine d'Egmont joined her broth^ nl ? u ^"'' '^'^^- As Severine was not preset, when this conversation was taking place she was st.ll Ignorant of Giovanni's contemplftL de~^^ ^abroad. When she did retu^ preS tt^'h!::* ""."""^ ^'""^' -* her'broth.^ who had been gettmg very absent-minded, surtep- titiously steal off to his workshop again ^ T^^ i"..'"'* '""^^ '""'«^ drowsiness. To J^hme d'Egmont, who was so much of an invalid" Ae day was sweetly restful. After her brother's S^T,*' •'* '■""'''"^ ^""^^^ *° "^nd fro on the v«andah. listening to the voices of the young peopfe which soon faded farther and farther^wfy^S suddenly they died into silence. hou«'T"t'!f*^.'^" *P'=*'''"S to Giovanni of the hours she had given to her violin since his departure and only became aware that her aunt slept w^she 124 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS turned to ask her if she would like to accompany them to the drawing-room, as they were going to have music. Seeing how childlike and sweetly she slumbered, Severine would not awaken her. Before turning away she pressed her lips to the forehead that was so frequently lined with pain. And so Josephine d'Egmont slept, no presentiment disturb- ing her of events that were now to occur and which were to completely changre all their lives. As they entered the drawing-room, memories so precious and dangerous crowded back to Giovanni as to arouscj his fears for the strength which he had so earnestly assured himself he now possessed. Realising that he dare not dally with temptation, he decided to tell her, as soon as the conversation would permit, of his intention to go abroad. A mysterious restraint possessed them both as they found themselves alone in the roo'.i. In the hope of breaking it, Giovanni took up the violin, and turning to Severine, asked her what she would like him to play. For once she had no preference, and said simply, "What Monsieur pleases." There was the least possible vibration in her voice as she replied, but slight as it was, Giovanni noted it, and his heart again beat tumultuously. He was standing quite near to where she was sitting, and as he looked down at the comely bent head, a gleam of sunlight shot through the masses of gorgeous brown hair, beautifying and endearing it so to him, that the keenest longing came over him to have the right to stoop and press his lips to it. With all his great love striving for the mastery (and believing that they would soon be separated for ever), he madly resolved to re'ieve the burden of his feelings in music, and began to TO love's dictation 125 play tiie fateful love serenade which had aflfected her so when he had interpreted it to her a week ago, and which had whispered to her soul of the possibilities of a world of feeling undreamed of by her before. It never crossed his mind, as he impulsively chose the piece, that there might be any peril in it for her, nor did he stop to ques- tion whether the pleading melody, instead of but giving ease to his suppressed feelings, might result in the gravest danger to his plans for the future. When he had played the composition before, he had thrown his soul into the task, but not as he did now. As he lost himself still more deeply in his art, the strings began to tell of undying love so passionately that, had his listener been obtuse of imagination, instead of possessing the most delicate perceptions, she must surely have understood. He had but made the strings whisper of love when first he had played to her the piece; now, he made them verily shout aloud their story. As they did so, they carried before them, as chaff before the wind, her every struggle for self-com- mand. And so she sat as entranced as Ulysses when he listened to the irresistible melody of the sirens. Long before the piece was played through, Severine's transformed face was mirroring all the deep gladness of her willing captive heart Just as he was drawing to a close she involuntarily raised her eyes, with all their magic light in them, and looked at the player. At the moment she did so, he looked down, and their eyes met The sweet tenderness of her face did not alter, for she did not realise it was telling aught that she fain would have hidden. But had her face, instead of expressing all that 126 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS was sweet and beautiful in her heart, borne the expression of the fabled goddess whose look turned the beholder into stone, the player could not have faltered more visibly; but it was the faltering of unutterable gladness, not of fear. The violin slipped from his hands: for a moment he hesitated, as though he could not understand ; then, suddenly kneeling, he touched his lips to the small clasped hands, and murmured in a tone which thrilled her as even the music had not had the power to do, " Dearest ! " She did hot speak, but sat happy— happy beyond expression. She was silent so long, that a chill crept to his heart, and, releasing her hands, he rose and looked at her anxiously. But seeing in the slightly down- cast face no reproof for him — and hope making him bold again — he said softly, " I love you — Severine. Have you no word for me ? " Rising, in the grave, unaffected manner so char- acteristic of her, she simply stretched out her warm loving hands and laid them in his — a freewill offer- ing she was never to regret, despite all the lower- ing future was already beginning to store up for her. He stooped silently and kissed the precious offerings. Conversation deserted them, and now, with his arm around her, they stood side by side, looking through the great open bay window, near by, at the blue majestic St. Lawrence, which, in the sunlight and deep quiet of the afternoon, flowed placidly by. Giovanni was the first to break the silence. Slowly raising his hand and pointing at the river, he said, with a world of content, " How veiy peacefully TO LOVE'S DICTATION 137 iirSu^ th.*^*'' T. """' ""^ *°8cther as unruffled through the years that are to come 1 " "The Holy Mother will, I am sure, answer your f"y< '\« »aid «>ftly. Of the und;ingrres^of I m^i ..-T' "l"''"' «""'• *" '^«"»« A«ir yo«<^ a moment s thought than a man's hand, strayed across the face ofSi^ sun, for a space bereaving the water of its gladness and tmgmg it with a soft melancholy. ^ ' Instantaneously, with the sudden change there came to Giovanni, for the first time, the mf^o^Tf It^fJt^'T' °' *" '""'f"' ^'"'y he had Told hm, of that fierce night he had been called out o admm.ster the last rites to the friendless, dying Uahan ; of the boy he had saved from freeiing'^ on the steps of the church of Notre Dame; of his adoption of the boy; and of the tarnished kinsWp the boy bore to the dying man. Rushing in on i^iU'trV "'»'it°°- *e sickening knowledge that, m the abandon brought on by the music, thie gruesome secrets must not be hid from her wh^ affections were now his. But even greater than Ws loathing to tell her of these thing! was the ove!! s^™ u "^ '^"^'^ *!**' '"•'''" '^^ ^"^"^ *". the rift that should separate them would surely come. Adding to his agony, conscience stung him with the memory of his conduct towards Father Lacoste it was not his continued silence that impressed her with the feeling that some distress had sudS Tty^l i!"' ''"' *•"= '^'^ '=''•"'"6 °f *«= hand m which hers so confidently rested. Shyly she "«ed her head and looked at him; but the'^ligJt Md gladness died from her eyes as they fell upon his face—it was strangely drawn and set. 138 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS With an anxious exclamation, she laid her hand on his arm, and, forgetful that she had never called him by his Christian name before, said, "What is it, Giovanni? Something is troubling you." The sound of his name on her lips, and her dear anxiety, soothed him, and smiling down upon her, a. though he thought she had given way to needless alarm, he tried to answer her lightly. But her woman's heart was not deceived by his effort to disarm her fears, and as she looked into his eyes she pierced the superficial content he would have her rpad in them, and saw the trouble lurking there. ... .u- « Perhaps," she answered gravely, " it is something that does not concern me, and if it is you must pardon me; I— I thought you were deeply troubled, and I wanted to " — _ . •' Would to the Virgin," he broke out, with im- petuous distress, " that I could say it had no concern for you!" Again the chasm between their births and stations in life yawned threateningly before him, and he turned away sick at heart. The keenness of his disquietude again appealed to all that was sympathetic and tender in her, and with that quiet gravity of manner that gave such grace to her years, she said gently, " I am glad, so glad, it concerns me; for now, whatever your trouble, I can help you to bear it" As she stood there, with a wistful look of concern and sympathy betraying itself, despite her quiet self-control of manner, she had never appeared so dear to him, and he craved to take her to his heart; but he would not now deepen the wrong he feared he already had done her. Drawing a chair for her, he said, " I fear the burden I have recently been called upon to bear is TO LOVE'S DICTATION With trust and corfide„,f i^ ,^« .^-k- face, she leaned slightly tow!,f u- °*'"S '" ''« 'peaking belief that he cS? ^""' u''"'' ""»""«' that would have the pote' to , "^ "°'^'"8 *° "" He began by recamnrthf '""''"' *""• her in ol^f otre Dame Church "'."!?''' ''* ''*'' «*" of her face had K S\ "'"'"'^ ''"= "'^n'o'V ensuing winter in pTn" ofhiJ""/" *'^"^'' '^e two months ago for a br.W '"^«tum to Montreal ^he determination to trjTn/r^' °' '^*' «"" -"•> of his continued stay^„ Mn . T ''^° ^'''^ '-«'; »Pjte of the prayeJ^of F^thtl. *° '"' ''"'• '" whom he owed a debt of ^^.«^ Lacoste-^ne to «pay; of his visit at the f ''^ '"' "°"'d "ever the shrine at Bonne Ste .?"''' °' ""*= ?"«*- to the memor, that was ev^r ^tlV° "''' "'''^ f""" with her in the church of hi ^ ^"^ '. °' ''" ""eeting durin, the week he tad'btn tS^ .'°^'= '^ "- h« want of frankness with Father /'. ^^''' °^ '"« him to believe that it wall^ ''"' '" ''"°'^- good he desired to remain b^h- ^^T °^ "P'"*""! Montreal, to t^. and wi" thJ '• °^ '"''' '*'""' *'"' openly p^^ss his suit- and fi„!n ^'^T' '=°"^«"' to intense astonishmen and d^'"''' °^^"''*" L^=°«te's *e lady he loved las the dT.t' ''^^"'"^ *« Gustave d'Egmont ^''"^'^''^ °f Monsieur at whaS nt i^Tht 2^^ -^'■^'^ hfai with the love-lipht L. ■ ^ '^" 'ooking at felt that he couTd nft tKr'^f' ."k'" '^^'' ^"^ »>« hirth and see herexpressSichL ^'^ '*"'" "P°" *« •-^ng. Herose^i„-rptTn;°::;Srtnh1 I30 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS window, to screen his face from her and to nerve himself for the unfolding of the climax. " And is this all, Monsieur?" She had followed him, and was standing by his side, her face bewitch- ing to look upon. She only thought he was unduly sensitive and felt too keenly his deception to the good priest — her woman's heart made the greatness of his love for her hide all other faults. He did not turn as she expected, and in answer to her question he said, with painful distinctness, " No, it is not all ; you have simply heard the pre- face. Hdnour demands that I should reveal to you a thing Father Lacoste, in order to screen me from pain, kept a secret from me until only two days ago; it is that — that, Mademoiselle, I am not a gentleman bom, that I am but the son of a street musician, and — and — that " (his hands clenched and perspiration broke out on his forehead) — " and that, Mademoiselle, my parents sought not the sanction of the Church to their union 1 " He turned, with an air of desperation, and faced his listener. When he saw her face, he started back on it was written palpable alarm and terror. Her fear nerved him ; the worst had been told. He felt he had lost everything, and sorely degraded himself in her sight. With bowed head, he went on slowly : " There is only a little more to be told. After I knew all from Father Lacoste, I thought I had strength to look upon your face, just once more, before I went out of your life for ever ; but my strength was over- rated — as Father Lacoste feared. The wish to see you, however, was so strong that he finally gave way to my wishes. He took some hope from the fact he had imparted of how hopeless it would be for me ever to expect your father's consent to mj^r TO LOVE'S DICTATION ,3, paying addresses to you. It wa. ti,- l . . •wtd of your father', i« 1 -7 '"' knowledge he to «ive me f^riLTttbTeH- "*''''-''' «'"''«' humlHatJon. When I l^a" hS'"'^'"*'"*"' ""'' speak no word of love to^o„ "?. P'"""'* "> visit. I really believed^ ,^°^ "" *•"» ""»' brief temptation foSr^^'bTL^it'" '■""^^'"' '°' "">' to-i;£j"£"'r^,'^T^ ^^">- Lacoste dCoit.^ MldeSelSltrrat sh^""'^'" that the th«ff^7^sr:^°"'r'<>!--t tliought to reason" '*'^° '°^« ^^e no cantint";v;earwr;:r r '''''"^' •' ' to bear the burden-thl hL J'"^"''' ^°""^ your loss. When ? am f ' ^"''en'oiselle. of easier for youZ 'fZ^'. 77' ^'^ '' '^"' ** difficult it must be to f „ow» u^TTf ''°^ head and turned quickly t. the door ^"* '°" "" Vou^nr u^Sir' ^- -hing to forgive, hands stitched ouTto:a;ds him "" ^*''"'''"^' ''" notX^end ' '"""^ ''' '^^ ^ ^'-gh he did "-^ that m^^mi;: ZirtTj^''''- ^eS\otit*i%T^rt^^^^^^^ - with yo^r'Tov . '°mSu:'^?..^°'' '°'"""«' could you think if u, i""'""^— Giovanni— how in me?" " "^°"''' "'«''« any alteration He waited to hear no more: to the winds we« •3« A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS given de«palr and wounded pride ; in this iupreme moment lie cared not what the world might say or think ; he knew she loved him, loved him for hU own personality, and held him in regard above all birth. As he clasped her to his heart she rested her face trustingly on his shoulder, finding comfort and peace there. In his relief and content, he gave no further thought to the peculiar alarm and fear she had shown when he had unfolded the story of his birth, and he would have made no mention of it to her had she not broached it. Seating herself, she drew him down to her feet, that she might look into his face as she spoke, and that he might also see into hers. " Giovanni," she began, a shade of anxiety cross- ing her face again, " I must tell you what it was that caused my agiution ; it is necessary that I should ; I fear it is grave for you — for us both." His manner exhibited no anxiety, and his only reply was to still more tightly fold her hands in his. '< I was so happy," she went on, her seriousness deepening, " when I heard of your love for me, that I could not believe anything you might reveal could mar it ; but when the words about your birth fell from your lips I was, for a time, powerless with apprehension and dread : confronting me, came my father's great pride of family ; the recollection of his unbending sternness to his younger sister, whom he disowned and never forgave for marrying one whose birth he thought did not equal hers. There came also many other recollections of acts of sternness my father had shown on this subject I cannot ever remember him severe on any other. The fear, Giovanni, which overpowered me, and which you so naturally misunderstood, was caused only by the TO LOVB'S DICTATION |j, dre^ th« when my father knew of what h«l P«»ed between us. the indomitable pr'U ?„ hi. ch^er would make him he.iute at'^nah.i t separate me from you." His delight at her explanation was such that it was impossib e for him to share the keenness o7he dread of possible unhappiness in store for them, and tteXTur'" '^ ^"^ eloquently and hopefully of What loving, girlish heart could ever long indulee in fears of future sorrows when a lover maenetic wuh youth «,d hope, uses the most somK«! bodmgs as a background to bring out the more v.vidly the pictures of hope which he paints? T„d so. when Giovanni ceased by expressing a convic kmdhness which advancing years must have brought would thmk more unselfishly of his daughter's haL-' n«s than years ago he had done of his sisters Severme was willing to admit that the fear of their t^I"Hffi''r''^"""' •"'^^ '"»e""'«l '" her eyes 2^n lo te" *'"'' "°"" P""''"^ ^'^ "^ "'""l Happiness such as theirs was beyond the com- K. ' '^"^ to <:°nt«n. and so they left the house IZlTu^""':'^:^ *'' '''*** °f Oo'^e". the sing- ing of birds and the calm dome above them. accord«l perfectly with their feelings. '•coraea Seating themselves near a vine-clad summer- house, they began to talk of the strangeness of their first meetmg. She ^called her impassions of the t^H K l^t" ^^ '" N°*'" ^'""•^ Church. She told h.m of the sympathy she had felt for him when he had nsen. violm in hand, away up in the vast ^n-loft.a„d faced the sea of up'turn'ed ex^il" «Mes. of her complete subjugation to the mastery 134 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS of his playing, and of how unconscious she had been of partly rising when he had reached the great climax of the crucifixion. The influence of his music had never left her. As yet he was ignorant of when the awakening of love had come to her, and he asked, " And did love come to you, Severine, that night, as it did to me?" " Not that night, Giovanni" " When I suddenly came face to face with you at the foot of the statue of Bonne Ste. Anne ? " " Not c/ven then," she answered gravely. If she faltered to tell him, it was because of an impression that about the awakening of her love for him there had been something bordering upon the supernatural. Her face was almost solemn in its gravity when, after a long quiet, she raised her eyes to the ones seeking hers and said, " No human voice taught me what love was, Giovanni ; my heart was awakened to its thraldom by the mystical voice which a new Orpheus created by his God-given genius on the violin — how strange, strange a wooing ! " But throwing off her solemn mood, she continued : " Love for you awoke in my heart, Giovanni, when you inspired the love serenade, and played it to me the afternoon before you returned to Montreal When you played it once more to-day, every note told of the glory of loving, and of being loved, more eloquently, Giovanni, than perhaps even your dear voice could have done. And now the surrender of my heart to you is complete, my whole life is changed, and no happiness will be so complete as to weave around my Orpheus every thought" Raising her radiant face, he looked down into it, and said, with deep impressiveness, " And, Severine, if aught should ever sefiarate us, I, like the faithful T TO LOVE'S DICTATION ,35 Orpheus to whom you have ,. ened me. would seek sake, entered the realms of the lost." As he ceased speaking, their lips, for the first t.me. met in all the unselfishness of a fir t deen pure affection. ^P' miilfhf''^ '^"J"" *'^P* '■" <=onversation, they might have noticed, as they talked, that the dense low bushes at the far end of the garden TZ frequently agitated. As their lipshfd me" th^ bSkW fH"'"^^'^^' violence, 'and th^a duH bneakmg of branches, followed a moment later by a them """"^ '""'' '•=" "P°" *«='' -- ''"d staSed h.^i!''"^f 1. '°°'''"S '" ""= '>''«<=«°n from where ^«?°."^ *.*.' ""'■^'^ '^'"^ come. Giovanni salth^ S from th T1-''"" ^°"'^'"«'^ '--«ff- dash from the bushes towards them. The do? .^""atl;; ,t"L'*^-"e was sitting, and, Souch' whine «fK\^^" *° """^ •'^ ^'>°"'<^«' and to whme, as though m pain. When Giovanni tried to stole^t Th 'T''*. *° •'"'■ '*P *"'* •*g»" to W h!