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 Soljlarv Island... 
 
 A STORY OF 
 
 THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 BV 
 
 JOHN TALBOT SMITH 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 BROTHER AZARl AS," ' A WOMAN OP CULTURE," 
 " HIS HONOR THE MAYOR," •' SARANAC," ETC. 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 WILLIAM H. YOUNG & COMPANY 
 
 31 Barclay Street 
 
 1897 
 

 f 
 
 CopvmoHT, iSijf 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN TAI.KOT SMITH 
 
 j4U right t ritirvtd 
 
 i . 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTEB 
 I 
 II, 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V, 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 XVII. 
 XVIII. 
 XIX. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXII. 
 XXIII. 
 XXIV. 
 XXV, 
 XXVI. 
 
 FLIGHT! '^^J 
 
 Marriage 
 
 The Island ^^ 
 
 The Sick Room 39 
 
 On Retreat '. _ 
 
 Death '^J? 
 
 A Bohemian L 
 
 The Portrait on the Wall . 09 
 
 R^™ :::;:::::::;■■■ 106 
 
 A Reunion . . _ 
 
 Old Hopes " ..,", 
 
 Rejected * . T^ 
 
 The Inquisitors [[ j^g 
 
 Mystery .„ 
 
 . T-> low 
 
 A Barbecue .~^ 
 
 Rossiter's Luck ' _ jgg 
 
 A Proposal g^. 
 
 Mrs. Winifred's Confession ....... 212 
 
 Barbara Wins " goA 
 
 Prince Florian [[[ 346 
 
 The Prince's Story 267 
 
 Barbara's Spite 095 
 
 Terrible Truth m 
 
 The Hidden Life 310 
 
 Reparation „„ . 
 
 True Hearts 849 
 
i 
 
SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 i 
 
 CHAJ^TEK I. 
 
 FLIGHT ! 
 
 Among the beautiful islands in tliat wonderful 
 cluster at the source of the river St. Lawrence is onci 
 noticeable fcr its petty size and peculiar shape. It 
 covers a quarter of an acre, perliaps, and lying at 
 the foot of a sister island some seven miles lon;^-, 
 would never attract visitors but for its shape and its 
 excellent view of the village of Claylnirgh. Smaller 
 islands, mere rocky stars on the watery blue, crowd 
 about it, and shut it out from the sight of approach- 
 ing travelers ; but, arching its b;ick from the water 
 like a bow, and throwing into the air a natural pyra- 
 mid of moss-eaten graystone, it offers a summit high 
 above its sisters. Nature has provided a stairwav 
 to the platfoi'm above, and a stunted tree clingin'o- 
 there welcomes the sightseer with scanty shade. 
 
 Here, on a day of early September, sat a man 
 quietly looking upon the splendid view before him. 
 The sun was swinging close to the Canadian horizon, 
 and Clayburgh was crimsoned with its autumn glory. 
 The water was on fire. With every ripple and°wave 
 
6 
 
 aOLITAUY ISLAND. 
 
 red sparks and flames seoniod to shoot into the air, 
 the smoky woods lending to the illusion. It was 
 neither chilly nor warm. A pleasant mean prevailed 
 in the air. and so soi'tly did tlie colors of dying day 
 blena with those of the coming night that he who 
 sat there was unmindful of the passing hours. His 
 gaze Avandored from one feature of the scene to 
 another, and its placidity was reflected in the repose 
 of his body, in his gentle breathing, and in the pen- 
 sive expression of his face. His general appearance 
 was not that of one gifted with many of the finer 
 human instincts. A blue shirt, gray breeches, un- 
 dressed shoes, cap and leggings, all of very coarse 
 material, made up his costume ; his skin was tough- 
 ened and browned by years of exposure, and a curly 
 red l)eard covered the lower part of the face. The 
 rifle at liis side, and the fishing tackle in his canoe 
 indicated the sportsman. Yet there was more about 
 him, as there is about every man, than even second 
 glances would discover. His light hair and red beard 
 were of a very fine texture, his hands were shapely, 
 his features delicately cut, and his blue eyes, if a 
 little too keen in their glance, were sympathetic and 
 expressive ; but his skin cap hid hair and face, and 
 tanned complexion and rough costume hid much 
 more from curious eyes. As he looked at the dis- 
 tant village bathed in sunset fire he muttered to him- 
 self, and not seldom the unheeded tears fell down his 
 cheek. 
 
 " Ah, friend Scott, dreaming, hey ? " 
 
 A rough voice came from below, where a fat, half- 
 naked man was just rising from the water. 
 
 Scott looked down quietly. 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 
 " You had quite a swim of it, PenTton," he siiid, 
 without moving. "• Thought you couldn't hev got 
 here for a good liour yet." 
 
 " The devil ! '' growled Pendleton, shaking himself 
 like a dog and swinging his naked arms to take off 
 the chill. " You're a nice man, to allow me to swim 
 all the wav, and your boat so handv I I'm chilled 
 through. Why didn't you shout when you saw me 
 coming 'i " 
 
 " Didn't know you were comin' till I saw you half- 
 way over, Squire. Did you want to see me T' 
 
 " Did I want to see you ? " sneered the Sc^uire as 
 he rummaged the canoe. " No ; I want to see your 
 whiskey bottle — haven't any, confound ye ! Pm a 
 likely man to leave my clothes on the island and 
 swim this far, and do it all for nothing. Look at 
 me," he said, as he began to mount the natural steps, 
 " and ask that question again." 
 
 " It's a strange fix for you, Pen'l'ton," said Scott, 
 amused. " You're not runnin' away from the law, 
 maybe i " 
 
 " Yes, I am running away from the law," answered 
 the Squire, shaking his fist at Clay burgh. " Blame 
 'em ! they haven't left me a place this side of France 
 or South America to hide in. They are after my 
 head, man ; they've offered a reward — to any man, 
 woman, child or jackass that will present 'em with 
 me, dead or alive, or with my head." 
 
 "I heard somethin' " began the hunter. 
 
 " Of course you did. Ther' all talking about it-- 
 about the fool Pendleton, who sided with Mackenzie, 
 another fool, and helped him to get justice for Cana- 
 dians, and now has two governments after him. 
 
8 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 i 
 
 Well, I'm the man, and I've come to you for help ; 
 nobody else wants to give it." 
 
 " I'm glad you lit on me,Squire," Scott b'^^.^n again. 
 
 " Oh ! are you ? " sneered the Squire, nettled by the 
 tone. " Wait till you hear the whole of it. ' Any 
 man who harbors, assists, feeds, etc., Squire Pendle- 
 ton goes to jail along with him when he's caught.' 
 How do you like that, liey ? " 
 
 Scott was silent and turned his gaze in the direc- 
 tion of the town, whose spires alone now caught the 
 reflection of the sun's last rays. Pendleton evidently 
 did not expect this action on the hunter's part, and 
 he grew uneasy and angry. A half-sigh escaped him, 
 for his position was really one of peri), and there 
 were others interested in his fate whom his capture 
 would affect bitterly. 
 
 " I don't wish to bring any one into trouble, Scott," 
 he hastened to say, " and I'm not going to do it 
 for you. But knowing these islands as you do, I 
 thought you could show me some hiding-place that 
 would give me refuge until I can leave the country. 
 For they'll not catch me — no, not if I have to swim 
 to the Bay of Biscay." 
 
 There was no answ^er from Scott, and his thoughts 
 seemed to be miles away from the Squire's affairs. 
 Pendleton stood for a momei. * irresolute, and then 
 hastily descended the steps and jumped into the 
 canoe. 
 
 " You're like the rest," he murmured. " There's 
 not a man among the whole crew. Well, you can 
 meditate there for the rest of the night or swim for 
 it. I'm going to make this my property." He 
 attempted to cut the rope of the canoe, when by a 
 
FLIGHT. 
 
 9 
 
 dexterous jerk Scott upset the boat and the Squire 
 went into the water headlong. A3 he rose splutter- 
 ing the hunter was engaged in rescuing his floating 
 tackle. 
 
 " Foolin' with governments is dangerous," said he, 
 "an' it's natural to think I don't want to get mixed 
 up in your evil doin's. But then I'm not goin' back 
 on ye, Squire, not if I know it, even though my head 
 was concerned, which it isn't, for in this country they 
 don't go quite so much on the head-choppin' as I've 
 heard tell of in other countries. T \'in lind a place 
 for ye, p'raps. It mayn't be mucl: to your likin', 
 for beds are scarce, an' furniture has to grow of 
 itself thar. But vo I'll hev th( oun to call ,e at six 
 • 'clock, an' stars will see ve to bed uad watch over 
 ye all right along with the sin^.n' o' the water. 
 Squire, them's my comforts.'' 
 
 " They agree with you mightily," murmurc'^' Pen- 
 dleton, who was now rather subdued. Having put 
 his boat in order, Scott invited his companion to 
 enter and was surprised to receive a cold and 
 emphatic refusal. 
 
 " I've got a new idea from that ducking," he said 
 gloomily, " and I'm going to follow it out. Good- 
 bye ; thanks for your offer." And he plunged into 
 the water again, only to be pulled out almost roughly 
 by a strong, impatient hand. 
 
 " This," said the Squire, purpling, " is " 
 
 " Common sense — nothin' less, Pen'l'ton," was the 
 firm, severe interruption. " Don't ye think I know 
 more about this business uf yours than to let you 
 walk right smack into the hands of the officers ? 
 What'r you thinkin' of ? What about Euth ? " 
 
10 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you're riglit," the other answered 
 hastily. "I'm a fool. Poor Ruth I Goon. I'll go 
 to the devil, if you say so." 
 
 Scott pointed to the boat, in which the Squire 
 penitently took his seat. 
 
 " Shall we go for your clothes ? " 
 
 " Let 'em stay there. If they think me drowned, 
 so much the better." 
 
 Scott pushed off and took his coui'se eastward. 
 The sun had set, and heavy clouds had closed like 
 prison-gcites on his glories. A thin mist was rising 
 from the marshy shores. The silence of coming 
 night was scarcely disturbed by the dip of the paddle 
 and the cry of the wild duck in the distance. 
 
 " They'll not see our course," Pendleton said, half 
 to himself, " and Ruth will be satisfied. Poor Ruth ! " 
 
 Scott did not hear him. His eyes were fixed, as 
 usual, on the scenes around him, and reflected more 
 than ever the emotions of his simple heart. These 
 must have been very pleasant then, for his face was 
 lit up by a happy smile. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 About the hour which saw Squire Pendleton puff- 
 ing through the chilly waters of the St. Lawrence, 
 Clayburgh's young and rising lawyer sat in his office, 
 wondering what had become of the chief figure in 
 the social and political life of the village. The office 
 window commanded a view of the river and its isl- 
 ands, and Mr. Wallace with the aid of a glass could 
 have witnessed the scene between the Squire and the 
 friendly fisherman. But his thoughts were just then 
 given to himself. He had a bright future ])efore 
 him, and he was surveying it with the enchanted 
 telescope of the mind. Ilis youthful history had 
 not one cloud, not one error, not one ill-success in it. 
 Everything he had done from childhood up had been 
 done well. His townsmen flattered him, and took 
 pride in his abilities. His family adored him. Good 
 offers were made to him bv legal firms in the larger 
 cities, but work in his native village was plentiful 
 and profitable, if not suited to develop a great mind. 
 All his affairs were in good condition. He had 
 health, strength, money, and good looks. His per- 
 sonal gifts were numerous, and not all of them were 
 known even to himself. He was generous, yet cool- 
 minded and prudent ; passionate, yet thoroughly self- 
 puled. He had given his heart to the keeping of 
 
 11 
 
12 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Squire Pen Jleton's daughter, a lul she had accepted the 
 trust almost, and half-promised to become his wife. 
 Once they were married he would go to New York, 
 and settling down to hard work would aim for the 
 very highest things that a man might attain to in a 
 life-time. AVhat they were he hardly knew; but 
 the path of sunlit water, which lay before him as far 
 as he could see, was not so rosy as the path of glory 
 along which his dreams conducted him to the pin- 
 nacle of fame. It intoxicated him to think of these 
 things. lie thought it a sign of his secret and untried 
 ability that he could dream so, whereas it was only 
 the product of a good and young constitution, an 
 ambitious soul, and an overpowering vanity. 
 
 " Not one trouble in the world," said Florian, " and 
 not one obstacle in sight that amounts to anything. 
 I am a lucky man." 
 
 Yet, just at that moment, so rosy, so hopeful, his 
 ill-luck gave a soft, imperative tap at the office door. 
 
 " Come in," said Florian. 
 
 The parish priest entered, Florian's friend and sec- 
 ond father, who took as much pride in the boy, — and 
 more perhaps, — as any good father would. For he 
 had trained him in childhood, and guided his young 
 manhood, and it was from him that Florian had 
 learned his severe adhesion to religious principle, and 
 strict literary tastes. His short, stout body was 
 dressed in a clerical costume of the time, his face clean 
 shaven, rosy in color, and very reserved in expres- 
 sion. There was no asceticism in his appearance. 
 His manners were brusque. He said little, and 
 smiled rarely, but in all that he did and said and 
 looked there was that odd, indefinable something 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 13 
 
 which proclaims a man who differs from the major- 
 ity of men. 
 
 " No news of the Squire," said Pere Rouge vin. 
 
 " Not a word," replied Florian. " I have no doubt 
 if we let him alone, or if the government detectives 
 go away he will come back soon enough. His rheu- 
 matism is not the sort of baggage for a political 
 exile." 
 
 " Miss Ruth is anxious about him." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, but there is little need for 
 anxiety. If there were " 
 
 He hesitated and the priest added : 
 
 " You would make things fly to settle her fears. 
 How does the New York idea develop ? " 
 
 " So, so, father," said Florian. " Let us say two 
 months from now, for the finish." 
 
 And he went on to picture the results leading up 
 to his departure, until he saw the ambiguous smile 
 which touched the priest's lips and instantly 
 faded. 
 
 " Well," said he, " what do you smile at ? Do you 
 think me too hopeful ? " 
 
 " There are no hindrances in your way ? " said the 
 priest, in a questioning tone. 
 
 " "Well, none that I can see." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and the priest 
 walked to tho window as if he had dismissed the 
 subject. 
 
 " Are you going home to supper ? " he said. 
 
 " Now I am sure," interrupted Florian, " that you 
 see something in the way, if I don't, and I must ask 
 you, P6re Rougevin, to tell me of it." 
 
 " I thought you knew all worth knowing concern- 
 
rv 
 
 14 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I 
 
 ing your own affairs. — But then, you are quite cer- 
 tain of Ruth's conversion to the faith ? " 
 
 " Ah 1 " said Florian, struck dumb with a sudden 
 fear. 
 
 " I can say no more," the priest went on. " I 
 have known Miss Pendleton since she was a child. 
 She has been brought up loosely in matters of relig- 
 ion, but her tastes and feelings are religious. She 
 knows something about us, and is quite used to our 
 ways. She is very conscientious. I cannot say that 
 she takes to Catholicity." 
 
 It was a long speech for the priest to make, and 
 he at once dismissed the entire matter by taking up 
 another subject of conversation. But Florian was 
 really frightened. 
 
 " Pere," said he, " I can't think or talk of any- 
 thing but what you have just told me. "When you 
 speak of a thing there is always something to it. 
 AVhat am I to_ do ? I'm not a fool. I cannot live 
 without Ruth. I do not believe in mixed marriages. 
 But it would be as bitter as death to give her up 
 just when I had made myself believe it was all right." 
 
 " One should not make himself believe it was all 
 right," said the priest. 
 
 " I know, I know," the lawyer impatiently an- 
 swered. " But liow many are so careful as that. 
 Ruth and I were brought up together. I am sure she 
 has a high regard for me " 
 
 " You do well to put it that way." 
 
 " What ! you think she has no other feeling for 
 me but regard ? " 
 
 The priest shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Florian, " if it be true that she can- 
 
 •^ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 15 
 
 not in conscience Ijecome a Catholic, then it's all 
 over between us. But I am not going to believo 
 that. I will see for myself. I cannot believe it." 
 
 '' Do," said Pere Rougevin. " It will be better 
 for you." 
 
 And hastily bidding the young lawyer good-day 
 he went out quickly. Florian knitted his brows 
 and fell to thinking. It Avas not safe to have too 
 rosy a future to dream on. Ten minutes ago he 
 could not find an obstacle in his path, and now 
 Ruth was on the very point of departing from 
 him. Tie was bound not to give her up easily. 
 The young man was practical in his love as in 
 his business. He had not that abandonment of 
 feeling which brooks no possible danger of losing 
 the object of his feeling. lie knew that death, or 
 conscience, or a change of heart might at any mo- 
 ment step between him and the woman he loved, 
 and so he did not say, " I shall never give her up," 
 but instead, " I shall not give lier up easily," — a good 
 and prudent restriction to put upon his determina- 
 tion. He sat thinking until the sun disappeared 
 behind the islands, and then it occurred to him that 
 this new and unexpected trouble which had come 
 upon him would surely be followed by others. " It 
 never rains but it pours." It would be a good 
 thing to see Ruth at once, and have an understand- 
 ing with her that would prove the Pere mistaken, 
 and it might keep off other troubles. He seized his 
 hat, when a second knock sounded on the door. For 
 a moment he was tempted to jump out of the win- 
 dow; then smiling at his own fancies he bade the 
 visitor enter. The Rev. Dunstan Buck was not a 
 
f^mmm 
 
 T 
 
 16 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 visitor or client of Florian's, and therefore he did 
 not wonder at the slight start which the lawyer 
 gave on seeing him. The young man was not so 
 much surprised at his visit as at the circumstance of 
 two clergymen following each other into his office. 
 Mr. Buck was invited to a seat, and took it nervously. 
 His over-elegant appearance made the little office 
 look dingy, for as the minister of a very High Church 
 congregation, he found it necessary to look and dress 
 as if every moment had seen him put on a new 
 suit, bathe, shave, and say prayers. He was for all 
 that a gentle-minded and good-hearted man. 
 
 " I may have made a blunder in coming to you," 
 he began with his glasses fixed on the lawyer, " but 
 I really did not see to what member of the family 
 I could address myself. Your father, unhappily, 
 does not take to the town ministers, and I am aware 
 that Catholics are very strict about these things, 
 but in short, Mr. Wallace, I have a high esteem 
 for your sister Sara, and I would like to pay her my 
 addresses." 
 
 The lawyer's response was prompt and nicely- 
 worded, but the surprise he felt could not be put 
 into words. 
 
 " Has Miss "Wallace any suspicion of your feelings 
 towards her ? " he asked. 
 
 " I told her that I intended to speak to you," said 
 the minister. " She made no serious objections, but 
 seemed to dread it." 
 
 "Of course, her own wishes are the chief thing to 
 be looked at," replied Florian. " But I may as well 
 warn you, Mr. Buck, that you are going to meet 
 with bitter opposition. Father and mother, Pere 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 17 
 
 » 
 
 ^elings 
 
 \mg to 
 
 1,8 well 
 
 meet 
 
 Pere 
 
 "Rougevin, my sister Linda and myself cannot favor 
 you at all. You know very well that my sister will 
 become a Protestant in marrying you, something 
 which no Catholic can think of with pleasure. At 
 the same time, I am sure your conduct in doing 
 nothing secretly is that of a gentleman. But I wish 
 I could persuade you to look elsewhere for a wife." 
 
 Mr. Buck was silent for a moment. " I cannot 
 promise you," he said. " I hoped that perhaps you 
 might persuade your family " 
 
 " This is the situation, Mr. Buck," Florian politely 
 broke in. "You know my father. If he thought 
 you were courting Miss Sara, your life and hers 
 would be made miserable and notorious in the village. 
 I could not change him even if I would." 
 
 Rev. Mr. Buck rose hastily. 
 
 " I see, — I understand," he said. " I wished to do 
 everything honorably. You will not blame me if 
 anything should occur contrary to your wishes." 
 
 "Certainly not. I am greatly obliged by your 
 candor," said Florian as he bowed him out ; " but 
 ril take good care that nothing occurs contrary to 
 those wishes," he added when his visitor was gone, 
 leaving a faint scent of the perfume bottle in the air. 
 Supper that evening in the Wallace dining-room 
 was a dull, even threatening affair. When it was 
 finished Sara at a sign from her brother followed 
 him into the little room he called his study. One 
 window only admitted the light, and had painted 
 on its narrow panes a waterview, with pine-fringed 
 islands and the north-west sky for a background. 
 Florian motioned his sister to a chair. She was 
 pale but calm and obstinate-looking. Her face had 
 
( 
 
 18 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 set itself in a cold, hard expression which did not 
 daunt the youth, but rendered hira uneasy. 
 
 " I was a little surprised to-day ■' he began. 
 
 " You alvrays arc," she retorted, without looking 
 at him. 
 
 " To have a visit from Mr. Buck. It seemed to be 
 understood that Mr. Buck was an accepted suitor of 
 yours, and that before long matrimony would make 
 a convert to Protestantism where conviction could 
 not." 
 
 " Well, Avhat of it ? Is Mr. Buck less a gentleman 
 because he is a minister " 
 
 " Excuse me if I do not argue that point," her 
 brother interrupted. " Mr. Buck is a gentleman, 
 thoufi'li a little shallow and sometimes sillv. What 
 I desire to know is, have you given any reason to 
 others to talk of you in this way ? " 
 
 " And if I have, am I bound to tell vou of it ? " 
 
 "You misunderstand mc, Sara," he said gently. 
 " I am not your master, but your brother, and I ask 
 the question, not because you are bound to answer 
 it, but because it will be better for you to do so." 
 
 " Well, people will talk," she replied lightly. " I 
 have never given him the slightest encouragement." 
 
 " Why, then, should he come to me ? " Florian 
 persisted. " Are you sure that you have not even 
 though I of encouraging him. May not some of your 
 actions which you thought light and unmeaning 
 have given him reason to think " 
 
 " I won't ansAver any more," she said, bridling. 
 " Wh}', one would think I was in a witness-box, 
 sworn to tell my every thought to you. It's worse 
 than the Inquisition ? " 
 
 I 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 19 
 
 " Than the Inquisition ! " repeated Florian in as- 
 tonishment. " I'orhaps it might bo worse than that, 
 if the matter comes to father's ears.'' 
 
 Sara's lips cpiivered at tiiis implied threat, and the 
 tears filled her eyes. They were tears of spite, not 
 of grief. 
 
 " You are mean enough to tell him," and her voice 
 trembled despite her pride. " I am persecuted every- 
 Avhere. Xo one seems to care for me." 
 
 " It is just because Ave care for you, all of us, that 
 we troulde you so much. Is it no pain to us that 
 you should marry a Protestant minister and be lost 
 to the faith ? " 
 
 She broke into fitful sobbing. Florian walked to 
 the Avindow and looked out gloomily on the scene. 
 She dried her eyes at length, and proceeded from tears 
 to frowns. 
 
 " I won't stand this persecution any longer," she 
 said rising. " You maA^tell every one, you may tell 
 the wrinkled old bore vonder " — she alluded to her 
 father — " you may tell the world ; but I shall do as I 
 please, and u you attempt any more of this I have 
 at least one refuge open to me." 
 
 " Then it is true," said her brother, with ominous 
 quiet in his voice. 
 
 " You can believe it, if you wish to," and she at- 
 tempted to leave the room, but he stood between her 
 and the tloor, with so stern a face that she grew 
 frightened again. 
 
 " You must remember," he said, " that this is no 
 child's play, and that until you satisfy me one way 
 or another as to what you have done in this matter 
 your life will be twice as unpleasant as you say it 
 
20 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 has been. Your fatlior shall know of it at once, the 
 priest shall hear it as soon as may be, and 'Mr. 
 Buck shall receive a warning. Now you can take 
 your choice — make a clean breast of what you know 
 or prepare to suffer." 
 
 She walked over to the window for a moment 
 and burst out weeping again. Iler brother, stern 
 as he looked, felt a sudden pang and sighed. 
 
 " It is true," he thought, "and, worse than all, she 
 cares for him." 
 
 There was a long silence until Sara had dried her 
 tears once more and was calm enough to speak. 
 Her first words showed that she had become reason- 
 able. 
 
 " You make me suffer for nothing," she said. 
 
 " I suffer myself much more," he replied. " You 
 are too dear to me that I should look on you throw- 
 ing yourself into an abyss, and not feel troublerl. 
 Have you no pity for us who love you 'i Do you 
 not know that our grief would be less hopeless, less 
 keen, to see you dead than to see you the wife of 
 this man ? Dead, you ^^'ould be still ours ; living 
 and his wife, our separation would be eternal. Sara, 
 think for a moment and you will see your folly." 
 
 " I haven't been guilty of any folly. Mr. Buck 
 was foolish enough to pay his addresses to me, but 
 I never encouraged him, never responded even. 
 And, since you wish it, I'll not look at him 
 
 agam 
 
 )) 
 
 I' 
 
 " Thank you," said Florian, but he was not at all 
 satisfied. Sara thought that her last speech was 
 exceedingly frank, and truthful enough in appearance 
 to deceive her brother, but her face was not reassur- 
 
MARRIAGE. 
 
 21 
 
 ing. He saw no sincerity there, only tlie assump- 
 tion of sincerity, and went away sad, to join Linda 
 outside, while Sara, after making a face at hini as he 
 retired, hurried away to her own room and a new 
 novel. Linda was standing Avhere the sun could fall 
 on her face through a veil of green leaves, and peer- 
 ing down on the river. 
 
 " Well," said Linda, " what did she say ? " 
 
 " Nothing ; neither admitted nor denied, but fussed 
 a good deal, wept and defied me, and v:ound up by 
 declaring that slio was innocent and would never do 
 it again." 
 
 " I wish we could believe her." 
 
 " And don't you ? " he said reproachfully. 
 
 " I am sorry to think I do not. Sara is not very 
 truthful. "While you are here it may do very well ; 
 when you are gone " 
 
 " I am not gone yet," he said when she hesitated. 
 
 " This incident may hinder your going. I hope 
 it will. I would be tempted to favor Mr. Buck, if 
 it would." 
 
 " Be reasonable, child. We must all part one day, 
 and why not now, when health and youth belong to 
 us? Separation is to be expected, and has hap- 
 pened to so many families that we should not wonder 
 if it happens to ours." 
 
 " No one wonders ; one only grieves. I know just 
 what thoughts actuate you, Florian, and they aston- 
 ish me. You are too ambitious." 
 
 " It is ' the failing of great minds,' " he quoted, 
 smiling. She shook her head sadly and turned 
 her eyes on the river, now dusky under twilight's 
 shadow. 
 
22 
 
 SOLITAIIY ISLAND. 
 
 " Look at it," she said. " Wliat a fine spot to live 
 and die in." 
 
 " Sometimes \ have thought it too," he replied 
 musingly. " I know every feature of the place so 
 well, and the idea of living sixty quiet yeais among 
 the same scenes is pleasing. What a placid face, 
 what an imlrouhled heart, an old man would have 
 after six decades I lie would naturally graduate 
 into eternity then. A dream I Impossible I The 
 soul was made for action. I couldn't think of it." 
 
 He jmnped up in his eagerness, and noticed that 
 his sister had burst into tears. The next moment 
 she laughed. 
 
 " That is the end of it, Florian. You have pro- 
 nounced the separation of our famil}'^ : you to poli- 
 tics, Sara to Mr. Buck, and myself to " 
 
 " The prince, of coui'se ; and you will find that 
 such changes, though bitter, leave a honey in their 
 wound. Come, get your cloak and hat, and we shall 
 walk." 
 
 Linda was glad to hide her confusion at his last 
 words, and ran away to prepare herself. 
 
 " I wonder," she said, as they went down the hill 
 to the bay, " that Sara did not think of throwing 
 Ruth Pendleton at you in reproaching her for en- 
 couraging Mr. Buck." 
 
 " It is a Avonder," replied Florian ; " she is so — 
 well, she knows I would not marry Ruth if there 
 was not a prospect of her conversion." 
 
 " And wouldn't vou 'i " 
 
 " Why do you ask that question, Linda? " he said, 
 looking down at her serious face. 
 
 " I thought, you know — that is, I heird you extol 
 
MARIIIAOE. 
 
 28 
 
 tho power of lovo so ol'ton, an«l — well, tho thought 
 doesn't coino to me. T mean wouklirt it hurt you a 
 little to give her up " 
 
 " If slie didn't become a Catholic after all \ Yes, 
 it would hurt me.'' 
 
 They walked along in silence for a time. 
 
 " Ituth is so Quakerish, so thoughtful, and so 
 determined," said Linda. "If she couldn't feel 
 convinced, she wouldn't become a Catholic — not for 
 twentv Florians." 
 
 " Her liighest praise, that. I would never have 
 giwiU her my lieart otherwise. If my wife is to be 
 a Catholic she shall be a good one." 
 
 " But just think, Florian, if she didn't believe ! " 
 
 " You are bound to think disagreeaMe things to- 
 night," he said laughing, '' hut let us work on the if. 
 In that case Ruth and I would part and there ^vould 
 be an end to it." 
 
 " A cool description of a hot affair," she said. 
 
 " Do you know, the Pore gave me a friglit on this 
 matter not more than two hours past. He thinks 
 Ruth will not become a Catholic." 
 
 " It has often occurred to me," she replied with 
 spirit ; " nor would I, were I a Protestjint, for the 
 sake of getting a husband." 
 
 The nv?xt minute she laughed at his indignant 
 face, and made an apology. 
 
 " No, no, Flory, you may be sure I did not mean 
 that. Ruth has too good a heart, too strong a prin- 
 ciple to do such a silly thing. She's in trouble now 
 over her poor father. You ought to go and comfort 
 her." 
 
 He was not very enthusiastic in taking the offer, 
 
'^^m^n^fmmmmmmi^vm 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
 24 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 but at all events he must know sometliing definite 
 about her change of religious convictions before that 
 night passed. 
 
 <' I think I will go," he said. They were standing 
 on the river shore, and his boat lay ready a few feet 
 ttway. Linda pushed him into it. 
 
 " Try to make her promise to-night," she said, as 
 he rowed off, " and here's good luck to you." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ISLAND. 
 
 Squire Pendleton's dwelling stood a mile from 
 the village on the south side of the bay, and was the 
 first object which he saw that afternoon from the 
 little island. The mistress of the house, at the 
 same moment that her father looked with moist 
 eyes upon his home, was pacing sadly the veranda 
 which ran along the east side of the building ; while 
 Florian was listening to the priest's painful remarks 
 about her religious inclinations she was still restlessly 
 walking there ; and yet later, when Linda urged her 
 brother to visit her and he had put off from the 
 shore, she had not left the veranda nor lost her 
 nervousness. She had been in deep trouble ever 
 since her father had been involved in the unluckv 
 rebellion. His night-and-day journeying to escape 
 the officers, the exposure w^hich an old man must 
 suffer from considerably, the accidents which might 
 happen to him, kept her in a state of nervous dread. 
 
 Miss Pendleton was a very womanly young creat- 
 ure, of an original turn of mind, and a very ])lain 
 address. The best point in her character was, she 
 thought very little of herself. While her father was 
 hurried on by the devil of delusion and Florian was 
 racked at the thought of losing her, and Linda wept 
 
 over the chance of her non-conversion, she alone 
 
 25 
 
1: 
 
 Uj: 
 
 26 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 thought of nothing but the foolish father taking his 
 risks of exposure and consequent sickness. She had 
 a single eye for her duty, and the truth. ITor own 
 risks did not present themselves to her considera- 
 tion. It was this one quality that had Avon for Ruth 
 the tender love of Linda, llie regard of Pere Rouge- 
 vin, and the devotion of Florian. 
 
 It happened at the s;irae time that she was well 
 read and clever, that her complexion was good and 
 her eyes large and expressive, and that she had ma- 
 tronly ideas as to a young woman's dress, speech, 
 and behavior. The habit of ruling the Squire, and 
 looking after him had made her a responsible being. 
 She was the mother of her own household at sixteen, 
 and could have ruled and guided many a one as old as 
 herself. Florian had reason to be troubled over the 
 prospect of losing her. She loved the truth, and 
 seemed to have little trouble in following it. He 
 often smiled as he thouo-ht with Avhat g-entle but final 
 persistence Ruth would push him and the whole 
 world aside if thev stood betAveen her and the truth. 
 
 Thinking of these things as he rowed across the 
 bay he finally lost courage. He Avould not press 
 her to a final decision that night. A little strategy 
 and tact ought to be used even Avith so sincere a 
 Avoman. A soft Avind was rising, and the mist that 
 floated on the Avater Avas shaken apart to let the 
 stars shine through. Growing stronger it made 
 great rents in the mist, Avhich remained open long 
 enough to shoAv the dark mass of an island and the 
 lights on shore. 
 
 " I am so glad youhaA'^e come ! " cried a soft A'oice 
 from the shore, almost before he touched it. He 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 27 
 
 jumped out, drew u\) the boat, and clasped the hand 
 outstretched to him. 
 
 " You are abvays so, Ruth," lie said, with some 
 reserve in his tones. " "What's the trouble ? " 
 
 " I have hoard from mv father," she said. 
 
 " And his head is on his shoulders still, and no one 
 has the rew ard ( " murmured Florian regretfully. 
 
 " Scott, that queer Jiunter, came to me after sun- 
 down," Ruth began, " and told me that my father 
 Avas hiding in a cave among the islands, and was 
 anxious that I should seiul him some money. Scott 
 was to bring it, but I told him " 
 
 " That you would get me to do it instead," Florian 
 interrupted, " and bring him some news and help 
 him to get out of the country." 
 
 " Xot at all," said Ruth, " but that 1 would go 
 mvself, for I know how he wishes to see me." 
 
 " Oh! it is to be a night adventure," said Florian. 
 The fog was gone and the wind was freshening 
 rapidly. Dull clouds obscured the sky, but the faint 
 starlight, shining down in broken beams, showed 
 ugly white caps playing across the blade waters. 
 
 " It will be a rough night " 
 
 " Ah ! but Ave shall not be out all night," said 
 Ruth, " and for an hour this wind will be no stronger. 
 But we must not delay, and I must get over to- 
 night." 
 
 " Well, wrap up and we are off." 
 
 He got the boat ready, a common yacht of ordi- 
 nary size, and presently they pushed off, and in an 
 instant were scudding like birds over the angry bay. 
 In fact, the wind was almost too much for the ves- 
 sel, as some wild seas, which partly drenched them, 
 

 28 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 plainly showed. Sometimes the waves which broke 
 in their path found a lodging place in the boat ; and 
 as they energed from the channel into a broad bay 
 Avhere the shifting winds had full play, the little 
 craft began to heave, and between altering their 
 course and dodging seas they were a long time in 
 getting to their destination. It was with great satis- 
 faction Florian sailed under the lee of a pretty 
 island not more than a mile distant from the 
 Canadian shore. 
 
 " This is the place," said Kuth ; " we are to look 
 for a projecting rock, a house, and a light." 
 
 " That is, you want Scott's oratory, hermitage, 
 ranch, or whatever you please to call it," he replied. 
 
 " Cabin is a good word, for I fancy the hunter is 
 not a man of much prayer." 
 
 " He ought to be, in this solitude." All at once 
 a light and a rock burst upon their view, and the 
 hunter himself stood on the shore to welcome them 
 in the darkness. When Kuth and Florian had 
 landed and the boat was safely anchored, he led 
 them into a double-roomed cabin, such a hut as 
 men of his class are accustomed to build — stout 
 and serviceable, with a table and stools, a single 
 window, a great fireplace heaped with logs — for the 
 nights are chilly so near the water — fire-arms and 
 fishing-tackle in profusion, a print or two, and a 
 few well-thumbed books. There was nothing no- 
 ticeable in the hut save its cleanliness, neatness, and 
 wholesome smell, as if no more offensive intruders 
 than sun, air, and good cookery ever found entrance. 
 
 " Make yourself quite at home," said the hermit, 
 placing the single candle where it would afPord the 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 29 
 
 most light. " Your paw^ is not here, Miss, but he'll 
 be here right off as soon as I kin git to him. You, 
 youngster, kin see to miss while I git her paw. He's 
 not a thousand miles off, and if you want an3'^thing 
 to eat thar's the door to the pantry." 
 
 This was quietly said, while Florian kept his keen 
 eyes fastened on the speaker. For to him this 
 hunter had always been a mystery because of his re- 
 tired life and taciturn disposition. When he went 
 out Florian began a minute examination of the whole 
 place. 
 
 " "Why are you so inquisitive ? " said Kuth. " Have 
 you another theory concerning this man ? " 
 
 " No ; but I wish to find one. He is an odd char- 
 acter and ought to have a history, a romance — 
 something that will give the key to his present posi- 
 tion. Whence came he ? Was he crossed in love ? 
 Did he commit a never-to-be-forgotten crime ? Has 
 he friends ? " 
 
 " * Had he a father, had he a mother ? ' " said Ruth, 
 repeating all the delightful poem, while Florian ex- 
 amined and talked, and finally sat down disappointed. 
 
 " Not even a pencil-mark in these old works," he 
 exclaimed, " nor a bit of writing anywhere, nor any 
 indication of better days. Books on fishing and 
 hunting ; a cabin like all of its class ; a man of fishy 
 smell and look and speech — poor material to collect 
 a romance from." 
 
 " Now, as to the look," said Ruth, " I fancy there 
 is something poetic about him. His eyes are clear, 
 blue as the sky, well-shaped, large but for bushy 
 evebrows. He has a fine head and beautiful hair, 
 but that cap spoils or hides all." 
 
30 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 W- 
 
 " You are thinking of his magnificent surround- 
 ings," said Florian. " Tie looks well, because the 
 image of him always carries this setting of nature. 
 But matter rules this temple. There is no mind 
 here." 
 
 " Father," murmured Euth, slipping into her 
 father's outstretched arms as that gentleman entered, 
 followed by Scott. The hermit smiled on the scene 
 till,lookingat Florian, lie seemed suddenly overcome, 
 and shuffled into a corner. 
 
 " Florian, a thousand thanks," said the Squire, 
 shaking hands violently with the youth, his face 
 purple with emotion, restrained because the hermit 
 had forbidden him to roar. " She is yours, and you 
 will guard her when I'm far away on the V'^low." 
 
 " On your pillow ? " cried Florian. " ^""hy " 
 
 " On the billow, sir ! " said the Squire. " No 
 tricks, sir ; I can't stand 'em now. I mean, when I 
 am sailing for sunny France, take care of her." 
 
 " I'll go with you," whimpered Ruth, beginning 
 to cry and patting his white liead. 
 
 " Ay, that's right," said the Squire. " Pat away. 
 You may not know, my dear, how costly a piece of 
 furniture that head of mine is now with two govern- 
 ments after it. You'll coine with me ? Not at all. 
 You'll stay here with Florian and go to France on 
 your bridal tour. I'll have a place for 3'ou. I'll be 
 the thorn of those two rascally governments. I'll 
 be lonely, I know, but FU make up for it by fight. 
 There, there, little girl, just sit down and get sen- 
 sible again. You don't happen to have a pipe, 
 Florian ? This man here don't smoke — not enough 
 fire in hiui for that." 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 31 
 
 Kuth made strenuous elTorts to recover from ii lit 
 of sobbing, and her father lighted his pipe. Under 
 its soothing influence he grew nichmcholy. 
 
 " "When I'm in France, Floriun '' 
 
 " But you're not there yet, sir, and we don't intend 
 you shall go." 
 
 " You don't know the malice, the devilish what- 
 d'ye-call-it, of these two governments. ' If we fail,' 
 says Mackenzie to me, ' we're damned ' — politically 
 i mean. What's the use ? I must go. I'm cut out 
 for an exile ; I feel it all over me, along with the 
 rheumatism, since I began jigging around these con- 
 founded islands. Hear that sigh? It attacks me 
 regularly night and day." 
 
 Euth smiled. 
 
 " That's right, dear," said he. " 1 know what 
 you're thinking of — that it will take many sighs to 
 make the old man give up the last one. They may 
 search and persecute, but I won't lose a pound of 
 flesh for 'em. Ko, sir ! " 
 
 " "What do you think, Scott ? " said Florian to the 
 hermit. " Isn't there some way to get the Squire 
 out of this muddle ? " 
 
 " Muddle, sir ! " thundered the Squire in a crescendo 
 which sank to a whisper at the warning gesture of 
 Scott. " You mean revolution." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Florian, " revolution." 
 
 " There is but one way that I kin see," replied 
 Scott modestly. 
 
 " You ! What do you know about it ? " said the 
 Squire roughly. " Why, Florian, what can any one 
 think of a man who says that it takes as much 
 power in Almighty God to knock a thing into nothing 
 
il 
 
 1 1 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 I i 
 
 1 ■' 
 
 \ 
 
 i 
 
 f 
 
 5 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 } 
 
 82 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 as it did to take it out of nothing ? He says that 
 and swears by it. Don't 3'ou, sir — don't you ? " 
 
 " What I was thinking," said Scott, " this young 
 man might go down to the Governor of the State 
 and just settle the matter in a quiet way without 
 much talk " 
 
 " Certainly ! That ends it — a boy settles a revo- 
 lution." 
 
 " No, no, papa," said Kuth. " He means that 
 Florian shall bear your submission " 
 
 " I'll never submit ! Well, go on." 
 
 " To the governor, and may be he will accept it, 
 and you will not have to go so far away and leave 
 me alone." 
 
 " That's the hardest part of it — leaving you, dear ; 
 but what can I do — what can I do ? " 
 
 Scott beckoned to Florian, and they went out- 
 side. 
 
 " You see," said the hermit, " as far as I kin learn, 
 this country ain't so much against the Squire as he 
 thinks. It's my opinion that if some friend went to 
 the governor and said, ' Here, thar ain't no earthly 
 use in drivin' an old man out of his senses because 
 the British lion is roarin' ; s'posin' he gives hisself 
 up, wouldn't the government kind o' parole him and 
 let him stay at home while he keeps quiet ? ' — that 
 would settle the hull business, / think.'''' 
 
 " I think the same," said Florian. " We'll per- 
 suade him to give me the authority to treat for him, 
 and you will be kind enough to keep him for a few 
 days until I return." 
 
 " In course, in course ; he's welcome as long as he 
 stays." 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 33 
 
 " You have a nice place about here," said Florian, 
 desiring to draw him out. " A little lonely, per- 
 haps?" 
 
 " Somewhat, but I like it," answered the man 
 simply. " I couldn't stay in your towns now, and 
 there isn't another place in the world I'd exchange 
 with jist at this moment." 
 
 " You have not had much experience in towns?" 
 
 " A good deal," said Scott, reflectively ; " but not 
 for a long spell. I crammed a pile of fact into a 
 short spell and got tired mighty soon. It's always 
 the way, even here, I notice, though you don't get 
 tired so quick, nor you don't stay that way long. 
 When I get all out of sorts, be it night or day, I 
 walk out on this island, and that's enough for me : 
 I'm quieted right off, an' me and everythmg in the 
 world seems to suit one to t'other. I look at them 
 stars a-shinin' an' a-twinklin' so easy and careless up 
 thar, an' then see 'em looking the same in the water, 
 with a little tremble." 
 