„H ^^"J"'"^^^- ^^^ dumb affection, licked £ sh™S *■'"• ^'* * *'''"<^' *"™d and licked ^shoulder agam. Carefully parting the coarse ttt ltrd"hr"'K".*'*' *'^°"'''^'' ^ discoloration tiiat looked hke a bruise. As there was no one in sight, she thought something must have hurt th" anunal by falling upon it. After the brute had grown quiet, the oeculiar inc^ent slipp«, from the lovers' minds LdTgan seatmg themselves, they began to talk of the futT and of getting the consent of Fatlier Lacos te a^' t^r " ci v'^r-iVre" zir-^. "^-^ viuvdnni was sure that the pnest would 136 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS not object to their engagement, seeing he was willing to go abroad at once and complete his studies — when he returned, they could be married. "As for Monsieur d'Egmont," said Giovanni, rising, "it is only right that he should know at once what has passed between us : I will go now and ask his consent" Despite his lightheartedness, his heart sank at the thought of the ordeal before him. Severine, brought face to face again with her great fear, could scarcely hide her agitation as they approached' the house. The dog was following them , irresolutely stopping, from time to time, to look longingly in the direction of the bushes from which it had sprung. They reached the steps of the house just as Josephine d'Egmont was descending them. " I was just coming to seek you in the garden," said the elder lady, « to tell you that your father has just driven to catch the Quebec train. He will not return from Quebec till to-morrow. He received a telegram, a little while ago, calling him there on important business." Severine, for the first time in her life, knew what it was to feel relief at the absence of her father from home — the evil day, when he must know all, had been postponed. Fearing that her face might betray her relief, she turned to speak to the dog, but it had disappeared. Had she gone a little to the right and looked down the main path, she would have caught sight of the animal crtwling abjectly back towards the clump of bushes. Reaching the outer edge of the bushes, the beast began to whine piteously. As it did so, a voice full of agony called out, "Pataud, Patoud, vien, vitn. TO LOVE'S DICTATION ,,- downl But it waTnot Je'r~'"'' "''• ^ ''"''^ blow. See s«« pI^h . ' " T y°" *''* &°t *e and throrS'^ftt :r„d"2 V^^, •>-»>« have rent him as easily " In v ' ^ ^"•^' ' ^""'"^ hieh his h,„^ • ^" " '"^ madness he raised aware of others being in the garden ' "^"^ vanls"^!!^^,!^" '"*•"" '■" *" picture, his insane rage into hoa«e. heartreTding tbt^^^r tan^:!'""! poor mad. deformed friar! ^°°' ■'«'"' Fontaine I 1 CHAPTER XI THE ORDEAL "Consider man, weigh well thy frame, The king, the beggar are the same; Dus| formed us all. Each breathes his day. Then sinks into his native clay." It was almost four o'clock of the following day before Monsieur d'Egmont arrived at Ste. Anne and found the two ladies and Giovanni waiting for him at the station. Monsieur was extremely pleased to be home again, and ruefully shaking his head, re- gretted that there should be anything like business to distract and call one from home. Severine, who had been very restless during the wait for the train, laughed affectionately at her father's words, and boldly hazarded the belief that his longing to be back and stuffing some gruesome denizen of the air or water had been the cause of infinitely more distraction to him than any business he had been called upon to transact. A covert smile played under Monsieur's grey moustache at this home thrust, and, like the good general that he was, he avoided a controversy on so dangerous a subject by adroitly turning the conversation to another channel. The wisdom of such not uncommon tactics was once more demon- strated when it was found that within twenty minutes after Monsieur's return to the hou% t» had once more buried himself in his workshop, m X- THE ORDEAL >39 ^ppny busied hi Jserwi* £tas°:^ S W."'^' Giovanni and « h^d been struck, every nerve quivering with humiliation. 1 thought, continued Monsieur, with less passion^ but n clear, cutting tones "that Z adopted son of a friend of mine could not but te a gentleman born, and so I gladly welcomed you -my gues^ Monsieur My courtesy has been^ll requited. Knowmg the facts of your birth and acquamted me with them before paying your addresses to Mademoiselle d'Egmont-but Mon such a course necessary." The hot blood of his race surged in Giovanni's vems and carried away all control Taking a ""ep forward, he said in bitter anger. "Monsieu^s'udg' fX/'t "" ?'"'!, I' '' '■' ^''^ ^'^ uncalle^-fo^. FaAer Lacoste w.ll be my witness that it was only here, tha he made known to me the truth concern "nKl'*' '"' "'''"''''■ ^"- ^° that timn "" frSd S wTTr" *''' ' **" '""^ -" °' » dear iriend of his. The wrong I have done. Monsieur " his anger now died away), "was in liy tS, g Se h'L^°'"^ °"' °^ Mademoiselle d'Egmonff afc-and bearing alone through the long yeT« of the future the agony of having lost hfr r 1, i strength enough to s^ her yet once aga.„ ^" in the speaker's voice there was tmfh j Monsieur d'Egmont knew it ,nH t ' ^"^ glad to know he W8« not in possession ISO A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS of these facts when he first became my guest and began his attentions to my daughter. If I have said anything that has sounded harsh, Monsieur, I apologise. Like Monsieur, I have to regret this final visit. While it may be possible to understand the sudden weakness of Monsinir's purpose during this visit, it is not easy to account for the applica- tion Monsieur makes for her hand to-day. How could you, Monsieur, expect anything but refusal of such request? Even were Mademoiselle as lowly bom as Monsieur, she is of stainless birth." Straightening out his figure, he continued, with a world of dignity and pride : " The lady whose hand Monsieur sues for is a descendant of one of the noblest families of France, and when she marries it must be with one whose birth is fully as noble as her owa It is argued, it is true, that birth is an accident, as is the inheritance of wealth, or a thou- sand other things in the world ; but, Monsieur, in my sight birth is more precious than aught in the universe. It is possible to acquire wealth ; and art, deeply as I revere it, may also be gained ; but the gentleness of blood and the traditions and honour of noble birth are gifts of God. Monsieur knows how deeply I prize them." The sternness of his face grew more marked, and he ' continued, with slow incisiveness : " Mademoiselle d'Egmont is scarcely out of her teens, and from what Monsieur has told me of her childish sentiments, her education is certainly yet incomplete, and it becomes my duty to arrange with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart at Quebec for her immediate return there." As Giovanni listened, with hope all dead, he was wondering, in a dull sort of way, if the speaker before him, exhibiting in every gesture and word purpose so indomitable that it were madness to T THE ORDEAL IS» I tO' and shake, could really be the same kindly, ataent character who so short a time before had been delighting in giving semblance of life to the inanimate things around him; a man of keen in- telligence and loving disposition—" a man," thought Giovanni, " to whom none would have dreamed of attributing such unrelenting prejudice." Monsieur d'Egmonfs threat to remove Severine to the convent filled Giovanni's cup of hopelessness to the bnm. From the new characteristics which had now been revealed in his host he did not for a moment doubt but that he would promptly cany his threat into execution, and already before the lover's eye arose the towering walls of the sombre convent entombing her whose life was dearer to him than his own. Great as was Giovanni's sorrow, his outward manner gave but little evidence of it, and as Monsieur d'Egmont concluded, he answered quietly with a touch of dignity, " I will not trespass farther by prolonging an interview which has brought such annoyance to Monsieur. I can but earnestly apologise for having spoken of love to Mademoiselle dtgmont before having Monsieur's permission to do so, and to trust that the explanation I have made may excuse much. As for the love I bear Mademoiselle d'Egmont, it is such that, whatever my birth or station, it calls for no shame or apology. He took a step backward to the door and continued: "My train, Monsieur, leaves in two hours. The hotel is near the station; 1 shall take It irom there. My apologies once more. Monsieur." He bowed and turned quickly. r,Im? ^ "^^^ *" *'°°'' Monsieur d'Egmont said calmly and with evident sincerity, " Until Monsieur's tram leaves he wilt kindly remain my guest" iSa A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS " I thank Monsieur," anwered Giovanni, bowing once more, and then the door closed. Slowly, very slowly, he retraced his steps along the passage with his crushing tidings for the loving heart awaiting him in the drawing-room, the thought of the convent one nK>ment shaking him with dread, and the r?xt arousing fierce resolves that she should never again be immured in it Entering the room, he saw her standing at the window, the crucifix still in her hands, anxiety mantling her face. When she heard him, she turned quickly, and with breathless eagerness awaited his approach. Something seemed to tie her feet that she could not move to meet him. He walked slowly to her, trying hard to control his coyatenance. She could not clearly catch his expression till he came into the light of the window, but when he was within its range love made his face to her as an open book, and she knew all. He stood by her side, making no attempt to draw her to him. But taking his arms, she drew them gently around her, and in their dear shelter looked up at him. The love and soothing in her eyes sorely tried him. " My God," he thought, " how am I to give her up ? " She gave no evidence of impatience, and waited quietly for him to speak. Briefly as he could, he began to tell her of all that had passed between her father and himself. She listened without comment until he began bitterly to tell her of her father's intention of separating their lives by sending her immediately to a convent. Then her quiet of manner gave way, and starting from him, she buried her face in THE ORDEAL 'S3 I ^ZJT'^' J""? '"'^' "°^- "°' "»"'' I «=«»'ot. cannot go back now!" Even as she spoke came the recollection of the peaceful years she had spent in the convent with the buters and of how often she had longed that she might become a nun and live, as they did, alone for eternity. Conscience, which always held dictatorial sway oyer her, now condemned her for the words she had given expression to, charging her with having lost her devotion to the Church and the love for what was holy. Bom worshipper as she was, these upbraidings sorely troubled her, and in her love and distraction she raised her eyes aad prayed aloud. " Dear Virgin, guide me thb day " Giovanni wished to be strong, wished to do riri* • but the sight of her misery was madness to his lo«' and his whole being fought for her. She loved him ! This was all he remembered now. He took her hands with passionate tenderness in his own, and crushed with a sense of his own misery, he began to tell her, with all a lover's infectious earnestness. oJ the drearmess and misery life would be to him without her, and of his sure conviction that their lives would be for ever sundered if she were sent to the convent. Finally he made the desperate ad- mission that he had not strength to part with her. Carried away by his fears of the future, and dominated by his love, he now boldly pleaded that they should take the guidance of their lives into their own hands. Almost wrenching her hands from him, she said iMrtnlly, "Giovanni, what would you urge me to He held his hands out to her with a desperation Sl„w.\^ '°' """ *° '«"**. "Be my wife, i«vcnne. he answered. "Come with me." t$4 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS His meaning was only too plain. With heaving bosom and face full of pain, she said veiy slowly, " Giovanni, you do not know what you ask. Think of how our Church condemns union without the con- sent of parents; think of the unhappiness it would cause my father and my aunt ; think of P4re Lacoste, who has been a father to you. Let us try to be patient, dear" (her hands were clasped, and she was pleadij;.? now), "and help me to be brave and strong Miovanni; it will not matter how long I may be se,. rated from you, my heart will never change. The future may be less unkind than we fear ; my lather may yet consent, and the difficulties which now keep us apart may all be smoothed away. The thought of being parted from you, Giovanni— oh, help me to bear it bravely I " True and noble as he knew her pleading to be, it was beyond him (as it is so often with the stronger sex) to rise to her height of self-denial, and while he did not urge her further, he turned aside with a face of such sore disappointment and sorrow as to make her pity for him almost beyond endurance. Going to his side and falteringly laying her hand on his arm.she said brokenly, "Giovanni— Giovanni!" So great was her pity that in her voice there had con- i a shade of self-condemnation. lie looked into her face, and then said, with white lips, " Severine, I have tried, and cannot give you up." He watched the rapid changes passing over her face as he waited for her reply. " Then, Giovanni," the words were long in coming, " I cannot bid you go." She saw the rapture which sprang into his eyes, and once more stretching out her hands pleadingly to him, said, " Now you know all that love really is THE ORDEAL '55 to me, do not Giovanni, influence me against what conscience te s me Is riaht u i »8"""t wnat the claims of my fetler." '" "' '° '*"'*'"^' This time her abandon— and almost apneal to hi. tattle a man ,s ever called upon to fight-to give up the woman he loves * She watched him struggle, but did not speak. father and aunt. But, Severine. my heart p«sSs onb. sorrow for us both in this sacrifice." H^^d trill r '° ^'r ""^ *° '^''' ^~- ""'1 make her ie we^T'"'' '"'' f ' '''"■"e t° ''peak more brighfly SsTth r twf'^^ " ?° "°*- S-erine. allow fh^e' least th ng that I may have said to-day fo make Z1Z7V" V'^^°"^«"• ''^- -u'st ent^t agam for a time, harder to endure. Think of me dear, as you remember me to-day whh LT' thought and eveo. hope centr^fn'^^^T "^ mi£^ ^"l "I ^'^'^ '^' ^"^ -"'Kht not see the misery in her face. Gio^tn-^ "'' !. ^°^^ °^ "'^ ""ft ^'"^"'■^hed hair, d^dTHhrr. " P^^^'°"«^'y ^ his hps. As he Friar Fnn.-^"'" ^"^ '""""^ ^'''^" «'de, and Fnar Fontaine was revealed. Quietly as the curtains an1rSr:''';:^°''''=''-^"-'-hedSevS^ and she raised her head and looked quickly towards th^«. but now they no longer framed TheTriaS 156 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS They were seated when the curtains were once more drawn aside, and Friar Fontaine, walking heavily into the room, said, " Monsieur d'Egmont wishes to see Mademoiselle as soon as possible." He did not wait for a reply, but hurried from the room. Severine rose as soon as he had gone, and said, I' My father very rarely sends for me, Giovanni. It- it — may be that he has changed his mind about the convent." Not daring \o look at her lest his eyes should belie his words, Giovanni replied, " Yes, Severine, it may be as — as you hope." She looked at him with tremulous lips and turned away. During her absence he did not spend the time in agonised prayer, as she had done when waiting for him, but strode agitatedly to and fro, twice parting the curtains to look for her. Now she was gone, he was beginning to realise a little of what it would mean to lose her, and the temptation not to give her up again assailed him. When she presently returned, he saw in her face that which made his resentment against her father greater than ever. SlJppii g her hand in his, she said wistfully, " He — my father — knows no relenting, Giovanni." " The convent is inevitable ? " he asked in a hard, dry voice. " It is my father's command that I shall return to the convent the day after to-morrow. I must remain there for two years." " And after that, Severine, what have we to hope ?" " Giovanni I " " Be merciful to me, Severine ; tell me all he said ; think of what it means to me." THE ORDEAL •57 •feyou again, he would have me'^Zo^T the £"vS a°„d'jL'''"'°"^ ^''^' *•>- I°]:?uld tat the vejl and become a nun. and never see the world noS "''"'u^'^ •'*"''*' ^■■°^''""'' "ked in a voice GiZnn^"- ""^''" "''''•" '"•'' '''"^'«'' "h^-he- He did not wait to hear more ; his love and fear kopcte™^ „ .1, ,^ „i„„ of o'Tn.ifS of the preeiousiMM of the love that has «.