 Florian had waked the hermit into a quiet enthu- 
 siasm, which showed itself only in the quantity of his 
 Avords ; for as to animation of gesture, or look, there 
 was none. He thought it a fair o])portunity to put 
 a few leading questions. " I do not wonder at such 
 feelings," he said, " for I have often thought that 
 such a life would be a second paradise." 
 
 " It is, it is," interrupted Scott, earnestly. " I de- 
 clare to you I never knew what happiness really 
 Avas till I lit on this place." 
 
 " But its disadvantages are so many," continued 
 the youth, " and loneliness is the first. Then when 
 sickness overtakes you, or feebleness, the comforts 
 3 
 
34 
 
 SOI.ITAi;V ISLAM). 
 
 ill I 
 
 of companionslii]), antl j)arti{ularlv of religion, arc 
 wanting." 
 
 " Well, about religion T can't say much," taking 
 the youth by the arm and beginning to walk up and 
 down, "for I don't s'])ose I'N'e got a good pile of it. 
 I don't caro for the comforts of com))anionship. I 
 have never suffered half as much fiom lonesome 
 fcelin'shere as in t)ie world. There's nothin' stands 
 between me and God but this, boy " — and he beat 
 his body. " And (lod is here," he added reverently, 
 " and who can say that he is lonely with such a Bein' 
 round ? I can't. I found out when I was like 
 you that you've got to be aione most of the time. 
 Those you think most of are very near, but they only 
 show you that you can't git any mortal man or 
 woman as near your heart as you want. God only 
 can fold you right up and satisfy you ; aiul He's all 
 I want or expect." 
 
 " 1 have often thought of trying it for a time," 
 said Florian — " this life. 1 love these scenes so. I 
 love the beautiful solitude of such a night as this — a 
 solitude so full of voices that but for their harmony 
 you might think yourself among men. But old ties 
 are hard to break. You, perhaps, had no such ties 
 to hold you to the world." 
 
 " I had my ambitions," said Scott, " but a breath 
 blasts those foolish things. I had a few hearts 
 bound to mine kind o' strong, but death makes short 
 work of sich. No, of couree I mightn't have had as 
 many as you, but 1 had enough, I reckon ; but still 
 I got over 'em, and they never trouble me now." 
 
 " How did you happen to get a liking for this 
 kind of life ? Was it very hard at first ? " 
 
 i m ' 
 
 I 
 
 M I 
 
THK ISLAND. 
 
 86 
 
 " No, it was never hard. I was kind of broken 
 up and took to it for health's sake ; then I stayed in 
 it, and Fin goin' to stay in it till the end, if I can. 
 Some morning they'll he lookin' for me and they'll 
 find me dead. I'll he buried thar, I trust, whar the 
 old house stands -unless," he added playfully, " the 
 angels of the island will bury me quietly themselves, 
 for I love 'em well, as they know." 
 
 " You are deserving of such a burial," said Florian ; 
 " no man has ever paid such honor to nature as you 
 have in this section. I would like to be present 
 when they bury you." 
 
 " The world doesn't come in to such funerals," 
 Scott answered, laughing, " so you needn't expect 
 to. Hadn't we better go in now and try to win 
 over the old man ? " 
 
 " One moment, Scott. I am going to ask a favor 
 of you which you must grant me. I like this soli- 
 tude and I like you. "Will you permit me to come 
 here sometimes and stay a week with you, and fish 
 and hunt and talk with you ? It will be only for a 
 short time, as I will soon be going off from this 
 place." 
 
 The hermit listened with patience to this bold 
 request. 
 
 " I don't invite any one here," he said reservedly ; 
 " but if you want to you kin come on conditions. 
 You're- not to talk about me to any one as long's 
 you live ; and as to your comin', remember I don't 
 invite any one, and they can't come too seldom." 
 
 Without waiting to receive Florian's thanks for 
 so concise and negative an invitation, he went hastily 
 into the cabin. Ruth had reconciled her father to 
 
86 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 the proposition of an embassy of peace to the gov- 
 ernor, and from considering the woes of exile the 
 hearty Squire had passed to the contemplation of a 
 homely yet safe future, and he was ready with all 
 sorts of advice for his young ambassador. 
 
 "Don't stoop, Florian — don't yield an inch. 
 They'll be glad enough to listen to you when they 
 hear your message. I'd rather an older man would 
 go ; but you have the ability, and 'twill bean opening 
 for you. You'll get acquainted with the nobs, and 
 a slight hint that you're related to mo won't do any 
 harm. A good deal may come of k. Revolutionists 
 are the style of this ag«^ anci you reflect some of 
 their glory. Mackenzie won't lilce it. He'll be in 
 jail, and I'll be out ; but pshuw ! Why didn't he 
 have gumption enough to hoe his own row in Canada ? 
 I did mv share on this side. I'll be blest if I'll do 
 any more." 
 
 " That's the way I look at it," Scott began. 
 
 " I don't want you to look at it," snapped the 
 Squire. " What do you know about the matter ? 
 Get correct ideas of Almighty God, before you 
 dabble in politics.'" 
 
 " Good advice," said P'lorian, " if politicians them- 
 selves will follow it." 
 
 " Now, see here, Pen'l'ton," said the hermit 
 bluntly, "don't you know you've made a fool of 
 yourself in this matter '^ ' 
 
 " Yes, of coursjc i do. I admit it. Go on, con- 
 found you ! A fool who wouldn't make a fool of 
 himself talking with you ! It makes me foolish just 
 to look at you." 
 
 " Sh ! " cried Florian, with sudden and tragic em- 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 87 
 
 the 
 
 tter ? 
 
 you 
 
 phasis. A death-like silence fell on the place. liuth 
 threw her uriiis about her father, and the hunter 
 blew out the candle. 
 
 " ril reconn< liter," said he, and stole away. Not 
 a word was spoken until he returned. 
 
 " I think all's square," he said, relighting the 
 candle, " but the best thing to do is to git to bed, or 
 the next warning niiglit have some meanin' in it. 
 You, Miss, can have this room here, and take the 
 candle along. Your paw an' the youngster kin take 
 the floor with a blanket." 
 
 Ruth took the candle and kissed the Squire good- 
 night with an anxious face. As she was passing 
 into the room Florian whispered : 
 
 "Don't he frightened. I only did it to stop the 
 argument." 
 
 She laughed and went in. 
 
 " There's your blankets," said Scott, throwing 
 them on the floor. " (lood-night." 
 
 And without paying any attention to their pro- 
 testations, he opened the door and was gone. 
 
 " A nice fellow, but glum," were the Squire's last 
 words as he glided into the bass of an all-night snore. 
 Florian himself was already asleep, and his drieams 
 were very beautiful when the moon looked in through 
 the little window of the cabin and shone on his up- 
 turned face. It seemed to him that a sublime figure 
 stood beside him. It was an angel, before whose 
 radiance the moon grew dim, and his broad wings 
 stretched from horizon to horizon, long spoars of 
 brilliancy. On his face resled a smile so heavenly 
 that Florian stretched out his hands to invite his 
 embrace. The angel stooped and kissed him ; he 
 
'V 
 
 38 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 felt ^^he cold lips and tlie cheek on his own, and at 
 once felt all his glory departing. With a cry of 
 sorrow he awoke. All was stillness aronnd him, 
 and the moon was smiling through the Avindow. 
 
 " A dream worthy of the phice," said Florian. 
 "I'm going to see the island at two o'clock of the 
 morning." 
 
 He jumped up and \\as preparing to go out Avhen 
 a low moan met his ear. It was smothered and dis- 
 tant, yet the agony was so exquisite that a sudden 
 tremor of fear seized him. He tried to locate it, but 
 in vain, and hurried out into the open air. The 
 moaning never ceased for a moment, and the anguish 
 was so keen that Florian ran hither and thither, but 
 no trace of the cause could be found. The huge boul- 
 der on Avhicli the cabin stood was searched on all 
 sides. Away from it the moans grew fainter, yet 
 around it thev seemed far off and smothered, and he 
 continued the searcii until they died away entirely. 
 
 The charm of the night was far beyond tlie praise 
 of words, so weird, so unreal, so supernatural was 
 every tint that the moon's delicate brush laid on the 
 canvas. For an hour he sat on a bench that over- 
 looked the river. 11(3 heard a noise below him at 
 the river's edge directly under the boulder. Tak- 
 ing the shelter of a bush that grew there, he 
 looked down to see the hermit quietly standing 
 there with his eyes turned to the sky. He was 
 weeping, and his face was palf, Florian drew back 
 and fled softly to the house, lie had no wish to play 
 the spy, however great his curiosity, and as he lay 
 down liis heart was full of a great pity for this lonely 
 man. 
 
 # 
 
 I 
 
 it 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 Is 
 
 li i 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SICK liOOM. 
 
 he 
 
 Beforp: liis ileparture for Albany Florian seemed 
 so satislied about his rektions with Ruth that Linda 
 fore bore to quc^stion hiin. But she gave Ruth no 
 peace until she had worried some information con- 
 cerning their midnight adventures. 
 
 " AVe sailed to that little island where Scott lives," 
 said Ruth, " and sailed back again. There was noth- 
 ing more to it." 
 
 " Where is the island i " said Linda. " What is its 
 name ? " 
 
 " It has none that I heard of. It looked so lonely 
 and small that I named it Solitary Island in my own 
 mind." 
 
 And so the island was thereafter called by all who 
 were concerned in the Squire's escapade. 
 
 " I must go see it some time," said Linda. " And 
 Florian did not get spiteful once the whole evijning, 
 nor say harsh things, i.or get moody ? " 
 
 " Why should he ? " 
 
 " AVell, he was \i\ a (jueer state of mind that night," 
 said Linda, " although he didn't show it, nor tell me 
 why. I thought something was going to happen." 
 
 She said this so roguishly that Ruth blushed. 
 
 " I see I must out with the whole tliins:, vou stub- 
 
 be 'loretic," Linda went on. " Now tell me, ])l .;se, 
 
 39 
 
40 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 haven't you and Florian come to any agreement 
 about your future life i " 
 
 " Long ago," said Kuth, 
 
 " But that's the old story," pouted Linda, " it was 
 * if ' here and ' if ' there. What I am dying to know 
 is, if you have done with ' ifs.' " 
 
 " No," said Ruth briefly. 
 
 " Then his heart failed him at the last minute, for 
 as sure as Florian rowed across the bnv so sure was 
 he of ending suspense that night," said Linda ; " and 
 I must say I am glad of it, for while you remain on 
 the fence, Ruth, he will put off his departure for 
 New York." 
 
 " He will not have to delay long," Ruth said. " I 
 am pretty near a decision now," 
 
 " You are going to stay on the Methodist side. I 
 can tell it by the length of your face. And you so 
 sensible, so tender about public displa}^ and all that. 
 I credit you with better sense. Well, I'll go to see 
 you sit on the conviction bench and hear you shout 
 glory when the spirit seizes you." 
 
 " There are Methodists and Methodists," said 
 Ruth, meeklv. 
 
 "Forgive my impertinence," Linda pleaded. 
 " fou would make Mormonism sweet if anything 
 could. I shall not pester you with questions any 
 more, but leave everything to time and le hon Diexi. 
 But oh, my heart is just bound up in the idea of 
 being your bridesmaid, nnd it will break into little 
 bits if I am disappointed." 
 
 Florian returned from Albany successful, and 
 the girls met him at the depot. " It's all settled," 
 said he. " All your father has to do, Ruth, is to 
 
THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 41 
 
 "I 
 
 said 
 
 deliver himself up to the marshal, when he will 
 be released on parole and no further trouble given 
 him." 
 
 " How can we ever thank vou ? " said Ruth tear- 
 fully ; for her anxiety had been very severe. 
 
 " It was none of my doing. The governor was 
 only too glad to hear my proposition, and there was 
 no diplomacy required. I had dinner with him 
 afterwards, and found out the true inwardness of 
 the whole matter." 
 
 " I should have been there," said Linda. " I do 
 so want to dine with a governor ! What a place 
 this is — not a distinguished man in it ! " 
 
 " And what did he say to you ? " asked Ruth. 
 
 " So many things that it will take some time to 
 relate them. When we have had dinner you shall 
 hear everv word." 
 
 But events had been happening in his absence of 
 a week, and before dinner his mother felt urged to 
 call them to his attention. Mrs. Winifred was full 
 of anxiety with regard to many things, but never 
 Toimd it necessary to make any parade of her fee'- 
 ixiui^ before her familv. 
 
 " '^eemingly, dear," she said to Florian, who was 
 most patient with lier, "we're going to have trouble 
 ill Vu''ious ways, and I was wondering if you 
 noL- w^ -invthino;." 
 
 " Did you notice anything, mother ? " said Florian. 
 
 " Weil, I can't say that I did, but it's hard some- 
 times to decide. Now, there's Linda " 
 
 " Linda 1 " said Florian, smiling. " I wasn't 
 aware there was anything the matter with her." 
 
 " No, to be sure not," said she, abashed that no 
 
42 
 
 SOLITAKV ISLAND. 
 
 other had found jinythiiig- uiniss Avith Linda ; *' but 
 seemingly, Horian, she doesn't eat much, and she 
 grows thin and wliite with every day ; but of course 
 I'm wrong." 
 
 " No, you're not, mother," said Florian, jumping 
 up. " I did take notice, not so very long ago, 
 eitliei'." 
 
 " Then, Sara," began Mrs. AVinifred with more 
 hesitation — " I don't know. I'm not sure, but 
 seemingly ^■•^' (juite indifferent to her religion 
 lately. I ma 
 
 wrong- 
 
 " No, no,'' sai* v lorian ; " but that's a gentle way 
 of saying a very serious thing, mother. Go on; 
 you're not wrong." 
 
 " She has a great liking for Mr. Buck, seemingly ; 
 of course I wouldn't, sav that she had, but her 
 actions — and then if your father saw anything 
 wrong he would be ])ut out." 
 
 " I should think so," said Florian ; " and Sara 
 w(juld be locked up, as she must be, I fear, before 
 this unhappy affair is ended. She hasn't enough 
 mind to know what religion is, and I fear — I 
 fenr " 
 
 lie passed into a meditation without finishing the 
 sentence, and tapped the table with his fingers. A 
 sob aroused him. Mrs. Winifred was weeping and 
 was plainly asliamed of herself for the action. 
 
 " Well, 1 don't tliink the matter requires " 
 
 " I know it," sakl she ; " but then I couldn't help 
 thinking of her l)eing a minister's wife, seemingly." 
 
 " Time, time," said Florian, "give me time and 
 I'll move Mr. Buck in another direction, lie is 
 afflicted with the desire of converting us all, Pere 
 
THE RICK UOOM. 
 
 43 
 
 Rougevin included. Was the Pere here to see us ? 
 Does he know of the matter i " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. AVinifred. 
 
 " I must tell him, then. He is good at devising 
 sharp maneuvers. Perhaps he will think of some- 
 thins:. P)Ut now Linda must be looked after. If 
 
 we lose that flower " 
 
 He went out to hunt her up, without finishing a 
 sentence whose import he did not realize while he 
 thought of it. Linda was eating grapes in the 
 garden. 
 
 ''That looks well," thought Florian, and called 
 her to the veranda. " Ycni are t(j come with me 
 this afternoon," said he, " and make one of the 
 S(jnire's triumphal procession homeward. Here, 
 what's this i You are too pale. And why does 
 your dress fit so loosely, Miss ( I noticed it a week 
 ago, and to-day I noticed it still more." 
 
 " I never fatten till winter," said she soberly ; 
 " and then I am thinking a good deal lately." 
 
 '' Sleeping, you mean. What about ? " 
 
 " About your visit to N*^w York, Florian," she 
 said, hoLling up some grape-leaves to shade her face. 
 " You needn't hide it. I know vou're more than 
 ever determined on going there, and I was think- 
 ing how I should amuse myself when you were 
 gone." 
 
 "I won't deny your assertion, Linda, but my 
 going is far otT. Tliei'e are too many obstacles in 
 the wa> .'' 
 
 " I know them, and I feel wicked enougli to wish 
 thcv wouhl stav in your wav a lon'^ time. What 
 nonsense," she added, " to borrow trouble ! While 
 
mw= 
 
 44 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Ruth Avavers and Sara is under Mr. l^uck's spells 
 we shall not lose vou." 
 
 " You remind me of my chains," lie said smiling 
 to hide liis real annoyance. " And there is another 
 more binding than they." 
 
 She looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 " I won't tell you. Be content that while Ruth 
 wavers and Sara affects Mr. Buck I shall remain 
 — and then longer, perhaps," he said sighing. 
 
 Linda stood looking and thinking at random, and 
 questioning why these things should be. In a few 
 months the most perfect object of the perfect scene 
 would VMike \r.\Yt of it no longer. That sun and sky 
 above her ; those marvelous islands, whose perfumes 
 the fre ill wi'Mis fanned to the shore; that water 
 whose beauty was ^)eyond that of jewels ; the quaint 
 town, so old and so clean and so loved, its white- 
 headed and dark-headed people, its green foliage and 
 autumn fruits, its bells and sweet and harsh noises ; 
 the stars that besprinkled the river firmament as 
 well as that of heaven; the ghostly moon, the white- 
 winged boats, and a thousand other loved, familiar 
 things, would all be just as they were to-day and 
 last night, but her brother would be gone. Nay, 
 thei'e was a time when she herself would make no 
 jmrt of the scene, and yet the glorieii of it would re- 
 main ; newer eyes would gaze upon it and see, per- 
 haps, all that remained of her — a white stone in the 
 graveyard, and a name. How could that little world 
 of which she was the center ever get along without 
 her ? Would it not be strange to feel that Linda 
 AVallace lay out of sight in the earth, and children 
 played thoughtlessly on her grave, and no one spoke 
 
THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 45 
 
 of her more? She began almost unconsciously to 
 
 ;v 
 
 eep. 
 
 " This is all there is of earth," said she, " and one 
 might as well live in a desert. Heaven is the only 
 thing worth striving for." 
 
 " A correct sentiment," said Florian. " Dry your 
 tears and come in to dinner. Your liver is plainly 
 out of order when you become so religious." 
 
 She laughed and went in with him, and was gay 
 enough for the rest of the day until the boat was 
 fitted out and the three were sailing to Solitary 
 Island. The wind was quite fresh at three o'clock 
 in the afternoon, but not too much so until they en- 
 tered Eel Bay. There some caution Avas required 
 up to the very landing-place in front of the hermit's 
 dwelling, for the wind blew straight down the chan- 
 nel. It was very awkward of Florian tliat he should 
 have thrown his hat into the air as the hermit and 
 the Squire both came to the door. 
 
 He was so vain of his good news ! 
 
 " Look out, boy ! " said Scott and the Squire to- 
 gether. 
 
 But it was too late. The boat capsized and threw 
 the crew into the rough water. There being no 
 danger, the Squire raged and became profane. The 
 girls both swam into shallow water and were helped 
 ashore, laughing and yet a little frightened. Florian 
 was cast down with shame. 
 
 " The house is open to you," said Scott, " and you 
 young ladies had better light a good fire and dry 
 your clothes or you'll ketch a tall cold. And when 
 you go a-sailin' again jes' look out who runs the 
 boat." 
 
i! I 
 
 46 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " It never happened bd'ore," muttered Florian, 
 " and I'd give my right hand if it liad never hap- 
 pened." 
 
 " There it is," said Scott ; " mighty big pay for so 
 little value. 'Twon't hurt the girls, Pni sure." 
 
 " I'm not," said theyoutli briefly, as he looked ap- 
 prehensively at Linda climbing the rock in her wet 
 clothes. However, they appeared at sundown with 
 clothes dried comfortably, and none the worse for 
 their ducking. Florian had also put himself in 
 proper shape and was entertaining the admiring 
 Squire "with his account of Albany and its notables. 
 
 " Ah ! Florian," said he, " there's where you should 
 be, among kindred spirits, among the high-fliers." 
 
 " If I were a voung man " Scott said. 
 
 " But you aren't — you never will be. When you 
 were, you didn't follow your own opinions ; so what 
 use to inflict them on the young fellow, who doesn't 
 care a button fur your solitary way of living ? " said 
 the Squire. 
 
 " I don't want the lad to live solitarv, Pen'l'ton," 
 said Scott ; " let him double up, if he wants to, but 
 let him stick to C'layburgh and happiness. He'll go 
 wrong sure, if he gets out into these dizzy conven- 
 tions. He hasn't got the right — well, I don't know 
 what to name it, but here's the place for him to 
 thrive." 
 
 " Theory, theory ! Scott, I'm obliged to you for 
 what you've done, and if I could make you a sensible 
 man I'd do it ; but I can't, so call and see me and 
 Ruth — she's sweet on you — when you feel like it. 
 Come, girls — home, home to that confounded govern- 
 raent." He ran down the shore to the boat after 
 
THE SICK i:oOM. 
 
 47 
 
 '5 
 
 a hocU'ty liandsluikc witli t!i<> licnnit, while Ruth 
 poured hor gratitude upon the solitary. 
 
 " It's all right, Miss," said he. " Fm content, and 
 I hope you'll pray for me that I may never be more 
 iinha])py than 1 am now. (io ahead. I'll call to 
 see ye some time." 
 
 lie stood on the rock in front of his house long- 
 after they started. 
 
 " It makes me lonely to look at him," said Linda — 
 " we i'oiii!'" to our cheerful homes, he to his solitude." 
 
 " He is like a man dead," said Florian. 
 
 The next morning Linda awok(i Avitli a high fever 
 and a slight cough as the effects of her wetting the 
 day before, and Florian felt a severe twinge of grief 
 as he saw the extreme paUor of her countenance and 
 its faultv bloom. She had taken a chill duriuir the 
 night, but a little addition to the bed-clothing had 
 banished it. No alarm was felt. In healthy people 
 these little irregularities occur and pass away, and 
 so it would be with Linda. Mrs. Winifred, however, 
 was anxious. The girl was not strong, she said; a 
 doctor could be easilv summoned; and then no one 
 knows what might happen. 
 
 Youth laughed at these anxieties until pain cijue 
 to add its warning — pain in the lungs sharp and 
 distressful — and the cough grcAV more racking with 
 every hour. To\vards night it grew serious. Tliey 
 tried their old house remedies and wished to treat 
 her illness as a cold, a mere cold, which youth and 
 health throw off so easily. But in vain. Linda 
 grew more feverish and caught her breath more fre- 
 quently. She was banished at last t<j bed and the 
 doctor called in. 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 ) 
 
 ! 
 
 
 i w 1 
 
 ;i I 
 
 ■ I 
 
 48 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 There is his knock at the door. Every one looks 
 cheerful on hearing it, and tlio physician, smiling as 
 he enters, gruffly desires to know what people have 
 been doing to got sick this fine weather. Why, 
 even the old are full of silly thoughts of escaping 
 this year's rheumatism ! And Linda there with her 
 brows contracted with ])ain ! Pshaw ! nonsense ! 
 Pain in the lungs? How do you know it's the 
 What do women know about the lunjrs? 
 
 lungs ? 
 
 Lungs, indeed ! Pains when you breathe, hey ? Ah ! 
 where have you caught cold ? Ducked in this 
 weather ? Yacht upset ? Who upset it ? Never 
 mind who i But I will mind, and I'll call him a 
 donkey, an ass, a mule, to upset a yacht with a 
 woman in it ? Why not have drowned at once in- 
 stead of coming home to take a pain in the lungs, 
 and get a fever and a pulse at one hundred and 
 ten ? Why go out on the water in stormy wea- 
 ther ? 
 
 " Why do anything naughty and nice ? " says 
 Linda between two frowns of pain. 
 
 " There's Eve over again," says the doctor, writ- 
 ing out prescriptions with a laugh. " I'll call at two 
 o'clock in the morning," said the physician. " I'm 
 going out ten miles into the country, and I'll call 
 coming back : have the door open for me. Good- 
 night, Miss Linda. You had the ' nice ' yesterday ; 
 you are having the ' naughty ' to-day." 
 
 Outside he looked significantly at Florian. 
 
 " Pneumonia," said he — " not necessarily fatal, 
 but apt to be. Follow my directions to the letter 
 until I return. We may bring her through." 
 
 Florian stood holding the door and looking out 
 
 4 
 i 
 
 4 
 
THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 49 
 
 says 
 
 fatal, 
 letter 
 
 into the glowing autumn night. The cheery voices 
 of sailors came up from the river, and the lights at 
 the mastheads shone like colored stars. lie was hot 
 and disturbed. Linda's days were over perhaps, and 
 that one dear obstacle to his ambitions was to be 
 removed by death. He went in again with a smil- 
 ing face, and ran against ^Irs. AVinifred crying 
 silently. What could he say ? Death was bitter 
 enough, but she was to suffer death so often that he 
 hastened on into the sick-room and left her uncon- 
 soled. 
 
 " Shall I stay with you," he asked, " or do you 
 prefer to sleep, Linda ? " 
 
 " I can't sleep," she answered with a hushed voice ; 
 " and if I doze it is better to have some one near and 
 the lamp burning. I am very ill, Fiory, and I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " Afraid, dear ? " trying successfully to steady his 
 voice. " Afraid of what ? " though he knew right 
 well the cause of her fear, and trembled because of 
 its truth. How sad he would feel if death stole on 
 him so suddenly, and he so young ! 
 
 " Of death," she answered, " AYe talked of many 
 things, Florian, but never of that, never of that ? 
 And it is so hard to die. Tell me something of it, 
 Florian ; you have read of it many times." 
 
 " If you are near to it," said he, " your own feel- 
 ings can tell you more than books or men. }: ^i \y 
 the dying are indifferent to the agony, particularly 
 where they have led good lives or innocent lives like 
 yours, Linda." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I led an innocent life," she said simply. 
 " Thank God for that ? Innocence is something." 
 4 
 
' I I 
 
 /I 
 
 I: 
 
 n 
 
 11 
 
 »] m 
 
 50 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " It is all," said Florian ; " it has never known sin, 
 and does not know suffering. But what a subject 
 for a patient who is to get well. It would be better 
 to go to sleep ; or shall I read to you ?" 
 
 " Read to me, Flory, and talk as you read." 
 
 He went down to his study to select a volume. 
 There were many books in his possession and lie 
 knew them all by heart ; dangerous books none of 
 them, only the best and purest grain of the world's 
 harvest. What should he select ? 
 
 " Nothing too pious, for tliat would frighten the 
 poor child ; nothing friv(jlous, for that would not 
 suit the condition of one so near death." 
 
 lie walked sudden) v to the window choking. " Do 
 I realize it, Linda, that I may lose you ? " 
 
 lie took out Bonaventure's fJfe of Our Lord^ an 
 when he had gone to the sick-room and had ) 
 nounced the story of the Passion she Avas not sur- 
 prised at the subject. 
 
 " It is so appropriate," she murmured : " I am 
 having my passion." 
 
 lie read to her until her eves closed in uneasv 
 slumber, and then sat watching the flushed face and 
 thinking. Mrs. AVinifred was the only other person 
 who came near the sick-room, and she was unable to 
 control her tears even under Florian's sharp reproof. 
 She remained a great part of the time in self-banish- 
 ment, and he dwelt alone in the sacred silence of a 
 sick-room. Linda was fond of white and light colors, 
 and her chamber was litted up accordingly. In the 
 dim light it looked like a dream. Her pale fore- 
 head and flushed cheeks on the pillow Avere more 
 an outline than reality. It scared him when he 
 
THE RICK ROOM. 
 
 61 
 
 thought hoNv short the time until they might be on 
 another pillow in the griiveyiird. 
 
 " Linda ! " he called suddenly in an overflow of 
 anguish. She awoke with a start, and at the same 
 instant he heard a carria'^e at the door. 
 
 " The doctor has come a<;ain, dear," he said. " Did 
 I frin:hten you i " 
 
 " No," looking around in amazement, and then, 
 with a sigh, realizing her sad position. 
 
 When the news went out of her dangerous illness 
 a number of friends called, but Ruth and Pore Rouge- 
 vin alone were admitted along with the doctor, and 
 seeing them Linda began to fear because of all the 
 trouble in her behalf. Three visits from a doctor in 
 so short a time, one from the pi-iest, and the distant 
 sound of doors closing so frequently, with many little 
 circumstances to which she had hitherto paid no 
 attention, wt>re at the least ominous ; and even while 
 they stood about her smiling cheerfully, she closed 
 her eyes to keep back the bitter tears that would fall 
 in spite of her determination to be brave and hopeful. 
 They understood the reason of the grief, and could 
 say nothing. 
 
 Sara, coming in as her sister's tears were falling, 
 was impressed, as only her shallow soul could be 
 impressed, with a wild fright that prompted her to 
 scream. Fortunately she restrained the inclination, 
 since it wjis purely personal, and a little thought 
 convinced her that it was another's, not her own 
 death-bed she was attending. Pere Rougevin pre- 
 vented a scene by banishing the whole company, him- 
 self included, from the room, leaving Ruth to attend 
 the patient. 
 
ffjO 
 
 52 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 II 
 
 I 
 
 h 
 
 "Wait," said Linda, feebly. " If I am going to 
 die I must get the sacraments." 
 
 " I can do nothing more than hear your confes- 
 sion," said the priest ; " 3'ou are not in sufficient 
 danger for the reception of the others." 
 
 The look in Linda's eyes was a very pleasant one 
 at this precise, official declaration, and it said clearly 
 that she regarded Pere Kougevin, stout, flushed, and 
 short though he was, as an angel. 
 
 " I thought I was dying," she stammered. 
 
 " Nonsense, child I But you may die, and it's 
 well to be prepared," he said. " You must be ready 
 to live or die, as God wills." 
 
 " Alas ! " murmured Linda, with a fresh flood of 
 tears, " I am only too willing to live." 
 
 " There's no sin in that," was the sententious re- 
 mark, and she proceeded with her confession. 
 
 " I must be very bad," she said to Ruth afterwards 
 when they were alone. " I am terribly afraid of 
 dying." 
 
 " Who i« not ( '' said Euth. " And then it is so 
 near us always. I have tried to get used to the 
 thought of it, but I can't. I suppose it does indi- 
 cate a lack of some good religious feeling that we 
 ought to have." 
 
 They were all surprised one day at a visit from 
 Scott, the hermit, who walked in as informally as a 
 friend might, and found his way to the sick-room. 
 In his solitude Scott looked picturesque, with his 
 rough ways and dress, and curly red hair ; but in 
 the dainty sick-room he was as much out of place as 
 an Indian in full war-paint. All were startled, and 
 Mrs. Winifred so much so as to lose her senses. Old 
 
THE SICK ROOM. 
 
 63 
 
 habits are strong, however, and she offered him a 
 foot-stool instead of a chair, vainly feelin/ tor '*.s 
 absent back while her eyes stared rudely but help- 
 lessly on the apparition. 
 
 " No, thank ye. I'll not come in," said the hermit, 
 with his eyes fixed on Linda. " 1 jest heard the little 
 girl was sick, and I thought it might have been the 
 duckin'. I'm glad you're better. Miss. Take care 
 of yourself. Good-morning." 
 
 He was off in an instant, but Fiorian seized him 
 almost rudely and pushed him into his study. 
 
 " You are very kind," said he, " and you must not 
 go until you are thanked and hear all about Linda." 
 
 " She's gettin' well," said the hermit. " I reck- 
 oned so from her eyes." 
 
 Scott began to examine the books in the room 
 witli interest. 
 
 " All of 'em good, sound ones," he said, " if their 
 names mean anything." 
 
 " Would you like to borrow some ( '' said Fiorian. 
 
 "No, thank ye; I han't no need of 'em, but I'm 
 right glad to see you with sich books. I guess I'll 
 be goin' ; I'm kind of hasty in my call, but usually 
 I don't make any." 
 
 " We're so oljliged to you," Fiorian rej)lied, " and 
 would be very glad to see you again." 
 
 The hermit made no remark as he left the room 
 and ran against Mrs. Winifred outside in the hall. 
 The lady evidently wished to say something but was 
 disconcerted at the right moment. 
 
 " What is it, motlier i " 
 
 " Linda ! " gasped Mrs. Winifred — " the gentleman 
 — seemingly " 
 
54 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " Oh ! Linda would like to see you again before 
 you go, Scott." 
 
 " Anything to oblige the young miss," said the 
 hermit, and he followed Florian into the sick-room. 
 
 " I wanted to thank you," whispered Linda ; " you 
 are very kind. Send me some wild flowers — the 
 very i itest." 
 
 " You'll have 'em to-night, Miss," said the hermit. 
 " Good-day, ma'am — good-day." 
 
 And he hurried awkwardly from the room. 
 
 " I shall call on you soon," said Florian as they 
 parted. He merely bowed gravely and walked away. 
 
•e 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 ON RETRKAT. 
 
 Linda during the next two weeks continued to 
 improve, and by the middle of October was sitting 
 cheerfully, in the Avarm parlor, with every soul in 
 the house and many more out of it her devoted slaves. 
 Choice flowers came from Mr. Buck, through Sara, 
 to call back the summer to her room and have it 
 live again in their sweet perfumes and gay colors. 
 Squire Pendleton brought his fearful voice daily to 
 her court and related over again the new and old 
 phases of his political exile. Ruth's gentle touch 
 and sweet eyes were there most frequently, and 
 most welcome ; and Pere Rougevin and Florian 
 made up a background of spiritual and physical 
 lights that were very dear to the sick girl. When 
 she arrived at this stage of returning health, Florian 
 make ready to visit the hermit for a week's hunting 
 and fishing. " More for the purpose of studying the 
 hermit," he explained to Linda, " and learning the 
 secret of his happiness, if there is any." Linda took 
 up a bunch of ferns arrived that morning from the 
 kindly solitary, and buried her face in it. 
 
 " You but waste your time," she answered, " as 
 far as he is concerned. Still he is a good mirror. 
 You will certain! V learn somothin"- about yourself." 
 
 She said this in the tone of a hint, which Florian 
 
 received with a laugh that discovered him. 
 
 " Your sickness has made you sharp," he said. 
 
 65 
 
p 
 
 66 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 : 
 
 " Well, let me confess, I do go to study myself. 
 What then, Cassandra ? " 
 
 " Cassandra, indeed ! " she pouted, and then sur- 
 prised him with a sob and a few tears. " I am so 
 weak yet, Florian, and I know you are only going 
 to ask his advice about leaving here. I want you 
 to promise that you will tell me every word." 
 
 " I am not so certain that he can or will advise 
 me, Linda. Nor would I be apt to follow his advice 
 if it went against my own desires. But I promise 
 you, my dear ; and you are quite right. I am going 
 on my retreat." 
 
 He sat looking at her with troubled eyes. He 
 never looked at her otherwise since sickness first 
 struck her down, and his first sensation of real grief 
 was gnawing at his heart as he thought of what he 
 would lose in losing her. And unconsciously, too, 
 he was studying the course of feeling in her bosom, 
 the gradual ripening certainty of death wliich, amid 
 doubts and fears, was already blooming in the giiTs 
 heart and soul. Ambitious as he was, death had 
 always appeared to him as a monster who might at 
 any time destroy his ambitions. He had never yet 
 come in contact with it. But now it had seized most 
 surely on Linda, and he watched its process with a 
 sort of fascination that sickened body and soul, and 
 crowded his dreams with terrors. He must come to 
 this one dav. How soon ? 
 
 It filled his heart with a disgust for life that all 
 his days he must walk under the threatening shadow 
 of that greatest misfortune. Why live and work at 
 all when death might shatter the handiwork of years 
 at one blow ? The reasoning was poor and foolish, 
 
 
ON RETKEAT. 
 
 57 
 
 but his melancholy had to find vent. The day 
 shamed his melancholy by its magnificent joy. The 
 wind was not strong enough to roughen the water 
 into ugliness but white caps lay along the deep 
 green of the river, and, like the foam at the mouth 
 of a wild beast, gave a suspicion of the cruelty that 
 lurked belo^v. Against Round Island's rocky and 
 flat shore the waves beat with monotonous murmur- 
 ing, and distant Grindstone showed dimly through 
 the mist. Across Eel Bay the afternoon sun sent a 
 blinding radiance. The islands about were still in 
 somber green, for very few maples found a foothold 
 in the rocky soil. Their Avarm colois of death 
 relieved the dark background. The swish of the 
 water from the bow, the brightness of the sky, the 
 somber shores, the green waters, the whistle of the 
 wind, and the loveliness of the scene passed before 
 his senses and became inwoven with his melancholy. 
 There was a bitterness even in the cheerful day. 
 "When he arrived at Solitary Island the hermit was 
 away. He took possession of the hut, and, finding 
 some remnants of the Squire's tobacco and a pipe, 
 made himself at home and began to inspect one of 
 the notable volumes on fishing, Scott returned 
 shortly and gave him a cool reception. 
 
 " ilow do { " he said shortly, bringing his brows 
 together and sending a sharp look into lyi face. 
 " How's the little 'un ?" 
 
 " As before," Florian answered /»^eiriify. He had 
 made up his mind that no beliavipr oi Scott's would 
 drive him away until he had ac .'ompliahed his pur- 
 pose. And Scott saw it in his easy manner, and 
 seemed willing to submit to the intrusion. 
 
^1! 
 
 68 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ■'1 
 
 .iif 
 
 " She bade me thank you for the ferns," said 
 Florian, " and if it would not be asking too much, 
 would you call and see her as often as you visit the 
 town, and would your visits be oftener made." 
 
 "She is kind," was all Scott replied, and set about 
 getting supper. Florian made no offer to help him, 
 but walked out on the boulder with his book and 
 pipe, and gave his attention to the long shadows 
 that crept through and over the islands and the last 
 feeble whistle of the dying winds. Far away east 
 glimmered a single star. 
 
 " Supper's ready ! " called Scott in a few minutes, 
 and Florian sat down to a table of Spartan sim- 
 plicity — boiled corn-meal and fish. It was speedily 
 ended, for neither seemed to be hungry nor disposed 
 to talk. The hermit sat silent, and Florian was de- 
 termined to interfere as little as possible with his 
 humors. He ate less than a child. 
 
 " I have met him at an unlucky tune," thought the 
 youth ; " he is ill and out of sorts." But he said noth- 
 ing whatever, relighted his pipe and took his seat on 
 the boulder over the river. For a few minutes there 
 was the clatter of tin dishes as the solitary cleaned 
 them and put them away, then he came out and sat 
 beside Florian. 
 
 "I am going away," said Florian simply. "I 
 wanted to talk with you first, and so came over." 
 
 The stars were coming out more rapidly, as if a 
 mist were bein<i' swept off the sky, and the shadows 
 lay very deej) around. The water in the channel, 
 like a wizard's mirror, changed from dark to bright 
 and back again, as if veiled forms swept up and do^vn 
 beneath the surface. 
 
ON RETREAT. 
 
 59 
 
 " And so you are going away ? " said Scott, pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " I should have gone long ago. Clay burgh is no 
 place for one who looks to a future. I am smothered 
 and cramped for a better element." 
 
 "Your dreams are too big for your brain. Six 
 feet of earth hold a man comfortably when he's not 
 full of nonsense." 
 
 " But it takes an eternity to held the soul." 
 
 " Not as I understand it, boy. It's not the soul 
 gets cramped with such quarters as ye have here. 
 It's proud notions of one's body : what it should eat 
 and wear, how it should look to others, an' the nice- 
 ness o' bein' better than its kind. People don't go 
 looking for eternity to New York. Them who 
 found it suited to their constitutions hunted in nar- 
 row caves an' monks' cells for it, long afore New 
 York was known to a soul." 
 
 " I won't dispute your assertions. But what would 
 you have me do ? I am young and ambitious. The 
 world must go on as it has from the beginning. Why 
 should not I take place and part in it, using my tal- 
 ents for the good of the many ? I have no inclina- 
 tion for any other kind of life, and there I feel that 
 I shall do the most good." 
 
 " Why not ? " echoed the hermit with a touch of 
 sarcasm, perhaps. " Saints did the same often, I've 
 heard ; but they made their talents and high power 
 a means to an end. With you it will be the end. 
 With the big majority these good things of the 
 world are the end. The man that looks after his own 
 soul keeps away from 'em till God calls him to 'em." 
 
 He rose suddenly as if he had spoken too much 
 
7 J 
 
 
 60 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 and was just aware of it. There was no moon, and 
 Florian could not see his face nor discover what 
 mood accompanied these words, but he would have 
 given something to catch the light of his eyes at that 
 moment. 
 
 " You can have the hut to yourself while you stay," 
 said Scott, starting off down the shore. 
 
 " Thank you," Florian said quietly, and was 
 tempted to ask him to remain, but adhered firm- 
 ly to his determination and kept his mouth shut 
 grimly until the sound of oars down the channel had 
 ceased. It was chilly and dark on the island. There 
 was no wind, only the gentle plash of the waves ; 
 and the odd, mysterious sounds, which break the 
 vast silence of nature, quivered on the air. He could 
 see nothing but outlines and the shining surface of 
 the water. Like an inverted bowl the skv arched 
 over him. He knew that for miles there was no 
 living man, and he was in utter darkness and soli- 
 tude ; and it seemed to him that he was left nothing 
 to look upon but his own soul. He was too sad to 
 endure thought at that moment, and began to bustle 
 about, lighted a candle in the hut and put on a fire, 
 closed the doors and fixed the curtain to the win- 
 dow. 
 
 The October nights were cold and left a touch of 
 frost in bare places. When the sun opened his eyes 
 the next morning at an early hour, and Fiorian 
 looked through the window on the scene without, 
 there was a silvery whiteness on certain objects, 
 beautiful but depressing. An army of individual 
 mists was rising from the river, and every object was 
 bathed in so fresh and deep a color that it seemed 
 
 ! 
 
ON RETREAT. 
 
 ♦31 
 
 to have just been laid on by the great Master's hand. 
 He dressed and bade a hasty good-morning to the 
 hermit, who was getting the breakfast, and ran out 
 on the boulder to say his prayers in the midst of that 
 sublime scenery. He prayed aloud, and never in his 
 life did prayer seem so sweet, so real, so refreshing. 
 
 " Grub," said the hermit, briefly, from the door- 
 way, and he went in composedly after that ethereal 
 flight heavenward. The meal passed in silence. 
 When it was over, " I'm going for pike this mornin'," 
 said Scott, briefly. 
 
 Florian took this for a gingerly invitation, and 
 coolly removed himself, his pipe, and his book to the 
 boulder without answering. The hermit busied him- 
 self in preparing his boat. 
 
 " Would you like to come ? " said the solitary. 
 
 " I have much to think of," he replied. 
 
 " Better get town cobwebs from your brain first. 
 The fishin' is good, an' if ye are going away 'twon't 
 be many more chances you'll have after the world's 
 pike take your time." 
 
 " To-morrow will do, Scott ; much obliged." 
 
 " No, I'm in-doors to-morrow," 
 
 " Next day, then." 
 
 " Not at all if not now," said Scott, and if his 
 voice was not sharp his words were. Florian was 
 surprised at his urgency. 
 
 " Oh ! if you are determined," he laughed, and 
 came down, book and pipe, to the boat. They rowed 
 through the channel out into the broader space that 
 opened into Eel Bay — or rather the solitary did, for 
 Florian lay in the stern idly smoking. 
 
 Said Florian, " Why in the name of heaven, Scott, 
 
62 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 don't you write poetry ? I couldn't stay in these 
 solitudes an hour without finding words to paint 
 some of its beauty." 
 
 " It is like grief, boy ; no words can express it." 
 
 And then a shade camo over Florian's face, for his 
 mind went back suddenly to Linda. 
 
 " At this hour," he said, " Linda is taking a look 
 at the new sun that will shine for her only a little 
 longer." 
 
 " Poor little girl I " muttered the hermit, giving a 
 harder pull to his oars. 
 
 " But what of that, Scott ? She goes to heaven 
 safely, I know, and her agony will be trifling to her 
 recompense. I would not care but for that other 
 dying at the same time, not in her body but in her 
 soul." 
 
 " It is one of the world's chances," said Scott. 
 " She will marry the minister and come to believe what 
 he will preach day and night for her sake. There is 
 no fixin' sich accidents." 
 
 " You seem to know all about the matter, Scott." 
 
 " It is town-talk, lad. Ye brought it up yourself 
 fOS if ye wanted ray opinion, an' I gave it." 
 
 " Well, I didn't want your opinion," he said ; " I 
 wanted to know what you would do in such a case 
 as that of my sister's. If she wishes to marry Mr. 
 Buck I see no way of preventing her, unless it be by 
 stratagem. It is not so much love of the minister as 
 a romantic silliness that prompts her to marry." 
 
 " If you want stratagem," said Scott, " see Pere 
 Bougevin. That's my whole and only opinion on a 
 family matter. Jes' hand up the minneys, will ye, 
 and I'll drop the line yonder." 
 
ON rp:treat. 
 
 68 
 
 The strong colors of tlio curly in()rnin;L;tliat glowed 
 around him only JuUlocl to his melanclioly. IIo 
 merely raised his head and smiled when Scott 
 landed his first pike, a handsome livo-])ounder, and 
 felt none of that joyous excitement which such an 
 incident raises in the heart of the true sports- 
 man. It was as if life had come to <t standstill 
 with him because of the tangle in his affairs, and he 
 was borne away through a fairy region of indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 Before noon the hermit had landed a few dozen of 
 the shining pike and Florian had dreamed the hours 
 away. Not unprofitably, ])erhaps, for he had jirrived 
 at the sensible resolve that he w^ould make no attempt 
 to win Scott's confidence, but let the man display 
 himself as it pleased him. And was he to spend the 
 hours as he had spent the forenoon, in useless imagin- 
 ings and doleful picturings of his future troubles? 
 He took the rod after dinner antl began to whip 
 the water with an energy unnecessary so far as the 
 fish Avere concerned, but he wished to shoAV himself 
 that he was in earnest. He had come to fish, hunt 
 and study thf^ hermit. The true way to do all this 
 was to fish, hunt, and study at the })roper times, and 
 Scott implied by secret smiling that he conjectured 
 his course of thought. As fi consequence, when 
 night found them again on the plateau in conyersa- 
 tion the hermit was quite humorous and fluent and 
 inclined to talk of anything. When Florian made 
 bold to tell him something of his present sorrows he 
 was sympathetic. 
 
 " T am afraid there is little real warmth in ray 
 nature, Scott. I contemplate Linda's death, and 
 
64 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ii'<! 
 
 Sara's apostasy, and separation from Ruth with a 
 light degree- of sorrow^ and I foresee how I shall 
 work all the htirder afterwards." 
 
 " A young man's feelings," said Scott, " are not 
 to be depended on. Wait till all these things hap- 
 pen, and then you'll find how you'll take 'em. It's 
 much like a man in consumption. lie will die in 
 four years, the doctor says. He's resigned, and sur- 
 prises himself by not thinking o' death often at all. 
 "When death gets hold on him, though, he finds his 
 former feelings weren't much. Now, I think your 
 Linda will die and Sara marry the minister, an' ye'll 
 go to New York without Ruth. An' it isn't so 
 much these things that ought to bother a man as his 
 steppin' out inter life an' takin' a choice of labor. 
 He ought to see that he got the right place. He 
 ought to be sure that he couldn't do better in all 
 ways whar he is than thar. People are hasty 
 about things of this kind. Money is the object an' 
 high position. If they get these, life is complete. 
 If not, they're lost. They don't think much about 
 the soul. They drag it anywhere, quite sure it can 
 get along. Some people there are who will be 
 damned for studying medicine, an' they might hev 
 known it before. An' political ambition will damn 
 others, jes' as I think it will damn you." 
 
 " I would like to know your reasons for such a 
 thought," said he. 
 
 " Mostly because your weakness will b' "*fjy 
 well edicated and your strong points let rur id in 
 politics, but entirely because you are cut ou lor 
 another situation." 
 
 "You interest me," said Florian. "Pray what 
 
ON RETREAT. 
 
 65 
 
 are the weaknesses and the stren«^tlis, ami the other 
 situation i " 
 
 " A young man about to make a jump for such 
 big prizes ouglit to be ashamed to ask sich questions 
 from any man. Ye came here to study yerself. Do 
 it : I'm off. A pleasant night to you. FU not see 
 ve to-morrow." 
 
 Florian sat silent until the sound of oars had been 
 lost in the distance. It was such a night as the pre- 
 ceedingone had been — theeartli all darkness, the sky 
 pierced with starlight, and a cool south breeze be- 
 ginning to wake strange murmurs from the shore 
 and the trees. A few clouds lay like shadows on 
 the horizon, and above and below was that beautiful 
 stillness, so beautiful yet so painful, like that which 
 lay about the prophet waiting on Horeb's rock to 
 hear the still, small voice of God. It seemed to 
 Florian that some voice must be born of such an 
 agony of silence ; perhaps it was born, and his ear 
 too coarse to catch a sweetness so 
 
 " Fine that nothing lived 'twixt it and silence." 
 
 Those were sharp words the hermit had uttered, 
 and thev shed a new light on the youth's mind. 
 What an idea was this, that some men could be 
 damned for studying medicine i Yet it was true, he 
 admitted, when he found the proper sense of the 
 words. And might not he be placing himself in such 
 a position? He was humbled to admit that, after 
 all, he did not know himself nor had studied the 
 every side of his ambitions. How far was he pre- 
 pared to go, in seeking position and name ? Th(^ 
 kingdoms of the world and tlie glory of them were 
 
 
'I i 
 I ''jii 
 
 ■MMIBIHI 
 
 ( I 
 
 m» 
 
 66 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 sometimes easily bought by falling down to adore 
 Satan. How would he withstand such a temptation ? 
 He hardly knew, but stole to bed crestfallen. The 
 sound of the morning rain woke him from a very 
 sweet sleep, but when that mournful patter reached 
 his ears the conversation of the preceding e'^ening 
 recurred to him and a desolation crept ipon his 
 spirit. 
 
 " Was there another life for which he was better 
 fitted?" 
 
 That other could be but a retired life in Clay- 
 burgh with its safe but respectable dullness, and 
 Florian dismissed it with a savage snort as he dressed 
 himself. He felt instinctively it was no life for him. 
 He got breakfast, lit his pipe afterward, and sat in 
 the open doorway singing at the mists that were 
 closing in around him and the melancholy murmur 
 of the rain. How long and how often such a dismal 
 scene had been played upon the island ! Perhaps a 
 generation previous a group of savages had sat in 
 their smoky wigwams on this very spot and looked 
 grimly on such a rainfall, making weird fancies out 
 of the mists and preparing charms against ti eir fatal 
 powers ! And all these were dead ! Linda was 
 dying ! Old affections of his heart were dying ! The 
 very scene about him was showing symptons of de- 
 cay. In fifty years at most he too would be dead. 
 "What difference then between him distinguished and 
 influential and the unknown hermit ? Would wealth 
 and station and influence be more than the simple 
 pleasures of the solitude ? And it was a doubtful 
 matter if the statesman blessed by his country would 
 stand as high as the hermit in the esteem of God ? 
 
ON RETKEAT. 
 
 67 
 
 
 Well, well, what queer thoughts were these in a 
 young man. 
 
 The next day towards evening Scott made an 
 unlooked for appearance with a bright eye and a 
 flushed cheek. 
 
 " I'm goin' to take possession of the bed," said he 
 " and you must shift to the floor. I'm ill." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Florian, quite surprised that the 
 hermit should make such an admission, but asking 
 no questions. Scott had taken cold and was in a 
 fever, and the youth rejoiced that fate should have 
 thrown thera together at a critical time. lie was 
 handy about a sick bed, woman-like in his gentleness 
 and skill and power over his tongue. He made him- 
 self master of the situation at once and proceeded to 
 treat the patient according to his own ideas. Had 
 he discovered the true way of dealing with the her- 
 mit? Scott made no objections to anything he said 
 or did, but seemed rather pleased with him. He 
 was sick until the third dav, when he became con- 
 valescent and began to turn to the old routine of 
 cabin-work — meal-preparing, mending, and reading. 
 It was raining still and the mists lay heavier on the 
 island world, and Florian had by intense and desul- 
 tory thinking wrapped his mind in mists so profound 
 that he felt a positive de.^ire to fly to the town. 
 Therefore on the fourth evening he announced his 
 departure for the next day. 
 
 " And I hope," said Scott, " that you got some 
 benefit from the close study of yourself, and that 
 you can pretty well answer the question ye asked me 
 when ye first came. 
 
 " I shall go to New York," Florian replied, " come 
 
 
w 
 
 68 
 
 SOIJTAItY ISLAND. 
 
 If! 
 
 H' 
 
 :!!i! 
 
 ! i- 
 
 ]■ 
 i 
 
 what may. I shall not trouble myself with much 
 thought hereafter, for I 11 nd it ct)nfusin(^ ; and as to 
 studying myself, my blunders Avill do that, and my 
 enemies and friends." 
 
 '"If you wait to know yourself that way, my lad, 
 very good ; your ])olitical life will be short." 
 
 " We must run some risks, Scott. Anyway, I have 
 got enough of solitude, as I have of Clayburgh, and 
 I see nothing in my strength oi* weakness to tell 
 against success in my chosen life. On the contrary 
 I lind myself longing for it. I shall be alone, I sup- 
 pose, and for a time grief-stricken, but life will be 
 there and will ; ^vhile you will fish and sleep in this 
 prison and groan over your rheumatism. Before 
 going it woukl tickle my vanity to know your esti- 
 mate of my character, and a hint, just a hint, of that 
 situation you spoke of the other day."' 
 
 Florian had n<j expectation of receiving an answer 
 to his request, and turned to the window through 
 ^vhich he could see a break in the cloudy sky and 
 the gleaming of a few stars. It was a dreary scene 
 and his heart was full of its dreariness. 
 
 " Fm not anxious to disturb your good feelings," 
 said Scott. "You are bound for to go, and your 
 blunders Avill teach you better than my words. I 
 can fancy how vou won't know yourself ten years 
 from now, and I proi)ose that when you go home to- 
 morrow you sit down and write an account of yer 
 present feelings and opinions, and leave it with me. 
 I'll see that you git it to read ten years from date. 
 You'll be surprised." 
 
 " Done," saitl Florian eagerly, delighted beyond 
 measure at this evidence of the hermit's interest 
 
ox r.ETIiEAT. 
 
 69 
 
 in him. " I'll make it minute in essentials, my 
 friend." 
 
 "I s'pose. All the worse for you an' maybe 
 you'll not be astonished and ashamed readin' that 
 paper in days to come. 1 had an idee of a man 
 gentle and quiet, whose mind was jes' like the water 
 on a still night, deep, clear, sweet, and full o' heaven 
 an' the bright pints in it ; who'd settle d(jwn to a 
 steady, pious, thinkin' life, writin' line things for 
 other people to read, comin' nearer to God every 
 year and bringin' others along with him, till he'd be 
 so ripe for heaven as to fall into it from this world, 
 jes' as natural as a ripe apple falls to the ground. I 
 had that idee, but it's gone ; and I mentioned it jest 
 to show ye what a stranger thought o' ye." 
 
 " I'll put that down too," said Florian, thought- 
 fully, " and it might be interesting to read at the 
 same time as the other. I'm much obliged to you, 
 indeed ; but it doesn't suit, and never would." 
 
 That was the end of the conversation. The hermit 
 and Florian retired to rest with their usual indiffer- 
 ence to each other and in their usual silence ; but 
 the youth was so charmed at his fancied success in 
 winning the solitary's interest that he fell asleep 
 thinking of it, and dreamed that the honest man rose 
 in the night, and stooping over his bed kissed him 
 gently two or three times, as his father might. He 
 was weeping, for the tears fell in a shower on Florian's 
 face, which set the youth to laughing, he knew not 
 why. At this he W()k(\ Everything was still save 
 the patter of the rain on the roof, while the hermit 
 was sleeping gently as a child. 
 
 f 
 
 
 I 
 
f! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Flobian found a suspicious lull resting on the 
 home atmosphere of Clay burgh. Linda was quiet 
 and happy, to judge from her manner and look. 
 But there was no mistaking the sudden agony that 
 seized him as he kissed her on his return. The blood 
 leaped to his head in a blinding wa}', the tears 
 pressed like a torrent to his eyes, but only a few 
 drops fell, and dry sobs struggled in his throat and 
 boGom. Did she understand the cause of such emo- 
 tion ? A tender look on her pale face, a shadow in 
 the sweet eyes that threatened at once to dim them 
 forever, were what had taken a way his self-command 
 so violently ; and, as if it were but natural that he 
 should so act, she drew his head to her breast, and 
 placing her cheek against his soft hair, smoothed it 
 with her delicate hand until the storm of grief had 
 spent itself. When he looked up again both under- 
 stood one another perfectly — Linda knew at last that 
 she was dying ! 
 
 " How is Scott ? " said she. " I have done nothing 
 but dream of him since you left." 
 
 " He sent you his ver}' best esteem," said Florian, 
 
 " and is to call on you soon, and all the flowers and 
 
 herbs and grasses the islands afford are to be sent 
 
 you. You have charmed him, Linda." 
 
 '* I do not know why he has been so much in my 
 
 70 
 
 i 
 
DEATH. 
 
 n 
 
 thoughts lately, but his red beard and keen eyes have 
 haunted me pleasantly for two weeks. Probably 
 because you were there with him. And what did 
 he say to 3^ou ? You know you promised to tell." 
 
 " He told me, very much like a fortune-teller, that 
 I was cut out for a quiet life, and litted to write 
 beautiful things for the million. And when I told 
 him my tastes ran in any direction but that, he said 
 many people are damned for studying medicine or 
 taking up politics, and he thought I would be too." 
 
 Linda's old nature, though softened by illness, 
 'ose up at this declaration and she laughed herself 
 into a fit of coughing. 
 
 " Well, well ! what an idea," she said. " But it is 
 true in part. There are less temptations in such a 
 life as this than in the life of a public man. Florian, 
 I want to be so sure of meeting you again that what- 
 ever you choose be faithful to our religion and true 
 to God, and never forget Linda. I don't care where 
 I would be, I think I would feel so unhappy if you 
 and I were not to meet again." 
 
 He could say nothing, but clasped her hand 
 gently. 
 
 " And what were your own thoughts i " she asked. 
 " How did you follow out your idea of a retreat i " 
 
 " You remember the crowd we saw at the re- 
 vival camp-meeting i I have been in the condition 
 of that crowd since I left, all turmoil and excitement, 
 and my solitude put on so loud a jiersonality before 
 I left that I was less at home than in a ball-room. 
 I got enough of the wilderness. I prefer a prison." 
 
 She shook her head deprecatingly. 
 
 " y"ou made a blunder somewhere. You had no 
 
72 
 
 ROLITAfvY ISLAND. 
 
 'i 
 
 system. You wer(3 j^rejudiced from the beginning. 
 Well, no matter." 
 
 Florian grew suddenly unensy. lie had some- 
 thing to say, and could not command himself to say 
 it. She saw his emotion and understood it. 
 
 " You must not think,'' she said, " that I am afraid 
 or very sorry to die, and it" you have anything to 
 say you must be very frank with nu>.*' 
 
 " While we are together, Linda " — how very dear 
 that name had become to him, that he hung on it as 
 if it were sweetest nmsic ! — " whatever M'ish you 
 have concerning me 1 would lilce to know and fol- 
 low it." 
 
 " I will tell you all soon enough," she said, and 
 for the time she was too weary to s))eak more. He 
 sat beside her holding her dear hands and looking 
 into the pallid face. The changes made by death 
 were very painful. It had robbed them of the dear 
 girl even before the soul had fled, for this was no 
 more the Linda of old times than a stranger. She 
 fell asleep soon, and he saw how comj)letely death 
 had seized her. The hollow eyes and parted mouth, 
 the wasted hands, the feeble but labored respiration, 
 were all elocjucMit of death. She slept svreetly, in- 
 deed, so sweetly that he could not help saying the 
 angels were roujul her ; but her eyos were only closed 
 in part and it awed him to see how she seemed to 
 look on him with her senses lockctl in slundjer. And 
 this was death ! Ami just like this one day he 
 would be, pale and hoju'less and hel})lessand forsaken, 
 the most neglected and the most respected of his 
 kind, his uselessness j)rotected in the sight of man 
 by the overstepping majesty of death. 
 
 i i- i 
 
DEATH. 
 
 78 
 
 The day after his return Linda remained in bed, 
 and to her mother's inquiry re})lied that she would 
 never rise again, Mrs. Winifred accepted the posi- 
 tion in her (juiet way, but her silent despair brought 
 the tears into the girl's eyes. 
 
 " There is no pain in dying," she whispered, " but 
 in leavin*": vou, mother.'' 
 
 From that moment she l)egan to fade so gently 
 that it seemed as if an angel, incapable of sutfering, 
 had come in her ])lace to die. Florian did not leave 
 her day or night. Ruth was often there, and Sara, 
 her father, and the strong-voiced Squire, for she 
 liked to see them all about her as in earlier, happier 
 times, and to hear their jokes and bright sayings 
 and pleasant gossi]), and to imagine that she was 
 just going to fall asleep for a little while, and, wak- 
 ing again, would iind them all just as she had left 
 them. Every day came a bunch of forest tr(\- .ares 
 from the hermit, mosses and rare leaves and bright 
 red berries. He did not come himself, but her bed 
 was so ])laced that she had a full view of the bay 
 and the islands, and often saw his canoe or yacht 
 fiitting from one point to another. In the lonely 
 nights Florian and Mrs. Winifred sat alone in the 
 room, dimly lighted by the night lamp, and talked 
 or read to her in her waking hours. When it be- 
 came ])ainful for her to speak at length, she con- 
 tented herself with watching him for hours, as if 
 studying out some dilticult jn'oblem. 
 
 '' Florian I " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 "You will be very much afraid to die." 
 
 " I trust not, Linda." 
 

 74 
 
 SOLITAHY ISLAND. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 " But you will, I know, and I want to tell you that 
 it is not as hard as we imagine. Only be good, do 
 good, and it will be very easy." 
 
 " I shall try with my whole heart, Linda." 
 
 " You will not marry Kuth ? She is good, 
 Florian." 
 
 " How can I," he replied with some bitterness, 
 " when my own good sense and hers, and P6re Rou- 
 gevin, are opposed to it ? If she be not a Catholic 
 I must be a Protestant. 
 
 " You will not forget, Linda, that you are to tell me 
 your wishes before — before You said you would. 
 
 " I only want to be sure of meeting you all again," 
 she said. " You are very good, Florian, now. Prom- 
 ise me you will never grow worse, only better ; that 
 you will never cease to think as you think now ; 
 that you will always remember Linda." 
 
 " Is that all, dear ? " he answered, with something 
 like reproach. 
 
 " All ! " she repeated. " Oh the old, old spirit of 
 confidence. If you do that, Flory, if you do that 
 
 much " She ended with a smile, and after a little 
 
 added : " Be careful of Sara ; be kind to her, and 
 save her if you can." 
 
 Those were almost her last words to him. Early 
 the next morning Pere Eougevin anointed her and 
 gave her the Viaticum, the whole family and Ruth 
 being present. Around the house that day fell the 
 heavy curtains of death, invisible yet felt, shedding 
 everywhere a funeral sadness. In her white cham- 
 ber she lay with half closed eyes drinking in the 
 colors of the scenes she had so tenderly loved. The 
 end was very near — so near that at any moment the 
 

 DEATH. 
 
 75 
 
 light might fade from her face and the gentle breath- 
 ing cease. Out on the blue waters the western sun 
 was shining in a long bar of light broken often by 
 the passing clouds, 3'et shining out every moment 
 just as bright as before ; and this shifting movement 
 of the light occupied her attention. ^Mrs. Winifred 
 alone was with her. In her meek way she supplied 
 her needs and silently anticipated her simple wishes, 
 and was so rapt in her dying child that she did not hear 
 the knock at the door without or its repetition, or 
 the steps which ascended the stairs, and entering the 
 room in a quiet but abrupt way, suddenly presented 
 to her the uncouth hermit. Mrs. AVinif red was rather 
 exasperating on such occasions. She was frightened 
 and her face showed it ; nevertheless she made no 
 sign, and was meeker than usual when Scott rather 
 imperiously waved her aside and took Linda's hand 
 in his own. 
 
 So it happened Florian found him half an hour 
 later in the same position when Mrs. "Winifred came 
 to hurry them all to the death-room — for death-room 
 now it had become, since Linda lay like an infant in 
 the arms of the king at last. At last and forever ! 
 There was no recall, no further hope. The girl's 
 face bore a new expression, the seal which God first 
 placed on Abel's young face, the protest of the body 
 and the soul against sin's merited punishment, the 
 reflected light from the torch of death ! Florian 
 took her left hand and gazed composedly on her face. 
 There was something strange in her manner ; a 
 strange glory or triumph rested on her lips ; there 
 was more color and fire in her cheeks and eyes; 
 and now she turned from Scott to him and back 
 
 »■; 
 
 I'l 
 
76 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 : I 
 
 ' 
 
 M; 
 
 again, looking like one iiungry beyond words to tell, 
 and looking yet again until death suddenly caught 
 her weak bi'eath and carried it to eternity and God. 
 It was the first day of November, at four o'clock in 
 the afternoon, with the sun shining on the river and 
 great clouds rising in the east, that Linda died. 
 
 A month after Lintla's burial it was snowing, and 
 you could not see the houses on the next street. It 
 promised to bo a heavy snow-storm, not unusual for 
 that district, and the dwellers by the river settled 
 themselves comfortably for six months at their warm 
 firesides. The Wallace home was gloomy and dis- 
 ordered. Florian in his own room was busy packing 
 clothes and books for an immediate departure to 
 New York, and he was working with feverish haste 
 and unnecessary care. A knock at the door inter- 
 rupted him and his mother entered at his bidding, 
 calm as usual and the hair smoothly arranged over 
 her placid cheeks. She was nervous, however, and 
 distressed. Did he know what had become of Sara? 
 It was rumored that she was married to Mr. Buck 
 the preceding evening. Mr. Wallace had heard it just 
 then in town. Florian could not but smile at Mrs. 
 Winifred's calm acceptance of the ridiculous facts, 
 and thought she must have perceived their absurdity. 
 
 " She went to Ruth's, probably," said ho. " And 
 who would blame her for leaving so lonely a house ? 
 But as to the story, don't you trouble yourself with 
 such nonsense." 
 
 Mrs. Winifred, however, did not like to think it 
 nonsense any more than she liked to doubt Florian'a 
 conclusion. 
 
DEATH. 
 
 7T 
 
 " Does father believe it i " said Florian. 
 
 " lie is goinf^ to inquire of Mr. Buck himself, 
 seemingly. If the minister denies it, he will come 
 back; but if he docs not, Mr. Wallace will smash 
 and cut everything in his way." 
 
 " Let him," said Florian grimly. " If it bo true, 
 I'll second liim. Then, paying the damages will 
 teach him si'nse." 
 
 Mrs. Winifred sighed and cast a meek lonl. at the 
 trunks and boxes scattered through the roum. 
 
 " Yes, I'm going, mother, at last," said he. 
 "There is nothing here to hold mc, is there? And 
 as soon as I get settled I shall take Sara to keep 
 house for me until she gets over her folly. I would 
 prefer her following Linda than Mr. Buck. A 
 monument is more satisfactory over one than an 
 Episcopal meeting-house, even if it is " 
 
 He kicked things around noisily and drowned the 
 short, sharp burst of grief that followed his sarcasm. 
 The door-knocker was going vigorously when silence 
 was restored. Mrs. Winifred hastened to admit the 
 callers. Her voice was strangely agitated as a mo- 
 ment later she called Florian to the }>urlur. He 
 found her pale and trembling at the foot of the stairs 
 and shaking as if with ague. 
 
 " It's true," she repeated. " () Linda ! " 
 
 " What's true i " said Florian roughly, as he threw 
 open the door violently and strode in frowning. 
 Mr. Buck was there as painfully correct in costume 
 as ever, and beside him Sara languishing in her 
 mourning robes. One glance was enough, but Flo- 
 rian pretended not to understand. 
 
 " I thought it would be but fair," said Mr. Buck, 
 
 IP 
 
 '■I 
 
78 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ' 
 
 " to let you know of the relations which now exist 
 between your sister and myself. "NVe were married 
 last evening at the rectory in presence of the officials 
 and the leading members of my church, who under- 
 stand the peculiar circumstances which led to the 
 ceremony at so sad and unfavorable a time." 
 
 " It would have been better to have waited," said 
 Florian, aping a calmness he did not feel ; " but I 
 am not surprised, nor will any one be, I presume, 
 with whom you are acquainted. My sister is of age. 
 "We have done our best to prevent what in itself is 
 undesirable. Am I to understand that Mrs. Buck 
 in adopting your name has also adopted your par- 
 ticular religious views I " 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Buck, vacantly. 
 He was not prepared for so cool a reception. " Mrs. 
 Buck expressly stipulated that she should be allowed 
 to attend her own church on alternate Sundavs, and 
 after consultation with friends it was allowed." 
 
 " I congratulate you, Sara," said Florian sadly, 
 for this smote cruelly on his heart. " "We have done 
 our duty towards you. I hope you will be happy. 
 I am going to-morrow for good, so good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Sara, shedding a few tears. Her 
 shallow soul was beginning to see that her brother's 
 generous nature and high motives had been sadly 
 misunderstood. 
 
 " I was intending to bring you with me," Florian 
 continued smiling, " and have you preside over my 
 house ; but that plan must be laid aside. You will 
 excuse me now, Mr. Buck ; I am busy." 
 
 The incident had a depressing effect on Florian 
 beyond the power of words to tell. He had mas- 
 
 :l 
 
DKATH. 
 
 79 
 
 tcred himself very thoroughly at a trying moment, 
 but physical weakness added itself to his mental des- 
 olation, and left this new sorrow vei-y hard to bear. 
 His packing was ended before night, however, and, 
 having despatched his boxes to the depot, he went 
 on foot around the bay to Squire Pendleton's. T\w 
 Squire was in his study smoking, and listened to 
 Florian's tale with much commiseration and delight. 
 
 " It's a great pity your father didn't meet them," 
 said he. " It's a reflection on the family to have 
 such a goose in it. Here, Ruth, come in and hear 
 the news." 
 
 Ruth came to the door at her father's shout. 
 
 " You couldn't guess," said the Squire. " Sara's 
 gone an' done it at last ; married the parson last 
 night." 
 
 Ruth was shocked so violently that she grew quite 
 pale, and stammered out : 
 
 " I knew they would marry, but Linda's death, I 
 thought, would make a difference. Poor Linda ! " 
 
 " That hurt me most," said Florian, with a wan 
 smile ; " but it was done very respectably. The 
 whole congregation was called in and consulted. If 
 they did not marry then, while we were taken up 
 with sorrow, it might become impossible to marry 
 at all. The circumstances as they saw them justified 
 the action. 
 
 "I am going to-morrow," he added. He was 
 glad to have this opportunity of speaking to Ruth 
 alone, and of discovering, possibly, whether fate had 
 any more stones to throw at him. 
 
 " I knew you could not endure life here," she re- 
 plied with much feeling, " after so many sorrows." 
 
 I 
 
80 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " The one thing I most regret is that I cannot 
 bring you with me, Ruth. Vou must know," he 
 went on hurrieuiy, " that a very little time should 
 decide for you and me whether we part or unite 
 forever. In a year, if you say it, I will come back 
 for you, Ruth." 
 
 "I fear I can never say it," she answered quite 
 calmly ; " ami I fear too, we have been wrong in ex- 
 pecting confidently what it is God's alone to give. 
 I have studied your faith, and I find I have a liking 
 for it. It is beautiful indeed, but it does not seem 
 to me to be the true one." 
 
 Fate had tlirown its last missile. He was unable 
 to speak for a few minutes. 
 
 " There is a year yet," he said at length ; " you 
 can decide better at the end of that time, perhaps." 
 
 " Perhaps," she repeated. She was very calm, 
 simply because she had gone over this scene many a 
 time in the past few months. " But I think it would 
 be better to end now." 
 
 He was so pale when she looked at him that her 
 good sense faltered. 
 
 " Have we ever really loved each other I " said he 
 brokenly. " Do you know, Ruth, that if you per- 
 sist we shall never meet again." 
 
 " I know it," said she. " I will wait for a year, 
 if you wish. We have been always under a restric- 
 tion, you know, and I feel as if it made truth harder 
 for me to learn, because you were to be the reward 
 of my lesson." 
 
 " I release you," he said, rising. " I release you, 
 Ruth, from any obligation to me. You are right — 
 you always were. Good-bye — forever." 
 
 I 
 

 DEATH. 
 
 81 
 
 They shook hands, and with this simple ceremony 
 his first love ended, AVas he teni})ted to go back to 
 his paradise and take lier as she stood, difference of 
 faith included ? The thought did occur to him, as 
 would the thought of flying. "With a sad smile at 
 its impossibility he faced the dying storm. His feet 
 turned unconsciously to the grave in the churchyard, 
 and falling upon it, he moaned : 
 
 *' O Linda i all our good fortune \v'>nt with you." 
 
 " Not all," said the hermit's voice i.-ar by. 
 
 lie looked up and saw Scott. lie was covered with 
 the falling snow, and must have been out long in the 
 storm. Feeling ashamed of such a display of weak- 
 ness, Florian rose and staggered away in silence. 
 AVhat the hermit never before <lid he did then — 
 stopj)ed the youth and held him. 
 
 " You're not vourself, mv lad," he said, with a 
 touch of tenderness in his voice. " And I am told 
 you're goin' away to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes," said Florian, "to-morrow. Thank God! 
 I'm done with this jilace forever. There is nothing 
 here foi* me but graves. You see, Scott, I have lost 
 them all — Linda, Sara, and Ruth. And the one 
 nearest to me — isn't it strange ? — is the little girl in 
 her grave. Yea, i .ni going, and I wish it was 
 morning and the viiole ])lace out of my thoughts for 
 good. I don'i care if I were dead." 
 
 " There's a difference between dead and dying," 
 said Scott grimly. '* You'd soon change your mind 
 if death caujrht vou. You fortrot to jiive me that 
 
 pa})er 
 
 " I'll write it this very night," Florian answered ; 
 " my last will and testament of the oh' iife, and 
 
 In f (1 
 
 m 
 
 i^ I 
 
82 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 then hurrah for the new. God I how completely 
 we can be torn up from the roots and transplanted 
 in new soil." 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Scott. " You kin no more git rid of 
 the old life than of yourself. You'll think of all these 
 things for years, an' you'll lind them tlireo women, an' 
 the water, an' islands, an' boats, an' things, twistin' in 
 your thoughts and ])rom})tin' your will unul yer dead 
 — almost. You're a leeile apt to get sentimental." 
 
 Florian said nothing, a sudden daze came over his 
 senses and he leaned heavily against the liermit, with 
 his face u])turned to the snow-cloudod sky ; and it 
 so happened that the hermit's beard brushed his 
 chin and the weather-beaten cheek lay for an instant 
 against his own. 
 
 " Faintin', hey," said Scott. " You'll have a spell 
 of sickness." 
 
 "Not at all. I was thinking of Linda's last 
 words. They are a good motto as well as a prayer : 
 ' That we may meet again.' Good-night, Scott, and 
 good-bye. As usual, you are right. The old life 
 shall not out for the new." 
 
 Ke went hurriedlv down the road. 
 
CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 A BOHEMIAN. 
 
 The attic chamber of Madame De Ponsonby 
 Lynch's fashionable boanling-house liad one window 
 with a view of all the back windows of the neigh))or- 
 ing block in its panes and a strip of exceedingly 
 plain sky above. On clear days the North River 
 ,vas in sight, but at other times nothing till night 
 came and stars or moon throw a glamour over the 
 scene. Moonlight falling on the staring backs of 
 tenement-houses is not a thrilling sight ; but shim- 
 mering through the attic window, faintly lighting 
 up its meager furniture, mixing lights and sluulows 
 fancifully until the narrow space becomes a stately 
 castle-hall — then the moonlight is a blessing. It had 
 that effect in this j)articular attic, and, although the 
 air was cold enough to show the breath floating on 
 it, where the light fell it looked warm, and almost 
 persuaded Paul Rossiter that he was warm and luid 
 not sense enough to know it. A spectral bed with 
 a white coverlet stood in one corner, a chair and 
 desk littered with ])apers in another, and a stove sat 
 reproachfully in the middle place, cohler than the 
 moonlight and darkly j)ensive. It had an apologetic 
 air that it should be there at all on a cold night 
 when a stove has most to say and do in this world, and 
 be as silent and moody as Othello with his occupation 
 gone. There was one picture on the wall, otherwise 
 
 99 
 
 m 
 
84 
 
 SOLITAUV ISLAND. 
 
 bare. Some clothes hung on the rack stretched across 
 the door. These and the moonlight were all Paul 
 Rossiter's possessions, and he surveyed them cheer- 
 fully while blowing his cold fingers and drumming his 
 cold feet on thetluor. lie was writing, jind writing 
 was food and heat to him — that is, when his manu- 
 scripts Avere exchangeable for silver. Unfortunately 
 they did not always have that ju-ojjerty. A sudden 
 and imperil tive knock at the door startled him. 
 
 " Open the door, b'y,'' said a rough, deep, middle- 
 aged voice outside. " I knowye're in, sure the key's 
 in the door. It's me, I'eter, and I have something 
 to tell ye." 
 
 A long silence succeeded this outburst. 
 
 "No aamission to P(?ter!" said the voice in a 
 mock soliloquy. " Then, as sure's me name's Carter 
 ril expose ye. D'ye think I don't know why you 
 an^ keeping me out, hey 'i D'ye think I don't know 
 yc've no lire, or— — " 
 
 There was :\ sudden hurrying of feet, and in an 
 instant the voice, or Peter Carter, as he called him- 
 self, was violently pulled into the I'oom. The lamp 
 which he carried went out in the roughnes, of the 
 encounter. 
 
 " Do you wish to blazon me idl through the house," 
 said I'aul hotlv ; " do vou " 
 
 " There was no other way of getting in," said 
 Peter; "and then ye needn't be so p.'oud, Not a 
 soul but knows the poor young man in the attic is 
 as poor as the j)oetry he writes?, an' fi'eezes as often 
 as he composes ! Not that they respect ye any the 
 less, for if ye were rich as Cra'sus a po(>t's a hybrid 
 thing in New York. \M me light the lamp." 
 
A BOHEMIAN. 
 
 85 
 
 Peter havin;,^ ])orf()rined this operation success- 
 fully, relit liis ))i[)e and sat down in the glare of the 
 light, composed and ha|)py. lie was a short, stout, 
 bow-legged man of fifty, witli a bullet head and a 
 moon-like face. Ilis hair, short and gray, stood 
 straight as quills, his under lip protruded, a scar 
 half-way between tip and bridge of his pug nose 
 gave that feature of his face an ugly prominence, but 
 his eyes were large and blue and sharp looking, and 
 would have been handsome but for the smoky eye- 
 balls. Peter's general ap])eai'ance wastliat of a red- 
 faced, hearty farmer given to social courtesies and 
 rolling iu hapjnness. lie was round-limbed and 
 round-bodied, rolled in his walk like a sailor, was 
 fond of a good song, a good story, and a good glass 
 of punch. He took his seat, smiling at the angry, 
 yet half-amused face, which Paul had turned on him. 
 
 " Pe (Jeorge, Paul," he said, with a malevolent 
 grin, " but ye' re the very spit of a ])oet, with your 
 long, vellow hair, and blue eves an' melancholv face! 
 An't ye, b'y I It's nice to look at ye, it is. An' sure 
 it's not mad ye are? Ye mightn't have let me in 
 if ye didn't want to ! I don't ask to come inter your 
 old freezing room wIumi I have one myself twice as 
 good an' wai-m. I'll go now, if ye say so.'' 
 
 lie made a ])retended start and flourish with his 
 legs, but did not move, and his jovial leer failing to 
 charm the frown from the yoimg man's face, he grew 
 indignant. 
 
 " AVdl, stav mad if veare so. What the divil do 
 I care for you or your nuulness i D'ye s'pose I owe 
 anything to you or to the likes o' ye ? Not a snap 
 of me finger, ye half-starved verse-molder." 
 
 
 
"Sf" 
 
 86 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Ill 
 
 
 " But it's too bad, Peter/' said the poet, " that 
 you should let the whole house know I had no 
 wood- 
 
 »5 
 
 " Ah, bother, man ! What d'ye care for the whole 
 house, or the whole block, or the whole city ! Sure 
 tliey know it already. And it's your own fault that 
 ye haven't wood and candles ! Plenty o' money, 
 b'y, in this old sheepskin o' mine ! Call on Peter any 
 time you are in want o' fifty dollars, an' it's yours. 
 Plenty o' money all over the world, plenty to eat at 
 Madame Lynch's. 
 
 Never think of to morrow : 
 With a smile banisli sorrow." 
 
 " I was thinking," said Paul gravely, " that I 
 would borrow a little from you " — Peter looked 
 suddenly indifferent — " and if you could let me have 
 five dollars to buy some wood and necessaries I 
 wouldn't mind." 
 
 " Wood and necessaries," mocked Peter gayly — 
 " nice things for a young man like you, with strong- 
 muscles and warm blood, to be thinkin' of. I tell ye 
 you are twice healthier in a room like this than if ye 
 had a stove blazing up to heaven. And candles hurt 
 the eyes ! Ye shouldn't read after daylight, or use 
 tiie eyes at all. See, now ^ Doctor Brown says that 
 the man who uses his eyes " 
 
 " That isn't the point," Paul interrupted. *' 1 asked 
 you for five dollars." 
 
 " Doctor Brown snys that the man " 
 
 " No, no ; stick to the point, Peter ; will you lend 
 me the five dollars ? " 
 " Lend ve five dollars ? " said Peter, with a surlv 
 
A BOHEMIAN. 
 
 87 
 
 air. " Ye're mighty anxious to run in debt, ain't 
 ye ? An' I'd look well lendin' a man money that 
 can't pay Madame Lynch his board. I have enough 
 to do to support meself . (to and write for the news- 
 papers something ])lain an' sensible on the Know- 
 nothings or — or — Ireland — there's a grand subject for 
 ye — an' leave off reading an' writing stuif ! There's 
 a pattern for ye on the first floor — the young lawyer, 
 only been in the city a year, is spoken of for Assem- 
 blyman already. He looks like ye, every one says 
 so. May be you are related i " 
 
 Paul sat eying his companion with amused dis- 
 dain. 
 
 " I heard the assertion made about the lawyer's 
 likeness to me," said he, " but I have never seen him. 
 Now let us see how much of a resemblance there is 
 between us. I have yellow haii*, blue eyes, light 
 complexion ; wiuit has he ( " 
 
 " Brown hair, brown eyes, and light complexion," 
 said Peter hesitatingly. 
 
 " I wear a mustache, and mv nose is Grecian as 
 well as my face." 
 
 " He wears a full, short beard, and his nose is 
 straight, if that's what you call (irecian, Paul." 
 
 " Where's the resemblance, then T' 
 
 " I don't kn<nv ; I don't think there's any. When 
 you come to particulars you have us all. I thought 
 you might like to know him. Be George, Paul I he 
 might get ye a lift on soim^ paper, for he's a rising 
 man, makes speeches that take down the ward 
 meetings. You'd like to know him, you would. 
 He's a Catholic of the strict kind, I think. Sure I 
 know ye wouldn't like that, but a little of vour com- 
 
 i 
 
^ 
 
 88 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 pany, poetry, and my j)uncli would soon cure him of 
 pious leanings. Come down now, an' I'll introduce 
 you." 
 
 " Go ahead," said Paul, '' Fm ready." 
 
 Peter bounded off his chair and seized the lamp. 
 
 "The lawyer has Saturday night to himself," said 
 he. " But do you stay here till I see if he's in." 
 
 He went down the stairs with a slow step and a 
 sober air, as if the task of visiting the strange law- 
 yer was not a pleasant one ; and Paul, watching him 
 until the light had faded to the first floor, saw him 
 stand hesitatingly there, then retreat and return a 
 few times, and finally go slowly to his own room. 
 
 " O thou mass of contradiction ! '' he soliloquized, 
 leaning over the stairway, and returned to his cold 
 room to resume his writing, and blow his fingers and 
 stamp his feet, and draw insj)iration from the moon- 
 light, which shone more brilliantly as the night 
 strenghtencd. A twenty-cent piece lying on the 
 table gave him a new thought. 
 
 He donned his overcoat and went out hastily. 
 Down on the first floor ho met Peter just coming 
 out of the lawyer's room, his face aglow with pleasure. 
 He seized Paul suddenly and with a jerk landed him 
 inside the door. 
 
 " Here's the twin," said he. " Be George ! Pve 
 fixed it all, an' Til leave it to your own mothers if 
 ve aren't as like as sun an' moon. Wallace, this is 
 Rossiter, an' Pm Carter, an' we'll raise — That's 
 right, Paul ; make yourself at home." 
 
 The two gentlemen thus roughly brought together 
 smiled and acknowledged the introduction. 
 
 " Here we are," said Peter recklessly, " transported 
 
A ROIIKMIAN. 
 
 89 
 
 from a garret to a palace "—Paul stared — " and all 
 on account of the resemblance between a poet and a 
 politician ! Paul, it's pretty complete, isn't it ? It 
 must be a nice thing to be a politician to afford such 
 luxuries, and not poor devils like you and mo, writin' 
 bad poetry and editorials — hey, b'y ? Don't ye feel 
 proud of it ? " said he, turning to Florian. 
 
 '' Very," said Florian, " since vou think so highly 
 of it." 
 
 There's only one thing lacking," said Peter — " it's 
 rather dry." And he twirled his thumbs and laughed 
 at his own audacity. Florian began at once to un- 
 derstand his visitor, and without further ceremony 
 placed wine and brandy convenient to Peter's elbow. 
 
 " Shall I help you to some wine ? " he said politely. 
 