™ »„ yoowoa]dfea™„y„fo. blank, I „i LSS' For the love you bear me. Severine, do not mak^' Torfl* */°" °""u'° ''"«'°"' ^""^ *° Monsieur your father Come w.th me. Be my wife ! " sw«tT„ ^k""'^ '"^ rapturously drank in the S „„l f!f '^^' "' '''* '^"*' '" «"«°"' voice. " We •haH not be ,,arted, Giovanni, and may th^ d«r Miciocorr i MSOUfTION nST ouun (ANSI and ISO TtSI CHART Nc i. 2) i'-° US i *^ ■ 2.2 I.I 12.0 1.8 Ml 1.4 /APPLIED IIS/HGE U 1653 Egtt U«n Strwt RochMttr. Htm York 14009 USA (7t«) 483 - 03O0 - Phofw (716) 280 -»B9 -Few 158 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Virgin grant that sorrow may never come to us for the decision we make this day." " Amen," he whispered. As they stood in their happiness, it came to him how very short their time was, and he said, " Our plans must be made now, dear ; for it must be to- night." " So soon ? " she said, starting. " We dare not delay longer," he went on hurriedly, " for I promised Father Lacoste to take the train this evening, and should I fail to arrive in Montreal to-morrow, in, his anxiety he might telegraph Monsieur d'Egmont asking if I had left. Then, again, Monsieur d'Egmont has given you but another day to prepare for the convent, so you see it must be to-night." She did not answer, and then, for several minutes, he spoke to her, quietly unfolding the plans for their flight, which his active mind so quickly conceived. She stood without speaking so long after he had ceased that he began to fear that at this the eleventh hour she would fail him ; but his fears were groundless. - " I understand all you have said, Giovanni, and will be there," was her simple, quiet rejoinder. The interlacing of her fingers was the only evidence of her agitation. The bell rang for tea as she was speaking. It was the last time he believed her father's house would ever shelter them, and, taking her hands, he whispered, " Be brave, dear ; we shall be very happy." When they met again, she was seated at the table in the dining-room. Throughout the meal Monsieur d'Egmont was polite and courteous. Mademoiselle Josephine scarcely spoke. It was a trying ordeal to Giovanni. THE ORDEAL •59 Almost immediately after the repast was over f^n "^ li'^^^^^" - 4»iet adieu by Monsilur station tTJ. T. "' •""•'' '" '''" '°^"''' *« station to take the train (as Monsieur d'Egmont never thought of doubting) for Montreal. Yet X„ later Giovanni was not among its passengers. After he had left the house, Severine, from her room had looked after his figure till it disappeared n the distance, and then, not daring to trust herself Kimtll^T''^' t"'"^ — ned'her malrKatt ?Z^ '•/. " '^^ ""'' "°^ "^^^ '"to heV con- fidence. If she was to be faithful to her promise. Katies stay in her mistress's room was a very long one. and when she emerged from it her bright eyes fairly glowed with suppressed excitement. She sped straight to her own room, and when she leftit there were little touches to her hair and attire wh ch in no way diminished her attractiveness. She walked though bent upon some important mission. CHAPTER XII A WILY ANGLER " Beshrew my heart, but it is wondering strange ; Sure there is something more than witchcraft in them, That masters ev'n the wisest of us all." Next to the attachment of our worthy friend Baptiste to vivacious Katie Kirabal) — an affection already referred to — there was nothing which had a greater attraction for him than Monsieur d'Egmont's pair of high-bred horses. Baptiste practically occu- pied the dual position of footman and coachman, and when not busied in the house in the former capacity, always navigated, as true as the needle to the pole, to the stables, where, divesting himself of his coat and vest, he would charge a venerable wooden pipe with tabac Canadienne (deservedly famed through the whole province for the lustiness of its odour), and then proceed to put a still higher gloss upon the shining coats of the unappreciative horses. It was characteristic of Baptiste that the harder he brushed and polished the more energetically he pulled away at his pipe, until at times both horses and man looked like distorted shadows behind the aromatic cloud which so vigorously poured from the labouring pipe. About an hour after Giovanni had bidden his final adieu to the d'Egmonts, and had left, as all but one member of the family thought, to take the train i GREAT C01.I.F.CTION OF CRUTCHKS LKFT liV THOSE rURPORTED TO HAVE BEEN CURED. A WILV ANGLER 161 immediately for Montreal, Baptiste might have been hThTk^'' '" his favourite pastime in the stable taLn t ^' "^"'^ '° '°"S that dusk had over- taken him, and now a lantern, dangling from the roof cast a somewhat ghostly light through the thick rich air i-pon the beasts and workma> Delighting in his occupation, and rejoicing in the knowledge that he was out of danger of being sent to Monsieur's hated room, where the grim skfleton presided over its motley subjects, Baptiste smoked brushed, and wrought with right goodwill, breaking at intervals into snatches of song-long and faS practice giving him the knack of holfing the pi " between his teeth while so engaged. The song he was edifying himself with was a ditty quite popular with the habitants, and ran— "A la Claire fontaine M'en allant promener, J'ai trouve I'cau si belle. Que je me suis baignt-." Despite the impeding pipe, the words had quite a musical and pleasing ring to them as they stole from the open stable door and out into the yard- at least so thought an attractive young woman as she hied on tiptoe through the yard in the d" ec t.on of the stable. On and on she crept, till finaUv she stood fair in the stable door, her white S showing veo' hazily and ghost-like through the As she halted, Baptiste was just breaking into the second verse, and she heard the words— "J'ai trouve I'eau si belle, Que je me suis baigne, ' C'est au pied grand chene. Que je me suis repose.' She sto<«i still with a smile on her face till the I 62 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS singer, who was emerging from beliind one of the horses, should step into line of vision and see her. She had not long to wait : scarcely was the verse finished than Baptiste hove from behind the haunches of the animal — and into utter consternation ; for there, in the doorway, very dimly discernible through the invigorating atmosphere, the rays of the lantern revealed an airy, ghostly-looking figure. Superstitious terror fell upon the soul of Baptiste, and he stood gazing through the fog-like air with bulging eyes. Ever alert imagination, coupled with atmospheric delusion, actually made him think the lantern rays ■• were passing through the shadowy object. At this treacherous moment came back to memory the things he had read in that awful book about gods and goddesses, and the gazer's scalp moved as though it would fain depart. " What," thought he, " if the apparition should be one of those goddesses who delighted in torturing inoffensive mortals such as he?" — the idea was overpowering. He was about to utter a prayer to Bon'-- Ste. Anne to frustrate, for religion's sake, the mi-chinations of all evil things, and thus add still greater glory to her name, when a laugh, one utterly at variance with anything tradition has ever handed down as coming from beings of another world, rang mirthfully through the stable, and the apparition tripped boldly in*o view. Instantly forgotten by Bar :iste were gods, god- desses, and spirits of every sjihere — forgotten even by him, too, was the fame of Good Ste. Anne, for whose increased glory he had just been so anxious — as he recognised the sprightly little maid and hurried joyously to meet her. But the laughter had left Katie's lips when he A WILY ANGLER 163 I reached her side, and paying no notice to his out- stretched hands, she said severely, "And so you were afraid! Are you not ashamed of being so superstitious ? " Baptiste first placed a box for her to sit on, and then frankly admitted his fear and superstition but immediately, to her amusement, excused it on the novel plea that he had not known who she was when she stood in the doorway. As soon as she was seated, a satisfied expression beamed on Baptiste's countenance ; for to his grati- fication he perceived that, with a little kindly accom- modation on the part of his guest, there would be ample room on the box for two. But it was not Katie's intention that Baptiste should drift thus into indolence; moreover, she knew she would succeed better with the task before her if he were at a distance ; so, innocently spread- ing her draperies over the enticing spot, and speak- ing as though she were unawar,^ of his longing to be at her side, she said brightly, " I have come to see you about something very important, Baptiste ; but you have no need to stop working." Baptiste, who never dreamed of combating any of her commands, turned ruefully away from the coveted seat, and began to operate on the coats of the horses so vigorously, that one of them showed his resentment by flattening back his ears and lettmg fly with his heels. Katie did not pretend to notice the unusual restive- ness of the animals, and continued in an innocent tone of friendly gossip : " But oh. by the way, I was in the village to-day, Baptiste." Her manner was such that Baptiste was mollified and desisting from his labours, he inquiringly said! ' Ah yes, you go de village to-day ? " 1 64 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Her manner was very animated as she replied, " Yes, I was in the village, and would you beHe.v it, I met an acquaintance of yours, someone who has been away. He asked about you, calling you friend Baptiste." Into Baptiste's countenance there shot a look of suspicion, and he said quickly, "Who is dat you see, and he make some inquire about me, an' call me his frien' ? " " Oh, only Telesphore Lemieux. You know he thought he was going away for good when he left three weeks ago. He said something to-day about it being possible that he might remain here after all, and open a small store in the village. I could hardly get away from him, Baptiste, he talked to me so. He asked me if he might occasionally" " What you do dare ? Are you going fool ? You get de whip soon, sure ! " This outburst, of course, was not addressed to innocent and communicative Katie, but to one of the sleek animals A^hich, with great asperity, had suddenly resented, with its heels, the way Baptiste had dived into its ribs with the curry-comb, just as Katie was narrating the request of Telesphore Lemieux. "Gracious, Baptiste, how wicked the horses are getting 1 " exclaimed Katie, with wide open eyes and concerned face. Baptiste, always in earnest about everything, gave way to the feelings which agitated him most, and paying no attention to Katie's concern for the horses, he scornfully shook his brush in the direction of the village, and said, " So dat ting of a man, Telesphore Lemieux, be sneak back again I What s right for call me a frien' of his? I'll go de village to-morrow and ax him dat myself." He A WILY ANGLER I6S began to brush again, muttering savagely as he worked, "An' when I'm see him I'm brealt all de bone in his ixjdy." "Baptistel" exclaimed Katie remonstrafvely shaking her head; "what threats! how you do go on ! But I never heard you say a good word about Telesphore yet. He was very thoughtful of me yesterday, anyway, and told me that if over he could be of service to me, I could rely upon him doing It, no matter what it was. One does not meet a friend like that every day, Baptiste." Many a cleverer man than Baptiste would have been landed high and dry— as he was— by so expert an angler. Roused to jealousy and anger at the pleasure evinced by Katie at Telesphore's willing- ness to serve her, Baptist idled over to where she was sitting, and began lo impress upon her that leesphoreneverhad been, and never would be so willing to serve her as he. So earnest grew his protestations, that had Katie been learned enough to have requested him to instanily undertake the twelve colossal deeds performed by Hercules, nothing but a ready acq rescence could possibly have been looked for. As Baptiste stopped talking, and stood before her with a look of readiness to do or dare anything.' Katie shot an impulsive glai.ce at him, a glance that woL- I have been very pleasant to have inter- cepted; but, as usual, Baptiste wr criminally slow Rising unexpectedly and standing by Baptiste's side' Katie said eagerly, and with much confidence, " In- deed Baptiste I am quite sure the.-, is no one who would sooner do a favour for me than you; and— and, Baptiste, there is no one I would sooner go to for o'le than you." ^ Biptiste's eyes fairly danced again, and from the 1 66 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS way he straightened out his shoulders, he looked ready for any task— even had it been as onerous as that Uken upon himself by the Grecian hero, while the obliging Atlas went in search of the golden apples of the Hesperides. Yet, despite all Baptiste's great willingness, Katie had scarcely unfolded the task she required of him than his look of valour died completely away, and he broke out, aghast : " You want me help dem elope, an' be witness for dem at de marriage ? Oh, Miss Katie, not dat, not dat ; it would break de heart of Monsieur d'Egmont, who has been de bes' frier' to me I never have." Katie turned quickly and, with head thrown back, walkeo towards the door, curtly saying, as she reached it, " I should have known better, and have gone straight to Telesphore Lemieux." Gratitude and high resolve were entirely shattered by this telling thiiist, and Baptiste called her back, assuring her now that he would do whatever she asked. The darkness had fallen quickly, and being anxious to return to the house, she rapidly explained everything to him : how Mademoiselle Severine and Monsieur Correggio — the young musician — loved each other : how Monsieur d'Egmont was going to for ever separate them by sending Severine to a con- vent ; how these things had been told to her a little while ago by Severine herself; and how Mademoiselle Severine wanted them bo:h as witnesses. The marriage was to take place at the village of L'Ange Gardien. He must meet them with a carriage that night, and drive them to the village. " You know, Baptiste," concluded the romantic pleader, " if we re- fuse them our help, they cannot elope ; they will never be happy again, and no one will be to blame but us." A WILY ANGLER 167 " What time dey want me to meet dom wit' de carriage?" asked Baptiste, striving hard to spealc calmly. "We will meet you at the bend of the road, about a quarter of a mile from the house, at eleven o'clock." " I will be dare den. Miss Katie." There was a depression in his manner that made her feel uneasy, and she said sharply, " You are quite sure you will do this, 1" -^itiste?" " I have give de promise to you, an' I give it for your sake, an' so I keep it." He spoke earnestly, yet sadly. "And I, Baptiste, w m't forget your kindness." Taking up the lar rn, he stood holding it above his head, that she m.^nt see the path leading back to the house. Just as she was fading from view, h * saw her turn and wave her hand to him. As she disappeared a gust c wind moaned through the trees, and a drop of n .; fell upon his face. Holding high the lantern, he peered up at the overcast heavens, muttering, " Someting tell me dare is going for be trouble, great trouble for what is going happen dis night." The glow from the lantern showed his face to be keenly agitated. Re-entering the stable, he sat for a long time with the lantern at his feet, thinking and listening to the truculent east wind, which, laden with moisture, was rapidly rising in strength and giving warning of a riotous night J CHAPTER XIII THE ELOPEMENT "Oh heaven ! that one might read the book of fkte, And see the end of this day's business ere it come." There uut remained one hour more of the day which had been so eventful to Severine and Giovanni —a day which their closing act was to make so eventful their future. As the bells in the tower of the venerated church of Ste. Anne sounded the eleventh hour but very few in the village that night heard them, for the storm had indeed risen in its might, and its boisterousness overwhelmed all other sounds. On, past the towers, the turbulent wind dashed, and, reaching the house of Monsieur d'Egmont, shrieked wildly about it. Against the darkened windows intermittent sheets of rain rattled furiously, as though bent upon arousing those within, but not a sound in the house betrayed that any of its inmates knew of the fury without. But the darkness and silence of the place were deceptive as to what might be happening withm; for suddenly the shadowy door, on the garden side of the house, was drawn slowly open, and two figures, muffled to the chin, stepped into the porch and looked apprehensively out at the evil night As they softly drew the door behind them, the wind, which had known a momentary lull, swept wildly into the porch, filling it with uncanny, doleful THE ELOPEMENT 169 noises To escape the penetrating rain, the figures drew farther into the porch. ^ ^ of ^hr^hlJ^J"""^ °^ .''"^^ ''"* the strangeness worked upon her religious temperament. Drawing out a rosaor.she prayed to be saved from any ma^S loni' '^V'^^/Wvered Katie Kimball, her face no heTadTo f T'""^' '"* ^°^'°™ '-" ---" ; had » n), • fu"^ *"^ """"Sn influences, but she had a physical horror of storms. Had the nieht ^ut^b^^n^peaceful. she would have been astoyL't' "It is after eleven, and perhaps he won't comp" whispered Katie in the darkness. TheTdel of the quarter-of-a-mile walk in the storm to whe°e Je carnage was to wait well-nigh made her 2h t^ Giovanni might not come. h^rd above the roar of the storm, and almost at E^enT Tbl ' I '^'\"^"^^ "P ■•" the poSay Even in the blackness Severine knew throutlines ofjhe now loved form, and she whispered ": HeSrr^-]:s>r^gre;/^;;^^ 5.nK.^^d— -=^3 2 r?^ U-' ^'"'^""'^ *° ^'' fo-- her braved ^d 170 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Giovanni, in his gladness, had heard nothing but the voice of the storm, but upon Severine's alert ears had fallen a dog's muffled bark. He followed Severine till he heard the door of the house pushed open, and then he slightly hesitated, mystified 1' her inexplicable action. Understanding his perplexity, but not having time to explain, she whispered quickly, "Quick, Giovanni, quick, enter the house and let me close the door." He did as she requested. Katie was already in the shelter of the dwelling. Giovanni heard the door softly closed and fastened. Then Severine whispered to him, " Friar Jean Fon- taine is abroad to-night, and with him Pataud, his mastiff. Nights such as these always affect Jean, and he often wanders in this way. Pataud is fierce and dangerous to strangers. I heard his voice, and knew it would have been dangerous to have remained in the porch." There presently came a lull in the storm again, and then the listeners distinctly heard a man's heavy footfalls. Could they but have looked out into the night, they would have seen Friar Fontaine rapidly approaching, his head and ungainly shoulders bent, and at his heels his great mastiff, Pataud. The weird, solitary walker reached the porch and passed on; but the dog suddenly stopped, sniffed the ground, and uttered a low, warning bark. The growl did not reach the friar, and he continued to walk on, his mind in dark, disturbed mood. Seeing the action of its master, the animal stood as though not knowing whether to follow him or not But lowering its head again, it once more sniffed the ground, and then, growling loud and ominously, began to move in the direction of the porch. THE ELOPEMENT 171 This time its voice was plainly borne to the friar, and arrested his attention. Turning, he called out angrily to the animal to follow him. The beast paid no attention to the summons, but con- tinued to advance towards the porch, growling all the time. The thought coming to Friar Fontaine that perhaps something might be wrong, he quickly retraced his steps, reaching the porch soon after the animal had entered it. Pataud was sniffing and growling savagely. Cautiously the great hands of the friar were put out, finding their way into every nook and cranny of the porch— had anyone been there, it would have been impossible for them to have escaped detection. Finding nothing, the giant hands tried the door; but it was locked, and in the house not a sound was to be heard. But the beast still continued to growl. Angered at what he thought the dog's folly, the friar turned fiercely to it and commanded it to follow him. Not daring to disobey when spoken to in anger the beast slunk after its master, stopping at inter- vals, however, to bark sullenly back at the porch. Both dog and friar were far distant when the door of the house opened again, and the three figures flitted once more into the porch, and then out into the night. When they had safely passed through the garden and reached the highway Severine could not resist stopping in her flight to look back at the house. The thought of her father and aunt, and of the pain which she knew would come to them, blinded her eyes with tears. Giovanni stood silently by her side; he could not urge her to haste. Katie also was silent, for i 172 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS tiie Storm had abated none of its violence, and she would fain have urged her mistress to return. It was the old struggle Severine was fighting — the struggle for supremacy of parental love in her heart over that which a lover had gained; and the result was the same as it has ever been since the daughters of men were married and given in marriage: the witchery of a lover's affection was more potent than of a father's. Finally she turned, and her trembling hand found Giovanni's. He raised it to his lips. But, as she turned to go, the white stone towers of Ste. Anne's Church indistinctly loomed up and met her, eyes. She stopped, this time with visible fear. " Giovanni," she said, with quick dread, " such a fear has come over me : what if the blessed Church should frown upon my action of this night ? " The fear of the Church's displeasure was more momentous to her than aught else. '= If the Church unites us, what risk can there be of its displeasure? " he asked pleadingly. She did not answer. He took her hand again, and this time, whether for weal or woe, she followed him. Baptiste, true to his promise, was found waiting with the carriage in the appointed place, and soon the church of Ste. Anne and the house of Monsieur d'Egmont were being left far behind. B'ptiste headed for the little village of L'Ange Gardien, several miles distant. The reason for Giovanni choosing this quiet little village in which to be married was because of his acquaintance with its cur^, whose objections to uniting them, did he raise any, he felt would be easier to combat than if raised by a stranger. Swiftly the carriage sped through the storm. A1 THE ELOPEMENT ,73 intervals Giovanni conversed in a low voice with Se^venne, and now and again had a word for „J^^ Tt ""^'"^ °*'"^ '° ^^^ -nountainous nature of the country was very uneven, finally took a turn to the right, and they began to ascend a steep mdme towards the village. Scarcely, how- ever, had the carriage turned, when Baptiste abruptly pulled .n the horses. As he did so, the monoton^ous clanging of a bell was borne to the inmates of the carnage by the whistling wind. With a startled exclamation, Giovanni let down the carriage window and peered out into the blackness. Nought met \tLT\ "'' ^"'^ ^'""^"^ P^="''«^ iitation. Ihe harsh, gruesome clangour grew louder ' Away up on the box, Baptiste, careless of the .Ipelting ram, had uncovered his head and had begun ,4to mutter prayers. In the carriage Severine was liTng.^^'"^ ^'^^^'" °" ^^' rosary-prayers for the '' ^^7 r'^ "^^"^^ '°""''«'^ *e clanging bell. 'L ^"'^5^^"'y °»t °f the wall of blackness Giovanni t: " "^•^^7^ "Sht which advanced, slowly heraW tn and" '''"Pf^^- ^^"^'"^ ^ '-n^-n and |en, and coming down the road at a slow trot ms a man on horseback. A little distance behind & T/ «^"'"^ "''^ "=^'*' i" *hich a prS fas seated. When the light shone upon the pries7s .:e, Giovann. sank back with a suppressed grd was the priest he had relied so much upon to frry them! To accost him at such a time bovann. knew would be but to arouse dismaHn fcyerme and horror in Baptiste: the priest w^ on Ijoumey to some portion of his large parl^ to Iminister the last rites to one whose^hours must I numbered. The doleful bell rung by the 174 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS herald on horseback was a summons to all « heard it, as they valued their future peace, to s prayers for those who were in extremis. Not habitant the country over would have taken king's ransom to detain a priest when out on si a sacred mission. When Giovanni had first he: the bell, he had feared what was about to happ His heart sank. The very Fates seemed to striving against him : with the only priest in village absent, what was he to do ? Stolidly, and without paying the least attent to the darkened carriage, the figure rode past the horse, holding high the lantern and ringing bell. Then past the carriage window came cart, the herald's light revealing the priest sitti with closed eyes and repeating prayers. He, t paid no attention to the carriage. Slowly weird cortege passed into the darkness and stoi the racking tones of the bell growing fainter t fainter, until again only the boisterous voice of night was to be heard. Severine sat in the carriage with a look of a bordering on terror, on her face. When the I could no longer be heard, she turned suddenly Giovanni, and clasping her hands around his ai broke out fearfully, " Oh, what an omen, Giovan what an omen 1 " He knew the terror of the Church was again her soul. Her awed mood, the strangeness of unforeseen incident, and the moaning of the sto brought over him also a like dread of the Chui and he involuntarily said, under his breath, " C grant the frown of Rome may never be turned u] her ! " But throwing off his brooding mood, he di her passionate^ to him and whispered words comfort ar < hope. THE ELOPEMENT would bring me sorrow" °' *''^''* '^hat quickly in the di^ction of Q^eb;^'"' '^^^" '° ^-^ chal^d!'''' V'n^tW^'lf^'^ "'=''' "- entirely Sev^Tne. and tat *lrrtak?"£^; T^'^' that they should bTTamS'^^'IIr"' ''^'""'' '* '^««- Quebec-where Mon^eT d'P ''''' '"'^''^'^ "^ early discovered Eel"' ""'^''*' '^ '''= marriage. ' elopement, prevent the CHAPTER XIV curI cinq mars "Dark and threatening is the scowl That gleams beneath his dusky cowl— The flash of that dilating eye Reveals too much of times gone by." Cure Cinq Mars, the Jesuit pastor of old Bon secours Church in Montreal, sat in his meagre study cheerless with its bare flooring, whitewashed walls and time-worn furniture, his stern, unsympatheti* face bent in religious meditation. Although the morning was well advanced and he had riser almost with the break of day, to engage in prayei and self-examination, his fast was still unbroken, A year had elapsed since he had been appointed to this church, whose great age of three and a half centuries, and marvellous foundation, from the find- ing of a miraculous image of the Blessed Virgin on the site, in no small way accentuated the man's towering pride in the majesty and power of his Church, and of its right to the most implicit and unquestioning obedience from all its followers. To the Church he had devoted all his life and energy, and would have looked upon it as no great sacrifice — had it but been for its increased glory — to have laid down his life for it. Hence, disobedience to the Church, or breath of murmur at any of its mandates, was to him an offence which called for the most severe condemnation. CVRi CINQ MARS ,^y ru. L . . * **' honour and Dower in tu Church : in brief harf h. u. .. power in the of mind whichli have "enrW^^T' ''' ""'"''^ each motive actuating hi^\ ■ '"'" '° ""^lyse found germs of t^Lio„?^""°"' ''' '^°"''' ^ave ^jj germs of ambition interminghng with them [ swerving purpose ""SB*" persistence and un- I from I&S^ U^ '" ?\^'"<^>'' '^^ a dense fog the base of the cTurcVn ' 7""' "''' "''"°^' «* the day was as twSS~'^°"''*''' '"''° ''" "''>'' ^"^ I Motionless, and with UnHt..^ k continued to sit in meditatL'ttirr^i,! : J^^^^^^^ I to rmg dismally in the somK,. ''ell chanced from the st.«t';o the tud?'a"dC^: '^""^ irose, walked, lamp in hanrf T "'"I,**" ^e slowly Junfastened tke door ' ""'" "''^ P'^'^^ge. ^nd ^eloquent eyes^fS o^t^^"' *'^°''= ''^^'' *"" a«tone, behind the fiS. e L^^^r. ^' '''^ '="^b- butlines of a carriaj^ ' '"'^'^*'"<="y loomed up the Without speaking, Cur^ Cino M, marching glance at iis v sito ln3^mL'''*.\*'"''=''' ^nter. '^' *"° motioned him to Giovanni obeyed 178 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS down the gloomy passage to his study. Up< teaching their destination, the priest drew a chi up to his desk, and aslced Giovanni to be seate Now for the first time the priest saw his visit distinctly, and as he looked into his face a puzzU expression came into his own — but in vain 1 sought to recall where he had seen his visit before. " I am at Monsieur's service," presently said Cu Cinq Mars, as he also seated himself. There was something in the manner of the prie that affected Giovanni unpleasantly, and he did n answer r^dily. "I have been absent for some years," sa Giovanni, recollecting himself, and speaking quickl; " and have not the honour of knowing Monsieur Curb's name. When I was a boy I knew most the cur^s in the city." He knew his remarks we hardly in keeping, but he had felt the need respite before introducing the important missic upon which he was bent. "I am Pfcre Cinq Mars, curi of this churcli answered the priest, with perfect quiet and sel possession. Giovanni's face was calling up tai talising impressions to the priest, but try as 1 might he could not place their origin. His mannc however, showed no curiosity. "Monsieur's name is strange to me," answert Giovanni, " as probably mine will be to him. M name is Giovanni Correggio ; I wish to be unite in marriage with a lady whom I escorted into th church before ringing for Monsieur. We have jui arrived from the country, and have driven dire< from the station to the church. We have travelle all night. I trust it will not be inconvenient fc Monsieur to perform the ceremony ? " CVKi CINQ MARS ,7^ km!?'*' ."'* "■"«»' ''™*» °^ Curi Cinq Mara h>dden less effectually his small pie«i„J 1"^ Gu,va„„i would have seen the gleam of^^E wh.chjashed into them as he had told thTpSt though/'"' P"''"'»,r'''^« t^tray*-* nothing of his thoughts as he replied, "No pressing engagemen! Moreurh"^^™'- ''°""'" ^°"''^''°^ '" ""- Monsieur has the necessary witnesses?" Yes, I have the necessary witnesses," answered Giovann. quickly. " The gentleman who wiUwS j, suton, the lady who is with my Jlanc/e accom ;; panied us from the country." ^ imi^l!!"' '!J'^ Giovanni guess, as he looked into the T^nd't^l';''' "'" ^"'P"='°"^ " -^^ --"<-* to te unttd'^'^Vr""-'","''"'" Monsieur wishfs Dnlif! , i u ^"^ P™''" t""'' *« suave and i kr. r ; *"'• '"'™™. I"«l >»^y falfcn from When he was out of sight. Curd Cinq Mars' face i8o A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS ! I 1 ' 11 ! I grew dark and threatening. "There if disobedi- ence and deceit here," he mvttered, " or why are Monsieur Gustave d'Egmont, the lady's father, and Fire Lacoste, Monsieur Correggio's patron, not here?" He stood with head bent, remembering now how he had first seen Giovanni years ago in P6re Lacoste's study when he was a mere boy, and remembering how the priest had spolcen of the lad as his adopted son. With Monsieur Gustave d'Egmont he was well acquainted, and guessed who the lady was the moment Giovanni had spolcen hor name. The sodnd of approaching footsteps roused him from his brief reverie, and straightening his nieagre frame, he exclaimed under his breath, " Still more defiance of the mandates of the Church I " He bitterly lamented now, as he had indeed in- numerable times before, the humiliation suffered by the supreme pontiff in his loss of temporal power : had the Church but possessed the power in the country it should have, he would to-day be in a position, as its representative, to detain by force, if necessary, the young people, instead of having to submit to the humiliation of trying to thwart their intentions by diplomacy or admonition. When Giovanni re-entered the study with Severine, Katie Kimball, and the gentleman he hau spoken of. Curd Cinq Mars e"ed them with unmoved counte- nance. As the party ranged in front of his desk, he reached for the marriage ritual, saying as he did so to Giovanni, " The lady, of course, Monsieur, has the consent of her parents to this union 7 " " Mademoiselle's mother is dead," answered Gio- vanni evasively. Ignoring Giovanni, and turning to Severine, Curd CUR* CINQ WARS Itl Cinq Mars looked at her piercingly and said. " But Mademoiselle's father is alive ? " Severinc's face paled, but she answered firmly, Yes, my father is alive, and "— "And has given his approval to this union. Mademoiselle?" came the quick interruption. There was falter this time in Severinc's voice as she replied, " I regret that I have not my father's consent." The thin, sinewy fingers of the priest tightened on the back of the book, and, turning to Giovanni, he •aid, m a tone which could nc: but arouse resent- ment, ■' But Monsieur has had some regard for the formalities of our Church, and has the consent of his family ? " "Neither of my parents are alive," answered liiovanni curtly and with hauteur. Whatever diplomacy the priest had wished to use in order to make the lovers reconsider what he now knew to be an elopement, was killed b- the haughti- ness m Giovanni's voice, and he «las.hed out • " Yes Monsieur's parents are dead, it is true; but it was hu duty to get the consent of Pire Lacoste, who adopted him, and who has been a parent to him. I You both are Catholics, and know that approval such as I demand is necessary to marriages, under circum- stances such as these. As for Monsieur, he but ill requites the kindness shown him all his life by a servant of our blessed Church, in attempting to marry by stealth a young lady of position, and without the . consent of her father-Monsieur Gustave d'Egmont. As Monsieur sees, I am acruainted with his family as well as with the lady's, and it is my duty to forbid such a ceremony." The speaker's countenance was ^dommeenng in the extreme, while there was a Jhaughtmess in his tone that Giovanni could not I82 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Thrown off his guard by the unexpected revela- tion of their identity, and by the priest's imperious- ness, Giovanni stood for a few moments in complete silence. But the look of terror in Severine's face recalled his presence of mind and gave him self- possession. Instead of giving utterance to the resentment which rose to his lips, he quietly took Severine's cloak from the chair at her side, put it lightly about her shoulders, and said, as he laid her hand on his arm and turned towards the door, " I bid Monsieur good-bye, and regret that he should so completely have forgotten the courtesy and charity which the clergy are always expected to show to those whom they deem are erring. By performing the ceremony, Monsieur might possibly have ignored certain customs peculiar to the Church, but no serious transgression of any of its mandates would have resulted. Monsieur's refusa'. simply necessi- tates the performance of the ceremony in another church. Little wonder, Monsieur" (there was a peculiar meaning now in Giovanni's voice), " that the dictatorial attitude, assumed by Monsieur this mor- ning, and shown by so many in high places in our Church, should be creating the open revolt among the people which is attracting the country's attention to-day." • Accustomed to the instant and implicit obedience on the part of his flock, Curd Cinq Mars heard Giovanni's open rebellion with anger so great that he could scarcely speak. Rankling his heart, deeper than aught else, was Giovanni's reference to the recent open breach between the people and the Church, the responsibility for which Giovanni had had the audacity to lay at the door of the clergy. With scarcely audible voice, the priest said, as ' See footnote, p. 186, CURfi CINQ MARS 183 Giovanni was leaving the room, '• Monsieur shall find that the Church, whose power he holds so lightly, can still punish disobedience and open revolt such as his this morning." ' At these words Severine's face grew white as marble— once more the terror of the Church pos- sessed her soul. A few moments later the outer doors of the church opened and closed with their wonted queru- lous discord, and then Curd Cinq Mars was alone with his consuming anger. The shutting of the doors roused his mind to action, and, seizing his hat, he sped swiftly out of the church, reaching the side- walk just as Giovanni was in the act of entering the carnage. ^ " One final word. Monsieur Correggio ! " Giovanni did not turn, but stood with his foot resting on the carriage-step. " This marriage," said the voice of Curd Cinq Mars at his side, " shall never be performed by any priest in this city. I am eoine now to the Archbishop's palace to inform the auth- oriies there of this elopement, and special messengers wi 1 be despatched instantly to every Catholic church with commands to the priests not to perform the ceremony. The messengers will be at the churches almost as soon as Monsieur and the lady he is abducting can reach them." Giovanni swung round in uncontrollable anger; but the priest was already speeding upon his missK>„. his dark figure in a few seconds b^ng iS now Aoroughly antagonised, Giovanni decided that «fnf!L"!t ."!'""**' '''°"''' ""'te them, and i„- tnglish Church clergyman. 1 84 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS When Severine heard of his new intention, he saw her waver seriously for the first time. But again he pled with her, and again she yielded her will to his, this time, though, with a fear and reluctance which greatly troubled him. In his ears kept recurring her foreboding words : " Giovanni, I have a strange pre- sentiment of evil, if we are married outside the pale of our own Church." He endeavoured to dismiss the warning words from memory, but in vain. Reaching the clergyman's house without further adventure, Giovanni and Severine, in the presence of witnesses, and after the procuring of a marriage license, wdre, in due course, declared by Rev. Stephen Thorold, minister of the Church of England, to be man and wife according to the ordinances of God and of the law— and who would have dreamed of thinking otherwise ? As the little party was leaving the clergyman's dwelling, it occurred to Giovanni that the house they had been married in was separated by but a stone's throw from the Archbishop's palace, whither Curd Cinq Mars had fled in such haste. He dismissed the recollection with a passing smile, but in the soreness of after years he recalled the incident in bitterness of spirit. As though fate would have it, it so chanced that as the wedding party was leaving the house, Cur^ Cinq Mars, after leaving the palace, was pass- mg it at that very moment. The denseness of the fog alone prevented his presence from being noticed. Recognising the party, the priest drew into the deeper shadow of the house. In his sudden mystifi- cation and surprise. Curd Cinq Mars continued to stand in the enfolding fog, his restive fingers entwin- ing each other, and his heavy brows knitted in per- plexing thought ; he did not know that the house CURfi CINQ MARS jgj was a Clergyman's and hence could not understand LL Tt^K '"'' *"""'P'' ^' "^ '" Giovanni's mien. But the carnage had scarcely driven away when someth,ng of the truth flashed across his fertile mmd. The suspicion fascinated him. If what he thTt .""',r'' '''"' "^^ P^^'^" ■" his hands hat which would give him the opportunity of show- Churfh l^r r^ ''°^"' """ importance of his Omrch in Canada as it had not been shown for Going to the house, he rang the bell The door was opened by the minister himself whose clerical garb was gladness to the priest's S enter '■^'"*" ''°'''''*"y '""^ed his guest to With a politeness which hid every trace of per- turbation, Curd Cinq Mars refused th^invitation.^d bnefly explained that he simply desired to know if it was there where a couple, named Tv.onsieur Giovann Sl^Tmtnr'--^-^^^-'^--'^^''"^ ative. Something occurred to him to add that the contracting parties had secured a marriage licens f enigmati^";/ He'^S "„? m^ "" *^ ""''' withprofuseWesXdLT^ SytnTSp^^ ""^""^-'^^ -- '---^ i" ^.