 " AVine ! " said Peter, with a cough. " Ah, bother, 
 man! what d'ye think Pm made of? Well, yes, I 
 think I will, if ye say so," he added, seeing that 
 Florian had poured it out quietly. " I dunno, though. 
 Had I better, Paul ? Paul, the pensive and poetical, 
 with his long face and yellow hair ! I don't think I 
 will. I won't. It's late, an' it isn't good to be 
 drink in' i)efore goin' to bed ! " 
 
 Florian, amused, assisted Paul to some wine, and 
 drank without saying more to Peter, who sat with 
 his thumbs crossed and a gloomy expression on his 
 spongy face. 
 
 " I am glad to have met you," said Florian. " Press 
 of business only prevented me from introducing m}'- 
 self long ago. I heard so often of our peculiar re- 
 semblance that I was curious to see vou, and no doubt 
 you had similar feelings." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Paul ; " and I often thought 
 
 ii 
 
 
 m 
 
 'm 
 
■^F 
 
 90 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 IIH; 
 
 it strange we should have been months in the same 
 house without meoting.'' 
 
 " There's a wide distance between the garret and 
 tlio best parlor," Peter broke in ; " an' seeing ye 
 haven't the politeness to ask the old fellow, I'll take 
 on my own account a mouthful. I hold a middle 
 place," he added, as he held up his glass to the light 
 and eyed it tenderly. " I'm the ground, as it were, 
 on which ve two meet and exchansre views of each 
 other. AVell, here's to your future joys an' sorrows ; 
 may the wan strangle the other — m ! " 
 
 The last sound was the expression of Peter's satis- 
 faction as the fiery liquid, swelling in his throat, 
 bulged his round eyes outward ; he shook his legs 
 once or twice and then burst into a roar of laughter. 
 His rough good-humor and oddities went very far to 
 put the young men on an instant and happy level of 
 confidence. It was impossible to sit so near a fire 
 and not get warm, and in a very short time all stiff- 
 ness was gone and they were talking with the free- 
 dom and assurance of old friends. Meanwhile Peter 
 fell asleej). 
 
 " Since our friend is gone the way of slumber," 
 said Florian, '' would you mind taking a walk before 
 bedtime ? " 
 
 " With all my heart," Paul answered. " Let Peter 
 stay just where he is till we return. He's an odd 
 old fellow, isn't he ? And yet so kindly and jolly 
 that you will forget annoying oddities and faults for 
 the sake of his company." 
 
 They had an animated talk from the boarding- 
 house to the Battery, and came quite unexpectedly 
 on the open space out on the bay — so suddenly that 
 
A BOHEMIAN. 
 
 91 
 
 an abrupt pause in the How of talk passed unob- 
 served, and in an instant tlie niinils of both were far 
 away from each other and the scene. Wliatevor 
 Paul's thoughts might have been, Florian at least 
 found himself looking with inward eye over the St. 
 Lawrence on such a night as this with feelings of 
 sorrow for the " might-have-been." The waters of 
 the bay were tumbling about in rude, irregular fash- 
 ion, like boys at play, and across them floated sj)ec- 
 tral vessels and dark shadows. At this hour the 
 same moon was shining on a waste of ice and snow 
 in Clayburgh. The lights twinkled among the snow- 
 covered houses, and far away the islands stood dark 
 and ghostly. Scott was there in his loneliness, read- 
 ing in his cabin, or spearing pickerel by the light of 
 a fire ; and Ruth, the dear girl ! well, it was a little 
 foolish, perhaps, to rankle the old wound for the 
 sake of reminiscence. 
 
 They returned home still talking, and parted at 
 Florian's door. "I am not here one-third of my 
 time," said he to Paul as he bade him good-night. 
 " My library is exceptionally good, and if you will 
 take advantage of it the premises are yours every 
 day while I am absent.'" 
 
 Paul, thanking him warmly, accepted the kindness. 
 On the second iloorhe met Peter with a lamp in his 
 hand and a handful of coppers. 
 
 " Ye asked me for five dollars, b'y," said Peter 
 sleepily ; " would ye mind taking it in coppers ? " 
 
 
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 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 THE PORTRAIT OX THK AVALL, 
 
 J?' Ill 
 
 
 In Floi'ian's room Paul now passed a great part of 
 his leisure time, finding among the volumes scattered 
 there his greatest pleasures. It surprised him to see 
 that very little distinction was made Avith regard to 
 the orthodoxy of writers in the selection of books. 
 Infidelity and Protestantism were well represented 
 on the shelves, and volumes whose ])oisonoiis prop- 
 erties seemed almost to destroy their own pages 
 with virulence and bigotry were common. He spoke 
 of it wonderingly to Florian. 
 
 " Well," said Florian, " I found, on coming here 
 and plunging into politics, that it would be useful 
 to be ac(|uainted with all literature as well as the 
 Catholic purely, and that our enemies had a side 
 to the argument which might be worth knowing. 
 So I bought everything that came in my way, and 
 read it merely for the sake of knowing personally 
 the strong and weak points of an opponent. I can 
 tell you it is a great help, and particularly in politics 
 and society." 
 
 "But wouldn't you be afraid a little to handle 
 such poisons ? Our faith, after all, is as much an 
 object of temptation as our purity, and must be well 
 guarded. Nothing so easy to lose, nothing so hard 
 to recover, as faith." 
 
 " If this is the best argument the enemies of our 
 
 9-2 
 
THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 93 
 
 faith have," waving his hand toward t!io IxwAcasc, 
 '' I shall never lose it. Of course I would not rec- 
 ommend the reading of such books to every one, 
 but in political life it is almost a necessity to know 
 these things if you expect to rise.*' 
 
 " And you expect, of course," laughed Paul. 
 
 " Some day," said Florian, " I shall be — \^ell, never 
 mind what, but you shall Avrito my epic, and like 
 Achilles, I shall go down to posterity embalmed in 
 verses immortal." 
 
 Nev^ertheless, the poet would have been more 
 pleased Avith a library less dangerous, for Florian's 
 sake. As it was none of his business, he continued 
 to enjoy the line quarters of the lawyer during his 
 absence at court and office, and was able to forget 
 the garret a few hours every day. A boarder in a 
 garret was a strange sight at a house so exclusive as 
 Madame Lynch's. All the stranger that the poet 
 was rarely able to pay his small dues in full or on 
 time. He managed cleverly to keep in madame's 
 good graces, and to kee[) out of her way. But he 
 coukl not escape an exi)lanatio;i once the madame 
 sent up her card with a re(piest for an interview. 
 She was a large woman physically, and, as far as 
 fashionable disposition would allow, large hearted. 
 She liked the yellow-haired poet, and was not at all 
 anxious that he should pay his weekly dues. But 
 Paul, though airy in his disposition, was retiring in 
 his present circumstances and could not be forced 
 into a tete-a-tete with a female while his clothes 
 looked poorly ; therefore she pretended a feeling 
 of nervousness that he would run awav^ without 
 making payment for the attic, and was favored in 
 
 
 
 *i 
 
 
 
 r ■ '1 
 
 ..3'S 
 
94 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 consequence with many ceremonious visits and many 
 insights into Paul's character and circumstances 
 which he never dreamed of giving her. He re- 
 garded her as a stout, hard-fisted old lady with a 
 soft spot in her heart, which periodically he was 
 hound to find ; and congratulated himself on finding 
 it regularly p,nd succeeding thereby in keeping a 
 respectable shelter over his unlucky head. Then 
 Frances, her daughter, had a very sweet face and a 
 bright disposition, and was not unwilling, with all 
 his poverty, to talk literature occasionally and let 
 him play on her piano when strangers were not 
 present. The boarding-house was extremely select. 
 Paul wondered that he ever had the audacity to 
 apply for the garret at a place where presumably a 
 garret would not exist ; but in the first seating out 
 on a literary life he had thought the time would be 
 short until his means would more than match the 
 best parlor in the house. 
 
 " Mr. Rossiter ! " was madame's first remark one 
 day, when he entered in response to the usual in- 
 vitation, "here I have waited another three days 
 over the time, and yet I have to ask for another in- 
 terview." 
 
 " And I am always willing to give it," said Paul 
 reverently, " for I have nothing else to give." 
 
 "Well, well, well! " and she tapped her pencil on 
 the desk, and put on her eye-glasses to examine the 
 account for the twentieth time. 
 
 " I have taught all the gentlemen so to remember 
 the right day that it seems hard to fail with you. 
 Four weeks, Mr. Rossiter, and twenty dollars due." 
 
 " I'm sure I did my best," said he. " But these 
 
 n: li 
 
THE PORTUAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 96 
 
 people don't appreciate genius. If you were the 
 publisher, now, maclame, I would have no hesita- 
 tion. You understand me, I think, and you would 
 make others understand me. But in these hard 
 matter-of-fact days poets will starve somewhat easier 
 than in Queen Anne's time. I think of giving it up 
 and going back to the country." 
 
 " It would be best," said madame, " but then there 
 is no hurry. If you could oblige me with what is 
 owing " 
 
 Paul shook his head mournfully. 
 
 " How can you expect it," said he, " when a ffin 
 gets but five dollars for the labor of weeks ( If I Oi^^. c>e 
 to write poetry of the band-box kind — ten minutes' 
 work, you know — or write sonnets on the editor's 
 generosity, then I might earn a little. But I never 
 will prostitute genius that way, not even to pay my 
 debts." 
 
 " Is it prostituting genius to pay your debts ? '' 
 said madame. 
 
 " Perhaps not," Paul answered. " I might shovel 
 coal, and be dependent on no one save hospital 
 charity, or wear my life out in a shop as clerk. But 
 I only ask time, madame, only time, and as I paid 
 in the past, so shall I pay you in the future. I need 
 time." 
 
 " Money is so scarce," began madame, who liked 
 to hear him plead. 
 
 " I have always heard the rich say that. Now, I 
 think it plentiful, and it is. And how regularly you 
 must get your money from your wealthy lawyers, 
 and doctors, and statesmen. O madame! do you 
 stand in such need of a paltry twenty dollars that 
 
 
i- • I' 
 
 96 
 
 SOLITAKY ISLAND. 
 
 you call money scarce ? And what would you do 
 with your attic if I Avent ? Poets are scarcer than 
 dollars you know. And when shall you have the 
 distinction of harboring a poet in your attic again ? 
 I know I am living too high for my means, and I 
 must economize. If you could give me the attic for a 
 certain sum, and let me board elsewhere, I think it 
 would do very well." 
 
 Madame looked grave and seemed on the point of 
 refusing, when Frances came in, but stopped, apolo- 
 gized, and was withdrawing. 
 
 " Come and plead for me," said Paul, who was a 
 great favorite with the girl and knew it. " I have 
 asked a favor, and your mother is going to say ' No.' " 
 
 " Just imagine, Frances," said madame calmly, 
 " Mr. Rossiter wishes to retain his room and board 
 elsewhere. Can we permit it ? " 
 
 " Why not, mamma ? " said she. " I know it is 
 the rule to do differently, and that you have never 
 broken it yet, but then " 
 
 Not having any reason to offer, she stopped short 
 and looked at Paul to continue. She was a simple- 
 hearted girl, with remarkably bright, soft eyes, and 
 her character clearly pictured in her frank face, 
 which Paul in his weaker moments often allowed to 
 weave itself into his fancies. He was young, how- 
 ever, and faces of this kind were apt to haunt him. 
 
 " But then," added she, " what will you do with- 
 out your poet ? " 
 
 " Has he ever been of any earthly use to us ? " 
 said madame with unusual severity. " Have we 
 ever seen anything from his muse to justify his 
 reputation ? " 
 
THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 97 
 
 *' I have," said Frances — " just the sweetest things." 
 But Paul was suddenly downcast even under this 
 criticism ; for madame looked portentous, and " just 
 the sweetest " was not the kind of poetry he looked 
 upon as worthy of his genius. 
 
 " "Well, I am not disposed to be too hard," said 
 madame ; " but if you ask favors, Mr. Rossiter, you 
 must expect to grant them in turn." 
 
 " Certainly," said he, " that is not to be doubted." 
 
 " I shall permit you to retain the room, then, but 
 I shall ask a favor of you soon — a reasonable one, 
 mind, w^hich I expect to have granted immediately." 
 
 Mr. Rossiter was missed thenceforward from the 
 table, and, in addition to cold, want of light, and 
 stinted means, he had now to undergo the daily 
 matyrdom of a cheap lunch in cheap quarters, 
 and among the cheapest sort of a crowd, Florian's 
 rooms and library made his hardships light, how- 
 ever, and he reveled in the luxury and elegance that 
 was really so only by contrast with the bare garret. 
 
 Among the pictures which hung on the walls was 
 one that brought a sudden surge of feeling to the 
 poet's heart ; a sketch of Clayburgh bay and the 
 distant islands under the sun of a spring morning. 
 A boat was putting off from the shore. A young 
 man stood at the bow arranging some ropes, while 
 in the stern were two girls in yachting costume, 
 whose sweet faces seemed to be looking smilingly 
 into one's own. The dark haired, dark-eyed witch 
 in white was waving a handkerchief coquettishly at 
 an unseen observer ; her companion, hands clasped 
 over one knee, was looking dreamily in the same 
 
 direction. With this face the poet was captivated, 
 
 7 
 
 fi 
 
 I' 
 
 ^^ 
 
 El,' 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 i-m 
 
If! 
 
 98 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 and recognized it in a nioro uniniated description of 
 a face, which, hanging over the Ijookcase, had al- 
 ready won his heart and begun to trouble his dreams. 
 He mused over it often and wove f Jincies concerning 
 the maid. 
 
 A few months of companionship placed him and 
 the politician on a footing of intimacy, and started 
 those confidences between the friends which make 
 such an intimacy so delightful. Soon Florian looked 
 on Paul as a young man of poetic talent, perhaps 
 genius, with delicate senthnents and fondness for the 
 ideal — a man who would make a good friend, bui 
 not a very useful one, since he was of that sort which 
 expects every one to be useful to them, and who in- 
 deed reflect a glory on their helpers That idea of 
 utility was getting to be a very powerful one with 
 him. As to the past life of Paul he never thougnt 
 but once, and his conclusion was that the youth had 
 come up as a flower, cared for tenderly, without 
 much experience, doomed to make no impression on 
 the world except to add to its momentary beauty. 
 He had no past, in fact, that could have left any 
 bitter traces on his soul. 
 
 Paul thought Florian a genius of a high order and 
 looked up to him ; a man with a powerful array of 
 statistics in his head ; who could get up at a mo- 
 ment's notice, and cool, self-possessed, clear-headed, 
 talk sound sense for an hour ; whose aim was already 
 the presidency, if he never said as much, and who 
 was beginning in the right way to reach it ; who was 
 clearly a gentleman of the very highest order, inas- 
 much as adherence to principle and religion was 
 added to outward courtesy of a superior kind. It 
 
THE PORTKAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 99 
 
 pleased the i)oet to discover that Florian luid a past 
 of which he did not like to speak, and of which there 
 were many traces in his character. When he looked 
 at the yachting picture Paul saw two expressions in 
 his face that were eloquent of a misery somewhat 
 softened by time. When his gaze rested on the por- 
 trait on the bookcase he saw the same look of pain 
 succeeded by one of resignation, and even of hope. 
 Quickly and justly the youth formed his conclusions. 
 There was a resemblance in Florian to the girl who 
 stood in the yacht waving her handkerchief, and prob- 
 ably she was a relative whom some misfortune had 
 snatched from him forever. But as to the other, 
 who had no resemblance to him, she was perhaps his 
 aflBanced, and circumstances which he hoped to over- 
 come kept them apart. Paul laughed a little at his 
 own inferences and the pain which the last one in 
 particular gave him. 
 
 He was right in judging that Florian's hopes still 
 centered on the girl whose picture hung over the 
 book-case. Politics and the women he had met were 
 as yet unable to disturb the gentle sway of her, who 
 for truth's sake had put aside her love for him, and, 
 though in error as to her creed, was not one whit less 
 devoted to principle than he, a Catholic, sharing in 
 the possession of all truth. Sometimes the thought 
 intruded on him that it would have been as well to 
 have dropped that condition of their love, and to 
 have married her first and converted her afterwards ; 
 but, apart from its unfairness to her, he had laid 
 down the principle that mixed marriages were hurt- 
 ful and he would not — what? Suppose now that 
 there was an opportunity of renewing their former 
 
 i 
 
 ■it'- 
 ll 
 
 
 , 1\ 
 
 
i 
 
 i .1. 
 
 > 1 1 
 
 !i 1 1 
 
 100 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 relations, and Ruth was yet obstinate in her belief, 
 would he not be unwise to lose — what ? Florian saw 
 that he was stumbling against the rocks of conscience, 
 and looked up at those sweet faces in the yacht, 
 while the tears came into his eyes and his heart gave 
 a great throb of pain. One was dead and the other 
 worse than dead to him unless — Avhat 'i 
 
 His relations with Ruth, he had to admit, were not 
 of the most hopeful kind. In two years he had not 
 exchanged words or letters with her, and from the 
 various reports which acquaintances from Clayburgh 
 incidentally gave him he could see that she had settled 
 down to the new life with her usual good sense and 
 determination to forget the past. It appeared, too 
 that she had become literary in lier tastes, and was 
 a welcome contributor to many publications. As far 
 as his hopes were concerned it seemed ridiculous, yet 
 absence might have done considerable for him. He 
 knew she once held him dear, and Ruth was not 
 quick to forget. If he had kept her image in his 
 heart through all the blandishments of society, 
 through all the turmoil of political life and the hard 
 study of his profession, Avas it not more likely that 
 in the noble solitude of the north, amid scenes the 
 more dear because he had once lived amongst them, 
 with Linda's grave on the hillside to remind her of 
 the child's fondest wishes, his image would fade more 
 slowly from her mind, and the old love die harder in 
 her heart ? Perhaps she was entertaining them with 
 the same hopes that shared his loneliness, and the 
 quiet study and prayer of those years of separation 
 might have led her so near to the fold that to marry 
 her would bring her safely in. On the other hand. 
 
THE PORTRAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 101 
 
 he remembered, with a sigh, Ruth's rigid conscien- 
 tiousness, which would make it a duty to dismiss 
 every thought of him from her mind until time 
 would allow her to look upon him m(»i'ely as a friend. 
 She had no claim on him, and that was enough. 
 The dead heart of Linda would not beat more coldly 
 than hers when they met again if this last supposition 
 was correct, and yet he prayed Linda's prayer tho 
 more fervently as all these doubts crowded on him, 
 " tliat we may meet again." 
 
 At all events, Florian was beginning to feel that 
 to marry was becoming for him a political necessity. 
 Social prominence, he thought, required an immedi- 
 ate and advantageous marriage. He cared very 
 little for wealth, and his bride need have for her 
 dowser no more than the gi-aces which make a woman 
 popular — beauty, fine carriage, a mind above the 
 average, and respectable birth. Ruth had all these, 
 and what a joy to him if his ambition could follow 
 whither his heart led ! But if not, what was he to 
 do? There were other women in the world with 
 some of the necessary qualifications, and Frances 
 Lynch was one of them. Her mother had been a 
 noted belle in her time, and enjoyed the friendship 
 of remarkable men and women, A Do Ponsonby 
 keeping a boarding-house was a little irregular, but 
 such a boarding-house ! Only the lights of society 
 and intellect gained admittance within its portals ; 
 and madame, although guilty of a blunder in marry- 
 ing an Irishman with some brains, good birth, and 
 moderate fortune, never lost her power in the w^orld 
 of society on that account. Frances inherited her 
 mother's wit and beauty. Now that she appeared to 
 
 
 iK 
 
 ;-#! 
 
 -Hi!| 
 
 •Mr 
 
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 ! 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 i 
 
 1- 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 102 
 
 SOLITAllY ISLAXD. 
 
 him in the light of a possible wife, ho began to per- 
 ceive that she had made a dee)) impression on him. 
 She was slight and willowy in form, with a woman's 
 full height, and a (luitt grace of manner. lie remem- 
 bered how transparent her face was, and h(jw delicate 
 its outline; how the sunlight gh'amed through her 
 yellow hair; the sweetness of h(;r voice ; the beauty 
 of her mouth, teeth, and smile ; tlie gentleness and 
 womanliness of her disposition, and her winning and 
 candid ways. He had to admit that beside her Ruth 
 seemed quite plain. And, moreover, Frances was a 
 Catholic and very devout, to all appearances. What 
 her faults were he did not know, as he never looked 
 for them. It seemed a little odd, even to his present 
 changed conditions of thought, that before the old 
 hopes died he should thus bo looking for an object 
 on which to found new ones, but it was an old trick 
 with his calculating nature, which })(>litical habits 
 had intensilied. 
 
 If any one noticed the few special attentions he 
 paid to Frances after these meditations, no comment 
 was excited. Yet Peter Carter was filled Avith rage 
 and suspicion over them, and as soon as he might 
 rushed in to madame with unbecoming hasteand fury. 
 
 " I told ye," said Peter, as he sat dov '^ familiarly 
 in madame's easy chair, " that ye never would know 
 how to bring u|) a child, and that ye never deserved 
 to have one, with your curls an' pomade, an' poke- 
 bonnets, an' furb'lows, an' trimmings, an' nonsense. 
 I told ye, and now you are going' to reap the reward 
 o' your sins." 
 
 " "What is the matter now ? '' said madame 
 calmly. 
 
THK I'OIITUAIT ON Tilt: WALL. 
 
 103 
 
 " Matter now ! " gruntud I'eter. " ^focU'sty v\as 
 a quality of most women I knew, but your daiigliter 
 hasn't any — a mere bundle of fashions ; an' I won't 
 stand it any longer. Am I going to see her damned 
 and not sav a word i " 
 
 " AVliat difference will it nuike to you ? " said 
 raatlame sneeringly. 
 
 " Sporting with that lawyer below, the— the witch. 
 He making faces at her an' she softening him with 
 music. He that has no more heart than a stone. 
 It's a gizzard he has! An' he won't he a Catinlio 
 within ton years, he's such a poor one now. I tell y o 
 I won't stand it ! " 
 
 " Evidently you have a grievauoe of some kind," 
 said maduiuc . '' pray, what is it ? And, if you ran, 
 sper' plainly." 
 
 " I've seen through ye, ma'am ; " and Peter leered 
 at the elegant lady. " I've seen through your 
 daughter too ; an' I know you are just dying to get 
 the lawyer into the family. But I swear if she tries 
 it I'll blow on you ! And I'll go to him myself an' 
 tell him the Avhole thing.'' 
 
 " Wait a minute," said madame sternly. 
 
 " Wait a minute ! " snapped Peter, but he recog- 
 nized the tone which madame used, and kept growl- 
 ing in a prudent minor key. " Wait ! I'll be hanged 
 if I wait one second." 
 
 " There's a little debt of yours just sent me this 
 morning," said madame, " and I was trying to decide 
 whether it would be better to pay it or stop it out 
 of your monthly allowance." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Peter, slightly confused. 
 
 *' And, then, Mrs. Brown was herp; this morning 
 
 m 
 
 
 If 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 ' IM 
 
 ml 
 
tw- 
 
 104 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ii i 
 
 to tell me her front room is vacant, and I thought it 
 wiser that you should remove yourself there, for you 
 are getting too coarse for this elegance." 
 
 " Elegance be hanged I " said Peter warmly. 
 "What do I care for you and your elegance? I'll 
 go to Mrs. Brown's, if ye wish me to, or to the 
 devil." 
 
 " Don't hurry," said madame graciously ; " you'll 
 meet your old friend soon enough." 
 
 " But I'll ruin ye, I'll ruin ye ! " he stormed. " I'll 
 tell the whole story to the lawyers, poets, and great- 
 nessess, I will, and end your fine plotting." 
 
 " There are some papers here," said madame, 
 " which I will read for you. You need quieting, you 
 foolish man. And if it is necessary to remove you 
 from Mrs. Brown's front room, your next journey, 
 I fear, will be to prison." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Peter, collapsing suddenly. " But 
 sure you are notgoin' to send me to Mrs. Brown's ; 
 ye wouldn't turn out an old man from such comfort- 
 able quarters ! " 
 
 "You are so boisterous when you drink," said 
 madame : " you make so many threats, you interfere 
 so unwarrantably in the affairs of strangers, that 
 really " 
 
 " I'm not boisterous," Peter asserted, " and I never 
 in my whole life made threats to any one. Did I 
 make threats ? " he added, innocently. " ' Pon my 
 honor I was dreaming, an' had no mor i idea of the 
 meaning' o' what I said than the man in the moon. 
 I'll say nothing. I'll be quiet as a lamb. I won't open 
 my mouth good or bad, if ye say so. But of course 
 ye'U excuse my anxiety for Paul. It was Paul I 
 
 If: [!: 
 
 iili: 
 
THE POKTRAIT ON THE WALL. 
 
 105 
 
 was thinking of, for I knew he was in love with 
 Frances ; and he's such a beautiful creature, an' it 
 isn't fair that the lawyer should have everything, as 
 ye must admit yerself when ye come to think of it," 
 
 " Did Paul tell you as much ? " said madame in- 
 differently, plunging into some papers. 
 
 " Of course he did I " said Peter vehemently. 
 " Well — 1 won't say he did, after all ; but his actions 
 said it, and then he's a poet an' couldn't help falling 
 in love with such a little beauty. No, I don't think 
 he did say anything, I needn't mind going to Mrs. 
 Brown's ? " 
 
 " Not yet," said madame slowly, " but I shall keep 
 this debt out of your monthly allowance." 
 
 " Don't ! '' said Peter, with gloomy earnestness ; 
 but the lady was inexorable, and he went off con- 
 vinced that whatever he turned his hand to, whether 
 for good or evil to himself or others, was sure to 
 end in a mass of chaotic bitter ruin. 
 
 
 
I 
 
 1^ ' 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 RUTH. 
 
 m 
 
 While the years were passing with noisy flight 
 for Florian, one woman was enjoying in Clay burgh a 
 peace of heart none the less assured and real that it 
 had been won after much suffering. When Florian 
 went Euth had found his absence a very keen pain, 
 almost impossible to bear, but then the battle had 
 been fought and won long before their actual separa- 
 tion, when it had first become plain to her that she 
 could not accept the Catholic faith. She had been 
 very calm in announcing her determination, because 
 the scene had already been enacted in imagination 
 many times, but after his departure she fought a new 
 battle with herself, winning quietly and passing into 
 a life of gentle calm that nothing else seemed able 
 to disturb. As Florian had supposed, her strict con- 
 scientiousness had swept from her heart every vestige 
 of the love she once had for him. His appearance 
 to-morrow in Clayburgh, with or without a wife, 
 would have been a pleasure to her, not an occasion 
 of regret and expectation, as it would have been for 
 bim. He had fallen into that ridiculous position 
 which a rejected lover finds it so hard to assume, that 
 of the trusted friend of the woman he would have 
 
 made his wife. Often she visited the grave on the hill, 
 
 106 
 
RUTH. 
 
 107 
 
 and wept bitter tears over this one sorrow of her 
 life. It seemed so bard to believe Linda was dead. 
 The whole scene was instinct with her presence. 
 Hers had been the earliest laugh to greet the spring, 
 and hers tbe first tears that bewailed the death of 
 the flowers and the coming of the long winter. But 
 who would have disturbed the sweet sleep of the 
 girl 'i and who would have called thee back, Linda, 
 from the smile of God, even if they had the power ? 
 
 The report which reached Florian that Ruth had 
 devoted herself to literary work was true, and of late 
 she began to reap so much success and profit from 
 her venture that a new idea, presented to her by an 
 outsider for consideration, took her fane ,^ very much. 
 A relative and her husband had visited Clay burgh 
 the previous summer, and urged on Ruih the pro- 
 priety of coming to New York during the ^^-inter, or 
 at any time that suited her convenience, and making 
 the acquaintance of the literary celebrities of the 
 day. 
 
 '' We have them all at our receptions," said Mrs. 
 Merrion ; " and we are so gratified to hear them 
 speak of you in terms of high praise. You will 
 receive an ovation, and think of the pleasure and 
 profit it would be :o you to hold sweet converse 
 with them." 
 
 " Well, Barbara," said Ruth, who thought her 
 relative's adjectives a little silly, '' your offer is tempt- 
 ing, and I shall consider it during the winter. But 
 I could not think of leaving Clayburgh at present. 
 Next year, perliaps, I may go down to hold siveet 
 converse with your literary stars." 
 
 And Mrs. Merrion perceived from the unnecessary 
 
} 
 
 $ 
 
 \ 
 
 108 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 emphasis that Ruth washmghing at her. However, 
 Ruth thought deeply on the matter and finally 
 proposed it to her father, who was delighted with 
 the idea of being in Florian's neigliborhood for a 
 time, and suggested shutting up the house at once 
 and setting off on their journey. 8he went first to 
 hear the hermit's opinion on it, and took Mrs. Wini- 
 fred Wallace with her. It was a bitter cold dav, and 
 the open sleigh in which they were seated afforded a 
 fine view of the vast stretches of ice that lay away 
 from them for miles, and of the islands between, sul- 
 len and gloomy like life-prisoners in Siberia. When 
 they reached the island they left the stage at the 
 house of a friend and procured another conveyance 
 to take them eastward to the narrow channel open- 
 ing into Eel Bay. They crossed the ice on foot to a 
 dark wood, where a few maples with dead leaves 
 clinging to the bare branches made a great stir like 
 the chuckling of many skeletons. Through this they 
 went by a path evidently frequented of late, and so 
 beaten down as to make the wood passable, and 
 finally came out on a bluff which showed the hermit's 
 house a short distance off, with a light in the window. 
 It was a cloudy and gloomy day, and Scott was at 
 home, with a bright fire burning in the chimney- 
 place and his solitary candle lit, while Izaak Walton 
 lay open at a well-thumbed page that brought back 
 a fresher memory of the brightness and sweetness of 
 the summer. He Avas surprised at the appearance 
 of the two women, but politely invited them to sit 
 down and remove their wraps, while he put a fresh 
 logon the fire and showed a bachelor's feverish desire 
 to set things in order. Ruth was in the habit of call- 
 
RUTH. 
 
 109 
 
 ing on him as often as she, thought her presence 
 would not be too intrusive, but she had never dis- 
 turbed his retreat during the winter, and perhaps he 
 thought this visit a mere freak of in(]uisitiveness. 
 Mrs. AA^inifred was uneasy, and made most wretched 
 attempts to seem commonplace and ordinary, look- 
 ing about her with the air of meek terror that used 
 to provoke the anger of Linda and Florian because 
 of its ludicrous side. Ruth and the hermit paid her 
 no attention. 
 
 " It was a mere notion, you know," the girl was 
 explaining to Scott, as she sat in the blaze with her 
 hands clasped over her knee, " for I could have waited 
 until you came to town and explained it to you then ; 
 but an idea seized me like an apoplexy, and I must 
 come down without delay. I have not seen you in 
 a long time, and I was and am thinking of going to 
 New York." She was looking at him verj'^ closely 
 as she said this, sure the hermit would accuse her in 
 thought of going after Florian, and would look at 
 her once with his keen blue eyes. He was as inter- 
 ested as if she had stated her destination to be 
 Timbuctoo. 
 
 " It's a fine place, New York," he said quietly ; 
 " but why need all the blood rush to the heart? " 
 
 " It must all pass through it," said she, taking up 
 the figure with a smile, " or else be cast aside ! You 
 see, I would not go to stay, but only to mr.ke a few 
 friends among the great thinkers and writers and 
 poets. It would be something to know them, would 
 it not?" 
 
 " O yes ! it does one good to meet a great person, 
 I think ; but, then, they needn't be all bookish foUui 
 
 i:|| 
 
 I 
 
 n?;* 
 
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110 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
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 11 
 
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 There are great people in the garrets and cellars of 
 a big city an' in the work-shops." 
 
 " You were never in a great city," said she, and 
 repented of the v/ords immediately. " Pray do not 
 answer that," she broke in. " It was not meant to 
 pry into your affairs. It was an accident. But 
 what do you think ? Is it wise for me to go ? I have 
 won a little fame by writing, and I would so like to 
 knoAv great minds. Then there are great doctors of 
 theology and eminent Catholics there. Who knows 
 but that I might get some light from them." 
 
 He shook his head and smiled a little. 
 
 " I understand," said she. " I know to what you 
 refer. "Well, I have prayed and prayed, and yet 
 light will not come. I have tried to be content with 
 Methodism and I can't, nor can I find rest in any 
 other faith." 
 
 " It is a time of doubt with you," said the hermit, 
 " and that means change. I dunno as great minds 
 will help ye much ; mostly it's the little minds do 
 God's work, an' bring peace and rest." 
 
 " Well, I'll visit the garrets and cellars, and hunt 
 up little minds, and see the great people too." 
 
 " Them fine writers an' thinkers," said Scott se- 
 riously, " have a mighty high opinion o' themselves, 
 an' look at religion pretty often in queer ways. They 
 kind o' handle it as a jeweler handles a watch. 
 They've got the secret o' the thing, an' don't think 
 much of it. They give ye a doubt about it some- 
 times, unless ye get the 'umble ones that thinks more 
 o' their neighbor than they do o' themselves. I've 
 met some of 'em fishin,' an' they were too green for 
 anything. They didn't like to be told so, either." 
 
BUTH. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " Then would you say go, Scott i " she persisted. 
 
 " AVould I say go ? Well, if great minds is the 
 only trouble, an' religion, why, yes, go." 
 
 Somehow she was not so satisfied with his answer, 
 and sat staring into the fire, wondering. Was there 
 anything else that should trouble her save religion 
 and the great minds i There was the rush and whirl 
 of polite society, but it never could entangle her, 
 and then — Florian. She looked at Scott. He was 
 reading Walton, and Mrs. Winifred was watching 
 him shyly as a curiosity. Why should he have put 
 in the if/ Did he think the old trouble would begin 
 again? She was not afraid of herself; but then 
 what security was there for Horian ? She had often 
 wondered if he had given up the old love as com- 
 pletely as she had, and, knowing his fond disposi- 
 tion, feared he had not. Would not her presence 
 excite it more violently and more hopelessly, and 
 Avas that what the hermit meant ? The silence grew 
 so profound that Mrs. Winifred felt called upon to 
 say something. 
 
 " From what I've heard of big cities," said she, 
 " seemingly nothing troubles the girls there but their 
 dress and beaux." 
 
 " Yes" said Scott, looking at her with an expr«^s- 
 sion of severe reproach in his eyes, which puzzled 
 Ruth, " beaux ? " 
 
 " Do you think my presence, Scott, would annoy 
 Florian ? " 
 
 " I do," said the hermit, as if he had been expect- 
 ing the question. " I think he never got over losin' 
 you, an' it would kind o' stir him up to see you 
 again." 
 
 :i.. m 
 
ii- 
 
 ft 
 
 Ml 
 
 ! 
 
 i i 
 
 Hi 
 
 112 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " Is that a good reason for me to remain away 
 from New York or any other place if " 
 
 " Not if ye care nothin' for him." And seeing she 
 did not perceive what injury her presence could be 
 to Florian,:he went on a little hurriedly, as if it 
 annoyed him to speak of these things : — " I know 
 he's kind o' hoped agin' hope that ye'd come to him 
 some time, as he'd like to, an' make up. It's been a 
 help to him a long time, an' kept him out o' harm 
 perhaps, or leastwise from gettin' away from the 
 right. Politicians," he added, seeing that her look 
 suggested a doubt as to Florian's getting off the path 
 an inch, " get right an' wrong so mixed up with their 
 own likin' that they don't alius do right even when 
 they mean to. When he finds out ye're not in love 
 with him any more, there won't be any holdin' to 
 him. God only knows when he'll stop." 
 
 " I don't tliink you are quite correct in that," said 
 Mrs. Winifred, with a boldness that frightened her- 
 self. " Florian, seemingly, was always one of the 
 strict kind." 
 
 "Mebbe," said the hermit, resuming his book, 
 while Ruth looked her absolute doubt of Scott's in- 
 ferences eloquently. 
 
 " I hain't no pretensions to bein' a prophet," he 
 said after a silence, " but it'll surprise me if Flory 
 don't propose to ye again' down thar, an' offer to 
 take ye jist as ye stand, atheist or Protestant, an' 
 get mad enough to do wild things when ye re- 
 fuse." 
 
 "How do you know I'll refuse?" said Ruth 
 saucily. 
 
 " That's so," and Scott smiled. " You can't know 
 
RUTH. 
 
 113 
 
 w 
 
 a woman two minutes at a time, an' I'm no wiser 
 than other men." 
 
 " "Well, I'll follow your advice " — the hermit had 
 not given any, and looked at her — " and go. I'll 
 avoid Florian, and see the great and the little minds 
 of the great city, and pick up some grace that's lying 
 for me there like money in a bank." 
 
 The hermit studied her attentively Avith his great 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " Did it ever strike you," said he coldly, " that 
 you might be playin' with grace, just as a man does 
 with a stubborn Jish amusin' hisself i " 
 
 •' No," she interrupted loudly, and with such in- 
 dignation that Mrs. "Winifred uttered a faint cry. 
 " Do not accuse me of that, Scott, never, never, accuse 
 me of that," 
 
 He resumed his air of meek indifference at once. 
 
 " Yet, how do I know," she said humbly, " Avhat 
 sins I may or may not be guilty of? But in this 
 matter I have been so much in earnest, so very much 
 in earnest, and except in my methods I can find no 
 blame." 
 
 She had no more to say, and Scott read his book 
 in a way that politely invited their departure. 
 
 " "Will you excuse me for one moment ? " said she : 
 " I am going to take a view of the river from the 
 boulder before I go." 
 
 She went out and stood on the spot where Florian 
 had knelt and prayed of mornings during his retreat, 
 and dreamed and chatted of evenings. The scene 
 was like the buried beauty of that happy time, risen 
 from its grave in white, ghastly cerements, and the 
 weird wind moan through the evergreens gave a 
 8 
 
 i 
 
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 1 
 
 1 
 
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 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 \i- 
 
 
 114 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 voice to the forlorn ghost. Would it never look 
 otherwise to her again ? Could she ever gaze upon 
 the summer-scene that in time would banish this pale 
 specter of the dead, with the same calm and joy and 
 sweetness as wlien beside her stood Florian and 
 Linda. 
 
 " If I cannot," said she, with sadness, " then change 
 of heart will not be for the better." 
 
 When she came back, after ten minutes of looking 
 and thinking and sighing, Mrs. AVinifred was putting 
 on her wraps, a trifle pale and tired, and very con- 
 fused and frightened from her tcte-a-tete with the 
 hermit, and Scott was standing with his back to the 
 fire, his hands behind him, and his chin in the air, 
 as if an inspiration had seized him. But Ruth put 
 no emphasis on such things, and bade him good-bye 
 with a promise of seeing him again when she had 
 come to a firm and conscientious determination. He 
 went with them across the river and through the 
 wood, with its chattering and shivering maples, and 
 over the channel to where the horse and cutter still 
 stood, and, as was his custom, stood facing them under 
 the shadow of the wintry sky until they were out of 
 sight. 
 
 " Can you conceive anything more lonely ? " said 
 Ruth ; " that solitary man standing in such a solitude 
 and going back through that gloomy wood to his 
 home. How does he stand it ? " 
 
 "I think him a saint," said Mrs. Winifred so 
 emphatically that Ruth looked at her in surprise. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 A REUNION. 
 
 When the MerrioHs had opened house for the 
 fashionable season, Ruth and the Squire were re- 
 ceived with open arms by the vivacious Barbara. 
 
 " The first tiling I shall do," said Mrs. ^Merrion 
 — " and oh ! how fortunate you came along as you 
 did, Ruth, for 1 was making my head ache with plans 
 for something new and striking for my first event, 
 and couldn't fnd anything to suit — the first thing 
 I shall do is to have a music party and nuike it the 
 earliest and best of the season. How can it be other- 
 wise witli such a star as you, so unique and so new ? " 
 
 Ruth looked at Mrs. Merrion to see if the lady 
 was in earnest in using such language, antl found 
 that she was. In earlier days, when Barbara Mer- 
 rion was a girl at Clay burgh, she had been noted for 
 her beauty, brilliancy, and boldness. It was the 
 possession of these qualities which won for her a hus- 
 band, a wealthy nonentity in the shape of Mr. Mer- 
 rion, whose dull faculites had been quickened under 
 the spell of the girl's dashing presence. Although 
 a relative Ruth had no affection for her. There 
 seemed such a want of though tfulness, and even of 
 good principle, in her disposition that no amount 
 
 of respectability and correct conduct could make up 
 
 115 
 
 a 
 
116 
 
 SOLITARY I8LAND. 
 
 for it in her eyes. And yet Mrs. "Xferrion was a 
 model of behavior and very i)opular. How any one 
 could pretend to be the star of an assemblage with 
 her petite figure Jind shining face present, liuth could 
 not understand. Barbara's features were small, but 
 of a fine and exquisite type. The delicate nose and 
 dark eyes showed a high spirit, and reckless though 
 trained disposition. Beside her Ruth felt like a slow, 
 heavy being, a robin beside a humming-bird. While 
 preparations were being made for her debut the 
 Squire set out to look for Florian and to bring him 
 over to afternoon tea, if possible. Mrs, Men ion was 
 not acquainted with him, the Squire discovered, to his 
 own intense disgust and astonishment. She had 
 known him in a distant way as a good-looking boy, 
 in Clayburgh, whom she had never patronized or 
 spoken to simply because he was a boy of her own 
 age and not " eligible." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the Squire, " you don't mean to 
 tell me that you've lived ten years in Brooklyn and 
 are not acquainted with the handsomest and smartest 
 fellow in New York City ? Now, I didn't think it 
 of you, I didn't." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Pendleton, qu'en voulez-vous ? " She 
 had a silly habit, but a very pretty one in her mouth, 
 of using French phrases to any extent. 
 
 " Kan vully-voo ! " repeated the Squire. " What 
 nonsense ! Don't be flying yer nasty French at me. 
 I say it's queer — don't you, Euth? — not to know 
 Florian, the best, the smartest " 
 
 " How can I know them all ? " said Barbara plain- 
 tively. " There are so many clever, desirable people 
 come and go, and these cities are so large. But if 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 117 
 
 you will bring him to lunch at three or dinner at 
 six I shall be happy to know him." 
 
 " Of course you will," said the Squire, with a loud 
 sneer. "But I won : bring him; you won't know 
 him, since you didn't look him up before. Why, ho 
 and Ruth were goi»ig to bo married once." 
 
 " Why, father ! " said lluth with aa emphasis that 
 startled the Squire into sucli a consciousness of his 
 blunder that he got angry. 
 
 " Are you ashamed of it ? " said he. 
 
 " No ; but then it's unnecessary to speak of such 
 things to eve ' one," said Ruth disdainfull\\ 
 
 " Jest as you say," snapped the Squire. " But I'll 
 bring him over. Barbery, and you can see jest what 
 a fool Ruth can make of herself once every five 
 years." 
 
 " Not oftener i " said Ruth maliciously. " Now if 
 Barbara could see- 
 
 V 
 
 " What a fool I can make of myself once a day, 
 you want to say ? Well, say it, and be hanged," 
 said the Squire. " But I know a good man when I 
 see him, and I'd hang on to him if I was a woman. 
 So I'll bring him, Barbery, shall I ? " 
 
 " By all means," said Barbara sweetly ; " and 
 perhaps wo may arrange matters so that Ruth may 
 not be so hard-hearted another time." 
 