^^ftt^^nSt— as would have been remembered much lon^r. ' * 186 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Reaching the street again, the priest suddenly stretched out his hand in the direction the carriage had taken, and said relentlessly, " They, too, have defied the Church, and made light of its power in this country, and the consequences shall rest upon them. It is full time now that those in high places irhould be shown what power our Church really has ip this land, and full time that their whisperings and twittings of its lost strength should be brought low." ' ' Cari Cinq M»i5 wu refetring (as Giovanni had done when in his study) to an incident in the General Elections of 1896, which created widespread comment and feeling throughout the country, when many of the bishops of the Catholic Church issued mandements to the bithful to vote, under pain of conscience, for a certain political party; but, despite the mandements, the party was defeated by an immense majority, and chiefly by the French Canadian vote. The event caused keen annoyance among certain of the bishops. The author simply mentions this as explanatory, and not in any way as a comment as to the merits or demerits of the contending political parties at the time. CHAPTER XV DARKENING CLOUDS " Double, double toil and trouble ; Fire bum, and cauldron bubble." Slowly the long hours of the night on which Giovanni had so faithfully promised Father Lacoste to return from Ste. Anne de Beauprd (after what was to have been his second and final visit to Severine) had winged their flight, and still Giovanni had not returned. The foggy morning that had witnessed his marriage, and which had succeeded the night of his expected return, was far advanced ere Father Lacoste gave up all hopes of his arrival. Frequently, during the long watches of the night that was gone, the old priest had gone to the organ in the comer of his study, and the room had been softly filled with melodies that in past days had ofttimes brought rest and consolation, but which now had no longer their wonted power to soothe. There wen times, as he had played or watched, that foot- steps were heard in the quiet passage beyond, and then the aged kindly face had been bent in eager hstenmg; but when the looked-for knock did not come, the tired eyes had again lost their sudden lustre, and disappointment and anxiety again pos- sessed them. He had clung so desperately to the hope that Giovanni would surely return, recalling for his comfort how earnestly Giovanni had promised (the morning he had found him asleep in the study, a smile i88 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS on his hps, beside the dead fire) that no word of love should pass his lips to Severine, if he might but see her once more, and bid her adieu, before he should go out of her life and retu'n to Paris. He had consented to the request, but with mis- givmgs, and now his heart ached with deferred hope. The reader knows how the witchery of the serenade Giovanni had played to Severine made him too weak to keep the promise, which he so believed he could keep, when he made it to the priest. I Nothing but the last messenger would ever still in Father Lacoste's unselfish breast his ambition for the boy whom he could not have loved more devotedly had he been flesh of his flesh. When the night on which Giovanni rhould have returned had gone, and the yellow morning fog stole into the room. Father Lacoste still watched— watched for his coming even while the eventful marriage was taking place in the minister's house. The dull, sombre day wore away at last, and evening once more came on apace. Still he waited and watched. The night was yet young when the priest was roused from a depressing reverie by a knock. With anxious haste, he hurried to the door and threw it open: confronting him, s.ood Monsieur Gustave d Egmont, with face strangely pale and set. Crush- ing back his disappointment, Father Lacoste held out his hand and warmly invited his visitor to enter. Paying no attention to the outstretched hand. Monsieur d'Egmont strode past his host into the room. Not understanding, and being very desirous of news of Giovanni, Father Lacoste was about to question his visitor, when he was struck with the pallor and tenseness of Monsieur d'Egmont's coun- DARKENiMG CLOUDS 189 quickly. "Monsieur Correggio has bJen '' at Monsieur's house and w, « f u " * ^^^ night; Monsieur caVnodrbt°eSeT"^' '"' expect him ? " ' *" ""* '"^^'^ ' ™ay cm, M.,f ™ ^ ** "naxpeotri a„ „f Crf nottt!;?* "' '""•' •"" "*">■. " ■ ■'« I d. curious monotonv to M ** ^*''' '^'''' *'* moved as thouSL?*".""^""' 'l'%">°nt, who as though about to withdraw, « I particularly I90 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS wish to see Monsieur on a matter concerning his daughter — Mademoiselle Severine." The door then closed behind the speaker. The words, as they were intended, startled Father Lacoste, and going hastily to the door, he called to the retreating priest to enter. As Cur^ Cinq Mars obeyed, and entered the room. Father Lacoste said hesitatingly to him, " Perhaps you have news of both the young people, Cur^ Cinq Mars? We were talking about them when you entered. God grant you may bring good news I we are sore of heart." There was something, however, in the mien of Curd Cinq Mars that bespoke no mission of comfort, and Father Lacoste felt it, and his forebodings grew. As for Monsieur d'Egmont, his manner betrayed none of the wistful eagerness for information shown by Father Lacoste, and his few words of greeting to Curd Cinq Mars were as formal and indiffeieit as though his daughter's name had never tnen men- tioned — an indifference noted instantly by the visitor. When they were seated, Curd Cinq Mars turned abruptly to Father Lacoste and said, without any attempt at preface, " Yes, I have news of the young people ; they came to me this morning and asked me to unite them in marriage." The cold, uninterested manner of Monsieur d'Egmont underwent no change at this revelation, but Father Lacoste's face blanched at what he knew now to be the truth, and scarcely knowing, in his agitation, what he said, he murmured, " And they were married by you — married by you. Curd Cinq"— " No, not married by me," interrupted Curd Cinq DARKENING CLOUDS ,5, Ma«, with a resentment he could not hide- "for I refused to perform the ceremony." ' °' As Father Lacoste made an effort to rise Cur^ Cmq Mars laid his hand on his arm and u,?l with smothe„d feeling. «I t:S:d 'thr' and Zl td ""^ """ """P""^- ^' MonsieuT'cTr' rtggio had not your consent, nor Mademoiselle dEgmont yours. Monsieur d'Egmont. and m S were .gnonng all parental righrs-and ^ill wo«T Chu'rch rL*r"'°'"^ ^"'^ mandates oTThe Church_I did what was my duty, refused to pe"! form the ceremony." ~' Monsieur d;Egmonfs lips set a little more closely out he was still silent. ^' Before the many anxious inquiries on Father Lacoste's tongue could be uttered. Cur^ Cinq Sars no heed to my admonitions and commands and leaving me, went elsewhere to be married but such .s the gratitude of children to parens' and guardians to-day; such their disobedience to and mockery of, the Church." i„HSr'"M ^ •"''*" d'Egmont said slowly. "Such our day. The words were spoken in a way that denoted no particular feeling, yet in their ve,^ lack of shadmg the shrewd mind of Cur^ Cinq Mars outburst of anger could have expressed d'vJ^"'T ^''"^ ^^^ *°° '^"'^nt. Monsieur d Egmont. and sterner measures are needed," spoke Cur^ Cinq Mars relentlessly. ^ "Parents have been very, very lenient." replied Monsjeur. as mechanically and unmoved as before f„J K^"^r. ! '^^''^^^^' °^ *« unbending man be- fore him, Father Lacoste broke out pleadingly. "Be 193 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS il i' merciful, Monsieur, she is your daughter, your only one, and " — " And," broke in Monsieur d'Egmont, losing com- mand of himself for the first time, and speaking with a world of bitterness, — " and my only daughter has dragged one of the noblest and most patrician names of France through the mire, by uniting her- self to the illegitimate son of an Italian organ- grinder I " Cur^ Cinq Mars clutched the back of his chair in consternation : of Giovanni's real origin he had never heard before. R^^aining his composure as quickly as he had lost it. Monsieur d'Egmont continued quietly : " But this painful interview had better be terminated. Monsieur Lacoste. It is my duty to explain that my presence here to-day is not due to any desire, no matter how just, to upbraid Monsieur for using a friendship of years to introduce into my home a proUgi whose every action has been but the natural sequence of the degradation of birth such as his. It might have appeared right to Monsieur that a secret such as Monsieur Corrcggio's should have been hidden from the world at large ; but among friends, such as we were, a difference is usually shown. I had no intention of entering here to-day, but some impulse, as I was passing, made me do so. I can but apologise for the intrusion. After all, the blame for this degradation can alone lie with her who could stoop to such an ignominy." Coldly inclining his head, he left the room. Cur^ Cinq Mars turned away his face to hide its light : " He will never forgive her for this," he said under his breath. With his white head bowed low. Father Lacoste stood, sick at heart, silently calling upon Him who DARKENING CLOUDS ,0, "11 ine world the boy was dear to me with hi. him in"''"' r ""^'""^ °-^ him/hoveringoSr him m a way I cannot define, but which eveiv r^n scousness is telling me will sureTy comT' '^" spau-mgly shaking his head, he prayed aloud « QuS," Stretching out his hand. Cur.5 Cinq Mars who The strange, unexpected outburst caus^-H F=fi. 194 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Stung by the r.proof in Father LacMte's voloe, •nd by the part he thought he wu taking against the policy of cerUin of the bishops, Cur< Cinq Man passionately replied, " Ere many days pass, what it in my heart regarding Monsieur's proU^ and the daughter of the sorely humiliated man who has just left us, shall be known. You were never, Pire Lacoste, one of those who strove for the glory of the Church. When tens of thousands refused to obey its recent mandates,' it was known you sided with them : little wonder the Church's glory is not what it should l^e I You have called my hopes for the returning power of the Church visionary, but you shall sec that it has a power greater than all other sects in the land, a power that the Crown recognises above all other sects, a power superseding even that of the civil law, and a power, P>,-s Lacoote, that you shall see humble to the dust, and in the sight of all, the two who have ignored the right of the Church to command them." With the threat still on his lips, he hastened from the room. " Ah, Giovanni — Giovanni ! " The despairing, ap- prehensive cry was wrung from Father Lacoste's lips, as alone once more he sank to his knees, pillowing his silvery head on his hands. ■ Sec footnote, p. l86. CHAPTER XVI ADAMANT " When rooljtion hath prepared the will, It w«nu no help to hirther any ill." Just across the river from Montreal, and plainly to be seen from the city, lies the picturesque village of Longueuil, as quiet and free from all bu less turmoil as though it were leagues away from any business centre. In the drowsy little village, French Canadian language, cistoms, and life are as strikingly intact to-day as they were in the early days when the Louis ruled over the destinies of the country. Standing back on one of the narrow streets of the village, which ran towards the river, may be seen, through clustering trees, a rambling yet imposing old manor-house, its massive stone exterior frescoed with climbing ivy — such is the family seat of Monsieur Gustave d'Egmont. An unusual thing has happened in the village, and has caused much comment : although it is yet in the heat of summer, Monsieur d'Egmon* las returned with his family and servants from his summer house at Ste. Anne de Beaupr^, where it had hitherto been his habit to stay till late into the autumn. The loquacious villagers indeed marvelled much, especially when the days slipped by and the:- failed to see Mademoiselle Severine d'Egmont, who.. 196 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS custom it had been, when at home, to drive almost daily through the village. About a week after Monsieur's unlooked-for return, the curiosity of the villagers regarding Sev- erine was diverted by an announcement in the parish church one Sabbath morning by its priest, that he had to go away for a few weeks, and that Curd Cinq Mars, of Bonsecours Church, Montreal, had been instructed by the Archbishop to take his place. As a change of cur^s in a small French Canadian village is almost as much food for gossip and as momentous a theme for conversation as a change of Government, it was to be expected that the curiosity as to the whereabouts of Mademoiselle d'Egmont should have been lessened for a while; yet it so happened that scarcely had Curd Cinq Mars arrived in the village than there was an instant revival of the gossip concerning her. Very soon, too, what had only been suspected began to be whis- pered as fact — that Mademoiselle Severine had not returned with her father, and heads were solemnly shaken and hands uplifted. Matrons got into the way of discussing the missing giri only when their daughters were not present. Monsieur d'Egmont had never mingled much with the villagers, and after his abrupt return, which had been within a week after the elopement, he remained more secluded than ever. To the regular priest of the place alone he had made mention of his daughter's elopement. But he knew that in time the news must reach the ears of the villagers and by them be spread far and wiue. In the soreness of his wounded pride, he had been iiardening him- self for this ordeal, yet he was but pooriy prepared for the startling change in the villagers when he realised they at last knew of his daughter leaving ADAMANT '97 ^ZnT "^''' '^^' '^ '^*= ='«»"<='=d to meet any of thea, they seemec^ unnaturally disconcerted and ill reliev^!' '"' ^'T^^ ^"'^ ^^^ -^-t " relievv.d .u .u..t aside. In the faces of some he even ^ead glances of pity. He was grievously In^d fhfy!' ^^ T^ "nwonted chance, they had learned that h,s daughter had married a man whose parent age was stained, there would not, even in that be an explanation of their conduct-conduct wh ch wa not characteristic of them as a people But Z rJ'^^.rnt^tleai^*^-'^^'"-'^'--" afte^lhe ^T'""^ ^"l^^' ^^°''^'' ^'"dy, two days MonseuVdr'"*f"! T'''" '" "'^ '^^' =•>«?'-)- Monsieur d Egmont had gone back to Ste. Anne and had made arrangements for his instant return SsteTntste^r^*'^'^"^^^ ^^^'^'"^ »>'- °" was dlte^ f \ ""^ ^^' °"^ ^'■°™ Severine. It was dated from Montreal, and had been oenned In brfT.^T *« day of her marriage Tve ' li^e dwell.n!" ^^\^'""^ '° «P'ain her conduct by ha7 mfdeTr hf " V ""^ '°^^ '"' '""^ ">- -^o -^J:^£;^h=i:^'S^-^ rel .k'"'"7'^"~""'="* ('*-°"'d have l^en To Tdrthl r7 'Vr' '"' "=' '°- -°»'d not have years of the past Love, coupled with 198 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS fear of his command regarding the convent, had made her powerless to resist when the great tempt- ation of her life had come. A postscript added, they were just about to take the train on their wedding trip, and that she would return in two or three weeks. After reading the letter, Monsieur d'Egmont, with set lips, had laid it on one side and begun to read others that were awaiting his attention. When he had read them all, he sorted them into two piles, one requiring answers or worthy of being kept, the other of no importance and to be destroyed. When he left the room an hour later, among the destroyed letters in the waste-basket was his daughter's. The news of the elopement had been broken to him, the morning following Severine's flight, by Baptiste, upon his return from Quebec with the carriage. With ashen face, the unhappy fellow had gone straight to Monsieur's study in his wet, mud -stained clothes, and had confessed to the part he had played — a part which he expected would mean instant dismissal. Mcnsieur d'Egmont had sat and listened with face that soon grew as colourless as that of the narrator — whom he did not dismiss, but simply waved to withdraw; he would not lower himself by venting his anger, and dis- missing so lowly an instrument in the degradation brought upon him by his own daughter. When Katie Kimball returned on the day following the marriage in Montreal, she too expected sure dis- missal ; but it had not come. When she would have told him of the circumstances of the marriage — circumstances unguessed of by him — he had told her he wished to hear no explanations, and in- structed her that in the future she would give all ADAMANT 199 her attention to his sister, who, like himself, did not expect to hear Severine's name mentioned. To Josephine d'Egmont also the blow had been a very heavy one. She had borne it ,nuch differently than her brother. Although sharing much of her brother's pride of family, she had not his indomitable characteristics; besides, after the death of Severine's mother, she had been as a mother herself to the imaginative giri— for whom now no pride could quell her pity and longing. When her brother had told her that Severine's name for the future must not be mentioned between them she had not tried to argue against such command! nor tried to soften his bitterness, knowing but too «^1 how unavailing all such efforts would have been. And so it was, as the days went by and Josephine d'Egmont made no mention of the missing one's name, Katie, in her mind, charged her with being as unrelenting as her brother. In the gloaming of a hot summer's day, a month after the elopement. Monsieur d'Egmont sits in the lofty library at the manor-house at Longueuil, his head bent upon his breast in deep thought. The quiet of the village at this hour, when night is marehalling its forces, is that of a veritable Sleepy Hollow. The room in which the thinker is seated IS noble, not only in its imposing dimensions, but also in the quiet richness of its artistic furnishings, in the increasing gloom are dimly to be seen, in the vast bookcases which line the walls, unnumbered volumes. Monsieur d'Egmont sits on, heedless of the encroaching darkness. On the desk in front of mm lies an open letter— one which the late mail has just brought to him from his son-in-law, Uiovanni Correggio. At the thought of the 300 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS relationship the thinker draws a quick breath, and his humbled head droops still lower. He had read the brief letter but once, yet it had burned Itself in his memory. It stated that in two hours hence— according to the time and place the letter had been posted — his son-in-law would call upon him, accompanied by his wife. For the sake of his wife, the writer had begged for reconciliation and welcome. Deeper and deeper fall the shadows, until the writing on the letter is completely blotted out, and the solitary figure is all but indiscernible; still Monsieur d'Egmont sits on, thinking, thinking- thinking, as ever, of the undying disgrace that he feels has been cast upon his name. A month, instead of healing the wound, has festered it, and his slow, petrifying hardness has not known a moment's wavering. In two hours' time it would please them in the honoured custom of eloping couples to call upon him for forgiveness and his blessing ! The cynical thought stung him, and, unable any longer to bear the misery which such communings ever brought, he walked moodily from the room. Scarcely had ht gone when a tall, gaunt figure carefully picked its way through the darkness into the room. On n-aching Monsieur d'Egmont's desk it paused— a match flared up, and Friar Fontaine's face, wild and haggard, stood strangely out. Reaching his hand to the massive pendent lamps, the friar lit them. Exactly under the lamps is Monsieur d'Egmont's desk. Chancing to glance down, the friar's gaze falls upon the open letter on the desk. One sentence catches his eye. Ii reads : " Severine and I shall arrive in Longueuil on Satur- day night, August 21, at nine o'clock, and shall call upon Monsieur, and " ADAMANT ^q, spe?toT'"P' u""'"'' "^^ '''"' "° farther, but sped to the clock opposite the desk-it was 7 , c Mane be praised!" The exclamation whfchfe," he raTseJv r^' ""^'"'' *'^«= ^'"''"^' thanksgiving tSn^'cha^'T' r' P^'"" ^^^'"^« ^ho-^ , ^*"'''n& change for the worse which had taken .onTdts'\r r ^-'' '" '•^''^'"^ - ovefthH.? ^ '^ '*^^'"& t''^ room, he bent m" ake i L'thfT;'" Z^l' "'= ''^ ''^'^ '"=''•- "^ At ,hn.l I *'' ''"'' '"'"'■ °f *>>« arrival. d'F^n, . "'^"'y "'""'^^ t° nine. Monsieur dEgmont returned to the room, his face unruffled himsSf Tt'T" Tr""- "^ ''^'^ — 'y -ated himself at his desk when Curd Cinq Mars was announced and shown into the room Thl Tn SanTM°*^' " r"^** accusrmed^o^ml^" t-urd Cmq Mars, somewhat covertly, laid on a table near by two volumes in ancient binding. Curd n!l°"M " '''','"''''^ '■'■°'" '^'^ daughter," said ^ur6 Cmq Mars stolidly, " and she is evn«.t-^ T l^mir*"" " ~ "■^ "'^ • M-S s sad anH ?^; . *^ speaker's voice there was a fed t 1 .K ''"'■'"'"*'"''"^^^ that had so beaut^ negl-ctedrhid "' °' ^^^'^^^^^ ("^ '^»« ^^ -dly negi cted) had engrossed every thought. profir S"' ^u" '*°'^ ^ '""l' »' *« clearly cut profile before h.m, and said in a queer tone 202 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS " Monsieur has been greatly wronged, and must keenly feel it. Suppose — er — suppose Monsieur should have it in his power to invoke retribution ? " " Were it," replied Monsieur d'Egmont, without haste, " only necessary tor me to raise a finger to invoke the Nemesis of retribution, it would remain unlifted ; those who have tarnished one of the oldest and most illustrious names of France are beyond the pale of my resentments-even though one of them be of my own flesh and blood." " Just so, just so, Monsieur is right ; but if retri- bution should chance to come without Monsieur's aid, would he raise a finger to ward it off} " Turning to the speaker. Monsieur d'Egmont answered, " Monsieur speaks strangely to-night." Then, after a moment's hesitation, he went on, as though he attached no importance to the question, " As I have said. Monsieur, I have no interest in what may or may not occur." Cur^ Cinq Mars' hands closed spasmodically, and mentally he said, " It is well ; he will never consent to a reconciliation, and my duty is clear." There was a look of satisfaction on his face. Yet even at this moment the glory of the Church was really uppermost in the thinker's mind. He had smothered his satisfaction, and was just about to speak again, when, to his intense astonishment and annoyance. Father Lacoste was shown into the room — the man of all men he did not want to be present when Giovanni and Severine arrived. Cur^ Cinq Mars glanced hurriedly at the clock, in the hope that the hour for their arrival was yet distant and that there might be a chance of Father Lacoste leaving before they arrived, but the timepiece was on the stroke of nine — he could scarcely conceal his irritation. ADAMANT ao3 If Monsieur d'Egmont experienced any surprise or annoyance, he did not show it. He had not : «n Father Lacoste since he visited him in his study the second day after the elopement. Rising, he politely asked his visitor to be seated. Cur^ Cinq Mars also partially arose and bowed stiffly to Father Lacoste, his face, although he strove to control it, showing anything but pleasure. Upon entering the room, Father Lacoste had looked around with anxious concern. His face had cleared somewhat when he perceived it contained only the two men. But the presence of Cur^ Cinq Mars was an omen he would gladly have averted. He sat down in a position facing the two men. Bending his majestic figure slightly towards Monsieur d'Egmont, he said in his deep, resonant voice, " Monsieur no doubt is awaiting the arrival of his daughter — and — and her husband. They have written me they would be here to-night. I was anxious to see them, and so took the liberty Monsieur will pardon me — of calling. It it will be pleasant to welcome them home. Monsieur." There was pleading in the old man's voice as he concluded. Changing the position of some letters on his desk, with a gesture of ennui, Monsieur d'Egmont answered, « No doubt they will be warmly welcomed by — by you. Monsieur." Father Lacoste's h»art bled with pity for the returning ones. With all the wisdom given by seventy years of life, he had known, the moment he had looked into Monsieur d'Egmont's face, that the weeks which had elapsed since he had last seen him had not been hallowed by any thoughts of relenting. Although he himself had been deeply grieved by Giovanni's conduct, he had the charity to condone 204 A DAUGHTER OF PATEICIANS and the mag^nanimity to pardon, and he was ready now with outstretched arms to welcome both a son and a daughter. In the silence which followed Monsieur d'Egmont's words, the old priest cast desperately around, as one will when the happiness of some loved one is menaced, for an inspiration whereby the threatened danger might be averted ; but before his task was ended and he could speak, Curd Cinq Mars' voice grated upon his ears, and he heard the angry, indig- nant words: "Monsieur Lacoste rejoices strangely oyer the' return of one who has ignored all his kindness, and made so light of the Church, which " — Floating in through the window, and interrupting the sarcastic words, came from the broad carriage- way leading up to the house the pounding of horses' feet and the sound of wheels. Forgetting the feeling of resentment he had felt at the words of Curd Cinq Mars, Father Lacoste sprang to his feet and stood in a listening attitude, his face expressing both joy and dread. Neither Curd Cinq Mars nor Monsieur d'Egmont changed their positions. Presently the carriage stopped, and the sound of the door-bell was faintly heard. Unable to subdue his feelings any longer, Father Lacoste turned quickly to Monsieur d'Egmont, and said, with a world of solicitude, "They are here. For the love of our dear Mother, be forgiving, Monsieur. They are now starting the journey of life, and the years will bring sorrow without help from us. Let them look back to this home-coming as one of the most precious of memories." " What Monsieur asks," answered Monsieur d'Egmont, still without emotion, "is impossible; ADAMANT 20S The speaker's from me there can be no welcome." countenance was as granite. There was a soun J of footsteps in the passage " f'tctjustitia, ruat ccelufn," muttered Curd Cinq Mars Even as he exalted justice above the heavens, the door of the library opened, and there entered Giovanni Corr«^gio and she who had dared so much for love With a glad exclamation. Father Lacoste Jolded Giovanni in his arms. Remembering his broken promise, Giovanni had no words, and could but stand with bowed head his feelings too deep for utterance. Understanding the eloquence of his silence, the old man could only think of him as though he were still a boy, and so, patting him on the shoulder, he broke out, in eager reproving at his visible emotion • Way, Giovanni— nay, nay, Giovanni." Giovanni was treasuring up for a later occasion to explain all that was in his heart, and turned with- out speaking, as though to introduce his wife; but Severine, unperceived by him. had walked on and (as was die custom of the country after marriage) was kneeling, with bowed head, before her father for nis blessing. " Madame ? " The query, with its delicate blending of uncom- prehending surprise, unconcern, and yet tincture of scorn, in which Monsieur d'Egraont uttered the word as he slowly rose and glanced down at the kneeling figure, aroused Giovanni's resentment, and he would have started to her side and raised her, had not rather Lacoste whispered, as he detained him "Be patient, Giovanni; he has been justly grieved; let h.^plead with him." Near where they wel^ standing towards ,t, Father Lacoste whispe ed, "Let us 306 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS i ! leave them together for a few moments, Giovanni ; come in here." As Giovanni reluctantly obeyed, and turned from the room, he saw his wife's hands outstretched and her beautiful sad face turned beseechingly to the cold one above her. He saw now tou, for the first time, Cur^ Cinq Mars, whose gaze was fixed upon him in a manner he felt certain augured ill for him and his. The coldness and cutting manner with which her father had addressed the single word to her was as a knife to Severine's heart ; she had expected denun- ciation, anger, and coldness from him, but not such withering indifference as this. During her absence Severine had called up memories of how gentle and loving he had been to her as a girl, and from all this tenderness had tried to believe that he could not cut her from his life as though the past had never been; but his first woid threatened the annihilation of every cherished hope. Rising from her supplicating position, she held out her hands entreatingly to him, as he sat at the desk, and with all the pathos of her sensitive nature in her voice, orokenly uttered the word " Father." But the appeal aroused no answering chord of sympathy in the heart that for a month had been hardening for the drama now about to be enacted. Looking at her, still unmoved, Monsieur d'Egmont answered slowly, " Madame Correggio has lost the right to use the terra ol father to me." His unbending inflexibility was more than she could bear, and, covering her face with her hands, she tried to smother back her choking tears. Monsieur d'Egmont sat in silence. Cur^ Cinq Mars was now standing grimly at Monsieur's elbow. ADAMANT 307 When, finally, strength came to control herself, and she could break the crushing silence, she raised her face and again essayed to plead ; but the sight of the two stem faces turned upon her was too much for self-control, and. sinking to her knees once more, she burst into a flood of heart-breaking tears. The unforgiving look she had caught on Cur^ Cinq Mars- face had overwhelmed her more than the hardness of her father s countenance ; for into her soul, at his look, had flashed an agony of religious dread— above all Uimgs she had never dreamed of committing a deadly offence against the Church. Surely it was not possible that she had done so? Crushed by this new terror, she prayed, between her sobs, for forgiveness; but her father gave no answer. In her agony she turned to Curd Cinq Mars, caught his hand, and said piteously, " Plead for me Monsieur; I shall never be happy if I leave my home hke this." She had risen, and stood waiting for his answer in actual terror; for she felt it was her only hope of reconciliation, and would also either coniirm or put at naught her fear that she must have committed a mortal error, rather than an act of simple disobedience, against the Church. Drawing his thin small figure up to its fullest cubit. Curd Cinq Mars fixed his eyes on her who pleaded before him, and answered, with intense feel- ing, "Nay, Madame; it is impossible that I should pl«uJ for you— you who have scorned the commands oi tne Holy Church even more than the commands of the parent whose wishes you set at naught. Learn, Madame, that those who are out of the pale of"— " Cur/, cur// " she burst out, her stricken face turned to that of the priest. '• for the love of the dear «-ftnst, do not say I have committed mortal sin ao8 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS i ii and am out of the fold of the Church. have been disobedient, I know ; but why terrify me with words such as these ? " Curi Cinq Mars answered her in a tone so peculiarly menacing that e\ren Monsieur d'Egmont partially turned and looked at him. " The nature and greatness of your offence to the Church, Madame," he said, "shall presently be revealed to you by your husband, and his lips shall shame in the telling." A cry escaped her and found its way into the room where Giovanni was sitting, full of unrest, listening to appeals of patience from Father Lacoste. The note of agony in the loved voice would have made him brave death itself, and no longer mindful of care and prudence, he hastened out of the room to where Severine was. Closely folk>wing him was Father Lacoste. The deathly whiteness of his young wife's face and the horror in her eyes unnerved him. He hesitated for a moment, and then sprang to her side and encircled her waist with his arm. Her eyes were still fixed upon Cur^ Cinq Mars, and, following her gaze, Giovanni turned fiercely to the priest and said, " Monsieur docs little credit to his cloth by trying to terrify those in distress." Then, turning to Monsieur d'Egmont, he said bitterly, " As I expected, our visit has been in vain. I had some slight hopes that Monsieur, for his only child's sake, would not have been utterly pitiless. Had it not been for my wife's sake, I should not have trespassed on Monsieur to-night." The convulsive clasp of Severine's hands upon his arm recalled to him that, after all, it was to her father he was speaking, and recalled also how sorely his proud spirit must have been grieved ; so ADAMANT 209 his tone of blttemew changed, and he went on mpulmely: ■' I know it mu.t be hard for Monsieur to feel forgivingly towards me; but I beseech him to be reconciled to his daughter: without his pardon I know despite .11 her love for me. she can never' be perfectly happy." As he ceased he stepped for- ward, his arm around his wife again, and stood before Monsieur d'Egmont with head slightly bowed and whole demeanour showing respect. Appealingly Severine raised her face to her father At this crucial moment. Father Lacoste, in his great anxiety and solicitude, exclaimed aloud in his deep, rich voice, "Gracious Mother, teach us how to lorgive I The heartfelt prayer had scarcely been uttered when Cur^ Cinq Mars broke oui vehement^ Gracious Mother, rather show to the disobedient that thy laws cannot be broken with impunity and thy Holy Church slighted and defied I " Other words seemed trembling on the speaker's lips, which he appeared to have difficulty in repressing. Speaking as though he had not noticed the inter- ruption, though inwardly disturbed by it. Monsieur dEgmont answered Giovanni (and now in a tone >n life). To Monsieur's plea on his wife's behalf I have no reply. Monsieur has strangely forgotten that there is no subject which can possibly engage discussion between us." ^^ The blood leaped to Giovanni's face at the humilia- ting reply to his prayer for reconciliation. An agonised cry escaped Severine. Without a word, Giovanni caught her hand, placed It upon his arm, and then turned to leave the room to h, ^"1'? "'""' ""^^^ C"'*^- Cinq Mars seemed to have been fighting ever since Giovanni had entered ^4 210 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS the room gave way as he saw Giovanni's action, and, stretching out his hand towards him, he said, with a strange intensity and warning, that arrested his hearer's steps in spite of himself, " Before Mon- sieur Correggio leaves, he will do well to listen to something that I have to unfold of the most vital importance to himself and the lady — something he dare not remain in ignorance of any longer." Giovanni turned haughtily and looked at the set face of the speaker, waiting for him to continue. Father Lacoste's countenance had taken on an expression of trouble and concern, while on Monsieur d'Egmont's face there was plainly expressed per- plexity and annoyance. Addressing Severine, Curd Cinq Mars said, " I would ask Madame the favour of speaking to her husband alone." Giovanni, in his anger, would have refused, but a look of anguished appeal from Severine made him accede to the request. Turning, she would have gone alone into the anteroom where Giovanni had been ; but this Giovanni would not allow, and he accompanied her to it. Once within the quiet of the room, he took her dear face between his hands, and passionately kissing it, said, with a touch of remorse, " Ah, my darling, my darling, the distress that I am already bringing to you I " " Oh, Giovanni," she answered excitedly, " I could bear anything were it not for the dread that, in some way, I have committed mortal sin against the blessed Church." In her voice there was a wildness that awoke in him undefinable fears. Again in her manner there was something of the intense excite- ment he remembered having noticed in her the morning they had gone to the church at Ste. Anne i f ADAMANT 211 de Beauprt and when her aunt had chided her for ^■jT\T''fy °' ^" supplications for the afflicted. Already what was to be the nightmare of the young husband's life was hovering above him ! Humedly Giovanni tried to dismiss from her mmd the folly of the dread she had voiced, and a.ter once more lovingly folding her to his heart, he agam entered the room he had left. How little he surmised what was awaiting him there I CHAPTER XVII THE LAW AND THE LADY " The law has cast me off from every claim Of house and kindred, and within my veins Tum'd noble blood to baseness and reproach." ' "'Tis false ! 