 The Squire coming round in lace September found 
 Florian at home. 
 
 " How do, boy ? '' said he, poking through the half- 
 open door his red, jovial face. Florian jumped as 
 if shot, and paled, while the Squire roared and 
 squeezed his hands again and again, and turned him 
 round to look at him, and was full of delight and 
 
5r- 
 
 M 
 
 f:i 
 
 118 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 surprise at the changes he saw. The noise the old 
 man made attracted another red, jovial face to the 
 door. 
 
 " Friends, b'y ? " said Peter, recognizing an affinity. 
 " May I come in ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said the Squire. " Friend of yours, 
 Flory?" 
 
 " Yes," said Florian, vexed, but glad of the intru- 
 sion, too. " This is Peter Carter, journalist, a good 
 man in his way." 
 
 " Not at all," said Peter, wringing the Squire's 
 hand fiercely, while Pendleton said : 
 
 *' You've heard of old Pendleton, if you're a jour- 
 nalist — got mixed up with the two governments in 
 Mackenzie's rebellion." 
 
 "Didn't I report the whole thing?" said Peter 
 with enthusiasm — " the pursuit, the capture. Why, 
 man, your life hung on a thread." 
 
 " Yes," cried the delighted Squire, hugging his 
 thick throat with both hands ; " but here was the 
 thread, boy — here was the thread." 
 
 " Bedad, Florian this is quite an Irishman ye have 
 for a friend, if I might judge from his sentiments — 
 hey, b'y ? " 
 
 " Irishman ! " said the Squire. " More Irish than 
 he is with his cool, political blood that'll stand any- 
 thing and smile. I've known that boy. Carter, since 
 he was born, almost, and he was just as cool then 
 as he is now. Not enough blood in him to like any- 
 thing "weaker than liquid fire, and that only heated 
 him. I tried to marry him to a daughter of niiue 
 once, but she wouldn't stand it — no, sir, wouldn't 
 stand it." 
 
 *^ 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 119 
 
 " 'Twas a great pity, now," said Peter seriously, 
 for it struck him as being a handy way of getting 
 rid of Florian's pretensions to Frances. " Ye missed 
 it, b'y, didn't ye now." 
 
 " Rather," said Florian with an inward groan. 
 
 " But never mind. Carter," said the Squire, with a 
 knowing wink of the highest confidence — " never 
 you mind ; I can arrange matters when 1 take 'em 
 in hand, an' I'm going to take 'em." 
 
 " As Mr. Pendleton has but just arrived,'" said 
 Florian in despair, " and I have some matters to discuss 
 with liim, would you mind leaving us alone for a 
 while ? " 
 
 " But I want to see you again," said the Squire. 
 " Haven't met your equal. Carter, since I came to 
 New York. You shall have an introduction to my 
 daughter, and an invitation to Mrs. Merrion's music 
 party? We'll get in some quiet room and play 
 whist and drink punch till morning. What do you 
 say ? " 
 
 " Your heart's in the right place, me b'y," said 
 Peter, " and your throat too, an' both guide your 
 head. Same way with Peter. I accept ; I'll go if 
 a thousand stood in the way and Fll help ye mend 
 matters, an' give ye the benefit o' my experience 
 in the town ; an' if ye want a hand in the little 
 matter " 
 
 " Good-morning," said Blorian abruptly, almost 
 pushing Peter outside the door, where he stood for 
 some time indignant, and thought of going back to 
 fling defiance in Florian's face ; but as that might 
 peril his chances of improving the Squire's acquaint- 
 ance, he refrained and withdrew. 
 
 it 
 
nr 
 
 120 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 r^ 
 
 i * 
 
 vn « 
 
 " A first-class character," said the Squire, " a real 
 surprise. Where did you pick him up ? A sort of 
 Irish exile, hey ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but a rather spongy sort," said Florian, 
 who was not at all as patient with Peter as the poet 
 was. 
 
 " Spongy — that is, receptive. Ah ! I understand. 
 I'm glad to hear it. But now you're to come over 
 to lunch, Mrs. Merrion said, and you must be in- 
 troduced to get a bid to the musicale, you know. 
 Ruth's just dying to see you, and so is Barbery, 
 because she's surprised to know there's a famous 
 man in New fork that doesn't bow down to her 
 and attend her parties. Skittish creature — you re- 
 call her when she married Merrion, before she got 
 into long dresses — but almighty nice if she wants to 
 be. And now, Flory, I just ache to see you use 
 your points well. Ruth's tired of things in gen- 
 eral and, if you try riglitl}"^ you are going to 
 win this time, if you want to. Why I swear I never 
 thought of asking you that, but then of course you 
 do." 
 
 " It's not well to think of it," said Florian, who 
 did not wish to give the garrulous Squire even a hint 
 of his own feelings. 
 
 " No, I s'])ose not," said the Squire dubiously and 
 grief-stricken ; " but then I might have known you'd 
 be changed and more particular, now that you're 
 famous." 
 
 " It isn't that," said Florian — " oh ! no, not that. 
 I think very much of Ruth, but then I would not 
 trouble her over again with a suit that would not 
 be to her liking." 
 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 121 
 
 " If that's all we'll arrange it to her liking, my boy." 
 
 But for all his cheerfulness the Squire felt more 
 doubtful about his pet project than he had at any 
 time since its conception. They went at once to 
 Brooklyn, and arrived in time for lunch, and the 
 meeting, which in Florian's mind Avas to have been 
 a masterpiece of subdued emotion and passion, turned 
 out as ordinary as could be desired. 
 
 "How do you do, Ruth?" said the handsome 
 politician, with some relief in seeing how little 
 changed Ruth was. 
 
 " 1 am very well, Florian, but I find it hard to 
 recognize you," was the frank reply. She pressed 
 his cold hands with her warm ones and gazed so 
 calmly into his twitching face. " It is Florian," 
 she said again, " but oh ! how changed. Barbarba, 
 let me introduce you to my friend Mr. Wallace. 
 Florian, Mrs. Merrion." 
 
 He hardly saw the beautiful fairy that bowed to 
 him, but the fairy saw him with all her eyes and 
 pronounced him a perfect man ; saw, too, what 
 simple Ruth did not, that he was agitated at this 
 meeting, and judged, from the Squire's beaming 
 delight and Ruth's ordinary manner, that the old 
 romance was long ago ended, much against the wishes 
 of these two men. "When he was going he received 
 his invitation to the musicale. 
 
 " And there is a poet-dramatist in the same house 
 with you," said Barbara, " that you must invite also. 
 We leave out no celebrities." 
 
 " And there's Mr. Carter in the same place," said 
 the Squire — " a noted journalist. I must have an 
 invitation for him." 
 
tl i 
 1 1 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 ■'if 
 
 i! 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " By all means," said Barbara. " Madame Lynch 
 has a faculty of getting around her the most unique 
 people. I wish I had it." 
 
 Florian went away sad and disappointed, and with 
 a feeling that, in spite of fame, inflnenno, and wealth, 
 Ruth was fartlier from him than over. 
 
 Paul Kossiter went to the music party much against 
 his will, for he was hard at work on a play, and there 
 were matters of another kind demanding his atten- 
 tion which he would not lay aside for an audience 
 with kings. Florian had brought him to see Mrs. 
 Merrion, and the little lady had pressed him so hard, 
 and had made such extravagant promises with regard 
 to the new beauty whom she was to introduce to 
 society, that he consented at last. When Ruth was 
 introduced to him he saw for the first time the face 
 of liis dreams in its living image, although its ow^ner 
 had laid aside the simple yachting dress for the vol- 
 uminous evening costume of the period ; and being 
 unprepared, he had started, blushed, stammered, and 
 not come to himself rightly until he was sitting some- 
 where and the voice of the lady was talking about 
 Florian. 
 
 " And you are a friend of Florian ? I am so very 
 glad to know it, for I have never really heard who 
 his friends \rere. Do you not think him a very nice 
 gentleman ? And they tell me he has considerable 
 political influence for so young a man." 
 
 " Oh I he's the best fellow in the world," said Paul, 
 wondering all the time if he were really talking with 
 the original of the picture, " and his influence is 
 simply boundless in the city. He has been in the 
 legislature, he will go to Congress, then the governor- 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 123 
 
 ship, and the presidency. There is nothing beyond 
 that." 
 
 " So he finally comes to nothing," Kuth said smil- 
 ing. " "What an ending for so much greatness and 
 influence ! And is it really worth while struggling 
 for all these things, when they come to so little at 
 last?" 
 
 " Little and great are ;ill alike," said Paul. " The 
 nothingness we come to, I suppose, makes the worth- 
 less earthly honor all the more valuable." 
 
 " Florian's exact words," said Ruth. " Ah ! now I 
 can see you are very good friends, for you have his 
 ideas, and he has yours, no doubt," 
 
 " I have his, no doubt," said Paul, " but if he has 
 mine they must be very useless, being mostly fancies 
 about dreams. How easily you recognize his say- 
 ings, Miss Pendleton ! You must have known him 
 very well." 
 
 " "VVc lived in. the same town and went to the same 
 school for years ; and then we were friends. Oh ! I 
 know Florian as if he were my brother. His sister " 
 — her voice faltered — " was a dear friend of mine ; 
 and if you know him you must like him." 
 
 " And I do, and I shall like him all the more if his 
 friendship will place me higher in your favor." 
 
 He tremble'! at his boldness, but she received it as 
 a matter of course. 
 
 " 1 — will indeed. Florian's friends must all be 
 worth knowing, for they were ever the choicest." 
 
 They talked on very pleasantly for a half hour, 
 and then others came to disturb the delightful tete- 
 k-t^te and make him and her miserable ; for Ruth 
 had formed a sudden and strong liking for this warm- 
 
124 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 |l. 
 
 li 
 
 hearted and warm-featured child of genius, which 
 fell little short of the admiration he felt for her 
 beauty. Florian had vainly tried, when once freed 
 from the conversational charms of Barbara, to secure 
 for himself a confidential talk with Ruth. Fate, 
 in the person of the guests of Mrs. Merrion was 
 against him. When one or the other did not engage 
 him they surrounded Ruth like a city's walls, for the 
 fair girl was become a general favorite that evening 
 and was much sought after. She was a little tired 
 of continuous adulation, and kept wishing that Paul 
 would make his appearance again, and wondering 
 why Florian did not join those sitting about her. 
 Finding an opportunity to slip unobserved into a 
 recess of some kind, she threw herself on a sofa, re- 
 lieved to be free for a moment from the glare and 
 heat and noise. When her eyes became accustomed 
 to the dim light of the place she perceived that 
 Florian was sitting opposite her. 
 
 " Is it you, Florian ? " said she. " Oh ! how I have 
 tried to see you and speak to you this evening." 
 
 " It is impossible on a first night," said he quietly. 
 " There are so many present, and your face is new to 
 most of them. It's not much like a wusicale in Clay- 
 burgh." 
 
 " I think ours were much more pleasant." 
 
 " Well, I should hardly feel obliged to enjoy them 
 as I used," he said, with the worn air of a man who 
 had exhausted the pleasure contained in such enter- 
 tainments. " It is so long since I have been there 
 that I have quite forgotten them." 
 
 " I can believe you," she said, with the gentlest 
 reproach in her voice. " You seem to have forgotten 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 125 
 
 everything connected with the poor little town and 
 its glorious river." 
 
 "Not everything, Kuth. I remember Linda's 
 grave, and how the river looks when only the stars 
 are shining at midnight and the poor child lying 
 there alone." 
 
 There was a sob in his voice, and the mention of 
 Linda stirred Ruth deeply. She had felt like an 
 artificial woman moving in her strange plumes 
 through the brilliant company, and had wearied of 
 the unvarying round of formal compliments and 
 praise; but at this touch of feeling she became a 
 Clay burgh girl again, and it was Ruth talking with 
 Florian as in the old time. 
 
 " I would never suspect you of forgetting that, 
 Florian, nor the hermit, who sent so many kind 
 regards to you." 
 
 " You saw him often, then? " 
 
 " Not very often, but I presumed a little, perhaps, 
 and he is so obliging, if a little cold, and he spoke 
 of you rarely, but it was always something wise or 
 good. Did you ever notice how pure his thoughts 
 are — like water from a spring? " 
 
 " I may have noticed it, but it did not impress me, 
 although I made it a point to study him. He has 
 faded from my mind considerably, and I would find 
 it hard to reproduce his features ; but I know what 
 he must have said to you about me when 3'ou were 
 leaving." 
 
 "Do you?" she said in some alarm. "How 
 can you know that when I have not told you, 
 Florian ? " 
 
 " See if I am right. * You will find him changed 
 
126 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 1 
 
 
 1"; 
 
 i 
 
 ^ :i 
 
 i 
 
 ■i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 S-j 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 f, 
 
 1 
 
 '.}■ 
 
 i! 
 
 !: ,■ 
 
 U 
 ^ 
 
 t ■ 
 [ - 
 
 
 for the worse, my dear, and he will surely make love 
 to you again,' said Scott." 
 
 " You are a magician," she answered, very much 
 embarrassed. But then, imagining that Florian's 
 boldness must arise from his indifference to their 
 past state of feeling she felt relieved and happy, and 
 laughed with him. 
 
 " I think he must have said something like it," 
 she said, " but I cannot recall the words used. I 
 wonder how much of it is true ? I know you have 
 not been guilty of the last charge, and will not be ; 
 but you are much changed in heart, Florian." 
 
 " "What can you expect from the atmosphere in 
 which I move ? " 
 
 "I should expect that if it were very bad you 
 would go away from it," she replied severely ; " you 
 often told me to do that, and common piety teaches 
 it, too." 
 
 " "Would you accuse a politician of piety ? " he 
 demanded, laughing. 
 
 Ruth was silent. There was something hard and 
 forced in his manner. 
 
 " You cannot be pious in politics," he went on, 
 understanding very well her feelings, " but one can 
 keep from much evil. If you are wealthy or in- 
 fluential, or married to a good woman, you can keep 
 from all." 
 
 " And as you are not wealthy " 
 
 " And only moderately influential " 
 
 " You ought to get married," said she ; " and, in- 
 deed, rumor connects your name ^vith some ladies 
 very closely." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," he answered vaguely, and 
 
A REUNION. 
 
 12 ( 
 
 '"elt a dumb pain stealing over him at the perfect in- 
 diiference, or rather the friendly and sisterly interest 
 she took in the matter. 
 
 " Linda would be so pleased to know you were 
 happily suited in every way," she went on, " and I 
 am sure I would." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," said he, shaking oflf the 
 stupor that had seized upon him. " But we can talk 
 of this again. You are not altogether out of my life, 
 Ruth, and you may have as much to say as Linda 
 herself in the matter before it is completed, perhaps 
 
 
 more. 
 
 >j 
 
 if 
 
 '■X 
 
T 
 
 ! I'i 
 
 5'1 i 
 
 H I 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 OLD HOPES. 
 
 Mrs. Merriox's pleasiiiit home became the center 
 of attraction that winter for most of our friends in 
 Madame Lynch's establisliment. Florian admitted 
 to himself that absence had only intensified his feel- 
 ings towards Ruth. The years that had passed since 
 their love story ended had honored her with new 
 personal attractions. Her seriousness seemed less 
 old-fashioned and more suited to her years than for- 
 merly. Her well-cultured mind made her a charm- 
 ing companion. She had a kind of boldness, too, 
 which came in agreeabl v on certain occasions. When 
 Barbara insisted on dressing her as nobly and richly 
 as her appearance and years would sustain she 
 entered into the spirit of the innovation, and became 
 all at once a beautiful woman in the best sense of 
 the phase, beautiful in mind and body. Florian was 
 astonished at her glorious bloom. It was natural 
 that the love still slumbering in his heart should 
 awaken to an intenser life than ever. He did not 
 wait to discuss the situation with his usual caution. 
 He surrendered at once to so much loveliness, partly 
 conscious that this flame would in the end consume 
 him. 
 
 Innocent Ruth, deceived by the calmness of his 
 
 manner — there was always a certain hopelessness in 
 
 128 
 
 fc 
 
OLD HOPES. 
 
 129 
 
 it, even when his chances seemed brightest — took no 
 pains to prevent annoying consequences. She had a 
 sincere friendliness for Fiorian, and some achniration 
 for his character. He had improved since liis depar- 
 ture from Chayburgh. His was a distinguished ap- 
 pearance, and there was about him such a conscious- 
 ness of strength and power tliat most women suc- 
 cumbed to it. Barbara Merrion was immensely 
 taken with him. It was owing to her interference 
 that Fiorian found himself so often in Ruth's com- 
 pany. 
 
 Lunches, receptions, and theater parties brought 
 together every week the boon companions, Peter and 
 the Squire, who made no secret of their hopes and 
 plans to marry Ruth and F'lorian. The poet, as 
 often as he said to himself there was no hope for 
 him in such a quarter, yet could never give up the 
 chance to talk with Ruth and linger in her presence. 
 Mrs. Merrion received none of his confidences, but 
 aided him unsuspected of Fiorian and the other 
 plotters. Thus the winter went on. Pendleton and 
 Carter planned, debated, and feasted day and night, 
 counting results long before there was any hope of 
 achieving them. Floriim and Paul dreamed pleas- 
 antly, and Ruth was dimly aware of a change in her 
 own interior whose form she could not make clear 
 to her perceptions. Barbara, the gracious marplot 
 of the play, received new confidences daily and went 
 about with the pleasant feelings of a cat who has a 
 nest of young mice under her delicate paw. Only 
 Paul Rossiter puzzled her still, and kept her from 
 mischief. However, Fiorian soon cleared the fioM 
 for her, and left her free to do what mischief she 
 9 
 
 ii 
 
130 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 pleased. He met Paul one day in the neighborhood 
 of the post office, and the poet asked him why he 
 looked so pale and jaded. 
 
 " You look worse than I ever saw you before," he 
 said. 
 
 " "Work and pleasure," Florian answered moodily, 
 " are too much for me. These soirees have upset me, 
 and I must give them up." 
 
 " When Miss Pendleton leaves," said Paul cau- 
 tiously. 
 
 " Ah 1 you know that," said Florian quickly, for 
 in all the winter they had rarely spoken about 
 Ruth. 
 
 " Who could help knowing it, ray dear boy ? A 
 retired sort of a young man begins suddenly to 
 frequent society, and is always seen at those places 
 where a certain young lady is sure to be. Is not 
 the inference easy ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and I never thought of that. Others, 
 perhaps, will talk about it. But then she has not 
 favored me more especially than other young men." 
 
 " Myself, for instance. I should say not ! You 
 are modest, of course ; a successful man is always. 
 I wish you happiness, Florian, for I think you are 
 going to marry an excellent woman." 
 
 " I am not so near to that consmnnation," said 
 the lawyer, " so your compliments are ill-timed. Did 
 I ever tell vou that — w^ell what need to tell it now 'i 
 I suppose you are aware that Miss Pendleton is a 
 Protestant ? " 
 
 " No," said Paul, in the highest astonishment. 
 " I was not. On the contrary, when I saw the at- 
 tention you paid to her, and how intimate you 
 
OLD HUPES. 
 
 131 
 
 appeared to be, I thought naturally she was a 
 Catholic." 
 
 " "Well, that was a quor blunder ? And have you 
 been talking of the Mass and confession, and other 
 such topics to a Methodist of the deepest dye ? " 
 
 " No," said Paul ; "society is such a hybrid thing 
 that you can talk only nonsense to avoid offending 
 some one. But then isn't this a returning on prin- 
 ciple, Florian i Have I not heard you say many 
 times that you would never marry outside the faith, 
 and hinted that you had already made sacrifices that 
 were very great for a mere boy V^ 
 
 " Love," said Florian, concealing his confusion 
 under a gay exterior, " is universal and levels all 
 distinctions." 
 
 " Or rather, it is irresistible," said Paul, with a 
 laugh. " It can level the lawyer and the common 
 man, not the distinctions. The distinctions remain, 
 the men do not. But really this is a surprise to me." 
 
 Florian could hardly congratulate himself on 
 having a possible rival removed from the field, so 
 very dark seemed his own chances, and he became 
 unpleasantly conscious of one circumstance before 
 Paul left his company. The poet was disappointed 
 in him. Some high standard as to his friend's 
 character Paul had long ago formed in his own mind, 
 and until this moment Florian had acted up to it in 
 word and deed. Now the standard had fallen. He 
 perceived it in his friend's expression, and felt hum- 
 bled, all the more that the departure of this rival, if 
 he were a rival, did not mean his own success. They 
 parted in gloom. Paul went home in deep medita- 
 tion, and its chief point was the sweet face that had 
 
 
 il 
 
132 
 
 SOLITAKV ISLAND. 
 
 r,o long haunted him and was now to disuppeur like 
 a laid ghost. From that day he no longer sought 
 out Ruth, was careful and reserved in lier presence, 
 and talked only on the prosiest of suljjects. When- 
 ever they came to talk of religion, she commended 
 many points of Catholic doctrine. 
 
 " Once," she ventured to say, " I had neai-ly made 
 up my mind to become a Catliolic. lUit in some 
 way or another the design weakened, and iinally it 
 became repugnant even to think of it." 
 
 " You surprise me," said Paul. " It seems to me, 
 Miss Pendleton, that once you brought your intel- 
 ligence to bear on a thing, something certain and 
 good ought to result from it." 
 
 " Thank you," she answered. " Now that I have 
 begun I may as well finish the story. Perhaps I 
 was to blame. I did not belong by conviction to any 
 sect. My dear mother was a Methodist. "When I 
 went to church it was to the Methodists I went. 
 To tell the truth T cared little for them. T fell into 
 a kind of enthusiasm over your church and read, 
 thought, and prayed a little, and when my enthu- 
 siasm cooled I dropped the matter." 
 
 " May I ask," said Paul, " what you believe in 
 
 now 
 
 ?" 
 
 " In everything good," smiling as he shook his 
 head, " You thind that too vague i Well, I lost 
 heart, not for religion, but for any particular shape 
 of it " 
 
 " Except your own," he interrupted. 
 
 " True. And I go to any church that suits the 
 taste of the moment, now, and I am quite content, 
 if my reason is not quite satisfied." 
 
 I'' 
 
OLD HOl'KS. 
 
 133 
 
 " You made a mistake somewhere." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Where ? " She was pleased at 
 his finding fault with her so candidly and earnestly. 
 
 "Why," said Paul dubiously, " that enthusiasm 
 which made you uneasy with yourself and set you 
 hunting for more light, was a special grace from God. 
 If you had used it rightly, you would now be a 
 Catholic, or at least a hearty believer in something. 
 Whereas, you are not umch of anything." 
 
 " That is severe, Mr. Rossiter. I could not take 
 warmly to Methodism, nor to any sect. They 
 seemed too cold, or too silly, or too unreasonable. 
 Your faith seemed too warm, and too — too — foreign, 
 1 suppose that's the word." 
 
 He laughed and changed the subject, but his words 
 were not forgotten. They gave Ruth a sudden and 
 clear insight into her former state of mind, and she 
 saw at once the blunder she had committed in resist- 
 ing the guidance of the Holy Spirit. After her 
 failure to appreciate the claims of one religious 
 belief she had drifted gently away from all, and had 
 acquired a certain distrust of creeds. She l^'id not 
 become a better woman. Her charities were large 
 enough, but the perfe'^'ting of her own nature was 
 almost lost sight of, ard she v.'as in one respect only 
 a small improvem.'nt on a virtuous pagan. Her first 
 impulse wjis to repair the mischief of omission. But 
 how ? She asked Paul the question a week later. 
 
 " I don't know," said he, " you must find a way 
 yourself. Test your belief by practising it, and when 
 y^ . 'ret some clear ideas of religious duty, the rest 
 will be ojisy, no doubt." 
 
 What could be more ])rudent and sensible than 
 
 ^i 
 
 1: 
 
 vi 
 
 \^. 
 
 1' lii 
 
 ;| 
 
 111 
 
 Pi' 
 
184 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 !n 
 
 such a course. She followed it carefully the entire 
 winter, to the intense delight of Barbara, who, not 
 seeing the reason for it, used it as an argument for 
 the Squire and Mr. Carter. When they grumbled 
 at Paul's steady attention to Ruth, she pointed out 
 to them the devotion which Ruth displayed in attend- 
 ing the Methodist church and working for city 
 charities. 
 
 " But Flory won't like it," said the Squire. " He 
 can't marry a howling Methodist " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Pendleton," said Barbara, " he will 
 marry Ruth if she worshipped idols." 
 
 " Aye," said Peter, " if she were the grand Lama 
 itself." 
 
 " Think so ? " murmured the Squire, and he tried 
 to believe it on the ground that the boy had got 
 more sense and judgment from his stay in New York. 
 He did not like Ruth's sudden turn to religion. 
 
 " There's something wrong," he said to Florian. 
 " She always hated the Methodists. "What is she so 
 gone on them for now, I'd like to know. You re- 
 member, Flory, the last time she kicked on you ? It 
 was just after one of these religious spells. And if 
 she doesn't wind up by doing the same thing now, 
 then I'm not the man who got left with Mackenzie 
 on the north side of the St. Lawrence." 
 
 Florian quieted him for the time with the assur- 
 ance that Ruth would not remain long with her pres- 
 ent associations. He was quite right. Ruth soon 
 tired of her attempts to fall in love with Methodism, 
 but did not lose the desire to find a resting place, 
 and she was bound not to return to the old ways of 
 indifference. Again she asked Paul's advice, one 
 
OLD HOPES. 
 
 136 
 
 bright evening as Barbara and she were returning 
 from devotions at the Cathedral. He gave it briefly. 
 
 " Try something else, Miss Pendleton." 
 
 " There is nothing left but your faith," said she, 
 " and, while I do not care to approach it again, I 
 have made up my mind to follow your advice, and 
 study it once more." 
 
 " In the right spirit," he suggested. 
 
 "In the right spirit. I do not hope to find com- 
 fort there, but constant trying will bring me to a 
 conclusion of some kind." 
 
 " Very true," he said, taking her hand. " I hope 
 you will make this resolution. Miss Pendleton, and 
 follow wherever it will lead you. If you do, I am 
 certain you will find rest and happiness. If you do not 
 you will be a most unhappy woman. Good-night." 
 
 She replied in a low, trembling voice. He had 
 been standing hat in hand, with the moonlight fall- 
 ing upon his remarkable face, and shining in his 
 honest eyes. In that moment Euth loved the poet. 
 She was not conscious of it, only of his goodness, 
 but in iift .»r years she knew that lier heart Avent out 
 to biru la that moment, and was never withdrawn. 
 
 Ijg'itly as Paul received the information of Ruth's 
 rclig io'j.i belief from Florian, it had hurt him deeply. 
 It vvTii ■:.ot the poet's way to make nmch of a hope- 
 less matter, particularly when it bordered on affairs 
 of conscience, and in the present instance he had 
 hastened to remove many old impressions with re- 
 gard to Rutli, and Avas very careful to chase from 
 his dreams the sweet fancies concerning her which 
 i^*ad beguiled and lightened some heavy hours. He 
 had seen at once what sort of a woman Ruth was — 
 
 m 
 
186 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 V 
 
 ; i 
 
 no tritler to pay liido-aiid-seeU with the serious things 
 of life, but a woman full of earnestness — and he 
 could therefore the more easily understand why 
 Florian had not succeeded in making her his wife. 
 Marrying, with her, was a matter of ])rinci])le, not of 
 feeling or of convenience oi* advantage alone. She 
 had deep convictions of the truth and falsity of re- 
 ligions, and of the necessity of one true faith, and 
 hei .latural mental clt ^ ic^.s forbade her imperiling 
 tliese for tho sake of hei < ikings. It was a firm 
 
 soul indeed whicii could re^ the heavy temptations 
 to which she had been subjected, and he admired her 
 the more for it, and prayed sincerely that her good- 
 ness might win for her an entrance into the holy 
 harbor this bide of heaven. She had seemed to be 
 in a state of doubt, and he had said some sharp, 
 earnest woi'ds to her, partly because his deepest in- 
 terest in her was dead and he was not afraid of 
 offending, but more because he had taken her state- 
 ments without due attention to the exaggeration of 
 fancy. He did not believe she was as uncertain 
 about Methodism as she thought. She had read and 
 thought enough, no doubt, to get misty and unsettled 
 in her religious views. But one does not leave old 
 beliefs hastily, particularly so reverent and firm a 
 believer as Ruth, and the very contemplation of a 
 change wouhl be ap^ to make her cling more tightly 
 to old certainties. Women, too, as a rule, are dis- 
 trustful to-day of the strength and truth of emotions 
 which moved them yesterday. Of this Ruth herself 
 was an example, and she was probably now laughing 
 over her own sentiment and his severity during their 
 walk from the cathedral. 
 
 i 
 
■*. 1 
 
 OLD HOPES. 
 
 187 
 
 i 
 
 But in this he was wrong, and at his next visit 
 she said : " I was very much disturbed that evening 
 coming from church, and was half resolved to go 
 away from Kew York at once." 
 
 " But you have thought better of it, I see. The 
 music and the solemn service on a moonlight night 
 give one enthusiastic notions, i am inclined always 
 after them to go away and be a hermit ; but a sound 
 sleep, or, better, an oyster supper on the way home, 
 brings me back to my senses." 
 
 " Oh 1 but it was not the music, Mr. Rossiter. I 
 had thought of many things a long time, until I 
 knew not what to do, and I came to Xew York partly 
 in the hope of forgetting my mental troubles. I was 
 succeeding — ^yes, I think I was succeeding — when 
 your words spoiled all. "Were you enthusiastic that 
 evening, Mr. liossitei*, were you too earnest ? " 
 
 " I have thought so since," he said hesitatingly, 
 " but what I said was in itself true. When persons are 
 in a state of doubt they are bound to get out of it." 
 
 " But doubt is sometimes a temptation." 
 
 " It can b'3 banished by prayer, then, or by re- 
 moving the exciting causes. But as I understood 
 you, your doubt had only increased with time and 
 thinking. There was something more in it than 
 mere temptation. I know that even in that case an 
 honorable doubt can be smothered, for there are 
 many to whom such a grace was given and of thei)- 
 own will they destroyed it. I would not be in their 
 shoes for worlds. 
 
 " But now," added he playfully, and sorry to be so 
 quickly drawn into this subject, " I shall frighten 
 you again by my earnestness." 
 
 Ml 
 ! I 
 
 I 
 
 ! !•; 
 
 iiM 
 
1 
 
 I 
 
 1^1 
 
 )i; J 
 
 
 1 1 
 
 138 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " No, no ; 1 am utterly helpless, Mr. Rossiter, and 
 confused too. Let me tell you just the kind of 
 doubts Avhich trouble me. Your church has received 
 so many Protestants that you must know something 
 of their general state of mind, and perhaps you can 
 help me. Pray do not refuse me," when he had be- 
 gun to decline the honor. " I know what you would 
 say, and it only urges me the more to speak to you. 
 Remember you are partly responsible for my late an- 
 noyances, and, like an honest gentleman, you must 
 help me out of my difficulties." 
 
 She did not give him time to raise any great ob- 
 jections, but i)oure(^ out ho^c story. It was plainly 
 and sensibly done, and he had no fault to find with 
 her. 
 
 " I think," said he, " that you are in a peculiar 
 state. I don't believe any advocate of Methodism 
 could ever convince you of its truth again." 
 
 " Then you would advise me " 
 
 " I would rather not take such a responsibility," 
 he interrupted. " It is easy for you to draw infer- 
 ences from what I have said. I can fancy your 
 father and friends would not be very grateful to me 
 for any advice." 
 
 " They are of very little account to me," she be- 
 gan, and then stopped. " "What does it matter ? " 
 she continued. " And, indeed, I am hasty and un- 
 kind in dragging you into difficulty. I must beg 
 your pardon and thank you for your kindness." 
 
 " I fear you will think me timid," he said, " but in 
 this country we are suspicious of converts. Religious 
 thought is not very deep, and religious feeling not 
 very steady. Women, too, are emotional creatures, 
 
OLD HOPES. 
 
 139 
 
 especially in religion. Some very bad blunders have 
 already been committed. I do not wish to add to 
 them. Let God's grace work its way, and whatever 
 I can do to aid it I shall do, but prudently." 
 
 "You speak wisely," she replied, and then the 
 conversation ended with Barbara's entrance. 
 
 It was the last time they were to meet in years, 
 for Ruth took the resolution that evening to retire 
 for a time into a convent, and in the excitement of 
 departure found no opportunity to call the poet to 
 her side again. And Barbara Merrion was so eager 
 to get rid of her, that she too forgot the propriety 
 of affording him the consolation of a farewell meet- 
 ing. 
 
 m 
 
 f m 
 
 ■ !., S 
 
 i i 
 
 f 
 
 m 
 
P; 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 KEJKCTEl). 
 
 iff ! 
 
 In his luxurious rooms Florian was sitting, ar- 
 rayed in his dressing-gown, his hands clasped idly 
 on his lap, his gaze wandering and frightened ; while 
 before him stood the red, vexed, irritated Squire 
 who had brought in the news of Ruth's intended 
 departure. 
 
 " What's to be done, Flory — what's to be done ? " 
 
 Florian knew there was but one thing to be done, 
 and the utter hopelessness of success made him de- 
 spondent. This was not as he would have had the 
 scenery and properties when he came to declare his 
 love. Pendleton had told him nothing more than 
 that Ruth, disturbed by her old religious doubts, 
 was going away to a convent. There was nothing 
 to account for the train of thought and feeling which 
 had led up to so surprising an event ; if the Squire 
 knew anything he declined to talk about it. 
 
 " I had thought," said Florian helplessly, " of re- 
 newing an old proposal." 
 
 " Had you, my boy — had you ? " cried Pendleton. 
 " Then it's the only thing that will stop this flight 
 — the only living, almighty thing." 
 
 " But it's useless to try it under such circumstan- 
 ces," Florian continued. " She is upset in mind ; she 
 
 has not shown any particular care for me since — 
 
 140 
 
 5> 
 
REJECTED. 
 
 141 
 
 " What, Florv I " said the Squire, " what are you 
 talking of, lad i Not shown any particular care for 
 you ! Why, man, it has been nothing but Florian here 
 and Florian there to her friends, to her acquaint- 
 ances, and to sti'angei's since she came to New York. 
 ' Do you know Florian Wallace?' was her first 
 (juestion, until Mrs. Merrion had to tell her it looked 
 as if you were engaged still." 
 
 Florian's shrew^der sense told him that the Squire's 
 likings had taken the place of his powe.s of obser- 
 vation, but it was verv sweet to know that some 
 people thought Ruth willing to renew the old re- 
 lationship. And she was going away i It might be 
 the last chance of teating her feelings, and if the 
 result were unfavorable no harm would be done. 
 They would be sure to undei'stand each other better. 
 
 A great slice of the romance of Florian's character 
 had been devoured by the capacious jaws of his 
 political ambition. Sensi)>ility and delicacy were 
 less fine, evidently, or he would have seen how very 
 much injury this surrender of old principle ^vould do 
 him, and how hurtful it was to his own sense of honor 
 and religion. Me looked at the position, not as a 
 lo^'er torn with doubts as to the result of his action, 
 but as a man of the world taking his chances, 
 shrugging his shoulders at failure, mildly muttering 
 bravo at success. It was not a thing to be mourned 
 over long, though. 
 
 " If you wouldn't insist on — on the old condition," 
 the Squire began. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Florian. " I have got over 
 that. I'll take her no matter how she comes." 
 
 " O Lord ! " cried the delighted father, " then it 
 
 sn 
 
! 
 
 ■MBII 
 
 142 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ipij i 
 
 11 ' J 
 
 is settled. She'll not go to the convent. Now, my 
 lad, just brush up and get over to Barbery's for 
 lunch, for she's packing up and may be off at any 
 moment." 
 
 Florian felt as he dressed that his position was 
 similar to that of one arraying himself for decapita- 
 tion. But he proceeded calmly and heroically to his 
 doom, and at two o'clock that afternoon was lunch- 
 ing with Barbara and Kuth in the pretty dining- 
 room in Brooklyn. Ruth was pale and worn, but 
 determined. Florian knew that look of old and 
 what it meant, better than her father. He received 
 notice of her departure with an air of well-bred sur- 
 prise. " There is one consolation in it," Barbara 
 said — " it's the end of the season. But then there 
 was so much for Ruth to see which does not belong 
 to fashionable life, and so many people will be dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 " The disappointment of the many troubles Ruth 
 very little," said he, with pointed reference to her 
 indifferent expression. 
 
 " I never thought of them," Ruth answered 
 wearily, " and I'm sure they never once thought of 
 me ; nor do I care." 
 
 " You never did," said Florian, and both ladies 
 felt an iciness in the tone that gave a double mean- 
 ing to the words. When the lunch was ended 
 Barbara left them together. 
 
 " This sudden flight," said Florian, " looks remark- 
 able, but I know you never do anything hastily. Is 
 it a homeward flight ? " 
 
 " No," said Ruth frankly, " it goes heavenward — 
 at least I hope so." 
 
REJECTED. 
 
 143 
 
 <( 
 
 You are always flying in that direction," ho 
 said with quiet sarcasm. 
 
 " Not always, but I am to make a good effort tliis 
 time." And her lips were compressed for an instant. 
 " I am disgusted witli my own doubts and I am 
 going to rid myself of them forever. T am in a 
 search for certainty." 
 
 " I offered it to you once," he said indifferently. 
 
 " And I am sure I did well in refusing it then^ 
 Florian." 
 
 Why did she put such a stress on that last word \ 
 It made his heart bound like a frightened deer, but 
 he was silent until she added : " And don't you 
 think so too ? " 
 
 " Why should I ? If it was for your benefit, I say 
 yes ; but if it has condemned me to a course of 
 
 »» 
 
 suffering that ambition alone could sraother- 
 
 Her amused laugh interrupted him. 
 
 " Then you smothered it with ambition ? " 
 
 " With the aid of hopelessness," he answered 
 bitterly. " Did I not know you well and myself 
 too ? " 
 
 " I must say you did, and I am sorry to think I 
 did not know you better. Through all this winter I 
 was afraid you would propose again." 
 
 " The winter is not over yet, Euth." 
 
 " But I am gone from the world. Florian, I shall 
 never come to New York again. I like home best, 
 and if I come into the world once more it will be to 
 live and die outside of this turmoil and uproar. You 
 cannot applaud that decision ? " 
 
 No, for I had hoped to induce you to remain in 
 long as I would." His face, in spite of his self- 
 
 (( 
 
pi 
 
 Ui 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ';! 
 
 i^! 
 
 I, f' 
 
 control, grev/ for one moiiicnt nshcn pale, and the 
 tone which accompanied these words brought Ruth 
 to her feet flushing with pain. 
 
 " O Florian," she cried, " vou surclv don't mean 
 to " 
 
 " Why not i " he answered severely. " You may 
 have cast aside my love easily enough, but I find it 
 harder to forget. Ruth, I have not ceased to love 
 you since I leftClayburgh, nor have I ceased to hope. 
 You are looking for certainty and rest. You will 
 find them here." And he held out his arms 
 invitingly. 
 
 " If you were not so very sincere," she saitl, and 
 stopped. There was a restrained and awkward 
 silence for a long time, until both came slowly to 
 their cooler selves. 
 
 " Y'ou have honored me, Florian," she said gently ; 
 "but it is an honor I cannot accept. I am still a 
 Protestant " 
 
 " Pray let tiiat pass," he said hastily. " I do not 
 insist on your becoming a Catholic. My love has 
 risen above such distinctions." 
 
 The hand, which she placed on his shoulder fell 
 from it suddenly and, looking up, he saw an expres- 
 sion of surprise and grief on her face and quickly 
 interpreted it. 
 
 " I had always thought that a principle with you," 
 she said slowdv. 
 
 " Principles suffer from the wear of time," he 
 answered, " as well as ourselves, though we are 
 immortal." 
 
 " O Florian ! " She spoke the words in deepest 
 sorrow. " I hope there are very few things to which 
 
REJECTED. 
 
 146 
 
 you cling as poorly. That is one of my principles 
 yet. You accused me a moment ago of forgetting, 
 but that I have not forgotten." 
 
 " It is because I lovo you," he replied sadly ; "and 
 I fear I could forget much more because of you." 
 
 " I am not worthy of it, Florian." 
 
 " O Iluth ! " Her two hands were on her lap and 
 he seized them passionately. " Is there no hope ? 
 Can we never resurrect that sv,'(!et past that lies 
 buried with Linda by the riv^er?" 
 
 " Never," — slie said the words with an elTort — " no 
 more than wo can resurrect Linda," 
 
 lie dropped her hands with a long look of grief 
 and pain ; he realized fully that he was losing her 
 forever, and her last words put his sentonr in its 
 best form so that lie coukl not raisunderstantl it. 
 
 " But you must know why I am going," she said 
 after a pause ; " for you are my best friend, and, 
 although you have hurt me by this scene, T cannot 
 but feel that you have honored me beyond deserving. 
 Do you know that, while I could not join the 
 Catholic Church or leave my own, I always had a 
 doubt as to the truth of Methodism, but it took long 
 to convince me that my position of doubt was sinful. 
 I have found out at last that to remain willingly in 
 that state is sin, and by the grace of God I am going 
 to rid myself of it forever." 
 
 " If you had had that feeling in the old days," 
 said Florian, " what a happy story ours would have 
 
 been 
 
 )> 
 
 " Why did you not give me the feeling ? " she said 
 sharply. " Why did you leave it for Mr. Rossiter 
 todof" 
 
 ID 
 
146 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
 SJ! 
 
 flir 
 
 " It was an oversight," he said in surprise. " But 
 I was not aware that Paul talked religion to you. 
 He is stricter even than I am in such matters." 
 
 " I told him of my former nearness to the Church, 
 and he lectured me one night for not making proper 
 use of the graces I had then received, and filled me 
 with dread of ray present position. It has rankled 
 in my heart since. It has led to my present deter- 
 mination. Ah ! he has the poet's soul." 
 
 " It was a moonlight night ? " questioned Florian. 
 
 " I think so. Yes, I remember now it was. His 
 eyes shone so when he bade me good-night, and he 
 stood looking upward." 
 
 " I thought it," he said quietl}', and she did not 
 notice the sarcasm, for her memory was dwelling 
 on the splendor of the poet's eyes. " And so you are 
 going away to hunt up the blessed certainty of the 
 faith ! Is it not a queer place to settle one's doubt 
 in a hot-bed of Catholicity ? For instance, if I went 
 to the Whigs to learn the strength of some doubts I 
 had concerning Democracy." 
 
 " I am certain of this," said she : " that Method- 
 ism is not Christianity, and I am going to investi- 
 gate Catholicity where it shines brightest, and take 
 that as the standard." 
 
 " "Well, that is wise. When you return to Clayburgh 
 I shall be sure to meet you, for I am going up there 
 some day. I shall wait until you shall return, or 
 mayhap longer if politics offer me inducements." 
 
 " You say that because you think I would say it," 
 she replied. " You will never go to Clayburgh to 
 see anybody, Florian ; you will never see it again, 
 unless on business or when brought there to die. If 
 
7 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 REJECTED. 
 
 147 
 
 you can prophesy of me, why not I of you ? Grrnl- 
 bye. Why did you not bring your poet with you i ' 
 
 " He knows nothing of your departure. You 
 would have gone without a word to him, to whom 
 you should be very grateful." 
 
 " I shall be," she said very tenderly, " always." 
 
 And so they parted. Barbara met him in the hall 
 on his way out, and was surprised and pleased to so j 
 no evidence of strong emotion about him. She had 
 looked for a romantic love storm. 
 
 " Now that we are losing Ruth," said she, " I trust 
 we shall not also lose the pleasure of seeing you fre- 
 quently." 
 
 " That would be a distinction I never could have 
 deserved," said Ruth. "Florian can never forget 
 your kind hospitality." 
 
 " True," said Florian ; " if I could I would be sadly 
 wanting in gratitude." 
 
 " Is it so amicably settled ? " whispered Barbara 
 to him at the door ; and when he nodded, she said, 
 " I am so very glad. "Wo shall not lose you entirely." 
 And Florian departed, puzzled, disappointed, yet 
 pleased by the tender tone of her voice. 
 
 > 1 
 
 i 
 
 It 
 
 \itU 
 

 
 
 1 
 
 ; It' 
 
 ■ill 
 
 [I ': 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 With the flight of Ruth the second act in the comedy 
 ended, and the curtain was rung down on Madame 
 Lynch's boarding-house. Very much lilce a deserted 
 playhouse it looked in the days that followed. 
 Florian was deep in the preparation for a congres- 
 sional campaign with Jiis name at the head of the 
 ticket, so that he was rarelv seen in tlie handsome 
 rooms where hung the yachting picture. Frances, 
 buoyed up by a hope which love only could hold out 
 to her, was touched at times with the green melan- 
 choly, but smiled oftener and was happy at a word 
 or a look from her ideal of manhood. Paul worked 
 away in the attic at plays, essays, and poems, and 
 was troubled because of a sudden coldness which had 
 sprung up between him and Florian. Peter and the 
 Squire alone seemed to retain that boisterous spirit of 
 frolic which had enliv^ened the winter, but for want 
 of encouragement displayed very little of it. Every 
 spirit was dulled, and life seemed to have mcit with 
 so unpleasant a lull that a storm was necessary to 
 rouse the people who floated in it like motes in a 
 sunbeam. 
 
 The summer passed and lengthened into fall. 
 
 Florian's run for Congress set the house in a fei'mcnt. 
 
 It was a great thing to have one of the boarders 
 
 148 
 

 THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 149 
 
 graduating from the front parlor to Congress, and 
 when the election had passed and he was returned 
 by a handsome majority the reception tendered him 
 by Madame Lynch was superb. All the world was 
 there, and in some way it began to be understood 
 that Frances was the lucky woman who would draw 
 the lion of the day in the matrimonial lottery. It 
 was on the evening of this reception that two gentle- 
 men called upon Florian while he was engaged among 
 the guests. It was after eleven, and, unless the mat- 
 ter was urgent, the great man could not be seen till 
 after midnight. 
 
 " "We can go to the hotel," said one gentleman to 
 the other, " and rest until that time. You will please 
 tell Mr. Wallace that a gentleman on important busi- 
 ness will call upon him after the reception. As he is 
 compelled to leave the city early in the morning, he 
 must see him during the course of the night." 
 
 They went away without further trouble, and the 
 servant naturally forgot to mention their visit or 
 message. Coming to his room a little after one, 
 jaded and depressed, deep as was the draught of 
 popularity which he had quaffed, Florian threw him- 
 self on a chair and gave himself up to aimless thought. 
 A pier-glass stood directly in front of him, and he 
 had a full and fair view of the new Congressman — 
 the petted idol of society, the present form of the seri- 
 ous yet light-hearted boy wlio fished, swam, and 
 loved not many years back on the St. Lawrence. It 
 was a delightful but not a satisfactory feeUng which 
 his new honors gave him. There was no fullness 
 about the heart, no complete lull of that bitter crav- 
 ing of ambition which had vexed him bo long. He 
 
 < 'I 
 
 iM 
 
150 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 1 1 
 
 him 
 
 
 could hardly realize that this elegant gentleman with 
 brown, parted beard, and pale serious face was really 
 he who had loved Ruth Pendleton. 
 
 The mirror which reflected his form seemed to 
 center all its light on him. The background was 
 very dark, and yet while he was looking a shadowy 
 face seemed to grow out of the darkness and come 
 nearer to him. He watched and studied it as a curi- 
 ous phantom of the brain, until a cough reached 
 his ears and notified him that a person had really 
 entered the room. The first look at the stranger led 
 Florian to believe that he was dreaming, for the man 
 who stood gravely there, as if waiting to bo wel- 
 comed, was the living image of Scott, the hermit of 
 the Thousand Islands, when last he had seen him at 
 Linda's grave: cap worn in helmet-fashion, blue 
 shirt and high boots, and the red beard with the 
 sharp blue eyes shining above. He made no move- 
 ment and uttered no word, but stood looking at 
 Florian until a chill crept down the Congressman's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Scott, is this you ? " he said, holding out his 
 hand. " You look like an apparition." 
 
 " And so I am," said Scott, taking the proffered 
 hand for a moment—" a ghost of the past. Could I 
 be more out of place than in this grand house ? " 
 
 " You don't look so," said Florian, who felt that 
 the hermit's simplicity would not be amiss in the 
 homes of kings, and ho held tightly to his hand 
 and shook and pressed it as if he never would let 
 
 " This is the hand Linda held," he said in excuse 
 for his rudeness. " You have overthrown me quite. 
 
 i» 
 
 I 
 
THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 151 
 
 I am glad, but I can't feel as if anything new had 
 happened, you came so suddenly." 
 
 The hermit went around examining the room in 
 his simple way, stopped at the picture of Linda for 
 a moment, for r longer time at the picture of Ruth. 
 
 " This should not be here," he said, " if I know 
 what's what in this city." 
 
 " True," said Florian : " but it's hard to do right 
 always." 
 
 " Kot for you," said the hermit, and suspicious 
 Florian felt a harshness in the tone. " Not for one 
 who in the main acts squarely is it hard. Do you 
 think so ? " 
 
 " Some things are so much harder than others," 
 was the reply, very slowly and smilingly given. 
 " But this is a cold greeting, Scott. I feel the honor 
 you have done me. It is something unusual for you 
 to do, and I am troubled to show you how it im- 
 presses me." 
 
 " No anxiety on my account," said Scott, coming 
 to take a seat in front of him, with his eyes still 
 studying the beauty of the room. " I must be off 
 before daylight. And so you're a Congressman ? " 
 
 " High up, isn't it ? " said Florian, blushing like a 
 school boy. " I am pretty close to g;eat things, too 
 close to make much fuss if I should get them. And 
 you remember what you said to me about political 
 life — that it would be my damnation, perhaps. Ah ! 
 how many a greater man must live to eat his own 
 prophecy." 
 
 " I have not eaten mine yet," said Scott, " and 
 perhaps I hold a leetle mite stronger to that opinion. 
 Being a Congressman at thirty-one isn't so great a 
 
 !^i 
 
 
162 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 show. It's ordinary in these days, and it's not an 
 evidence of piety either ; do you think so ? " 
 
 " Well, no," and . he laughed. " But then I have 
 not lost tlie faith. I am the same old Florian, fond 
 of speculating, of fishing, of old friends, and of Scott 
 the hermit, in particular, I am a boy yet, and I re- 
 semble St. Paul inasmuch as I have kept the faith. 
 My course is yet to be finished." 
 
 " No doubt you will be able to say that too, some 
 time," said Scott, and Florian thought his seriousness 
 was intended to mask his sarcasm. 
 
 " No doubt, Scott. And you hint that I shall be 
 able to say no more. Pshaw ! I went to confession 
 and Communion last — last spring, and I never miss 
 Mass. I have no taint of liberalism. I object to 
 papal infallibility, and that is not yet defined. 
 
 " And do you object to mixed marriages ? " 
 
 A burning flush spread over Florian's face. 
 
 " "Well, I am firm as to the theory if not as to the 
 practice. But I was not aware that many knew of 
 this, indeed." 
 
 " Squire Pen'l'ton knew it.'' 
 
 ""Which means that the whole world is in the 
 secret." 
 
 " It was a big fall from Clayburgh notions," Scott 
 said, with his sharp eyes piercing his very soul. 
 
 " I was only a boy then and had no experience." 
 
 " If you were mine I would be prouder of the boy's 
 actions than of the man's. It was a fair and square 
 move to keep clear of Protestant wives for the sake 
 of the little ones. I don't think you improved on 
 it." 
 
 "Perhaps not j but the world, I find, thinks little 
 
 i 
 
THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 158 
 
 of these things. I shall always regret my Clay burgh 
 obstinacy on that point." He looked up sadly to 
 the picture hanging over the bookcase, and his firm 
 lips trembled. He had lost it forever, and no one 
 to blamo but himself. 
 
 " I shall always regret it, Scott — always.'' 
 
 " I've no doubt," the hermit said shortly ; " an' 
 you'll lose more time than that before you wind up," 
 
 " See, friend," said Florian, turning with playful 
 sharpness upon him, " I have an idea you came here 
 simply to haul me over the coals. If so, proceed 
 to the coals. I'm more honored than before, for 
 a man must think much of another to travel so far 
 for his sake alone." 
 
 The hermit drew a bit of newspaper from his 
 pocket, and, after smoothing out its wrinkles and 
 creases, handed it to him. " P^re Rougevin gave me 
 that," he said ; " it is an extract from one of your 
 stump speeches. I think he doubted it, but I'd like 
 to hear your opinion on the thing. It's something 
 new." 
 
 Florian read as follows : " Education belongs 
 properly to the state, and any attempt to rival its 
 systems cannot fail to be hurtful to all. After some 
 experience in the matter I am convinced that our 
 public school system is as fair an attempt at govern- 
 mental education as can be attained at present. All 
 other systems should be frowned upon. Religion 
 must attend to its churches and its catechism, and 
 let general education alone." 
 
 " It is mine," said Florian frigidly and briefly. 
 
 Without a word the hermit dropped it into the 
 wastebasket, and, arising, he began aimlessly to read 
 
 
 1 w + 
 
 
 
 III 
 
M ■?< 
 
 
 r ' 
 
 
 ilsH 
 
 l:i 
 
 i h 
 
 .ill 
 
 154 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 the titles of the Avorks in the library. Decidedly 
 Florian was not feeling as pleasant over this visit 
 as he expected, and the hermit's allusion to mixed 
 marria/^es and the producing of the extract cut him 
 deeply. "What was the next crime ? he wondered. 
 
 " Them titles and names," said Scott, " don't sound 
 well. Voltaire, Strauss, Heine, Goethe, Hobbes, 
 Hume. If I'm not wrong, them's the people have 
 done as much harm to the world as men could do." 
 
 Florian laughed at his pronunciation of the names 
 for Goethe was called Goathe, and Voltaire Voltary. 
 
 "I bought them out of curiosity," Florian ex- 
 plained. " People talked of them and their authors 
 until I felt ashamed of knowing nothing more about 
 them than what I had read. They did not impress 
 me much, I can tell you." 
 
 " No, I s'pose not. They usually don't, such 
 books." He was turning over periodical literature, 
 and, recognizing among them some of the worst 
 sheets of the day, pointed to them as one would to 
 a rotten carcass, saying, " I've heard the P6re give 
 his opinion of them things." 
 
 "And it was not a favorable one, I feel sure. 
 "Well, a politician must see and read things in order 
 to keep abreast of the times. They leave no impres- 
 sion on me, save regret for the folly and the crime 
 which produced them." 
 
 " The whole place," said Scott, " has a literary 
 atmosphere. I should think you'd want to keep it 
 pure. You were brought up to pure air, pure think- 
 ing, pure doing. But this," with a comprehensive 
 gesture around, "don't look anything like your 
 bringing up." 
 
THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 155 
 
 Florian was gnawing his lip with vexation by this 
 time, for the hermit ignored his arguments, his 
 attacks and defense and apology entirely, and spoke 
 as if in a soliloquy. 
 
 " Bringing up was a little roughly done in Clay- 
 burgh," said he carelessly, " and a little narrow- 
 minded. If I had remained there I would have 
 gone on ignorant of the world and its gi-eat though 
 erring minds. It does not injure a man to know of 
 his great brethren, even if they be fallen." 
 
 " Has it done you any good ? " asked the hermit, 
 fixing once more upon him the gentle eyes. " You 
 say you read 'em because you wanted to talk about 
 'em with people who had them on their lips always. 
 Well, you've done your talkin' and your end is 
 reached. Whar's the good ? " 
 
 " I have learnt something from their errors and 
 from their story, like the sailor who passes the scene 
 of a comrade's shipwreck. You will never find me 
 advocating Eousseau's civil-government ideas or be- 
 lieving in — but I beg you pardon ; I had forgotten 
 that you were unacquainted with these things. Dry 
 enough, aren't they, even when compared with dry 
 politics ! But here, my dear friend, this is not what 
 you came for from Clay burgh. You have some news 
 for me, have you not ? How's the fishing in Eel Bay ? 
 And how do people comport themselves in the staid 
 old town ? " 
 
 "I don't know much about 'em, but I believe 
 they're well. Your sister's eldest child died, you 
 know " — he did not, but thought it best to say noth- 
 ing — " and your father, as yon heard, had a narrow 
 escape with rheumatism of the heart." 
 
 J 
 
 •'lit 
 
166 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 He had not heard that either, and was ashamed 
 to think that letters from liome had been lying un- 
 opened and forgotten for weeks on his table. 
 
 " They was kind of expectin' you'd show up there 
 soon. They don't know vour vocation is so well set- 
 tied, and they thought your likin's was stronger." 
 
 "Business with a young man," said Florian, " is 
 usually too pressing to admit of much recreation." 
 
 " I s'pose." The t(me of these two words was 
 delightful, and, although they stung him, Florian 
 was compelled to laugh. 
 
 " "When you return, Scott, you can tell them how 
 well 1 am looking and how neatly my new office fits 
 me. Kext year I shall try to deliver an oration at 
 their Fourth of July turn out. And to this you can 
 add your own opinions of me." 
 
 " I would not like to," said Scott, shaking his head ; 
 "■ it wouldn't ])lease your friends to know you are 
 as you are. You've changed, boy, for the worse. 
 The man that reads such books and thinks as you 
 think — he's on the wrong road. I hope for Linda's 
 sake you won't reach its end. That little grave ought 
 to be a reproach to you. I have a paper that you 
 writ before you left, and I brought it down, thinkin' 
 perhaps you might care to read it." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Florian roughly ; " let the 
 buried past stay in its grave." 
 
 The hermit sitjhed secretly, and before either could 
 speak again a knock came to the door, and Pdre 
 Rougevin entered and shook hands with Florian 
 warmly. 
 
 " Glad to see you in your new honors, Flory," 
 with the gentle, upward wave of the hand that the 
 
THE INQUISITORS. 
 
 1.: 
 
 J( 
 
 young man knew so well : " liope they will wear and 
 stand a public washing. Scott here is quite sober- 
 looking. You've been recalling old reminiscences. 
 What a fine library 1 Standard works, too ! Um, 
 um ! Yoltaire — oh 1 Goethe — ah 1 Rousseau — there's 
 the politician ! Your reading is comprehensive, 
 Flory, shining, like the sun, on the good and bad 
 indifferently ! There's the mind of your true modem 
 statesman." 
 
 " See the difference between the two men," said 
 Florian smiling, yet quite aware of the Pore's biting 
 sarcasm. " Here this vicious hermit has been revil- 
 ing me for reading these things." 
 
 "Well, Scott has old-fashioned views," said the 
 P^re. "He hardly understands the vigor of the 
 faith in our rising Catholic generation — how easily 
 these assaults of Satan are beaten back by their 
 vigorous arms, and how quickly these snows of in- 
 fidelity melt from them, like water off a duck's back, 
 as the old lady said. But no one can persuade him. 
 He is morbid and melancholy. He would have us 
 all hermits." 
 
 Scott rose and prepared to go. 
 
 " I am sorry for you," he said, with a look at 
 Florian, more direct and earnest than he usually 
 gave to any one. " Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-by," said Florian, but they did not shake 
 hands. The Pere was standing with his eyes on 
 Ruth's picture. 
 
 " That should not be there," he said, as he offered 
 his hand for the parting salute ; " but the old love 
 seems to die hard." 
 
 " Shall I see you in Washington this winter ? " 
 
168 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 i- i 
 
 iil 
 
 m ■ 
 
 said Florian, ignoring these remarks. " You are 
 always talking of a visit there ; surely you will make 
 it now." 
 
 ** It is likely, thank you, unless" — and he looked 
 at him shyly — " you begin to make speeches on edu- 
 cation." 
 
 He was gone the next instant, and the Congress- 
 man, weary and irritated, returned to his medita- 
 tions in disgust. Tlieso two men were slowly fading 
 out of his life, and it was hard to endure in silence 
 their rustic sarcasms. Even if their charges were 
 true, what use in making them ? He would not go 
 back to the rusticity of Clayburgh. 
 
 The mention of Linda's grave had stirred him and 
 it brought back her dying words and the sweet love 
 she had for him. ''- 1 wonder," he thought, curiously 
 as he fell asleep— he would once have spurned the 
 thought with indignation — " if I could ever forget 
 that last scene and those last words. O Linda ! I 
 pray with all my heart that we may meet again." 
 
 I i 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 The clouds had been gathering over the city of 
 "Washington during a warm December afternoon, 
 and after sunset the rain began to fall, lightly at 
 first in a troublesome drizzle, and later in a heavy 
 downpour. The municipal almanac had announced 
 a full moon, and although the threatening of the 
 heavens was plain enough for six hours before dark- 
 ness, the officials preferred to stand by the almanac 
 and leave pedestrians and thieves to stumble and 
 grow profane in the Egyptian darkness. A private 
 dwelling on one street had the lamp lighted before 
 its own doors, and under this lami) at the same mo- 
 ment two dripping gentlemen stopped for the purpose 
 of lighting cigars. The Hon. Florian Wallace 
 shivered slightly at the first impression of the 
 stranger's face, it was so white, so dull, so cruel ; the 
 flickering light of the lamp, and the red glow of the 
 match gave it a very sinister expression besides. 
 The stranger looked at him slyly but strangely for 
 a long time, as if studying a long forgotten scene 
 and trying to place it in his memory. 
 
 In fact, Florian grew nervous while they stood in 
 
 that central spot of light, and the inquisitive glances 
 
 of the stranger pained him. With a hasty remark 
 
 159 
 
■m 
 
 160 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 about the weather, he plunged into the darkness. 
 He had walked the streets on such nights many a 
 time, had met with people more disgusting than the 
 stranger, had faced dangerous characters even, and 
 had never feared as he had to-night. It miglit have 
 been the strain of the day's labor. He was ready to 
 laugh at himself when he had reached his hotel. In 
 its warmth and brightness he felt ashamed oi his 
 feelings. It was awkward that in the loneliness of 
 his room the face should return to his mind like the 
 memory of a portrait, shaping its thin lips, sharp eyes, 
 yellow beard, and coldness against a darkness of 
 wind and rain. The rush of business next day pre- 
 vented him from dwelliiig on it often, and until he 
 came to speak on some bill in the house he did not 
 once recall it. He was in the middle of a speech, 
 when he stopped, stammered through a sentence, 
 hesitated, and then, with aneifort, resumed his speech 
 and finished. The cause of the interruption was a 
 glimpse he had gotten of the stranger in the gallery 
 surveying him with an opera glass. 
 
 However, he ceased to be troublesome within 
 a day or two, and when Mrs. Merrion arrived in 
 town and sent him notice of her firs ball the 
 stranger had almost faded from his memory. The 
 ball was a brilliant affair. Uniforms of embassies 
 were sprinkled plentifully through the throng, 
 and Mrs. Merrion gazed upon them in ecstatic 
 delight. 
 
 " If there is anything I do like," said she, with a 
 giggle to Florian, " it is the army, navy, and em- 
 bassy uniforms. They give 8\ich an air to a room ! 
 By the way," she added, " I wish you to make the 
 
 n. 
 
MYSTERY. 
 
 161 
 
 acquaintance of one of the nicest young men here 
 to-night." 
 
 They proceeded to the music-room and heard a 
 tenor voice rolling off some foreign syllables. 
 
 " That is he," said Barbara ; " he is a Russian, a 
 count, and holds first rank at the embassy. He is 
 handsome, witty, good-humored, talented, and his 
 voice speaks for itself." 
 
 "When they entered the room the Russian count 
 was leaving the piano. 
 
 " Count Vladimir Behrenski — the Honorable Flor- 
 ian Wallace." 
 
 The gentleman bowed low, offered his hand, and 
 warmly pressed Florian's. 
 
 " Now you are already friends," said Barbara, 
 leaving th^m, " and you shall be rivals in my good 
 graces." 
 
 " They are so many," said the Count. " Mr. 
 Wallace, I have been desiring to know you this long 
 time, since it came to me that I saw in you a 
 wonderful resemblance to a noble Russian family — 
 a family of royal connections, in truth. The like- 
 ness is very clear and very exact." 
 
 " You surprise me," said Florian. " It would 
 interest the noble family, I'm sure, to know an 
 American citizen honored them by personal resem- 
 blance." 
 
 " Your resemblance is so very close and exact to 
 the Prince Louis of Cracow," the Count said medi- 
 tatively. " If there were Russians here acquainted 
 would ta 
 
 with him they 
 bis hair is light. 
 
 y 
 
 55 
 
 l( 
 
 I may be an offshoot, Count. My mother came 
 
 II 
 
162 
 
 SOLITAHV ISLAND. 
 
 
 ?if: 
 
 
 ; I' < ■ 
 
 i 
 
 if M'P 
 
 i 
 
 from Ireland, and no doubt Russians emigrated 
 thither some time. We are descended from princes, 
 I know." 
 
 " Yes, the Irish ai'e a princely race, more so than 
 others Em'opeans — the island being small, I think, 
 and the word prince having a wide a})piication. 
 You were born in this countrv, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, and nursed and educated into "i'ankee 
 notions." 
 
 " They ai'e \iiYy elastic, these Yankee notions," 
 said the Count. " AYould you call the ])retty hostess, 
 Mrs. Mcrri(jn, a Yankee notion I " 
 
 " The term is hardly used that way," Florian an- 
 swered. " J}ut you seem to think Mrs. Merrion of an 
 elastic disposition." 
 
 " She is a line woman, delightful ; but it is hard to 
 understand her. AV^e know two classes of women in 
 Europe — the very good, and the very bad. It is easy 
 to tell at once the class. Xot so with your Ameri- 
 can ladies. Your code of numners is elastic. It is a 
 Yankee notion."' 
 
 " I'urely,"" said Florian, uneas}' at the drift of the 
 Count's remarks. " It Avould hardly suit the Russian 
 clhnate." 
 
 The Count shook his head and laughed at the idea. 
 
 " Vet it is very amusing at lirst. There is a fine 
 uncertainty about it, and it sharpens the faculties 
 wonderfully. They tell me you are one of the rising 
 men, ^Er. AVallaceT' 
 
 " Gradually rising," laughed Florian. " I have the 
 AVhite House in view." 
 
 " Four years of powei* — just a mouthful. Bah ! 
 And you strive for years like giants to get the place. 
 
MYSTERY. 
 
 163 
 
 I had rather be a count over a little village than such 
 a man. If you were offered a princeship to-morrow 
 and the presidency at the same moment, which to 
 you would be the nearest to choose ? "' 
 
 " That which is perpetual," said Florian gravely, 
 " of course. But we never have perpetual power in 
 this country." 
 
 " I know. I referred to other countries. Suppose 
 you were heir to some distant nol)le family of Ire- 
 land?" 
 
 " An earldom would satisfy me," said Florian. 
 
 He stopped, his face whitened, and his jaw fell. 
 At the window near which they stood appeared the 
 cold outlines of the haunting face, its cruelty outlin- 
 ing itself so sharply and sudd,.nly on the pane as to 
 overwhelm him with terror. lie recovered himself 
 speedily, but did not finish the sentence. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said the Count, with much 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Oh ! a weakness of mine," said Florian. " You 
 will excuse me for a time, until I have recovered 
 myself." 
 
 The Count bowed, and Florian went silently out 
 into the garden and strode along the walk, hot from 
 anger. It was plain the face w\is haunting him, and 
 for a purpose. He could not explain it, but he was 
 determined to put an end to it, a determination 
 which came to nothing for he never saw the face of 
 the stranger again. Clayburgh did, however, and 
 had a quietly exciting time over it. One late train 
 from New York made the railway station a })leasant 
 place each evening for the public personages of the 
 village. Squire Pendleton and Mr. \7allace, whom 
 
 ' Is 
 
 iii 
 
t ii 
 
 ! ! I 
 
 i :•! 
 
 164 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 his neighbors knew and respected as Billy, were 
 prominent at these receptions. Visitors found the 
 welcoming stare of the villagers rather trying, and 
 often slipped away under cover of the darkness from 
 the rear platform of the last car. On a certain night 
 in April the only passenger on the train played this 
 disgusting trick on the reception committee, which 
 went home in a profane mood, leaving Billy "Wallace 
 to watch for him a half hour, and to report progress 
 the next evening. 
 
 Biliy began to parade the platform in deep medi- 
 tation. The lamp with its strong reflection was shin- 
 ing at the door, and he passed and repassed the line 
 of light, stopping at times to blink at the curious 
 scientific phenomenon of a thing you could not look 
 at steadily. Out on the vater a few patches of twi- 
 light were still burning like expiring lamps, and a 
 few forms walked and talked in the gathering dark- 
 ness, while trainmen and officials rolled in the freight 
 and hurled bad language at the bad boys. It was 
 after a few turns up and down the platform that 
 Billy became aware of a gentleman's presence a few 
 feet distant, whose outline impressed him with a 
 sense of strangeness. His face could not be seen, 
 and he was idly leaning against the building. With 
 customary boldness Billy walked up to him, bade 
 him good evening, made remarks on the weather, 
 asked if he was a stranger in town, how long he was 
 going to stay, and could he be of any use to him ; 
 to some of which the stranger did not reply, and at 
 the rest merely grunted — grunted so impolitely that 
 only personal considerations prevented Billy from 
 knocking him down. He resumed his walking, 
 
MYSTERY. 
 
 165 
 
 noticed that the gentleman was observing him 
 closely, turned abruptly, and went home. He was 
 half-way up the street when it occurred to him that 
 this might be the traveler who had eluded them by 
 stepping off at the rear end of the train ; as he had 
 walked up the hill in the heat of indignation, so he 
 rushed back again in the heat of curiosity, and came 
 upon the stranger standing unconcernedly under a 
 lamp-post, looking around him. lie turned his gaze 
 ( 'x Billy. It may have been the unexpectedness of 
 mt, )ting him that puzzled the old gentleman's facul- 
 ties, for he stopped in confusion, gasped out " The 
 divil!" faintly, and fled with the idea that the 
 stranger was in pursuit. 
 
 Mrs. Winifred, sitting calmly in the back parlor 
 sewing, and weaving in a tear with an occasional 
 stitch as she tliought of the (^ay voices that made the 
 night pleasant 3''eai^ ago, heard the door open and 
 shut violently, and saw Billy, as in a vision, appear 
 and throw himself in a chair exhausted, with the 
 sweat on his brow and Jiis face wrinkleless from 
 terror. Nothing alarming in his appearance ever 
 provoked alarm in ^[rs. Winifred, and she continued 
 her sewing without comment or question. 
 
 Behind her, but some distance to her left, was a 
 window looking out into the garden, and opposite 
 to the Avindowhunga mirror so placed that, without 
 seeing herself in it, Mrs. Winifred could see the 
 window, whose curtain was only half down. In one 
 casual glance at the mirror she saw outlined against 
 the darkness behind the window a white, peculiar 
 face. She dro})})ed her eyes immediately on her 
 work, in fear that her senses were misleading her ; 
 
sw 
 
 in 
 
 
 'I i 
 
 I'l:; I 
 
 II 
 
 '^ M 
 
 i ' 
 
 j ■: 
 
 i 
 
 166 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 and when slie was certain of tlie place, the hour, the 
 work in her liancls, and the very stitclies, she looked 
 again. There was the face still, ugly, pale, and cruel 
 — the very face that had so disturbed Florian dur- 
 ing the winter in Washington. She could see noth- 
 ing else. A feeling of horror i)eg;in to creep over 
 her, a nervous dread that the tei-rible sight would 
 direct its glances to her ; but she was so fascinated, 
 and terrified, and doubtful of herself, that she did not 
 venture to move, only sat there staring and fearing 
 and waiting like a criminal until it disappeared. 
 
 It became known the next day that a foreign 
 gentleman was stopping at the Fisherman's Retreat ; 
 and this was the first piece of information which was 
 hurled at Billy when he made his appearance next 
 morning to institute inqa . ■ js as to the stranger with 
 the mysterious countenan e. lie could speak but 
 very little English, seemed .0 be a sort of Dutchman, 
 and impressed tlie people very favorably. He made 
 himself acquainted, by sight at least, with all the 
 villagers, and was more talked about than if he were 
 the president. One day he would s])end his time 
 wandering about the docks, watching the boats or 
 the stormy waves ; another he would be seen in this 
 or that quarter staring, simj)ly staring. 
 
 Pore Ttougevin, reading his weekly FrecniantiiiQT 
 dinner, was moved to look out of the window by a 
 passing shadow, and saw the stranger's face the very 
 first moment, thinking it very disagreeable. The 
 stranger was looking at the church — a plain, homely 
 affair not worth inspection — but it pleased him so 
 much that he came in to ask by signs for permission 
 to enter. The P(^re spoke to him in French, German 
 
MYSTEUV. 
 
 107 
 
 and English, but he shook his head, mutterinu- very 
 raw syihibles. 
 
 "You are a Russian,'' said the priest; juid the 
 man made a dul)ious gesture Avhicli was translated 
 as an affirmative by the light that si)rcad into his 
 Swolid, unpleasant face. The priest Avent out Avith 
 him, and he looked over the cliurch solemnly, ex- 
 amining some parts curiously, and with a bow witli- 
 drew when he was satislied, with m:my signs of 
 gratitude. 
 
 " I think we had better look to our valuables 
 while he is in town," said the priest to his servant ; 
 " he would not hesitate to murder us, I fear, for it 
 is seldom one sees so uglv a countenance." 
 
 Coming down the road one fair morning in time 
 to meet the train, Squire Pendleton's ponderous 
 glances rested sorrowfully on the marble shaft which 
 bore Linda's name, and then brightened a little at 
 sight of a stranger examining the monument and the 
 grave. Who could this be? The Squire had heard 
 of the new-comer and the mvsterv that surrounded 
 him, and this he felt to be the man. lie came down 
 the road as the Squire i)assed, and gave that gentle- 
 man an opportunity to put on his most awe-inspiring, 
 Mackenzie's rebellion look, and to roll forth a sonor- 
 ous good-morning, to which no answer was given, 
 nor did the great personage seem to inspire the 
 stranger with any respect. 
 
 "I said good-morning, sir," he repeated Avith re- 
 strained force ; and the stranger, beginning to com- 
 prehend the drift of his remarks, boAved and smiled 
 but said nothing. 
 
 " Foreigner, I suppose," thought the Squire, with 
 
«RI 
 
 168 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 1 '^! 
 
 1 
 
 f 
 
 ^fll 
 
 HI t 
 
 fir; :i 
 
 iJ 1 
 
 id 
 
 
 i ;l S 
 
 ^p: 
 
 i 
 
 contempt. " Lucky for you that you recognized 
 my greeting, or it would have been all the worse 
 for us two. I saw you surveying that pretty monu- 
 ment on the hill," continued he. " Nice stone, 
 beats Italian marble all to smash ; wears well for the 
 climate. After next election we don't import any 
 more stone — oh ! no. Cut and carved by home talent. 
 In a century or so we shall discount your sculptors 
 fifty per cent. AYe've got the money and the brains, 
 but we need time — time." 
 
 This was what the Squire called tall talk, and was 
 bestowed only on foreigners who looked like sneer- 
 ers at republicanism. But the stranger grunted 
 something like " pshaw " in answer to the tall talk. 
 
 " Sir," said the Squire most villainously, " do I 
 understand you to say ' pshaw ' to my remarks ? " 
 
 The gentleman bowed and smiled in so doubtful 
 a way that Pendleton knew not how to take it, but 
 concluded that his intentions were not insulting. At 
 this interesting crisis the whistle of the approach- 
 ing train brought Pendleton to his senses, and he fled 
 for the depot with all speed, more eager to be at his 
 post than to quarrel with a mere foreigner. Interest 
 in the supposed Kussian became so deep as to reach 
 the hermit of Solitary Island. Squire Pendleton 
 caught Scott on the dock one day, on the point of 
 returning to his solitude. The usual group of loi- 
 terers was close by, among them the stranger and 
 the priest. 
 
 ""We have a curiosity here," the Squire said to 
 Scott, " a real Kussian that has done more in one 
 week to upset this town than any other man could do 
 in a year. I won't say why, for I'm anxious to see if 
 
MYSTERY. 
 
 169 
 
 he strikes you as he strikes most people. He's a 
 Kussian, didn't you say, Pere Tiougevin ? " 
 
 " I supposed so," said the Pere, " from his looks 
 and his language." 
 
 " He's pretty far out of his way, then," the her- 
 mit said, pulling down his cap in readiness to start. 
 
 " Wait and have a look at him," said the Squire ; 
 " here he is." 
 
 The stranger appeared at this moment and stood, 
 in profile to the group, unconscious that the hermit's 
 sharp eyes were upon him. Pendleton watched for 
 the changes he expected to see in Scott's face, but 
 he was disappointed. 
 
 " Hard-lookin' sinner," Scott said, as he swung 
 the canoe around and paddled off. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A BARBECUE. 
 
 8!! 
 ■ i 
 
 t - 
 
 All the letters wliicli rear^hed Florian from his 
 native town during tlio summer nearly brought him 
 to despair by their tei'rilic descriptions of the mys- 
 terious stranger. One day there arrived a note, 
 posted in a place unknown, warning him to be on 
 his guard against the man, for he meant him evil. 
 It was plain that this individual was making himself 
 familiar with Florian's affairs. A man does not 
 meddle without an object. Florian felt himself in 
 possible danger. His first impulse was to put the 
 matter in a detective's hands, but after rellLction he 
 decided to take another course. Recalling that he 
 had once seen Count Vladimir and the stranger in 
 conversation, it occurred to him that he had opened 
 himself to the Count with unnecessary frankness, 
 and had told him enough about his t)ast life to make 
 the work of a si)y trivial and successful. Vladimir 
 and he had become very good friends, and the young 
 nobleman had come to Xew York for the sole pur- 
 ])ose of seeing political life under the guidance of 
 his distinguished friend. It was not difficult to 
 acquire an affection for the young fellow, and 
 Florian deeply admired him. He was handsome, 
 open-hearted, and engaging, and sinned with such 
 
 thoughtlessness and relish that the grave Congress- 
 
 170 
 
 P 
 m 
 
 m 
 
A BAltlJKCUE. 
 
 171 
 
 man often wished his own disposition liad as little 
 malice. In the presence of so attractive a scamp his 
 own correct notions looked a little odd and silly, 
 and he occasionally dro[)ped a few of them in order 
 to seem of a similar nature to this butterfi}-. How- 
 ever, to be thoroughly deceived hy this boy, to have 
 all his life drawn from him that it might furnish 
 matter for a spy's recreation, was gaUiugl He did 
 not allow it to disturb him, however, and when he 
 visited the Count showed no feeling in mentioning 
 the incident of the mysterious stranger. 
 
 " My dear Count,'' said he, " I have no objection 
 whatever to an inquiry into my past life, but if lam 
 to furnish the material I have a right to know the 
 object. What possible interest can you have in fer- 
 reting out an open record ? My life f i-om birth has 
 not been remarkable and has no mystei'ies. I could 
 have saved you some troul)le if you liad come tome 
 in the beginning and stated the matter candidly." 
 
 The Count had just risen from sleep and looked 
 pale and heavy. " The work I had to do," said he, 
 " required secrecy for two reasons : that it might be 
 more deftly done, and might awaken no unreason 
 able hopes in the bosoms of American citizens whose 
 birthrigiit of freedom they would not exchange for 
 an earldom." 
 
 " That," said Florian, " is tolerated on the Fourth 
 of July only.'' 
 
 " "Well, be it known, my friend, that T am commis- 
 sioned by the Prince Louis of Cracow, father of 
 that Prince Louis to whom you bear so remarkable 
 a resemblance, to search f(jr two or more of his rel- 
 atives who came to this country just thirty years ago. 
 
172 
 
 SOLITAUY ISLAND. 
 
 
 I 
 
 ,;if 
 
 I 
 
 5 t^ 
 
 It is whispered that the good prince, wliose char- 
 acter is not of the best, was under the necessity of 
 doing some dirty work years ago that he might get 
 into his present lordly position. He trumped up a 
 charge against a young and nobh; relative ; said 
 relative lied with two children to this countrv; the 
 prince entered upon his relative's possessions, and 
 the story ended. Now, in his old age. Prince 
 Louis fears for his wealth and standing. He be- 
 gins to look for a Nemesis. To escape it he com- 
 missions me to iind the exiled prince or his children, 
 and settle with them for a respectable sum to 
 remain here and leave him in the enjoyment of 
 his estates. Ho gave me some portraits to help 
 the search. You so closely resembled one of them 
 that 1 took you for a possible heir and began to in- 
 quire into your antecedents. I shall now show you 
 the portraits. First, do you hold me absolved from 
 any crime against your fame and honor ? " 
 
 " By all means," said Florian. " You have pro- 
 ceeded admirably, but you are on a wrong scent, 
 my friend, though I must say I regret it." 
 
 " And why, if I may ask ? " 
 
 " I would like to barter for the mess of pottage 
 with Prince Louis ; money is more to me now than 
 a princeship or a kingship." 
 
 " Money, money, money ! It is the one cry that 
 makes itself distinctly heard amid the jargon I have 
 endured since I came to this country," 
 
 "The portraits, the portraits," said Florian im- 
 patiently. Yladimir brought them out from an 
 inner room and placed them for his inspection. The 
 faces were done in oil and well executed. The first 
 
A BARBECUE. 
 
 178 
 
 was a young man with redcli.sh hair and smootii, del- 
 icate face, of too fine a nature evidently to cope with 
 the gross wickedness of the niatoi'i;d villain, his rela- 
 tive ; and the second a lovelv woman of dark com- 
 plexion, whose sweet face was indicative of great 
 strength of character. 
 
 " I should fancy this woman woukl not take very 
 well to flight," he said after a pause. " She would 
 hold her castle to the end." 
 
 " So she did, and died," the Count responded. 
 " There are more ways than one of bringing an 
 enemy to terms." 
 
 Two children of lovely appearance took up the 
 third case, and Florian laughed at the idea of these 
 being taken for himself and dead Linda. There 
 was no resemblance, except that the eyes of the boy 
 were of a brown color and the dark eyes of the girl 
 sparkled with some of Linda's mischicvousness. But 
 between himself and the exiled prince there cer- 
 tainly was a very striking resemblance, and it ex- 
 tended in a lighter degree to the portrait of the 
 princess. The Count watched him closely as he ex- 
 amined the pictures, to see what impression they 
 made on him ; but Florian felt only disappointment. 
 
 "Has your Russian friend reported to you yet?" 
 he asked. " For I suppose I have some right to 
 know." 
 
 " He has," the Count answered frankly ; " but he 
 had nothing more to say than that you did not 
 resemble your father or mother, and had not been 
 baptized in Clayburgh." 
 
 " True, and I could not say where I really was 
 baptized. But if you wish it we shall go together 
 
 ■:i* 
 
174 
 
 80LITAUY ISLAND. 
 
 
 V ■■ 
 
 Iffil t) 
 
 is: 
 
 to Clayburgh and mterview my parents and friends. 
 It is a queer tinie of day to bring up questions of 
 my paternity. We shall have to ])r()ceed cautiously 
 for two reasons. My motluM" is nervous and my 
 father hot-tempered, and inquiries among the towns- 
 people, if too open, might act unpleasantly on my 
 good name." 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you the whole matter will i)e con- 
 ducted most honorably and delicately. Allow me 
 to thank you for 3'our kind offer. I accept '^ once, 
 and having done with you I shall proce^^d to perse- 
 cute some other individual. But I have your pardon, 
 Florian, for my want of candor ? I was so fearful 
 of " 
 
 " Not a word. I only wish you had succeeded in 
 proving me a j)rince. It would have been a great 
 help in my political life. Let me advise you. Get 
 rid Tyf vour troublesome friend, and do not use him 
 as a — an agent. His face is against him." 
 
 " He is a hel})ful fellow and a good fellow. But 
 his face is against him, although I do not pay at- 
 tention to it now. He disturbed you, it seems. He 
 impressed you as " 
 
 "An assassin," said Florian, with an ortburst of 
 long restrained disgust and horror. 
 
 " All!" was all the Count said, and Florian could 
 not tell why the simple exclamation set him wonder- 
 ing as he went away. 
 
 The train which one summer evening rusiied into 
 Clayburgh depot had Florian and the Count in one of 
 its coaches. When the old familiar landmar':s which 
 he had known and loved as a boy b^gan to appear, 
 and when for the first time in eight years he saw 
 
A nAuniccuE. 
 
 175 
 
 the strip of l)jiy ovoi' whicli h<' had sailed so often, 
 and sniffed the fresh w.iter hreeze, lily-scented, a 
 scale seemed to fall from his eyes and a shell from 
 his body. They h'ft the hustle of the depot behind 
 them, and, on reaching the top of the short hill, 
 Florian made the Count look at the twih'^lit beauty 
 of the scrm>. Miu'imir was not un admirer of 
 scenei'v, but he looked and saw the »vaters covered 
 with long, shifting lights from the west where a 
 faint red glow shone, ajid thetlistant islands, visibli 
 only by the lights of dwellings there. A feeble 
 moon threw silver flashes where the darkness was 
 deepest. The liiu' of docks was a forest of masts 
 with their red and green and white lights showing 
 like stars against the sky, and over the hubbub of 
 the travelers at the depot could l)e heard occasion- 
 allv the singers in the boats far out on the calm 
 river. 
 
 " The stillness is (piite oppressive," said the Count 
 with a shiver, as they turned into the garden of 
 Wallace's home. 
 
 " It is a place t.> niake you think," said Florian, 
 pointedly. 
 
 "Heaven savi me from that,*" laughed the Count. 
 " It is the ono gl*>ry of my life, and its joy, that of 
 all men I can thiidx" least." 
 