'tis basely false ! What wretch could drop from his envenom'd tongue A tale so damn'd? It chokes my breath." " I'll proclaim 'tis true, though hell itself should gape And bid me hold my peace." During his absence Giovanni saw that Monsieur d'Egmont and Father Lacoste had reseated them- selves — the former in front of his desk. Cur^ Cinq Mars, however, still remained standing by the side of the table upon which he had covertly laid the two old volumes. His hand rested upon the books. Father Lacoste's manner still betrayed anxiety and grave concern. Whatever might have been Monsieur d'Egmont's feelings at the unexpected turn events were taking, his face gave no clue. A barely sup- pressed exultation was in the mien of Cur^ Cinq Mars. Walking to within a few feet of where Cur^ Cinq Mars was standing, Giovanni, his poetic face slightly flushed, yet fearless, said, with calm dignity, " I am prepared to listen. Monsieur ; proceed." " I will not keep Monsieur long in suspense," came the low rejoinder, "and when Monsieur realises the still deeper woe he is to bring upon THE LAW AND THE LADY 213 those whose lives he has entered, and sees what calamity he is to bring upon himself, and she who has trusted him, he will then understand how great was his folly in persisting, as he did, in disobedience to the Church." The priest paused, and Giovanni answered quickly " Monsieur will not forget that Madame Correggio is waiting for me ? " The answer brought a flush to the sallow cheeks of Cur^ Cinq Mars, but he made no reply, and turn- ing now to Monsieur d'Egmont, he said calmly " Monsieur will recollect—?' is just to myself I should explain this— that in his righteous indignation he did not think it necessary to ask me who performed the marriage ceremony, after I had refused to solemnise It, between this gentleman and his daughter?" Looking at Father Lacoste, he added, "And you Monsieur Lacoste, will recall the fact that you showed no curiosity as to the matter the night I called at your study when Monsieur d'Egmont was there?" As he paused, a look of contempt came into Giovanni's face, and as Cut6 Cinq Mars looked at hira he said sharply, "What does this mean? Was It for information such as this that Monsieur asked privately to see me ? " Monsieur d'Egmont also could not contain his annoyance, and he said coldly, "As to what priest performed the ceremony. Curd Cinq Mars, I think we have no interest." Father Lacoste sat with arms folded across his broad chest, and alone offered no comment. His imperious nature stung by the lack of interest and the impatience of those he was addressing, Curd Cmq Mars answered, with angry meaning You will see. Monsieur d'Egmont, that the question 214 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS 1 as to who performed the ceremony between them is one well worthy of the very gravest attention ; the elopement, in importance, is not even secondary to it." He could no longer contain the tragic news which for the past month had been consuming him, and turning abruptly to Father Lacoste, he said, in a voice pregnant with meaning, " The marriage ceremony was performed by a Church of England minister, Pfere Lacoste." Giovanni, irritated still further by what he deemed the frivolity of Cur^ Cinq Mars' words, made a motion as though he were about to turn and rejoin his wife. Monsieur d'Egmont impatiently tapped the floor with his foot. Giovanni was actually leaving the room, when his attention was attracted to Father Lacoste — the old priest had risen, and was grasping his chair for sup- port, his eyes staring and his breath coming quickly. Cur^ Cinq Mars' eyes were intently fastened on Father Lacoste's face. Astonished at the unlooked-for agitation of Father Lacoste, which he never dreamed of attribut- ing to anything Cur^ Cinq Mars had said, Giovanni hurried to the old priest's side, and was in the act of stretching out his hands to support him, when the old man pointed at Cur^ Cinq Mars, and with his sonorous voice ringing with anger, burst out : " And for a month, Cur^ Cinq Mars, you have hid this knowledge in your breast, knowing all it meant to the young people and those connected with them I My ears surely deceive me — shame. Monsieur! shame — shame I" His wrath was greater than his strength, and he sank back on his chair, his countenance full of fear. Still more astounded, Giovanni stood for a time THE LAW AND THE LADY 215 looking down at the agitated priest, and then he said, with painful distinctness, " Pire, why this agitation? Surely it cannot be caused by the unimportant question as to whether priest or minister performed the marriage ceremony between Madame Correggio and myself?" No reply came from Father Lacoste, and Cur^ Cinq Mars broke in grimly : " Monsieur Correggio, I will answer for Father Lacoste. His agitation is caused, and caused alone, by the question as to who performed the marriage ceremony. You would make light of it, but listen to its undreamed-of importance to yourself. On the question as to whether priest or minister performed the ceremony hangs the question of the legality of your marriage I If, Monsieur Correggio, a Protestant minister under- took that function, the lady in yonder room is no more your wife than if you had decided a marriage between you was unnecessary and had lived together without it. Learn now that a marriage performed anywhere in the province of Quebec by a Protestant minister between two Roman Catholics is invalid, not only in the eyes of the Catholic Church, but also in the sight of the British law governing us. Such, then, being the law of the land, you will understand what position you placed her in, whom you think your wife, when you defied the Catholic Church and fled that morning — after I had refused to marry you — to a Protestant minister to perform the ceremony — a ceremony which he had neither the civil nor ecclesiastical right to solemnise." It was as though the silence of the grave had fallen when he ceased speaking. Monsieur d'Egmont was standing and with ashen face looking mutely at the pitiless man who had given voice to such direful words. 310 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Father Lacoste's face was hidden in his hands. The fearful quiet was broken by Giovanni stepping swiftly up to Cur^ Cinq Mars' side. " Cur^ Cinq Mars," he began fiercely, his fingers twitching nervously, " as the Virgin lives, your garb shall not protect you from the punishment which would be meted out to other men if the infamous words you have uttered are, as I believe them to be, false. Now, Monsieur, quickly, your authority for the shameful position you would place the lady in, who is my wif^, before the world." Looking fearlessly up into the blazing eyes above him, Cur^ Cinq Mars, his thin small frame drawn up to its fullest height, answered quietly, " Monsieur's threats inspire me with no fear. He demands proofs of the assertions I have made ; such demands are reasonable, and I am prepared to give them." The confidence of the reply, the continued silence and shrinking of Father Lacoste, and the palpable alarm now in Monsieur d'Egmont's face, brought an overwhelming fear to Giovanni. Could it be possible that the words he had heard could really be other than the ravings of a madman ? As he asked himself the question, he saw Cur^ Cinq Mars draw towards him, on the table before which he stood, the two old volumes. With both hands resting on the books. Curd Cinq Mars looked across into Giovanni's wrathful yet apprehensive face, and said firmly, "The state- ment I made. Monsieur, was that your marriage is not recognised as a holy sacrament, nor has it the least validity in the eyes of the law, the reason being that a Protestant minister performed the ceremony between Mademoiselle d'Egmont and yourself — two Roman Catholics." Holding the books that Giovanni might read the THE LAW AND THE LADY 217 i titles, he went on: "These volumes will prove the truth of what I say. As Monsieur sees, these are books of the Civil SUtutes of this province. One of them con- tains important judgments based upon the statutes." Opening the books at marked passages, he continued, as he bent partially over the table and traced with his thin finger the marked clauses: " These passages, as Monsieur will see, are records of two judgments delivered in the Superior Courts, in the cases of Martineau v. Raymond, and Findiay V. Bruchesi,! and, will have particular interest for Monsieur, as they have decided for all time the important contention, raised by the Roman Catholic Church in this province decades ago, that all marriages between Catholics performed by a Protestant clergyman were, and should ever be, invalid, both ecclesiastically and civilly. That Monsieur may be able to verify what I am about to read, I have written down on this slip the names of the volumes which give the law on this contention, and also the volumes in which are recorded the two judgments in question." He laid the slip on the table near Giovanni. The following references were written upon it : "25 Lower Canada Jurist, p. 261. Legal News, p. 512. Legal News, p. 5 1. Themis, p. 206. Lower Canada Jurist — passages of ill^ality of marriages between Martineau and Raymond, and of Findiay and Bruchesi." Giovanni glanced down at the slip, but did not deign to take it up. This apparent unbelief on Giovanni's part, that the cases could have any serious import whatever to ' The lumes, for reawiu which wiU be obvious, have been changed. 2l8 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS t him or his, was the serpent's tooth to Cur^ Cinq Mars, and a sudden glow came over him at the thought of having it in his power to bring low such stiffhecked behaviour and adding, at the same time, to the glorification of the Church. With threatening mien, he again drew the volumes to him, opening oiie of them at a passage specified on the slip, which gave a brief history of the facts connected with the two marriage cases cited. So far as the circumstances of the marriages were concerned, Giovanni soon realised that they had been, indeed, very much like his own ; yet this did not prove them illegal. Having established the similarity of the marriages to Giovanni's in the most important part'culars, Cur^ Cinq Mars now turned rapidly to other passages, and read the contentions that had been raised before the Courts as to their invalidity. Finally coming to the summing up of the cases by the judges of the Superior Courts, and to their judgments thereon, Cur^ Cinq Mars glanced quickly up into Giovanni's tense countenance, and said ci'ttingly, " I beg Monsieur's careful attention to the passages I now shall read — and which he will also find jotted down on the slip it has so pleased him to despise." Slowly tracing the passages, he read: "'Their honours, the judges of the Superior Courts, in summing up the evidence in the two cases submitted to them, said the evidence before them to adjudicate upon was, after all, of the simplest nature, namely : — Two marriages had been performed by Protestant clergymen, the contracting parties being Roman Catholics. The law had been appealed to to declare said marriages null and void, on the contention that they were contrary to the religious and civil rights of the Roman Catholic Church, as guaranteed by the English, when THE LAW AND THE LADY 219 English rule superseded French rule in the coun- try. The Court fully realises the great gravity of the two cases before it, the contracting parties now living together as though legally united in marriage. With the greatest care the Court has examined the various Treaties and Acts between Britain and France in regard to Canada, to ascerUin juot what are the religious and civil rights to-day of the Catholic Church in this province. History shows that in 1759, by the defeat of Montcalm, Canada passed from French to British rule. In 1762 was signed the memorable Treaty of Paris, by the terms of which, and by the conditions laid down in the Quebec Act of 1774, the French were guaranteed the continuance of French law in relation to all civil matters; while to the Catholic Church was perpetuated all the powers and privileges possessed by it under the French regime. In many respects these powers and privileges were far-reaching and of the very greatest importance, as is shown by the right of the Catholic Church to-day to invoke the law in order to compel its followers to pay its annual tithes, its right of separate schools, as well as many other rights peculiar to the Church when under French rule. Hence, it being quite clear by the Treaties that the status of the Church as it existed under Louis xv. was to be perpetuated, the ques- tions arise as to what were the rights peculiar to the Catholic Church, under the French regime, in regard to marriage. We have found that, according to the civil law of Louis XV.,— which civil code holds good to-day,— the tenet of the Catholic Church was re- cognised, that marriage was a holy sacrament, a spiritual and religious bond which the Church alone had the right and power of administering to its followers, and over which the civil law should have 320 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS no jurisdiction whatever. In other vmtds, the Roman Catholic Church contended then, and still contends, that the ceremony of marriage is an ecclesiastical one, and that no other religious or legal body, or bodies, can perform the marriage ceremony between any of its followers. It must be mentioned that the religious marriages as solemnised by the Catholic Church were, however, to entail all the civil rights pertaining to law. Such civil rights being perpetuated to this day under British rule, the Court has but one course open to it : to declare the two marriages in question null and void, being contrary to fcivil and ecclesiastical law ; and that the Catholic Church can now alone be appealed to by the parties whom this judgment declares not to be l^ally bound together, to legally unite them in the bonds of matrimony.' " Cur^ Cinq Mars laid down the volume he had been reading from. His woeful story had now been unfolded. In his bearing was commanding and stem dignity. Monsieur d'Egmont was the first to speak. "JHoH Dieu!" he exclaimed, his pride for a moment humbled by the keenness of his pain and surprise, " what new indignity is this that has been brought upon me ? " He had never imagined that any deeper disgrace ■ould come to him than the mesalliance on the part of his daughter. But now it was revealed, she was not legally united to the man she had eloped with. His torture was almost greater than he could bear. Monsieur d'Egmont's exclamation roused Giovanni from the numbing horror which had fastened itself upon him as he had listened to Cur^ Cinq Mars adducing fact after fact to bear out the astounding assertion he had made, that his marriage to Severine i THE LAW AND THE LADY 331 was illegal. In his suffering a single gleam of hope remained— that the judgments cited in the two marriage cases were so ancient as not to be appli- cable to similar cases in this age. Paying no heed to Cur<« Cinq Mars, he turned and looked at Father LacMte. whose head was bent upon his breast, and said, " Fire Lacoste, from you alone will I believe that this unheard^f thing, stated by Curd Cinq Mars, is true. Tell me.pire, is not the law he cites ancient, and not applicable in our day and to our case?" He had striven hard to speak calmly, and with an air of hope and confidence, but had sadly failed. Not waiting for Father Lacoste to reply, Curd Cinq Mare made answer : " The law is not ancient, and is as bmding to-day as it was over two centuries ago. Moreover, one of the judgments I have citid was delivered not over a quarter of a century since." Still Giovanni paid no heed to him, and continued to look to Father Lacoste to reply. Slowly, at last, the old priest raised his head, and looking at the suffering face of the questioner, said bitterly, "Would I . Id say that this law did not exist to-day and was not applicable to you, Giovanni ! " With an involuntary exclamation, Giovanni started back— his last hope had now been slain. The look of agony in the young face roused the burning indignation of Father Laca te against him who had been the cause of it, and, with his regal hgure wect, he swept over to where Curd Cinq Mars was standing, and whose face wore the expression of an avenging Nemesis. Towering far above the smaller priest, in his superb physical proportions. Father Lacoste looked scathingly down upon him, and said, his voice roll- mg through the great room, "Again, Curd Cinq S33 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Mara, I say I would shame to do what you have done this night ; but it is well in keeping with your hard dbposition. You Icnew the error the young people had fallen into immediately after the cere- mony in the minister's house, and yet you put forth no effort to acquaint them, or those interested in them, with it. Twice only in two and a half cen- turies has the civil law been appealed to by our Church to sustain its contention as to the illegality of such marriages, hence this strange law you have read is almost entirely unknown to the people and the clergy of other denominations.' Such being the case, the error the young people committed is not to be wondered at, and could, as you well knew, have been explained to the Archbishop, who, in all probability, would have consented to our Church solemnising anew the marriage, and thus making their union honourable in the sight of all men. Their innocent error would then have been hidden for ever. But such a course was too charitable for you, Cur^ Cinq Mars. Incensed at them— it is true their course was not right— you rejoiced in the calamity they had fallen into, and looked forward to the time when you might be able to punish them. Such longings were but the cravings of revenge. Curd Cinq Mars, try as you may to believe that all you do is done with a single eye for the glory and increased dignity of the Church. Search deep enough into your heart and there you will find far more personal resentment than purity of intent for the Church's glory in this thing." Stretching out his hand, he said, in a voice of denunciation, " It is characteristics such as you possess, Curd Cinq Mars, that the Church has to thank for its recent tribula- ' It may be said, a thud ca« has been brought before Canadian Courts, as this novel, which was begun in 1896, u going to press. I THE LAW AND THE LADY jjj tlon. The maudtments that were r«- n.i, i s^-« *« p«?'« to the ;,rToTot ' ^:t thqr did not wish were issued by the hi,hL. j were one. Afansuur U Cuk You sinflrl V''°" SSeT"*:'"' ''°" ""'^'^y to heavn^'s'^; adhere to this course, and the Chnr<-t. i.. 7 for it still greater humiliaSon'r'"'"'' '" *" ''°^ .^""r ,i°r 'pSLr " !