 Florian entered the house without anv ado, and 
 left his valise in thes(|uare room which once belonged 
 to him. To the .servant who came to inspect the 
 intruders he gave the message for his mother that 
 Florian had come home. The Count w .-, a trifle 
 curious as he heard the hurried, timorous stc]) in the 
 hall, and he watched ^Mrs. Winif'ad closely as she 
 
 
 
176 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 it- 
 
 appeared, dressed in plain black, with her white 
 pointed cap lying across her smooth hair. She was 
 in an exceedingly nervous state and hardly noticed 
 Vladimir's title, calling him Mr, Countbrensld a 
 moment after the introduction. Preparing two 
 rooms for the gentlemen, and seeing them retire to 
 brush off the dust of the journey, gave her an op- 
 portunity to settle down into her usual placiditj'^, 
 which she did in Linda's room, where she sat crying 
 and murmuring to the darkness, " O Linda ! he has 
 come back again." The Count was so delighted at 
 not finding in Florian the faintest resemblance to 
 his mother that he grew eager to begin work at 
 once. 
 
 " I have still less resemblance to my father," said 
 Florian. " But it would not do to scare my mother 
 by broachin,^ so abruptly an important matter. 
 The idea of trying to prove her son the property of 
 another woman! Your object would certainly be 
 frustrated by such haste. You would get no infor- 
 mation at all." 
 
 As Vladimir had asked the favor of being made 
 acquainted with all the circumstances of Florian's 
 birth as soon as possible, the examination was held 
 the next morning after breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Buck were present, and, with Mr. Billy Wallace, 
 were informed of the reasons of the visit. Billy Avas 
 highly amused, and Sara felt the inspiriting charm 
 of acting a part in a real romance. The Count saw 
 in the manner of each member of the family that 
 fate was against him. Father and mother might 
 have shown a little agitation, and so have given a 
 hope that their astonishment was but assumed. 
 
A BARBECUE. 
 
 177 
 
 b 
 
 Billy, however, chuckled constantly, and Mrs. Wini- 
 fred was as placid as usual. 
 
 " Seemingly," said she, with great composure, 
 " we lived behind Russell's Camp for a number of 
 years." 
 
 " We might have been there yet but for your 
 tinkering." Billy snapped, with a sudden and vivid 
 recollection of damages sustained in leaving the 
 camp. 
 
 " Thank Heaven we are out of it, the horrid place I " 
 .idid Sara. " I would never have met Mr. Buck there 
 nor anybody ; and where would you be now, my 
 blessed little Florian ?/' 
 
 " The Protestant brat ! " barked the grandfather, 
 patting the child's head with secret tenderness. 
 
 " It was there Florian came to us, and Sara, and 
 Linda, and one younger child who died before we 
 left the place. Seemingly, none of the children were 
 baptized in a church." 
 
 " How could they be ? " Billy jerked out. '' There 
 wasn't a church in fifty miles." 
 
 " How terril)le ! " said Sara for the Count's benefit, 
 " to be deprived of the consolations of religion " 
 
 One withering look from Billy ended this speech, 
 and, in fear of an outbreak, Mrs. Winifred ])urst in 
 with, " Pere Rivet baptized our children and took 
 the records with him to Arontr(>al, I suppose. I 
 couldn't say where. But seemingly, it troubled me. 
 For if Plorian had wished to be a priest we had no 
 certificate of baptism." 
 
 " Not much trouble to you now," sneered Billy ; 
 " he's a Congressman, the divil ! — the very opposite 
 of a priest. And your grandson, with a certificate 
 
 13 
 
 
178 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 m 
 
 
 ''i' 
 
 hand} , is to be a minister. Think of that, Count — 
 think of that, sir." 
 
 " We moved here," said Mrs. Winifred patiently, 
 " when Floriun was about five years old, and here 
 we have lived since." 
 
 " Are you satisfied ? " said Florian, and the Count 
 nodded in some hesitation. 
 
 " I must apologize to yon," iio said, addressing the 
 family, " for the trouble I have given you " 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you," Sara broke in, '* it has been 
 a very great pleasure. Just like a novel, indeed." 
 
 " I must thank you for the kind manner in which 
 you have humored me. I am satisfied," laughing 
 gayly, " that your son is your own. I shall never 
 again trouble you in this way." 
 
 " But in other ways," said Sara, " we shall be so 
 hap]>y to serve you. Some troubles are real pleas- 
 ures." 
 
 •' Not such troubles as you, you divil ! " said J illy. 
 
 " But such troubles as this," she answered good- 
 naturedly, holding young Florian close to the wrin- 
 kled face ; and the grandfather was forced to smile 
 and chuckle in sjute of himself. The morning con- 
 fei'cnce was broken up by the stentoria" ^'oice of the 
 Squire at the front gate welcoming Florian to the 
 arms ol' his native town. At his back were a half- 
 dozen of the fathers of the village?, anxious and hap])y 
 to greet the lion of the fohl, the standard-bearer of 
 Juda, their David in the ranks of the I'hilistines. 
 Vladimir shuddered at the grasj) which each of the 
 ancients in turn gave to Florian and kept two books 
 in his hands during the ceremony of introduc- 
 tion. 
 
A BARBECUE. 
 
 179 
 
 " Glad to see you, Count," said the Squire. " You 
 are a rare bird in this part of the country, but I met 
 a dozen of you in New York when I was there. 
 Boys, this is a real, live Russian count, imported from 
 Moscow, and Florian's friend. He's to be included 
 in the reception we're to give I'lory at noon. You'll 
 make a speech, of course." 
 
 The ver}'^ decided refusal of the Count was drowned 
 in the clamor which all present raised in behalf of 
 the speech. 
 
 " The ladies of the whole town will be present," 
 said Sara, " and it would be too bad to denv them 
 the pleasure of hearing a count talk." 
 
 " Is not this a republican country { " said Vladi- 
 mir. 
 
 "Oh I but you are a rarity," Florian replied, "and 
 must be heard as well as seen. You are on exhibi- 
 tion like myself." 
 
 " It is the one thing of this country — self-exhibi- 
 tion," the Count mutt'Tinl in a disiiustod undertone, 
 but aloud he said blandly, ''If the ladies wish it I 
 am their slave." 
 
 " How delightful ! " thought Sara. " lie talks just 
 like an earl." 
 
 Mrs. Winifred had been sitting quietly ol>servant 
 of the proceedings, and now tunil)lod into her son's 
 lap in a dead faint ; whereu})on the elders gathered 
 about her in a close-i)ressed gang, and the Count, 
 having been caught between them with his ])rotect- 
 ing books in his hands, got such a democratic squeez- 
 ing as he had never before experienced. 
 
 ""ThisneviH' hap|vned b(>for(' in her whol*} life," 
 sai<l Billy, with tremulous li[)s, as she l)egan to show 
 
180 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 it 
 
 jii 
 
 signs of returning life. Florian whispered to the 
 Count, who followed him into the garden. 
 
 " It's a good time to get away," he said. " That 
 deputation would keep us till noon, when I wish you 
 to see the islands and a hermit friend of mine." 
 
 Thev went down the street to the dock below the 
 depot, and in a few minutes Florian had hired a boat 
 and hoisted the sail to a favorable bi-eeze. A few 
 loungers stood on the shore and watched curiously 
 the ordinary human motions of so ([ueor creatures as 
 a politician and a count. They soon left the river 
 and entered the curved channel wliich passed into 
 the Bay of Tears. And like a transfoi-mation scene 
 the narrow passage, in whicii the waters mingled 
 their murmurs with the sigliing of tiie trees, widened 
 on the instant into a glorious bay where the waters 
 slept in the sunlight and a silver-white mist lingered 
 in the air. Even the indifferent Count was touched. 
 
 " Your hermit has a royal dwelling," said he, 
 " when such a vestibule leads to it." 
 
 "We shall see," Florian r«'pli«Ml. A short run up 
 the Canadian side of the river bron;;ht them to the 
 landing-})luce. " This is the royal residenct'," said he 
 to the Count as they anciiort <1. To the ilisappoint- 
 ment of both, tiie hermit was ncjtathome, but every- 
 thing was in its ohl ]»hu'e, (iven the copy of haak 
 Walton ; and Florian saw with delight the absence 
 of change, as if he had been gone but a <lay ! 
 
 "This is the nearest approach to «'ternity that 
 man can make. There has been no change here in 
 twenty years, and I suppose the furniture of his 
 brain and his heart are in the same placid condition. 
 Such a man endures death with philosophy." 
 
A BARBECUE. 
 
 181 
 
 " Nonsense ! " the Count said, " on the contrary, 
 he is always unprepared for so violent a change. 
 "With me, a worldling, death is one of those incidents 
 which make life charming. There is a risk in hold- 
 ing life's jewel. Now, this hermit, as I suppose, is 
 wildly virtuous, an ascetic " 
 
 " No, no. lie is sedate, stoical, serious, but not a 
 devotee." 
 
 " Then he has taken to this life from a love of it, 
 and not because a companion was struck dead by 
 lightning at his side or because he had already ex- 
 hausted the world ? " 
 
 " I would like to heiir himself answer those insinua- 
 tions. It would take all your cynicism and wit to 
 match him. Above all men he despises an indif- 
 ferentist." 
 
 "What do you call this ? " said the Count, holding 
 up a delicate handkerchief between his thumb and 
 finger. " Was it not one such that damned poor 
 Desdemona i " 
 
 " As I live," replied Florian, examining the 
 article, " my hermit has strange visitors occasion- 
 ally." 
 
 There were no nuirks by which its owner might 
 be known, but the keen eyes of the Count detected 
 the letter" W " which had been worked with colored 
 silk at one corner, and the coh^r had faded. 
 
 " An initial belonging to you,'' said he, pointing- 
 it out. Florian looked at it thoughtfully for a few 
 moments. 
 
 " It is just possible," he said, pressing the hand- 
 kerchief to his lips, " that this is a relic of Linda — 
 poor Linda ! If so it would be a pity to deprive him 
 
 m 
 
 f: 
 
 W 
 m 
 
 
mm 
 
 182 
 
 SOLlTAItY ISLAND. 
 
 S 
 
 i '. 
 
 M 
 
 ii 
 
 h 
 
 of what must be dear to hiin. lie thou<j:ht so much 
 of the child." 
 
 He put it between the leaves of haid- Waltofi 
 reverently. 
 
 " Now for the reception," he said, as they set sail 
 for the town. 
 
 A crowd had gathered on one of the wharves, and 
 a band was playing under the shadow of innumer- 
 able flags and banners, while cheering, shouts, and 
 yells were faintly borne over the water. A carriage 
 was in waiting and they took the last place in a 
 procession of which the band had the first, and did 
 it justice. The ride was short. They were trans- 
 ferred to a hotel balcony, which gave them the 
 opportunity of seeing their admirers in an agony of 
 exhaustion, sitting on the curbstones of the street, 
 on barrels and boxes and staircases, and loaning out 
 of windows in heart-breaking attitudes, while the 
 sun beat down on them, and the band blared about 
 and through them, dividing with the Count the 
 attention of the multitude. Evervone was red, and 
 every one had a handlcerchief with which he mopped 
 and reddened the more his pers])iring face. Only 
 one cool, shaded spot stood in view, on the opposite 
 side of the street, where under a protecting canopy 
 sat the well dressed leading ladies of the town, 
 headed by Eeverend INFrs. Buck, and leveling opera- 
 glasses at the titled victim of one part of this ova- 
 tion. 
 
 When the brass band had wound up its disturbance 
 with one prolonged crash of powerful melody the 
 Squire stepped forward amid cheers. With his back 
 to Florian and his face to the crowd be welcomed to 
 
 .ill. 
 
A BAUBEOUE. 
 
 183 
 
 his native town this admirjihle specimen of the po- 
 litical youtii of tile time, con<^riituhite'l liim on the 
 eminence he had won in the service of his country, 
 prophesied his future <^l()ries and tiie <,dories he wouUi 
 reflect on ('iayburf,di, jind pli'(l<^(>(l to him the eter- 
 nal, the undying, the immortal, solid, uninterrupted 
 fidelitv and esteem of the eiti/cns of tlu; town. 
 Amid a second round of cheering Florian took his 
 place and endeavored to out-jidjective the S<|uire 
 in one of his most telliiv^ spread-eagle speeches. 
 There was some mixed speaking afterwards on the 
 part of noteworthy eldei's anxious to put their 
 opinions on record, to whom the crowd paid no 
 attention, but, with many wishes that the dinner 
 might not interfere with their talking powers, and 
 with considerable hiughiiig scattei'cd homewards, 
 while the tired and heated Count was led into the 
 dining-room and placed at his seat amid a hui)bub 
 too hori'ible for descri])tion. 
 
 These hot, rod-faced, perspiring Yankees were still 
 full of spirits and appetite. It was di'eadful to see 
 wluit hungry looks they cast at the dishes, as if the 
 noise and confusion of the procession and the speech- 
 making were incentives to appetite. Knives, tongues, 
 and dishes chittered in utiison ; waiters ran hither 
 and thither, in and out, tripped and sprawled, as if 
 their reputations depended on the al.isurdities they 
 were performing ; the elders u})set gravy-l)owls and 
 vinegar cruets with social e(pianimity ; everything 
 was put on the table at once; everybody shouted 
 his thoughts to his neighbor ; steam rose from every 
 dish like a cloud, and around each man's plate was 
 grouped an army of smaller dishes, to which his 
 
 
 ■J- 
 
184 
 
 SOLITARY iSLAND. 
 
 m 
 
 ■ t; ■ 
 
 \'\h 
 
 
 neighbor helped himself with genial freedom ! In 
 the center sat the Honorable Florian, the cause of 
 all the trouble, calm, cool, and elegant, full of good 
 spirits, his pleasant voice rising above the din and 
 roaring encouragement at his friend, until the band 
 broke loose and sat upon all rivalry with a complete- 
 ness that made the Count feel as if he were eating 
 that awe-inspiring music. 
 
 " Down south the}'^ call this a barbecue," the Squire 
 shouted at him across the table, where he struggled 
 with a roast standing ; " this is, of course, a leetle 
 milder." 
 
 " Oh ! considerably milder," said an ancient, " con- 
 siderably, Squire." 
 
 " Ya'as," drawled another. " I suppose it's only a 
 shadow of a real barbecue. The Southerners air apt 
 to dew thing's with a rush, bein' a leetle fiery." 
 
 " That's where you'd see fun," the Squire continued. 
 " But still this is a pretty good specimen of a high 
 old time. Of course with " 
 
 A burst from the band crushed the words back 
 into his mouth. The Squire continued to roar, and 
 the Count nodded politely \vhile pretending not to 
 see his neighbor carry off his green peas. The gentle- 
 man had said : " Seein' as you don't take to them 'ear, 
 jm try 'em." 
 
 After a time Vladimir passed into a dreamy state 
 in which he seemed to be the center of a revolving 
 machine. lie rather liked it on the whole, and as the 
 motion grew slower and slower he began to realize 
 that the table was cleared, the Yankees satisfied, and 
 Florian was speaking in the midst of a great and 
 pleasant silence. Some comic singing followed, thoro 
 
 i 
 
A BARBECUE. 
 
 185 
 
 was a general handshaking, of which he had a share, 
 and finally he was conducted to the quiet of the 
 "Wallace home. 
 
 " How did you like it ? " said Florian, when they 
 liad changed their clothing and sat looking at the 
 sun shedding his latest glories on the river. 
 
 " I feel as if I had been through a campaign. If 
 my greatest enemy had done this his revenge could 
 not have been more complete. AVe have been here 
 but twenty -four hours. I feel as if it had been as 
 many years." 
 
 " We go to-morrow," said Florian with a sigh. " I 
 would like it to last forever." 
 
 " Since it can't," answered the Count solemnly, 
 "amen." 
 
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 CHAPTER XVT. 
 
 KOSSlTKlt S LrOK. 
 
 A COOLNESS arose between Florian and the poet 
 after Ruth's departure. Without any clear reason 
 for it, the two men avoided each otlier, and drifted 
 utterly apart by degrees. Ruth's face began to 
 haunt the poet once more ; some words from gos- 
 sipers on her conversion had waked from a tran- 
 sient sleep a fancy he had thought dead and buried. 
 He did not care to indulge the fancy, ])artly from 
 pride, mostly because tlje world was not treating 
 him well at that moment. Work was scarce, and 
 money scarcer. Fatigue and worry had told upon 
 him, and just then occurred something which put 
 a finishing tou ih to his misery. Returning from a 
 tiresome interview with a manager he stopped for a 
 moment to look at a shop window, and became con- 
 scious of some one staring at him rudely from within. 
 He looked up. The same disagreeable face which 
 had haunted Washington and Clayburgh so unpleas- 
 antly had fastened its intent, evil gaze on him. Al- 
 though he went on his way cheerfully afterwards, 
 he did not know what a power this face had of repro- 
 ducing itself in the memory, until it had remorselessl}'' 
 haunted him twenty-four hours. It came up at every 
 turn of thought, luminous and frightful. 
 
 " I wonder what it means ? " he said to Peter one 
 
 186 
 
 
rossiter's luck. 
 
 187 
 
 
 evening. Poter had been speaking with an energy 
 born of liquor, and had brought down his fist several 
 times on the table after asserting that something was 
 diabolical. " "What does it mean ? " cried he. " It 
 means that you're no man, or ye wouldn't sit there 
 and see him walk off with Frances before yer two 
 eyes, you omadhaun ! " 
 
 " "Who ? " said the poet in wide-eyed wonder. 
 
 " That gizzard, v>f course," snarled Peter. 
 
 " On that track again, hey ? Pshaw, Peter ! I 
 don't care for Frances, nor she for me. We couldn t 
 live on the same floor without quarreling." 
 
 " Before marriage, perhaps," said Peter, " but 
 
 after " A knock at the door interrupted him, 
 
 and he opened it to admit the servant bearing a card 
 for Ml". Rossiter. 
 
 " Read it," said Paul. 
 
 Peter took up the card and read : 
 
 " ' Mr. "Wallace's compliments to Mr. Rossiter. 
 "Would he favor Mr. Wallace bv comin"- to his room 
 to meet the Count Vladimir Behrer^iki, a noted litter- 
 ateur, anxious to make your acquaintance ? ' "What 
 new trick is this ? " 
 
 " Pm going down," said Paul, and he went. 
 
 The resemblance between Paul and Florian has 
 been spoken of, and it was a notable circumstance 
 with their acquaintances. At the first sight the 
 more delicate physique and lighter complexion of the 
 poet did not make the likeness striking or impressive, 
 but on acquaintance it increased forcibly, and the in- 
 variable question was, are they brothers or relatives ? 
 When Florian saw for the first time the features of his 
 supposed father, the Prince, in the portraits, he was 
 
 :■ 
 
f 
 
 ■ -I . 
 
 i' • 
 
 1^ 
 
 188 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Struck by the remarkable likeness to Paul Rossiter. 
 Of this fact he said nothing to the Count until that 
 gentleman had been satisfied as to his identity with 
 the son of ^Mr. and Airs. Wallace. When thev had 
 returned to New York, and he was one day at the 
 Count's residence, he asked to see the portrait of the 
 Russian prince once more. " There is a young gentle- 
 man at Madame Lynch's" he said, " who looks more 
 like this picture than I do. He has the prince's eyes 
 and hair, which I have not." 
 
 " But you have the soul of the prince in your face," 
 said the Count shrewdly, " which he has not." 
 
 " Then you know of his existence ? " said Florian. 
 
 " I heard of it yesterday," the Count replied, in- 
 differently, " and I was about to ask for an intro- 
 duction. I have a presentiment that the son of the 
 exiled prince will be found in either of you." 
 
 " What ! have you not gotten over your infatuation 
 in my regard ? Were you not satisfied with the 
 Wallace credentials ? " 
 
 " Highly satisfied. But I spoke only of presenti- 
 ment." 
 
 " When I first saw this portrait," said Florian, " I 
 said to myself, this is the poet — for he is a poet, you 
 know. But I thought it best to settle my own 
 claims first, as I had a secret hope that I might be 
 the princely child you sought." 
 
 " Ah," said the Count, " you are eager for assassi- 
 nation." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said Florian, " wouldn't the Prince of 
 Cracow prefer buying me off than running the risk 
 of having a crime laid to his charge ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Vladunir ; " but he had an idea you 
 
rossiter's luck. 
 
 189 
 
 » 
 
 you 
 
 could not be bought. You Americans have such a 
 greed for titles." 
 
 " For our own,"' said Florian, " not for yours. I 
 would sell my princeship for a reasonable sum, and 
 buy a governorship here, which would be more to 
 me than anything in a European kingdom. Will 
 you call on the poet ? And if so, what will be your 
 l)lan of action ? " 
 
 " I shall call on him and franklv state the reason 
 of the visit." 
 
 And it so happened that Paul received Florian''=i 
 card the same evening and was introduced to I. 
 Count. After some desultory conversation Vladimir 
 broached the subject of his visit and showed the 
 portraits to Paul. 
 
 " It is a very good picture of me," said the poet 
 coolly, " but it can be no more than an accidental 
 resemblance." 
 
 " Would you have any objections," the Count 
 politely asked, " to give me means of satisfying my 
 eraployer by documentary evidence that you are not 
 the man he seeks ? " 
 
 " I have been through the mill," said Florian, 
 " and I can do the Count the justice of saying that 
 his conduct has been that of a gentleman. For him 
 your word is sufficient, but the Prince Louis must 
 have something more." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Paul gravely, " that the 
 Prince as well as the Count must be content withm}' 
 simple word. There is nothing in my history that 
 justifies the slightest shope that I can be the man. 
 The past I prefer to leave undisturbed. I am sorry 
 that I cannot oblige you." 
 
 i 1 S- - 
 
 •'■Ml 
 
 
It; ij' 
 
 l-'!l 
 
 190 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 i!^ 
 
 It! 
 
 There was some agitation in bis manner, but his 
 determination was evident and the Count could only 
 express bis regrets. Florian did not dare to bint in 
 Vladimir's presence that a score of detectives would 
 probably be soon at work to lay bare the story of 
 his life, and the conversation drifted into other 
 channels until the poet took his leave. While his 
 footsteps echoed in the hall there was a short 
 silence. 
 
 " Kossiter's conduct," said Florian, " strengthens 
 your case considerably." 
 
 " I don't know," the Count answered dubiously. 
 " It may one way and it may not another. He is 
 sincere, and yet apprehends trouble from discovering 
 himself. It does not m&ttev— for the presenV 
 
 He w^ent out reciting his favorite maxim of human 
 philosophy with a smiling face and gay air. At 
 home, the gentleman whose peculiar features had al- 
 ready caused so much disturbance in many places was 
 waiting for him, and began to speak in a low, sullen, 
 dull way before greeting him. The conversation 
 was in Eussian. 
 
 " Have you found out something new about this 
 young man ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Vladimir ; " he is what he is and 
 no more." 
 
 " He is the son of Prince Paul," said the other 
 angrily ; " no one can deceive me. His name is 
 Paul, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, but be is not the man I think. You were 
 so certain about Wallace ; why have you changed ? " 
 
 " Give me his native place. We are delaying too 
 much. Give mo his native place, and I will do it 
 
ROSSITER S LUCK. 
 
 101 
 
 ere 
 
 all in a dav. Give me whatever vou have found out 
 about him and hasten." 
 
 The Count silently and contemptuously lit a cigar 
 and sat down comfortably under a most malignant 
 glare from the man's eyes. 
 
 " My tlear Kicholas," he said blandly, " you are 
 too quick and too impertinent. I found out nothing 
 concerning this princeling, save that he had nothing 
 to tell. You will have to begin from the begin- 
 ning " — Nicholas made a gesture of despair — " but 
 you are sharp, you are unwearied, you are devoted, 
 and you will find it all soon enough." 
 
 " What do you think of him ? " said Nicholas. 
 
 " I think nothing, it lies between these two." 
 
 " Then this Paul is the man," he interrupted. " I 
 \ir '■ the father — I knew them all, father and son. 
 Thex'e is a quick way to settle this matter." And 
 he made a murderous gesture with his arm. 
 
 " Too fast," the Count replied, shaking his head ; 
 '' that trick is too new in this country to be played 
 safely, although if any one could do it cunningly you 
 are that one. No, Nicholas, you must be more cr.re- 
 ful of your master's character. He relies on you 
 chiefly. There must be no blood cast on his honor- 
 able name." 
 
 " There are ways of killing without shedding 
 blood," said Nicholas — " without steel or rope — if I 
 might try." 
 
 The Count pretended not to hear him and went 
 off into an inner room, while with an evil smile the 
 man departed to execute his mission. It might have 
 been a result of tjifis conversation that matters began 
 to get worse witjj Tlossiter. lie seemed to have dis- 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 1 
 
r F 
 
 :i;. 
 
 192 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 covered all at once a knack of offending his few 
 patrons, and in spite of Peter's efforts and his own, 
 it became more and more difficult to earn the pittance 
 that supported him. His strength and spirit were 
 leaving him together. Hack-work was a treadmill 
 to his soul, and when at last employers began to 
 sprinkle theii' stingy crusts with ashes as they handed 
 them out, he stayed at home, and dreamed for hours 
 of the two faces that haunted him, the calm face of 
 Ruth, and the cruel visage of the spy. 
 
 Peters anxieties and mutterings drew madame's 
 attention to the matter. She took a kindly interest 
 in the lonely poet, was happy to be of service to 
 him, and called on him to assure him of her sym- 
 pathy and to promise her influence in getting him 
 a position ; and Frances came up often with Peter 
 and was very witty and quarrelsome to raise his 
 spirits. From these kindly visits Peter evolved a 
 bright syllogism whose conclusion struck him with 
 the force of a tornado. Madame and her daughter 
 were about to take advantage of Paul's weakness 
 and arrange the long-deferred marriage of the young 
 people. Paul's noble sacrifices in behalf of the poor, 
 his patient endurance of misfortune, his piety and 
 beauty, had at length become irresistible in the 
 girl's heart. Kow was the time to strike a telling 
 blow in favor of his pet project. He waited a few 
 days until madame had made herself conspicuous in 
 Paul's interest, until Frances had ministered his sad 
 soul into cheerfulness, and then Peter's diplomacy 
 began to move about like the bull in the china shop. 
 He hurried one day into madame's presence, and 
 burst out with — 
 
ROSSITER S LUCK. 
 
 193 
 
 a 
 th 
 
 in 
 sad 
 acy 
 lop. 
 and 
 
 " He's dying, that b'y is dying an' ye have only 
 yourselves to blame for it." 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Rossiter?" said madame ter- 
 ribly frightened. 
 
 " Don't get excited, ma'am. There's no immedi- 
 ate harm done, but between ve, vo are killin' the 
 b'y." 
 
 " Oh ! " said madame, " one of your freaks, 1 
 suppose." 
 
 "A woman of your years an' experience," said 
 Peter, looking at her with uneasy glances, " ought 
 to be better able to get at the bottom o' things than 
 ye are, instead o' leaving such work to be done by 
 your boarders. There's no use breaking your neck 
 running over the city to find out the cause o' Paul's 
 illness, when it's here in the house, as large as a 
 young lady can be." 
 
 Madame sat provokingly quiet awaiting the point 
 of his eloquence. 
 
 "Can't you see that he's in love with your 
 daughter ? " said Peter angrily. 
 
 " No," said madame composedly ; " is he ? " 
 
 " Nothing less than marrying her will cure him ; 
 an' it's a shame to have her waiting for the good 
 pleasure of the man without a heart, with a real live 
 poet wasting away in a garret because of her. He'd 
 write beautiful verses for her all her life, while from 
 the Congressman divil a thing else she'll hear but 
 dry speeches an' the like." 
 
 " Did Mr. Rossiter tell you he was in love with 
 Frances, and commission you to plead his cause for 
 him?" 
 
 " Ay, that he did, ma'am ; for no one ever stood 
 »3 
 
i 
 
 I'''' 
 
 ■ -I 
 
 ^h J i 
 
 194 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 his friend as well as Peter. When he was feeling 
 bad over his own weakness who else woidd he choose ? 
 ' Never mind,' says I, * i 11 let out the cause of it;' 
 an' he thanked me with two tears in his eyes. If 
 there's a heart in ye at all ye'll see that he's rescued 
 from the grave by giving him Frances. She's crazy 
 after him, the poor girl." 
 
 " Have you spoken of this to others 'i " said Ma- 
 dame icily. 
 
 " No; I think not. I might have, but " 
 
 " If you ever do," said Madame, " it will be your 
 ruin. My interest in Mr. Rossiter ceases from this 
 instant, and he must depart at once from this house. 
 Such an insult to my daughter — such a poor, un- 
 gentlemanly return for all my kindness. It is shame- 
 ful." 
 Peter walked out stupid from humiliation. 
 The effects of his interference were direful. Ma- 
 dame and her daughter ceased to visit the attic, and 
 Paul received the intimation that as soon as con- 
 venient the attic would be let to a more desirable 
 lodger. There was, of course, an instant demand 
 for explanation. Paul, looking wofully pale and 
 wretched, came down from his room and begged to 
 know if this was of a piece with his other misfor- 
 tunes. Madame explained in a distant way, which 
 set Paul laughing as he pictured to himself the man- 
 ner in which Peter must have executed his self- 
 imposed task. He declared earnestly that he had 
 never spoken of such a thing even in jest, and had 
 no deeper regard for Frances than he had for her- 
 self. It pained him to see that while Madame ac- 
 cepted his declaration, she did not withdraw her 
 
ROSSITER S LUCK. 
 
 196 
 
 note nor drop tlie unusual coldness of her manner, 
 while his request to apologize to Frances was politely 
 ignored. 
 
 He returned to his room, weighed down with sad- 
 ness, but outwardly cheerful. One must carry his 
 cross with a good heart. His possessions were few 
 and his wardrobe limited. He packed up a few 
 articles that evening, locked the door, and ga\c the 
 key to the servent, with instructions to have the 
 furniture sold and the inoncv <2:iven to Madame. Ho 
 had tried vainly to see Peter. On a chilly, but clear 
 night in early spring, he went out into the streets of 
 New York almost a beggar, as he had once entered 
 the city, having no place to lay his head, entirely 
 bereft of friends save among the poor, s;id and down- 
 cast, but still full of the hope which had always 
 been his chief capital. He had enough money to 
 assist him in carrying out his designs. He needed 
 change of scene and rest, and he had decided that a 
 few months spent in the country districts, traveling, 
 as only the impecunious know how to travel, out in 
 the open air, among the mountains and lakes of the 
 north, would once more set him in trim for the bat- 
 tle of life. He was not altogether cast down, and 
 had no suicidal tendencies, nor even a very natural 
 longing for death. There were many pleasant in- 
 cidents ahead of him which, with the bracing air of 
 night, gave his blood a new energy of flow. 
 
 He took a northward train, and near morning 
 was landed at a pretty village half-way up the Hud- 
 son. It was not a pleasant hour for entering a 
 town, the air being chilly and the sun still in bed 
 along with the villagers. Officials were sleepy and 
 
 h>h 
 
196 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAM). 
 
 impolite, and tlie silent, echoinji^ streets, the ghostly 
 spires and eminences, had a heavy influence on a 
 heavy heart. The bells of a distant convent were 
 ringing, and, smiting softly on his ear, brought a 
 flush to his pale cheeks. He turni.'d his steps towards 
 the sound. His thoughts went back to that happier 
 time when Ruth's face had first stirred in him as- 
 pirations and fancies. It had been many months 
 since she stood in the world. She was hiding in the 
 convent whose bells brought the blood to his cheek 
 and quickened his unconscious step. What she was 
 doing there he had never heard ; why he was visit- 
 ing the place he had not asked himself, but a vague 
 longing to see her again and to learn something 
 definite of one who had unconsciously filled a large 
 space in his life urged him on. lie knew that 
 she thought of him Avitli gratitude. He had been 
 the first to open her eyes to her real position, and 
 she felt that whatever of happmess her new life 
 had given her was owing in fair measure to him. 
 After Mass he called upon the Superior of the con- 
 vent. 
 
 " Some years ago," he said, " a lady friend of 
 mine came here to reside. She was a Miss Pendle- 
 ton, a Protestant, who had leanii.Q.. towards the 
 faith, I have heard so little of her since that time 
 that I am anxious to know what has become of 
 her." 
 
 " Miss Pendleton," said the mother superior, smil- 
 ing, " is now Sister St. Clvire, a novice in our order. 
 She has been a Catholic almost since her arrival, but 
 until a year ago did not consider that she had a vo- 
 cation for the religious life." 
 
 
UOSSITEK S J-rCK. 
 
 197 
 
 " She is well, I trust iiiid happy i " 
 
 " Very well indeed, and apparently conteut and 
 clieerful." 
 
 lie was longing to ask permission to see her, i.)ut 
 knew that it was against the rules. 
 
 "Will vou ohlige me" — handing her his card — 
 " by giving Sister St. Clare my kind regards and hest 
 wishes, and asking her i)rayers for one who has gi-eat 
 need of them, i am glad to know that ;;he has found 
 rest. Some day when she is })rofessed T may be 
 able to call on her." 
 
 He went away sadder but })leased al the good 
 fortune which had come t ^ a noble al. All day 
 long h' haunted the grounds, sketching tin- build- 
 ings and looking with moist eves towar(h, that part 
 where the novices spent their leisure hours. In- 
 sensibly his thoughts strayed away into dreamland, 
 and he began to draw on a bit of bristol-board the 
 outlines of Ruth's face as he had seen it last, very 
 troubled, yet shining with the light of a new-born 
 grace. lie looked at his finished work, grief-stricken, 
 yet patient. Was he never to Avhisper into her ears 
 the secret of his heart ? Xever ! For another more 
 noble than he had claimed her, and he could but write 
 around the chill outline his name and hers inter- 
 twined, with the words, " I love you," twisted about 
 in every fashion. The sun rose hot and red in the 
 noonday sky, and hunger drove him to the village. 
 He left the bit of bristol-board in the convent grounds, 
 nor did he miss it until the next morning when he 
 was many a mile from the place. He would have 
 returned for it on the instant but that he remembered 
 the rain-storm '^f the preceding night. The sketch 
 
 ■'■ if 
 
 ,1' ■ I ■ 
 
 i • ! 
 
il 
 
 fi.'i. 
 
 hi 
 
 
 198 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 lying six hours in tiie rain would now be a mass of 
 unsightly pulp ! 
 
 He had no fixed plans for his journey. He went 
 wherever fancy and circumstance led him, and wan- 
 dered for months by the Hudson, on the shores of 
 Lake George and Lake Ohamplain, along the St. 
 Lawrence, and among the Thousand Islands — places 
 little frequented in those days. His arrival at Clay- 
 burgh was pure accident, but once there he awoke 
 to sudden interest in Ruth's home. He had not 
 improved much in his open-air trampings, "Whether 
 his heavy heart retarded recovery, neutralizing the 
 effect of change of scene, fresh air, and exercise, or 
 his carelessness led him into fresh disorders, the day 
 at least which found him looking on Clayburgh from 
 the top of the island described in the opening chap- 
 ter was a day of special physical misery to him. 
 And this was the village Avhere she had lived and 
 grown to a sweet womanhood ! How pretty its 
 spires looked in the morning sun, and how fresh the 
 wind which blew from it to him ! He sat under the 
 shade of the stunted tree with his eye fixed gloomily 
 on the water, and wondered when his present self 
 was to end. He was depressed enough to wish that 
 it would find its conclusion here. She was lost to 
 him forever, and he would rest among the scenes 
 which she had loved. 
 
 " Sick," said a voice beside him. Scott was stand- 
 ing there. 
 
 " No," he answered, " not sick in body." 
 
 The sigh which followed the words told the poet's 
 story very plainly, and Scott studied his pale face 
 with attentive interest. He somewhat resembled 
 
 I'll 
 
 I i 
 
rossiter's luck. 
 
 199 
 
 Florian. Usually the hermit left strangers to them- 
 selves as speedily as possible. Now he said : 
 
 " "When sorrows begin to knock a man down it's 
 part of his nature that he should knock down in turn. 
 If he doesn't he must expect a kickin' as well. 1 
 dunno but he deserves it." 
 
 Paul looked up in surprise, and for the first time 
 surveyed his companion. He saw nothing, however, 
 to astonish him, but the words of the hermit rang in 
 his ears pleasantly. 
 
 " Easy to talk," said he, " but cleverly said. It is 
 like meeting a friend to hear such words ; and I 
 have no friends." 
 
 " None ? " said the other distrustfully. " A man 
 must have done some pretty mean things to get like 
 that." 
 
 " Perhaps the meanest thing I did was to run 
 awav from misfortune instead of facing it and lettinof 
 it do its worst. The friends I had God took from 
 me for a good purpose which I have been slow to 
 acknowledge. Never mind. I will go back to New 
 York soon. I thought I was dying ; that my tide 
 of fortune, not taken at the full, was ebbing. It was 
 a mistake. I shall return, no doubt." 
 
 " A man sometimes runs too far," was dryly said, 
 " to make gittin' back safe or necessary. Find a 
 good battleground here, and wait for your enemies." 
 
 Paul looked at him a long time in silent thought, 
 and then at the scene around him. 
 
 " What do you do for a living ? '' 
 
 " Fish, huni;, plough for myself an' no other. I 
 live alone among these islands, an' when I've done 
 prayin' for myself I give some time to thinkin' of 
 
 I 
 
 
 i 
 
200 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 my brothers in the world. [ never tolerate com- 
 pany. It doesn't pay ; it brings misfortun'. " 
 
 He had seen a purpose in Paul's eye and question, 
 and thus attempted to destroy it, starting down the 
 steps to his canoe ; but the poet caught him and held 
 him, looking into his face with a fixed, earnest look, 
 not without a suspicion of wildness. 
 
 " I must go with you," he said, " for I know you 
 now. Florian often spoke of you. In old times 
 those sick of the world came to men like you for 
 help and consohition. I am sick of it. You must 
 take me with you. You will bear half my troubles." 
 
 " You're a little crazy," said Scott. " I have noth- 
 ing to do with your kind." And he laughed at the 
 man's feeble gri]). 
 
 " Nothing ? " repeated Paul, following him to the 
 canoe. " You have nothing to do with such as I ? 
 Why it was just such a sorrow as mine, perhaps, 
 which drove you to this solitude. Let me be your 
 disciple. We are alike in many ways." 
 
 The hermit looked at him again sharply. 
 
 " Are you in earnest ? " he said coldly. " If so, 
 come. Put in practice the first rule of this place — 
 silence." 
 
 Wordless the poet entered the canoe, and the prow 
 was turned toward Eel Bay. 
 
 < n frf 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A PROPOSAL. 
 
 Florian had almost made up his mind to marry, 
 after the failure to connect him with the Russian 
 nobility, and was saved from precipitate actio i only 
 by the fact that Francos and her mother were in the 
 mountains for the summer. The great house was 
 lonely at this moment. He missed Frances exv^eed- 
 ingly, for in the private reception room she usually 
 sat at twilight hour, and her music was the first 
 thing he heard on entering the house, her form in 
 its light drapery gleaming through the darkness the 
 first he saw, and he found it pleasant and restful to 
 sit listeniiig to the sweet melodies. 
 
 Unconsciously, almost, P'rances had grown into 
 his life since Ruth was lost to him. It would be 
 very sweet always to have her waiting in the twilight 
 for him in his own house ; and she was so very good 
 and beautiful, not very brilliant like Barbara, not so 
 full of character as the strong-souled Ruth, but per- 
 fect in her way, and made to reign over a household. 
 He was not at all certain of winning hor, but if the 
 attempt were to be made he was determined to do 
 his best, as he always did. It occurred to him to 
 consult Mrs. IVEerrion. "Women know one another 
 
 thoroughly, and she was shar|>minded, generous, 
 
 801 
 
 1 
 
 iil 
 
'\l 
 
 202 
 
 SOLITAPA' ISLAND. 
 
 and ever-willing in giving advice, and would be 
 happy to help one of her warmest admirers. She 
 was residing for the summer in a villa on the Jersey 
 coast, whither the Count and himself often journeyed 
 to dine, as it was but an hour's ride from New York. 
 It had surprised the gentlemen that she should choose 
 so quiet a spot instead of following the fashionable 
 crowd. 
 
 " Well, I am in a mood," said Mrs. Merrion, " a 
 serious mood, and I am going there to read, to think, 
 to listen to the sea roaring, and to enjoy the moon- 
 light nights alone." 
 
 " She must have some exquisite plot hatching," 
 was the Count's comment ; but Florian, who thought 
 he understood her better, saw no reason to doubt 
 the plain meaning of her words. There was time 
 to catch the noon boat and return late the same even- 
 ing, and he hurried away at once to the seaside town, 
 only to find Mrs. Merrion unexpectedly absent. She 
 had promised never to be away from home when 
 the boats arrived. Neither did the servant know 
 whither she had gone, and he was left to walk the 
 verandas impatiently and to stray through the rooms, 
 one of which perhaps it was intended he should not 
 have seen. It was a mere closet, holding a desk, 
 a chair, and a prie-<lieu, some pictures, books, and 
 statues. But the character of its furniture almost 
 took the breath away from the honorable gentleman. 
 On ^he desk lay a few manuscripts, and an open 
 : ' : '--reside them suggested copying. The book was 
 the imitation of Chnst. At the back of the desk 
 hung a crucifix ; the pictures were of pious character, 
 and one was a copy of a mirculous picture ; the books 
 
A PROPOSAL. 
 
 208 
 
 » 
 
 were either controversial or works of pure Catholic 
 devotion. As he recollected that these things were 
 not intended for his eyes, he withdrew hastily to the 
 outer air. 
 
 "What new freak was Mrs. Merrion meditating? 
 Was this the quiet and seclusion she had spoken of ? 
 "Where had she gotten these ideas ? lie had never 
 spoken to her on religit)us matters, and he was un- 
 aware of any Catholic ac(|uaintances who would lead 
 her to such thoughts and doings. Evidently this 
 freak would spoil Mrs. Merrion without doing her any 
 good, and he thought, with a jealous pang, how much 
 this incident resembled Ruth's conversion. He had 
 been her nearest friend, yet was unable to make any 
 religious impression upon her, when a strange poet 
 comes along, speaks a few words, and forthwith she 
 is all tears "VVho could the stranger be in this in- 
 stance? "While he was discussing the point Mrs. 
 Merrion returned, her cheeks very red after a lively 
 walk, and with many meek apologies for her delay. 
 He looked at her curiously and remarked the change 
 which had almost imperceptibly come upon her. 
 Formerly she would have thrown the blame of her 
 own delay on his shoulders, and maintained her posi- 
 tion with saucy defiance of truth, reason, and polite- 
 ness. Now she was a meek, quiet culprit, waiting a 
 well-deserved sentence. It was really painful, and 
 he told her so immediately. 
 
 " I suppose it's the sea air," she said, with a touch 
 of the old archness ; " it makes everything damp 
 and clinging. You can hardly stand up when the 
 wind is full of salt." 
 
 " But the wind is blowing off the land now," said 
 
 
 I 
 
 i'3 
 
 'jitji 
 
 
I il 
 
 i^'i 1 ! 
 
 I 
 
 204 
 
 SOLITAIIV ISLAND. 
 
 he. " It pains mc to see you so changed. I hope 
 you are not ill." 
 