■■■ ^' "- 224 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS \ implicit obedience had not been assailed by traitors from within. Now, throughout the country, there are malcontents among the Church's followers who speak openly of what they term to please individual rights. When ordered by the bishops to follow out certain courses by public mandements, they demand that they be not interfered with in such matters. Such chaotic disobedience, Monsieur Lacoste, you can take much credit for. Just how little you really care for the divine prerogative of the Church to command, how little you care for its acquired rights in the province and for its dignity, you are char- acteristically showing by openly taking the part of these two young persons, who have not only defied parental control and the control of our Church, but have actually spumed the laws of the land concern- ing our Church — laws which the Courts have twice publicly enforced. It is well. Monsieur, that the State is more jealous of our rights than you — you, one of our own priests 1 " His voice rang scornfully as he concluded. Father Lacoste turned abruptly away from the irate speaker, and, as he did so, Giovanni said brokenly to him, "This fearful law,/ir«! There is nothing now but sure disgrace to look forward to ; the truth will soon be in every mouth." "With the Virgin's help," quickly answered Father Lacoste in a low voice and with an air as though suddenly recollecting, "there shall be no disgrace. I will go immediately to the Archbishop, with whom I have much personal influence, and get under his seal permission for you to be secretly married by our Church. I feel sure he will not refuse. What has been revealed in this room will be known only by those who have heard it — Curd Cinq Mars, I am sure, will go no farther in the \ THE LAW AND T"E LADY 225 matter. When once you are married by our Church, none will ever think of doubting but that you were united by it at first. But even if there should be some who might hear that you were first married by another Church, and learn that you were after- wards united by the Catholic Church, it would create nothing more than petty gossip, on account of the almost universal ignorance of the enactments making marriages between Catholics invalid when the cere- mony has been performed by a Protestant minister. You can judge of how unknown this old law is, v.hen the minister who married you never doubted but that he had bound you legally together. So be of good heaii, Giovanni, be of good heart. The dear Mother has more pity than many of her servants, and will guard you and her you love from the finger of scorn because of this innocent mistake." As a drowning man grasps at a straw, so Giovanni clutched at this hope. " God grant you are right, pire," he said, as he caught the old priest's arm,' " and that the secret of this first marriage may be for ever hidden, and that the Archbishop will not refuse his consent to have us secretly united by our own Church. The bare thought of the villagers knowing all, and pitying, and drawing away from Severine— such as they surely would do— is mad- ness." Deeming it wise that Cur^ Cinq Mars should be acquainted with his intention, and being anxious also to relieve some of the still deeper humiliation he knew Monsieur d'Egmont was suffering under, Father Lacoste informed them of his plan for the remarriage of the young people and the covering up of their first marriage. Monsieur d'Egmont, though inwardly relieved at the information, showed no sign of relenting of his »5 226 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS decision to shut his daughter from his life, and merely bowed his head As for Cur^ Cinq Mars, who had seated himself while Giovanni and Father Lacoste had spoken so rapidly togetlier, he deigned neither to make comment on Father Lacoste's plan nor give any sign that he had even listened to it In the faint hope that perhaps Monsieur d'Egmont, in his relief, might now be inclined to relent. Father Lacoste went over to him and hazarded a final plea for reconciliation — at least to his daughter. His mission failed. " Monsieur has already my answer, I believe," was the expected reply. The words were uttered aloud and distinctly. They reached the ears of Giovanni, and put away all diought of further pleading. As Father Lacoste turned away from Monsieur d'Egmont, Giovanni said to the priest, in a tone of confidence he meant should reach Cur^ Cinq Mars, "And what day, /^«, will our Church unite us?" "To-morrow is the Sabbath," answered Father Lacoste, " and after mass, at the Bishop's palace, I will see the Archbishop. The following morning, Monday, I will come and go with you and your wife to the palace, and the marriage shall take place there at once." On the word " wife " Father Lacoste had laid an emphasis as delicate and tender as could a woman, and Giovanni could have worshipped him for it But the knowledge that the Sabbath would have to drag its weary course ere the nightmare he must labour under was taken off his mind, and she who was his wife could be declared honourably and legally wedded to him, created su^h a sinking at heart that he could scarce keep his disappointment and apprehension from his face. THE LAW AND THE LADY 227 Monsieur d'Egmont now rose. His manner showed he considered the interview at an end. Bowing slightly to Monsieur d'Egmont, but ignoring Cur^ Cinq Mars, Giovanni turned towards the room where she who knew not that she was neither wife, maid, nor widow so sorrowfully awaited him. As he passed Father Li^coste, the old man whispered, "Be hopeful, Giovanni; neither the villagers nor anyone else will ever know." His whispered words had been louder than he thought, and had caught the alert ears of Cur^ Cinq Mars, who turned quickly, as though desirous that the expression of his face should not be seen. He knew the villagers (it had happened since his commg) had begun to whisper of there possibly havmg been something more serious than an elope- ment md a marriage, and although they knew nothing definite, they had not been able to meet Monsieur d'Egmont without the restraint which he had been so unable to understand. Yet it was not of the whispering villagers Cur^ Cinq Mars had been thinking when he had so quickly turned his head. The truth was, that at fte whispered words of Father Lacoste to Giovanni there had come to memory the woeful thing he meditated for the glory of the Church on the approaching Sabbath. Just at the instant Giovanni was about to open the door of the anteroom where Severine was awaiting him, his eye chanced to light, for an instant on the mam door, by which Severine and he had entered the library, and which he distinctly remem- bered having closed after them. The door was now several mches apart, yet no one, he was positive, had entered the room or left it since their entrance. Could It be possible," he thought, with new alarm, 228 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS I -. "that an eavesdropper had overheard what had passed in the room — overheard that which he would now willingly give his life to hide ? " Even as he asked himself the alarming question, and while his eyes were yet on the door, he distinctly saw a powerful hand dart into the room, on a level with the floor, g;rasp the bottom of the door and swiftly and noiselessly draw it shut. It was done in the twinkiJng of an eye. Poor districted Giovanni 1 It was well, after all, that his troubled gaze could not pierce the door and see out into the broad corridor beyond, where a great ungainly figure was hurrying rapidly along. At the end of the corridor was a flight of stairs which led down into the yard. Down this the figure sped. Reaching the yard, it turned abruptly to the right, in the direction of a great dog-kennel. When th ; kennel was reached, there was a savage growl, and a huge mastiff sprang at the figure. "A-htu, Pataud." The beast knew the voice in an instant, and grovelling on the g^und, whiningly licked the power- ful hands reached down to unfasten its heavy chain. " At last, Giovanni I I thought you would never come. Will papa foi^ive? What did Cur^ Cinq Mars want to tell you? Will he relent? And, Giovanni, did he say the Church" — " There, Severine, there I " Giovanni had entered the anteroom again, the strange incident of the closing of the library door adding its quota to the burden of dread and secrecy he must now bear. The manner of her questioning showed her still peculiarly unstrung, and he had scarce known how to answer. Try as he might, he could not hide his distress from her, and, reading something of it, she became THE LAW AND THE LADY 329 » X more calm, and in the dear shelter of his arms waited for him to speak. Kindly, and with deep respect, he b^an to speak of her father, trying to soften his continued refusal of reconciliation by dwelling hopefully on the future, when time, which heals all wounds, would surely cause him to relent But tenderly as he delivered his message, he saw her lips whiten and tremble. Ah, that this were all he would have to relate ! He knew what she would now question him about, and dreaded to answer it infinitely more than the question he had answered about her father. " And Cur^ Cinq Mars, Giovanni ? Did he wish to let me know through you that I — I was mistaken in thinking I had committed some deadly offence against the Church ? — that with penance I can win its forgiveness ? " Again there was that excitement and unnatural fear in her face and voice which smote at fears he could never Voice, and wl ch unmanned him more than would all the thunders of Christendom. As to what had really occurred in the room, he dared not tell her. Later he would ask, not letting her know the truth, to consent to the Catholic Church also lending its blessing to their union. To this he knew she would give ready assent — never imagining that he had any other wish than merely to please her religious feelings in the matter. He was suffering keenly, and at the thought of her dread of Cur^ Cinq Mars, and the memory of that priest's relentless attitude towards them, re- sentment again overcame Giovanni, and, holding her tightly to him, he wrathfully said, in answer to her questioning, "Vou fear Cmi Cinq Mats and the 330 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS Church too much, Severine ; what else is the mission of the Church but to pardon ? " She drew quickly away from him. " Hush," she said, looking at him in pain and distress; "the priests are the representatives of Christ, and so know the will of the Church, and what constitutes right and wrong, as we cannot do." Her face grew very pained, and she went on: "But your anger, Giovanni, only too plainly tells me that it was not to convey a message of peace that Curd Cinq Mars detained you." Again the fear at what Curd Cinq Mars had unfolded mastered Giovanni, and, mistrustful of the comforting hope that Father Lacoste had held out, he drew her suddenly to him, as though she had been standing on the brink of some great peril, and broke out fearfully: "Come, Severine, we will go, go away from here altogether, go to some country where we shall have peace and happiness." Startled at his palpable fear, she could but stand and look at him. The pain and care in his face gave her strength to hide her distress, and she said bravely, "You shall tell me later, Giovanni, what Curd Cinq Mars said. Come, dear, we will go — but not away from the village." As they passed out into the library, Giovanni saw that Monsieur d'Egmont and Father Lacoste had gone, and that Curd Cinq Mars alone remained. With his priestly robes drawn auout him, the priest was standing with the fateful volumes under his arm, as though also about to depart Severine looked towards the dark stem figure, longing plainly showing in her face that he would not at this the eleventh hour allow her to go with- out a word of peace. As the cur^ fixed his small piercing eyes upon THE LAW AND THE LADY 231 hers, she stopped suddenly, as though her feet had been chained to the floor, and raised her gloved hands in mute appeal to him. " After penance, and after the honour and power of the Church have been vindicated," said Cui6 Cinq Mars, looking at her without sign of relenting, " there may be forgiveness, er — er — MadetnoUtlU I " Never for a moment thinking but that he had used the old term " Mademoiselle " to her in other than mere forgetfulness, she was about to tell him now gladly she would do any penance to appease the Church, no matter how hard it might be, when Giovanni, his face crimsoned with passion at the meaning he knew which the priest had intended by the term, turned to her and said, " Father Lacoste, Severine, and not Cur^ Cinq Mars, is best fitted to interpret the will of the Church to us and to en- lighten us as to its doubtful anger." Drawing her arm within his own, he turned towards the door. Severine was too astounded for words. His anger now roused beyond all endurance, Cari Cinq Mars warningly stretched out his hand towards Giovanni's retreating figure, and exclaimed aloud: " The day of Monsieur's reckoning with the Church, which he delights in making so light of, shall sooner than he thinks overtake him I " With a shudder, Severine drew closer to Giovanni. ,•" ( CHAPTER XVIII PATAUD'S LAST LEAP "And whatsoever elw ahall h*p to-night, Givf it understanding, but no tongue." When Severine turned with Giovanni down the corridor of the dear old house that had been her home since childhood, and walked along it in the direction of the broad stairway leading to the hall and main entrance below, busy memory recalled so vividly incidents of girlhood days that tears blinded her eyes. How little she had thought in those days of such a home-leaving — a home-leaving with a father's anger upon her head, and even worse, the dread of having committed some unpardonable offence against the Church. The long passage before them looked completely deserted, and it seemed to her as though not one kindly word of parting by her aunt, or even the servants, was to make less painful the leaving. Even as the thought was in her mind a rustic of garments was heard, and, turning, she found herself the next moment in her aunt's arms. Proud as Josephine d'Egmont was too of her birth, her love for the motherless young girl was superior to it, and she kissed Severine again and yet again. Severine could not speak, so deep was her emotion. From her aunt's lips there came nothing but words of hope and comfort. Knowing nothing of PATAUD'S LAST LEAP 233 What had happened in the library, she tried to make the gxrls departure less hard to bear by speaking confidently of the time when her brother's hardness should have departed, and she and Giovanni would Giovanni turned away— it was so hard to listen and see. knowing all he did, without breaking down. The last word he heard Josephine whisper to the girl on her bosom was the soothing belief that the Church would not be grievously incensed at her act m marrymg without her father's consent When Josephine had gone, the look of dread on i>evennes face had partly disappeared. The good news of Severine's return had by this hine reached ancient Delphis Picani, the gardener, aiid his w,fe, as well as Baptiste Monette and Katie SSL'°un ".,'"''"" ^'^""«' »"'' Giovanni reached the hall below, the quartette was there to receive them. But the sorrow of their counte- nances, when they saw that Severine was going from s^rh«""' T'^l *' •'"''"" °' "^^ home-lLving sbJl heavier for her. and all she could do at thU time was to silently clasp the outstretched hands and turn away quickly with Giovanni to the door, where they had left the carriage waiting As they emerged from the house into the dark- ness, Giovanni was surprised to see the carriage was not at the door. He looked around 7n^ Leaving Sevenne on the verandah, he stepped down to the ground. Now he could distinctly ^. some fifty feet distant, the gleam of the carriage-lamp^ Thinkmg the driver, for some reason or Sr ^d preferred to wait a little disUnce f,t>m the LSe Giovanni would not take the trouble to have S '34 A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS summoned, but, with Severtne on his arm, began to walk towards the carriage. He little imagined that scarcely five minutes ago the figure that had flitted down the corridor — the one whose hand he had seen steal into the room and close the library door — had, after unfastening the chain of the mastifT Pataud, gone straight to the driver and ordered him to wait in the curve of the carriage-way, in the gloomy shadow of a great tree, where Giovanni saw the man was now stationed. With minds brooding upon the events of the night, Severine and Giovanni walked in silence towards the carriage. No admonition of danger came to either of them. They were almost in the dense shadow of the tree before the faint light from the carriage - lamps revealed them to the driver. The man rose hastily to his feet, but ere he could leap to the ground and open the carriage door, a deep, muiHed roar rent the stillness, and immedi- ately following it, from behind the trunk of the tree, there sprang into the light of the lamps an animal of colossal proportions — its great strength, baleful eyes, yawning jaws, and savage aspect mak- ing it a beast to be as feared of man as any that roams the wastes. True as an arrow from the bow, the beast had leaped direct for Giovanni's throat With the intuition so marvellous in woman, Severine seemed to know before her eyes lighted on the animal from what direction it was coming, and that it was Giovanni who was in danger, and she sprang directly in front of him. The beast, at the instant she reached Giovanni, was upon her. But before the monster jaws could close, she had recc^ised the animal, and faintly called out, as she fell to the ground, " PaUud, Pataud I " With the ferocity almost of the animal itself. PATAUD'S LAST LEAP ass Glowini threw himself upon it ; but it paid no heed to^him, but, whining piteously, liclced Severine's She had suffered no great bodily injury, but the violence of the shock had seriously unnerved her. Partially kneeling, she began to pat the animal, Myin?. m excited way, "You did not know me, faUud; you did not know me." Thrashing its tail to and fro, the beast evinced the greatest joy. With full heart, Giovanni raised her, and supported her to the carriage. The animal followed, rubbing Itself against her as lovingly as a kitten. When the carriage suddenly rolliid away, a mournful howl was heard. It had barely died away when the giant form of Friar Fontaine emerged swiftly from the black background of the tree. He looked at the animal for an instant, and then, with an enraged, terrified cry, sprang upon it. and seizmg ,t by the throat, threw it upon its back He W^tT.l'" ^^^'^ '^""^ "* '^"^ '^t- " the fading light of the carnage, a piece of Severine's dress hang- jng from its ferocious mouth. The sight had thrown ms weak mind mto a paroxysm of uncontrollable madnMs. From the place where he had been xTn r^K ! ^^ "^ ** '^°8 "ght upon Severine. ihen he had been as one frozen with horror. She had fallen near the carriage wheels, out of his sight He had not heard the few words she had spoken to the animal, and now it was in his mind that &o^nn. had picked her up sorely mangled, and «rT? r*^ *** ^^ *° *^ «'«' «ve her life. had don?th^r'?!f "' "''1* ^ *°"eJ« the animal had done, the friar's great fingers sank into its th,«at ^ZJ^u •;!""''«»"«« °f steel- The beast began to wnthe, but failed to release the hold ^^ a3« A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS " Chum Ai diabh I ekitn At diablt I you bit her h*rf" Y» broke out, in savage fuiy. The eyeballs of the animal began to bulge from their loclceU ; iu tongue lolled thick and black from iU mouth ; foam from its jaws flecked the awful hands, yet it made no attempt to bite. Savage and powerful though it was, it was powerless to break away from the fingers of the giant, which the more surely tightened their hold with every agonised effort of the beast to escape. The struggle was now in the darkness, for the light from the carriage had died completely away. " CkitH du diablt I chitn du diablt I " he kept on reiterating between his clenched teeth. The beast beat the air with its feet and dashed its body on the ground; yet its head might have been in a casement of steel, for all it could move it. The friar's fury increased the longer the contest lasted, until he was completely overpowered with the maniacal lust to kill. " CAitn du diablt I chitn du diablt I " The rattle from the beast's throat and its di«adful gasping could now be heard far away — its struggles were growing rapidly weaker. Still the friar cursed it, and still the vice-like fingers took on more and more strength. During the first part of the struggle he had tried several times to pinion the beast with one hand and reach his coat pocket with the other, but, immense though his strength was, he had failed in the feat. But the moment when one hand was sufficient to hold it came finally, and the hand that was disengaged snatched at the pocket and drew something swiftly from it Then the giant arm swung rapidly into the air, and there followed a heavy dull thud and a great gasp : the writhing of the animal had ceased ; buried PATAUD'S LAST LEAP 237 deep in its heart was one of the curiously shaped, highly tempered taxidermist knives used by Monsieur d'Egmont. 'Chitn du diath!" There was now a wild, triumphant ring ir the voice. Long after the heist had reased its struggles, he continued ti .oiiuan !► by th^ rhroat, shaking it, and muttering; rrses tipjn ti. He seemed utterly lost to reason, i i.ialJj .o„n{;;. t to his feet, in his frenzy, he s^^iied the We?a ..nimai with both hands, swung it once m tie .-lir, and then cast it far past the big tree, in the hiding >i some tangled hedges. At the crash of its fall, he shook his great fist in the direction of the hedges and cried out hoarsely " You bit her— ^r l—