 " "What nonsense ! " she cried : " vou have been 
 coming and coming all the summer, and never 
 noticed it before. Why sliould you notice it now ? 
 I am happy enough, and one should be different at 
 the seaside from what one is in the citv. Wait until 
 I resume my position in society — if I ever do " 
 
 " Oh ! ' if I ever do ! ' "' repeated Florian, in mock 
 amazement. 
 
 " Well, Avell. Ruth Pendleton went into a convent 
 and you were not surprised. Why should not I do 
 the same ? " 
 
 " Oh I by all means. You are just suited for it." 
 
 " Have you any news from the city ? " she said. 
 
 " Yes ; I am going to be married." 
 
 She turned upon him a pair of wide, startled eyes, 
 and unseen by him a faint pallor crept about her 
 trembling lips. 
 
 "Well," said he, delighted, "other people are 
 married; why should not I be ? " 
 
 She did not speak at once, but turned to the win- 
 dow and looked over the plunging sea. 
 
 " It is hard to know which sex can do the stranger 
 things," she said ; " they seem to vie with each 
 other." 
 
 " In foolishness, you mean. However, I have not 
 dreamed of a monastery yet. I am waiting to hear 
 your question about the lady, but you seem to have 
 forgotten your natural curiosity. To tell the truth, 
 I hardly know who she is myself. 
 
 " No ? Have you fallen in love with an ideal ? " 
 
 " I have not fallen in love at all. I am to marry 
 
A PROPOSAL. 
 
 205 
 
 as a political necessity. I »iiali marry a Avoman I 
 care for of course, and who cares for me " 
 
 " It is not essential in a political marriage," she 
 said, with sly sarcasm, then took a look at his stolid, 
 darkening face from under her gypsy hat. 
 
 " I know that, but I came to ask for your advice. 
 I am in doubts as to the wisd<jm of asking a certain 
 lady to be my wife — I shall demand so much of her 
 in return for my own condescension. I would not 
 wish to embitter her life by making demands which 
 she could not supply. Yc)U can tell me whether she 
 is capable of sustaining the burden of becoming Mrs. 
 Wallace. You know Miss Lynch T' 
 
 " De Ponsonby's daughter? Oh!— quite well; 
 and she is of your own religious belief, too, which is 
 an advantage." 
 
 " Perhaps it draws me towards her out of many 
 indifferent fair ones, and she is very beautiful." 
 
 '' And very good, I know — pious as an angel, 
 without losing a woman's vivacity or interest in 
 \vorldly matters." 
 
 " Her piety I consider a tlrawback. Women are 
 not like men in these matters. If moved at all they 
 are carried too far, and they mount a mere cere- 
 monial observance and call it standing on principle. 
 Such women are dangerous." 
 
 " A'^ery true. But Frances Lynch will not be dan- 
 gerous unless you come within reach of her claws. 
 Nature always provides its weak children with ugly 
 means of defense, and the weaker the animal, the 
 uglier its weapon. Then, you know, woman has a 
 tongue, but that is nothing." 
 - " Oh I yes, it's a great deal. But I came to you 
 
 > I 
 
 il 
 
 iii 
 
 - ' la 
 
 l! 
 
I] I 
 
 j 
 
 . , 'I 
 
 ,.'■■ 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 206 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 for advice. Do you think she is the woman ? make 
 my doubts certainties, like the good fairy you are 
 and always have been." 
 
 " If I do I shall ask a service at your hands," she 
 answered softly. " AVell, my advice is, follow your 
 heart first- 
 
 ?? 
 
 " I did follow it once," he interrupted, " and you 
 know how it ended. I shall not try it again." 
 
 Florian was in despair. TJiese manners were not 
 Mrs. Merrion's, and while they became her, as every- 
 thing did, they did not please him so well as the ordi- 
 nary sauciness and defiance. If the oratory was the 
 cause of it he would like to abolish it. She waited 
 for some time after her last words before speaking. 
 " I have something to show you," she said reluct- 
 antly. He knew it was the oratory and she led the 
 way ther( . He was now at liberty to express his 
 surprise, while she stood blushing. 
 
 " I see it all," he said : " this is the meaning of 
 your desertion of the fashionable world, of your loss 
 of old time cheerfulness and vour increase of melan- 
 choly. Who would have believed it ? " 
 
 " You seem to pay great attention to my moods." 
 
 " If you are to pay attenion to women you must 
 watch their moods, for their moods are themselves. 
 I don't like to believe that this summer's mood is 
 you. Perhaps it will pass before winter." 
 
 " Oh ! I hope not, I hope not," she said earnestly. 
 " Would you not wish me to become a Catholic ? " 
 
 " It is natural, I suppose, to wish it. But it does 
 not suit every soul to get the faith. I hope it will 
 not do you any more damage. I would like to be of 
 service to you and to advise you. The first thing 
 
A PROPOSAL. 
 
 207 
 
 jj 
 
 I advise is, don't enter a convent. It's the worst 
 possible place for a convert." 
 
 " I will not if you say so," she answered mildly, 
 and, the bell ringing for tea, they changed tlie con- 
 versation. It was pleasant to Florian how much at 
 ease he felt with Mrs. ^Merrion, and he thought Avith 
 some regret of the change his marriage and her 
 conversion would cause in their relations. Barbara 
 persisted in her religious mood far into the winter, 
 and charmed her special circle with the new and 
 picturesque lights religious melancholy shed upon her 
 character. Florian was constantly at her side, and 
 was as constantly putting off that interview with 
 Frances, which Peter Carter dreaded and the society 
 world was daily expecting. Strange thoughts were 
 surging through him, passionate, impossible schemes 
 that ended as they began — in nothing. Vladimir 
 opened his eyes for him. The Count was charmed 
 with Barbara's religious whim, and often rallied 
 Florian as its inspirer. 
 
 " Nature and Fate have both favored you," said 
 Vladimir one day with an envious look upon his friend. 
 " Mrs. Merrion adores you, esteems you. You are 
 indeed a lucky fellow to stand so high in her favor, 
 and at the same time to be adored by De Ponsonby's 
 fair daughter. I Avish you would choose between 
 them quickly, and give me an opportunity in either 
 place." 
 
 " Your special line of action," said Florian, flush- 
 ing in spite of himself, " is not apt to be encouraged 
 in those quarters. You are not in Paris." 
 
 " I know that, but women are w^omen the world 
 over. While you stand in my light I acknowledge I 
 
 II 
 
 J 
 
 1! 
 
f 
 
 n 
 
 '^% 
 
 
 208 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 can do nothing ; l)ut give me a clear field, remove 
 your Jupitership to one side or the other and see if 
 Mercury is not as good a thief as ever. Why do 
 you dally so much ? If you are in doubt take my 
 advice and choose Barbara. The divorce court is 
 not pleasant, but it will do if you work quickly and 
 quietly." 
 
 "The divorce court!" cried Florian. " That 
 sounds queerly from you, who are a Catholic, by 
 tradition at least." 
 
 "I am speaking to a politician," the Count an- 
 swered, " in whose path no difficulties are allowed 
 to stand where his ambitions are concerned. All 
 your good genii urge you to choose Barbara. You 
 have thought of divorce yourself many a time." 
 
 Florian did not attempt to deny the assertion, 
 only saying : " You are taking too much for granted, 
 Count. I cannot see any -weighty reasons for such 
 a step." 
 
 " No ? " The tone was slightly ironical. " First 
 of all, this charming woman appreciates you. Sec- 
 ondly, she has become a Catholic. Do you desire 
 the thirdly, etc. ? — for it exists although you cannot 
 see it." 
 
 " Thank you, no," said Florian, hardly able to 
 conceal his agitation. " You have a Parisian fancy. 
 Count. You will not be understood or appreciated 
 in this country for many a year." 
 
 " These are the days of primeval innocence," 
 sneered the Count, " and the republic has usurped the 
 virtue of the world. Well, wear your mask, Florian, 
 but when you choose to throAv it off let me know. I 
 can lose no time where I have already lost so much." 
 
A PROPOSAL. 
 
 209 
 
 to 
 
 V 
 
 the 
 
 During the next few clays Florian loitered long in 
 Frances' company, eager yet tlreading to pluck the 
 flower which grew so near his hand. lie had not 
 proposed to her as he iiad said he would, he could 
 not bring himself to do it. What if circumstances 
 should change the state of affairs? W/int if same 
 one should die f lie shuddered at the direction his 
 thoughts were taking, and determined to end the 
 uncertai nty by an immediate ])roposal. Frances was 
 passing his room one afterno<jn, and, hearing her 
 light step, ho called to her cheerfully to enter. He 
 had fouglit his last battle with self a few minutes 
 previous, standing before the pure pensive face which 
 hung over the bookcase, and he bad turned it to the 
 wall with the intention of removing it forever from 
 his aching gaze when he had won from his new love 
 her promise to share life's joys and trials with him. 
 
 " I wished to show you this ])icture," he said, as 
 Frances came timidly to him. " I am going to put 
 it away forever," 
 
 She smiled inquiringly, and trembled in secret. 
 
 " You know its story," he went on ; " every one 
 knows it since Mr. Carter first heard it from Squire 
 Pendleton." 
 
 " I have heard it," replied Frances, scarcely trust- 
 ing herself to speak. " ^Ir. Carter was very earnest 
 about it, and persisted in telling it more than once." 
 
 " Precisely. You did not know Ruth Pendeton ? " 
 
 " I just met her for a moment. She seemed to be 
 a very sweet girl, and I was glad to hear she be- 
 came a Catholic." 
 
 " Yes," assented Florian ; " I suppose it was for 
 her good." 
 14 
 
\[\ 
 
 'ill 
 
 m 
 
 I >) 
 
 Hi 
 
 ,1, » 
 
 ,(j . 
 
 210 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " Will you excuse me ? " said she, with a blush 
 which betrayed her fears. 
 
 " I shall detain you so short a time," he interrupted 
 boldly. " I wish you to know the truth of this 
 affair — it was such a garbled story which you heard. 
 Do you not think her face a very strong as well as 
 handsome one ? Would you blame a man for loving 
 its owner very deeply i " 
 
 " She was so good ! " Frances answered nervously. 
 " I thought more of that than her face.'' 
 
 " She was good, i)()or Iluth ! We grew up together 
 from childhood, and I knew her goodness of heart 
 so well, and had loved her even as a bov. It was 
 no surj)rise that when wo had grown up I should 
 have asked her to marry me. She accepted me and 
 but for the difference of religion we would have 
 been married these many years." 
 
 " And now that siie is a Catholic ? " 
 
 " Now that she is a Catholic," he said sadly, " we 
 are farther apart than ever. The old love is dead ; 
 but we are very good friends," he added, without a 
 trace of bitterness. '^ Ruth is so much my friend 
 yet that she wishes I would get a good woman for 
 my wife. I am trying to do so. Tell me. Miss 
 Frances, am I deserving of a good one ? " 
 
 " If you are not," she replied, ' rembling, " who 
 can be?" 
 
 " That is your natural kindliness of heart speaking. 
 But how many women would care for a man whose 
 heart was once given to another ? " 
 
 " You have it back again," she said with uncon- 
 scious irony. 
 
 " But not sound and whole. The first love broke 
 
A PROPOSAL. 
 
 211 
 
 it, and the second love may find it hard to accept 
 second-hand furniture." 
 
 " Your comparison is too literal," she re] died. 
 He turned the picture once more to the wall. 
 
 "It shall never look this way again," he said, 
 " until my wife turns it with her own hands. I am 
 in love once more, and the woman I love is you." 
 
 The hot blood surged to her face and back again 
 to her heart. He took her hand in his with tender 
 respect. 
 
 " I have hopes," he continued, "that my love is 
 returr . d. May I hope ? " 
 
 She f)urst into tears and hid her face in her hands. 
 He let the storm wear itself out before lie spoke 
 again, and a very sweet face she turned to him when 
 he began to assure her of his love. 
 
 " I know it," she said faintly. " Do not tell me. 
 I return it all." 
 
 " I need not tell you," he said, " what a respon- 
 sibik position you are taking. You have now on 
 your hands an ambitious, hard-working man. How 
 will so gentle a being manage me ? " 
 
 " You are so willing to be managed : and that is 
 the secret of every woman's control over a man." 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, with a smile and a sigh, " but not 
 always." 
 
 " You can manage yourself during the ' not 
 always, ' " she replied. 
 
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 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MRS. WINIFEED's CONFESSION. 
 
 Far away from the clatter of the town, in a 
 deep enclosure of trees stood the convent where 
 Kuth was passing the quiet days of her no /itiate. 
 The doubt and distress had long been ended, and 
 faith had found a resting-place in her soul. The 
 mournful past lay behind her, a picture with faded 
 outline, and all those incidents and personages 
 which had made up the circumstances of her life 
 seemed no more than the remembrances of a troubled 
 sleep. Everything about the convent life was so 
 real. Where passions lay dead or asleep there were 
 no heartbreakings. Every voice was soft and low, 
 every sound was music ; the cheerful stillness which 
 hung over the place consecrated anew the sacred 
 dwelling. It was a spot where a soul came to know 
 itself quickly. So far aAvay now seemed the world 
 that she took with ease the resolution to retire from 
 its turmoil forever. 
 
 One person Ruth could not forget. Paul Rossiter 
 
 had so closely identified himself with her conversion 
 
 that every thanksgiving besought a benediction for 
 
 him, and no face looked out more strongly than his 
 
 from the misty past. As the months passed, Ruth 
 
 found her gratitude to the poet taking a deeper hold 
 
 on her heart. Self began to fall away by degrees 
 
 212 
 
MRS. WINIFRED.S CONFESSION. 
 
 213 
 
 under the friction of daily prayer and niortitication, 
 Iler enthusiasms began to diminish in number and 
 intensity. The first hot fervors of the convert died 
 away into a healthier and more sustained emotion, 
 and with this new feeling came the first intimations 
 that God had not called hor to the spiritual life of a 
 convent. She was in lovo with her convent, there 
 was no attraction in the world for lier ; marriage 
 she never thou^jht of, her literarv tastes could be 
 more easily gratified where she wns ; yet into her 
 spirit, day by day, farther and farther intruded itself 
 the conviction that she was not appointed to this 
 life. It cost her many tears befoi-e she opened her 
 mind on the subject to her confessor. He listened 
 to her story with interest and was a long time in 
 coming to his decision. AVhen he did give one it 
 was imperative and final. She nmst go home and 
 find her vocation there. Very sadly, and yet witli 
 some relief, she laid the case before the superior. 
 
 " I am not surprised," said that lady, to Euth's 
 great astonishment, " not so much as you were, 
 Have you ever heard anything about your friend, 
 Mr. Kossiter?" 
 
 " No, I have not. I shall meet him some time 
 probably, if he is living. I can never forget him." 
 
 " And are you absolutely determined to go into the 
 world ? Remember it is quite possible that after you 
 are outside your spirit may change as powerfully as 
 it has on this occasion." 
 
 " I must take the risk. I am not going to a bed 
 of roses, and I am leaving one. But what can I do ? 
 Some restless spirit has taken possession and will not 
 be exorcised until I am gone hence." 
 
 rt 
 
!(tt t 
 
 
 214 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " Why not go off as a novice with permission, 
 remain in the world until your mind is settled, and 
 then return if it seems wise." 
 
 "It is kind of you to suggest that," said Ruth 
 slowly, " and I will think of it." 
 
 "I may as well tell you," began the superior 
 suavely, " I had a visit from Mr. Rossiter during the 
 spring to inquire about you." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Ruth with parted lips and amazed 
 eyes. 
 
 " He sent you his regards. I was very glad to meet 
 him, after all you had told me concerning him. He 
 seemed to be ill, or going into an illness." 
 
 Ruth grew pale and nervous. 
 
 " I think ^Ir, Rossiter must have a high respect for 
 you. He loitered a long time about the grounds after 
 his visit here and indulged in some drawing and writ- 
 ing. One of the sisters found a specimen of his work 
 and brought it to me. I have preserved it for this 
 occasion. I would have told you of this long since 
 had I thought it would have been for your good. It 
 is for your good to know it now." 
 
 She handed a package to speechless Ruth and dis- 
 missed her. The novice took it to her room and 
 opened it in feverish haste. What connection could 
 she have with Paul Rossiter's writings and sketches? 
 It was the bit of bristol-board on which he had scrib- 
 bled the day of his visit to the convent. Ruth read 
 and studied it with flushed face and moistened eye, 
 and into her heart slipped the first spark of love to 
 light anew the flame which gratitude had once lighted 
 there. As much as her vocation had been a matter 
 of doubt before, so much of a certainty it now be- 
 
\ H 
 
 MRS. Winifred's confession. 
 
 215 
 
 i ''\ 
 
 came. She left the religious life absolutely and for- 
 ever, though with many tears, and presented herself 
 one sunny afternoon before Barbara Merrion in 
 Brooklyn. 
 
 " Why, what in the name of everything uncommon 
 and wonderful." cried Barbara, " brings you here, 
 Ruth Pendleton?" And an angry light shot into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I am too tired to say anything now," said Euth ; 
 " but when I have rested you can give me your opin- 
 ion on that." And she handed her the bit of bristol- 
 board. Barbara examined it critically, and a happy 
 smile touched her face when she caught its full im- 
 port. 
 
 " What a happy destiny which threw this in your 
 way," said she, " before you were bound to the nun's 
 life irrevocably ! " 
 
 " I had resolved long before to leave the convent," 
 Ruth replied. Barbara did not believe the assertion. 
 
 " We had arranged a match for you and Paul long 
 ago," Barbara said, laughing, " and I assure you wo 
 were bitterly disappointed when our plans faileil. 
 The poet is not here now, and no one can tell where 
 he is." 
 
 " Flonan must know," said Ruth confidently. 
 
 " Oh ! dear no. They had a quarrel of some kind 
 after you left, and hav^e nev^er since been intimate. 
 Early in the spring 3Ir. Rossiter left his quarters and 
 has not since been heard of." 
 
 "Not been heard of?" Ruth murmured tremu- 
 lously. 
 
 " Were you aware that about the poet's departure 
 there was a mystery, that he was ill and poor and 
 
 lite ' 
 
 i 
 
mm 
 
 216 
 
 80LITAUY ISLAND. 
 
 wretched when he went away, that Madame Lynch 
 dismissed him because of a false story of Peter Car- 
 ter's, that he left the house secretly, and that there 
 is a suspicion of — shall I say it ? " 
 
 " Suicide," said Ruth calmly, though her face was 
 pale. " You may say it, but I do not, could not, 
 believe it of him," 
 
 " Xor I," Barbara added with emphasis ; " but the 
 poor fellow left in a sad plight and where he went 
 no man knows." 
 
 " He was at my convent in the spring, and went 
 northward, Ijut how far or in what direction was not 
 known." 
 
 " A little money will discover him. Now go to 
 bed for a few hours, and when you come down I 
 shall acquaint you with the news of two hemispheres 
 — some of it interesting, I assure you." 
 
 Ruth obeyed, "When she sought Mrs, Merrion 
 later in the day the vivacious sprite was carrying in 
 both hands her manual of prayer as she walked tire- 
 lessly through the long hall. 
 
 " You are piously engaged," said Ruth, smiling 
 at the unusual sight. 
 
 " I must be, hadng an ex-nun here," replied Bar- 
 bara, smartly ; " and then I am making preparations 
 for my baptism," 
 
 " For your baptism ? " repressing an inclina- 
 tion to laugh, " Are you going over to the 
 Baptists ? " 
 
 " No, to the Catholics," and her eyes fell. Ruth 
 stood for a moment transfixed and actually sus- 
 picious. 
 
 " I congratulate you," she said at length, but there 
 
 lii 
 
MBS. WINIFRED S CONFESSION. 
 
 217 
 
 was little warmth in her good wishes. " AVhen did 
 this happiness come to you ? " 
 
 " So long ago that 1 scarcely remember. It was 
 not sudden. It grew within me. But let us talk of 
 something more to your taste. Converts are sus- 
 picious of one another. You have heard, perhaps, 
 that Florian is soon to be married.'* 
 
 " I have heard none of these things, but I sup- 
 posed it would take place some time. Who is the 
 happy lady ? " 
 
 " You rememljer that Frances Lynch who " 
 
 " What a good choice he has made ! " Ruth ex- 
 claimed in delight. " I hardly expected it from 
 Florian. It will save him — surely it will save 
 him." 
 
 " Save him from w^hat ? " said Barbara sharply, 
 and crossly too. 
 
 " From himself and the temptations which surround 
 him in his position. Florian needs a check of some 
 kind. I t^^ink him apt to fly beyond limits." 
 
 " You would make a Puritan of hira. I think he 
 was fortunate in missing you." 
 
 " It was fortunate for us both," Ruth answered, 
 and dismissed the subject with a sigh. Barbara sat 
 watching her secretly. She had improved very 
 much during her absence, and the pale, spiritual 
 light which shone about her face rendered its nat- 
 ural beauty more remarkable. The old aggressive 
 firmness seemed gone from her manner, the old 
 determination had found a different way of express- 
 ing itself ; and, sweet and gentle as Ruth had ever 
 been, these qualities were now intensified. 
 
 " If she beckoned Florian to her now," thought 
 
-n 
 
 nr 
 
 
 li 
 
 m 
 
 
 ■It 
 
 ii-.. 
 
 hi 
 
 n ! 
 
 ' il 
 
 I ' 'SB 
 
 iir 
 
 11 ■ ij 
 
 . ., . ,, -'ill 
 'If! ^Hil! 
 
 218 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Barbara, with some bitterness, " an army of me^s 
 and Franceses would not keep him from her." 
 
 Inquiries for the poet resulted only in the dis- 
 covery that not one of his friends knew anything 
 of his present abode ; then Barbara began to grow 
 irritable, and Ruth fled homeward without visiting 
 Florian. 
 
 " And so Ruth Pendleton is back ! " was the crv 
 in Clay burgh two da j's after a tired and disappointed 
 woman left the train at the station, and, unrecog- 
 nized by her friends, walked in the direction of the 
 Squire's now lonely mansion. Yes, Ruth was back 
 to the old scenes, a much sadder and much happier 
 woman than when she left them ; and if the *■ ^ars 
 filled her eyes at siglit of the familiar objects, and 
 a greut pain pierced her hejirt, it was not more than 
 the protest which nature makes against change. 
 Coming home at a late hour that night, Pendleton 
 felt his heart give a thump as he saw lights in the 
 unused parlor windows and heard the tinkling of 
 the long closed piano. 
 
 " It's Ruth," said he, stopping to catch his breath 
 and rid himself of a fit of trembling. " It's Ruth 
 come back again for good," and he held out his arms 
 to her. 
 
 " I've come back for good," she whispered, as he 
 threw his arms about her. " I shall never leave you 
 again, father." 
 
 And they both believed it ; for it had been a pet 
 theory of the Squire's that if Ruth again returned 
 it would be never to leave him, and in her hopeless- 
 ness at that moment she felt a premonition that her 
 stay in Clayburgh was to be permanent. 
 
 . 
 
MRS. WINIFRED 8 CONFESSION. 
 
 219 
 
 " And where did you come from ? " said the 
 Squire. 
 
 " From New York ; and I have some astonishing 
 news for you. Barbara Merrion has become a 
 Catholic, and Florian is going " 
 
 " Hold on ! " said the Squire, with a gasp, and 
 maybe an oath. " Barbara become a Catholic ! 
 Ruth, you'll have to don your old clothes. It isn't a 
 religion for any one when she's in it." 
 
 " She is very much changed," said Ruth, in a tone 
 that seemed to approve of the Squire's sentiments. 
 " You would not know her." 
 
 "H'ml" grunted Pendleton. "Pd know her if 
 she put on the Pope's own rig. She's Barbery all 
 the same. I'll wager any sum that she's up to some 
 of her devilish tricks. She hasn't got her eye on 
 Florian now, has she ? It would be easy enough to 
 give old Merrion the slip, and she'd coax an angel 
 into sin, I swear." 
 
 " Florian is engaged to Frances Lynch." 
 
 " O Jer-rusalem ! " said the Squire, with a mighty 
 roar of pain. " Then it's all over, Ruth — it's all 
 over." And in an instant tlie tears were falling in 
 a shower and a few sobs shook him fiercely. He 
 had never given up his hope that Florian and Ruth 
 would yet be reconciled. 
 
 " It was all over years ago," Ruth replied, gently. 
 " I did not think you expected it still, father." 
 
 " And I had no right to," said the Squire, striding 
 impatiently down the room. " You never held out 
 a hope, though Florian thinks just as much of you 
 to-day as he did ten years ago. Let it pass. I'm 
 alwaj's making a fool of myself. Don't know when 
 
 'J 
 
1 
 
 ii I 
 
 I, 
 
 
 f ; 
 
 i i 
 
 In 
 
 '■ y i^ 
 
 .Hi- ; 
 
 V 
 
 r 5 ! 
 
 220 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 I cried before. And so Barbery is a papist, hey ? I 
 wonder how long she'll remain one ? And Florian's 
 done it at last ! "Well, he's got a mighty nice girl, 
 but it won't please Peter Carter much," 
 
 " What about Mr. Carter ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh! you knew him — the greatest fool that ever 
 lived; and I dunno," added the Squire dubiously, 
 " but that I was a greater fool, for I actuall}' thought 
 that man a genius. He had an idea that Flory wjis 
 no match for that Lynch girl, and was anxious to 
 help me in matching 3'ou and Flory. He did, but 
 he helped me the wrong way. Pm inclined to in- 
 vite him up here this summer, and let him make an 
 ass of himself through the town." 
 
 " It would not be becoming," said she ; " he is too 
 — too- 
 
 55 
 
 " Too much of a talker," supplemented her father. 
 " Yes, he gives one away every five minutes when a 
 secret is entrusted to him. Oh ! no ; I'll not invite 
 him to this house. Well, Ruth, you're back, and I 
 am consoled for all my waiting. I'll have to stand 
 a pile of chaff, though, from the boys when they see 
 you going up to the Catholic Church. How will you 
 stand the women though ? " 
 
 " I am not afraid," said Ruth cheerfully, " for I 
 am a sort of balance for Sara Wallace's defection." 
 
 " That's a good argument," said the Squire in de- 
 light. " I'm glad you mentioned it, for I'll give it 
 to 'em first thing. I hope you're contented, Ruth, 
 with your new clothes. Do they fit easy ? " 
 
 " So contented ! " said Ruth, with a happy smile. 
 " And oh ! if I could persuade you " 
 
 " There, there ! " he interrupted hastily. " It's all 
 
 mmmmm 
 
MRS. WINIFREDS CONFESSION. 
 
 2^:1 
 
 right if you are bappy, but don't try to rope me into 
 any of these religions. They're good enough for the 
 women, but they're beyond me. I thought more of 
 Catholics, though, before Barbery j<Mned them." 
 
 With a sigh Euth relinquished the appeal which 
 she had intended to make to him. 
 
 " I must warn you," continued the Squire, " that 
 if you try to convert me I'll take to drink, upon my 
 honor. I'll get too stupid to understand an argu- 
 ment. So just let up on ideas of that kind. Go to 
 bed now, and slee^ off convent notions." 
 
 During the next few days the greater portion of 
 the town paid its respects to Ruth. Among her 
 visitors were the worthy elders of the various con- 
 gregations, curious to knoAV by what process of rea- 
 soning this young lady had gone over to the enemy, 
 and many were the amusing questions put to her. 
 Her great defense was the perversion of Mrs. Buck 
 and the right of private judgment. With these 
 weapons she triumphed easily, and Clay burgh ac- 
 cepted the position with the easy-going, matter-of- 
 fact slowness which is an inheritance from Manhat- 
 tan ancestors and does not prevail in bitter, unfor- 
 giving New England, Mrs. Wallace had not called, 
 much to Ruth's surprise, and at the first opportunity 
 she went over to see her. Time had dealt hardly 
 with the placid lady. The Mrs. Winifred who feebly 
 grasped Ruth's hand was an insignificant shadow of 
 the stout, timid lady of three years ago. She tried 
 to smile and chat with the old-time manner, but had 
 not breath enough for so large a word as " seem- 
 ingly," and Ruth sorrowfully recognized the fact 
 that Mrs. Winifred's days were numbered. Her 
 
 
 
 if 
 
 i 
 
i ^9 
 
 222 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 f\ I 
 
 U ' 
 
 chief anxiety was for Florian. Florian was the 
 theme of every conversation, and her chief anxiety 
 was whether her boy was uneasy in mind and haunted 
 by any apprehensions. 
 
 " Because if he is," she said to Ruth, " I can help 
 him, and I will in spite of every one." 
 
 It was the most determined expression Mrs. "Wini- 
 fred had ever been known to use, and only her ex- 
 treme weakness accounted for and excused it. 
 
 " I shall not last much longer," said Mrs. Wini- 
 fred, after a few moments of silence. " I wish it 
 had ended long ago. Bat no matter, Ruth, let me 
 tell you something ; this trouble is all about Florian 
 and Linda and I feel it here," laying her hand on 
 her breast, "gnawing always. In a few days I shall 
 send for you, maybe, to do me a favor. You will 
 come, won't you? Promise me, Ruth." 
 
 " Oh ! certainly," said Ruth assuringly, for the 
 sick woman began to get dangerously eager. 
 
 "Ah! but you must promise, dear," she cried, 
 catching Ruth's dress with feverish bands. " Seem- 
 ingly, you must promise that you will come, no mat- 
 ter what stands in the way." 
 
 " I promise," answered Ruth. 
 
 After scanning her features for awhile in an in- 
 valid's pitiful way, she lay back satisfied. 
 
 " What do 3''0u think of her ? " said Billy when 
 next he met her. 
 
 " What can you think of a dying woman ? You 
 will not have her long. Why not send for Florian ? 
 She is always speaking of him." 
 
 " The Pere wouldn't hear of it," said Billy, tremu- 
 lously. " No, no, he wouldn't hear of it. I couldn't 
 

 MRS. WINIFRED'S CONFESSION. 223 
 
 the 
 
 perinit it. It was that Russi.m, the divil ! that did 
 
 iiety 
 
 it all. Ever since he came here we got no good of 
 
 nted 
 
 her. It's awful ! " 
 
 
 Ruth wondered at the Fere's interference in the 
 
 help 
 
 matter, but said nothing, as she wished to speak to 
 
 
 the priest later. 
 
 V^ini- 
 
 " It seems reasonable," she remarked to her father, 
 
 r ex- 
 
 " that if the poor woman wishes to see her son she 
 
 
 ought to see him." 
 
 rini- 
 
 "Why, of course," shouted Pendleton, "and so 
 
 h it 
 
 she shall. I'll send for him — no, I'll go for him my- 
 
 me 
 
 self." 
 
 rian 
 
 " And do all sorts of harm," Ruth interposed. 
 
 cl on 
 
 " No, no, father ; but you might find out from Billy 
 
 ;hall 
 
 what his reason is for not infonning Florian of his 
 
 will 
 
 mother's condition. Then we would the better know 
 
 
 what to do." 
 
 the 
 
 " Jes' so," said the Squire, with a blush for his 
 
 
 own stupidity. 
 
 [•ied, 
 
 "And to-morrow," said Ruth, "you must get out 
 
 jera- 
 
 the boat and take me over to the islands. I have 
 
 nat- 
 
 not seen the hermit since my return." 
 
 
 " There isn't much about him to see," said her 
 
 
 father in disgusted tones. " He's had a doctor run- 
 
 1 in- 
 
 ning over there for some time seeing to a patient who 
 
 
 lives with him or near him, and not one of us can 
 
 hen 
 
 find out who the sick man is." 
 
 
 " Trust a woman to do that," said Ruth. " I shall 
 
 Fou 
 
 know what is to be known about him by this time 
 
 an? 
 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 
 Since the day she had bidden him good-bye in the < 
 
 mu- 
 
 cabin previous to her departure for Xew York slu» 
 
 dn't 
 
 had not set eyes on Scott, and she was curious to 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 :■ ifi 
 
 I' ( 
 
 l' ' " 
 
224 
 
 SOLITAKY ISLAND. 
 
 I, 
 
 '♦ 
 
 1u! 
 
 •IS 
 
 
 1 • : 
 
 :!i i 
 
 11- i: 
 
 learn what changes time had made in his looks, 
 habits, and opinions. They went over the next 
 day, and w ere a long time getting to their destination 
 owing to scanty wind ; but the scenes, the old scenes 
 were so very beautiful that Ruth could have lingered 
 even longer among them. A soft haze rested like a 
 veil on distant objects, and the river was dotted with 
 the boats of fishing-parties, whose songs and merry- 
 making floated pleasantly to the ear. Every spot 
 was a memory to Ruth, and Linda's bright face 
 seemed ready to peep coquettishly from behind rock 
 and tree. They came to anchor opposite the well- 
 known boulder, and Ruth, leaping ashore, ran 
 eagerly up to the house and knocked smartly. She 
 heard the sound of voices in the room within, but 
 only the hermit met her at the door. He had Izaah 
 Walton in his hand and a cold look on his face, but 
 she offered both hands so radiantly that he could not 
 but smile at her delight and shake them gingerly. 
 
 " You are welcome back," said he gravely. 
 " You've come to a safe harbor, and I hope you'll 
 stay in it." 
 
 " You may be certain that I will," she answered 
 in a low voice. 
 
 Scott led the way into tLo house — the same old 
 house, unchanged even to ilie patches on the bed- 
 quilt. Ruth's tears began ;-iddenly to flow as she 
 stood looking at the only perishable spot about her 
 which had a seeming of immortality. There it stood, 
 not one iota different from the room in which Florian 
 and Scott and she had discussed measures for the 
 Squire's safety nearly a decade of years past. 
 
 " I always thought it the gate of heaven," she 
 
 i^i«** 
 
MRS. WINIFRED S CONFESSION. 
 
 225 
 
 said, smiling through her tears, " but now I am sure 
 of it." 
 
 " It makes little difference to some people what 
 gate it is," he replied. " They wouldn't take ad- 
 vantage of it anyhow." 
 
 " The nearer you get the harder to get on," said 
 Kuth ; " and the gate is the worst part of the 
 road." 
 
 His eyes flashed an instant's surprise and ad- 
 miration. 
 
 " You've learned something since you were here 
 last," he deigned to say. 
 
 " Learned something ? " retorted the Squire, labor- 
 ing to keep his oar in the conversation. " AVh}', 
 man, do you think a woman goes backward as she 
 gets older ? Men advance, why not she ? " 
 
 " I didn't say that men advance," replied Scott, 
 "or that women didn't. Flory used to say that 
 woman was the only creature which learned noth- 
 ing from experience." 
 
 " Right he was, too. When Flory said a thing he 
 hit the nail on the head every time." 
 
 " You saw him lately, perhaps ? " said the hermit 
 to Ruth. 
 
 " Yes, and he was very proud and happy in the 
 possession of a young lady whom he is soon to call 
 his wife." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Scott indifferently. 
 
 " But his mother is so ill," Ruth went on ; " and 
 the family do not seem to think of sending for him. 
 She is always speaking of him." 
 
 "These great statesmen," said Scott, "are not 
 always willin' to give up their time to sick people. 
 
 lik 
 
 
226 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ii! 
 
 He musL have consid'able work on his hands be- 
 sides." 
 
 " You have not asked me yet," said Euth, " about 
 my experiences since I left. They have been very 
 new I assure you." 
 
 " I know them all," Scott replied briefly. 
 
 " And you take no credit to yourself for that ful- 
 fillment of your prophecies ? " 
 
 " They might never have been fulfilled, an' they 
 weren't prophecies. I guessed what might have 
 happened, an' it did — that's all," 
 
 Tluth was disappointed, Scott's ordinary brusque- 
 ness seemed to have taken a more gloomy shade, 
 and the sarcastic, rough philosophy of his speech to 
 have given way to a matter-of-fact plainness. They 
 talked on in an aimless way for a half hour longer, 
 and then took their leave dissatisfied, without hav- 
 ins: discovered anv trace of the stranger who was 
 supposed to be living with the hermit. Ruth pressed 
 his hand at parting, with the tears in her eyes. 
 
 " You are as human as the rest of us," she said. 
 " You have changed, and not for the better." 
 
 He did not reply, and Ruth, as they sailed away, 
 watched him sadly. 
 
 " Change, change, and nothing but change," she 
 murmured. " I am getting old indeed. None but 
 the old feel change. These diff'erences in people hurt 
 me." 
 
 Until the new life began to fit her shoulders she 
 was weighed down with despondency. For a time 
 it seemed hardly worth the trouble to live and fight 
 the daily heartache and try to fill up the sense of 
 loss which existed in her soul. Nursing feeble Mrs. 
 
mmm. 
 
 MRS. WINIFRED S CONFESSION. 
 
 227 
 
 Winifred helped her to overcome these feelings. 
 But as the lady grew weaker, and there was the 
 same hesitation in sending for Florian, she began to 
 feel indignant. Every day the mother called inces- 
 santly for her son. She did not ask to see him, but 
 an increasing anxiety as to his personal safety was 
 evident in her manner. Although it was thought 
 she was delirious at times, Ruth perceived a hidden 
 meaning in the apparently wild utterances. Ruth 
 was about to send word to Florian when one day Mrs. 
 Winifred called her and gave her the key of a cup- 
 board in the room. 
 
 " Open that," she said, " and then follow my 
 directions." 
 
 The cupboard contained on its dusty shelves a few 
 old books and papers. At the back was a secret 
 compartment neatly inserted and concealed in the 
 plastering ; and from this mysterious hiding-place 
 RutI' drew out a metal box small enough to be 
 carried in the pocket. 
 
 " Now get pen and paper," said Mrs. Winifred, 
 with a new decision in her voice, " and write as I 
 bid. Seemingly this can't List forever, a. 1 I'll not 
 have Florian's blood on my hands." 
 
 Ruth sat down in awed -.ilence and b, gan to write 
 the following confession. Several times she laid 
 aside the pen in Lunazement, thinking Mrs. Winifred's 
 senses had taken leave of her ; but the lady smiled 
 reassuringly and bade her continue : 
 
 Mi 
 
 " Florian Wallace and his sister Linda are not ray 
 ' \Aildren. Thirty years ago a stranger cai.ie with 
 them to me and begged me to take care of them. 
 
 i^sa 
 
228 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 Hi i 
 
 mm 
 I 
 
 111 
 
 Their mother was dead, aud he offered me a large 
 sum if I would adopt them as my own and keep from 
 them forever the secret of their parentage. I have 
 done so up to this moment. Floriau now stands in 
 danger from secret enemies, and I make this confes- 
 sion for his benefit, that he may know how to meet 
 them. His father resembled him closely, but that 
 his hair was yellow and his eyes blue. He told me 
 his story. He was from Russia, compelled to fly 
 because of his religion. He wished that his children 
 should never r3turn to Russia, and urged me to rear 
 them as my own. He had papers in his possession 
 which he intended to destroy ; but I stole them from 
 him and kept them to this day. What their value 
 is I do not know. He left his children with me and 
 went away. Some time ago a stranger, said to be a 
 Russian, came to this town, I believe he was look- 
 ing for the children. I know he will do harm to 
 Florian, and I warn him. My husband can witness 
 to the truth of this confession, 
 
 ""WiNiFBED Wallace." 
 
 i 
 
 
 I 
 
 " You will give that to Florian," said she feebly, 
 " and also the box. It was a great trouble to me, 
 but now I feel better. You will have to be secret. 
 There are some who think I have the papers, and 
 would like to destroy them. Be careful, my dear — 
 be careful." 
 
 Exhausted by the effort she had made, Mrs. Wini- 
 fred fell asleep, and Ruth was left to think over and 
 realize this strange story. The metal box was easily 
 opened. It was full of papers, legal documents most 
 of them, composed in French, and all tending to show 
 
 k^.. 
 
MRS. WINIFRED'S CONFESSION. 
 
 229 
 
 that certain persons were nobles or princes of high 
 rank in Kussia. And so Linda, poor dear Linda, 
 was perhaps a Kussian princess, born to hixury and 
 love, to move through storied halls in proud attire, 
 to live among the great and might}^ ; and fate had 
 given her instead a home and grave in an obscure 
 American town. She could not picture to herself 
 that dainty girl in any other form than the sweet, 
 familiar one, nor fancy her a haughty lady of royal 
 blood. And Florian was a prince! It was easy, 
 indeed, to dream of him in such a position, who had 
 ever been a prince among men ; but she sighed as 
 she recalled his present temper, and thought how 
 little such an elevation would benefit him. His 
 grasping ambition would now be increased and the 
 field of wicked opportunities widened. While she 
 sat and thought the sick woman opened her eyes 
 again. 
 
 " Ruth, dear," she whispered, " you must carry 
 the letter to New York yourself. I could not trust 
 It in any other hands." 
 
 "No," replied Euth ; "but Florian shall c^ . e 
 aff^r it." 
 
 A look of joy passed over Mrs. Winifred's pale 
 face. 
 
 '- X would so like to see him again I " she sai 1. 
 
 And Ruth posted with her own hands a letter to 
 Florian, urging him in strange, mysterious language 
 to lose no time in reaching Clayburgh. That night 
 Mrs. Winifred died suddenly and alone. They found 
 the poor woman, her beads clasped in her hands, 
 quite cold. She would never look again on the boy 
 to whom she had been so faithful and kind a mother. 
 
 w 
 
 ill 
 
 en, 
 
 w 
 
 I 
 
 ' fcV 
 '' P, 
 
 lU 
 
 r 
 
 i'l 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BARBARA WINS. 
 
 '•M 
 
 i \ 
 
 The chief mourner at the funeral was Mrs. Buck, 
 to whom had bet :tip tie known the curious fact that 
 she \\ as the only <■ of her parents. She wept 
 copiously over bcia rows. Florian seized upon 
 his papers, and made vigorous attempts upon Billy 
 and the priest to discover if his father were yet liv- 
 ing. They knew nothing or would reveal nothing 
 and he was compelled to give uj) the effort for a time, 
 and learn what Billy could tell him in detached sen- 
 tences of the first appearances of his father. It was 
 meager information. However, with legal accuracy 
 he jotted down dates and facts, and carried them 
 home with him. He continued to keep his own 
 counsel regarding late events and to study up a line 
 of action. His was an eminently practical mind. 
 Ho thought less of his title and his ancestry than of 
 the gold they represented. The idea of donning his 
 princely name and settling down in Russia entered 
 his mind onlv to be ridiculed. He would not do 
 such a thing tven were it at all feasible ; with as- 
 sassination threatening it would be the highest folly. 
 His chief difficulty was the mess of pottage. If he 
 could get a half-million ! It was a large sum — half 
 of it was a large sum — but one serious circumstance 
 
 threatened to diminish and perhaps destroy it. His 
 
 230 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 231 
 
 father was, perhaps, still living, and no plans that 
 he could form safely bridged that difficulty. Prince 
 Louis of Cracow would not risk his money on chance, 
 nor would he himself care to act so freely with what 
 was only presumptively his own. 
 
 After many days of weary thinking he came to 
 no conclusion in regard to his numncr of procedure 
 with the Count. Florian did not care to tell him at 
 once of his late discovery. If his father were alive 
 it became necessary to produce him. If he were 
 dead his death must be well proven before the Prince 
 of Craco.v would part with his gold to the prince's 
 son. x\nd Florian so needed the money that he 
 could not th.nk of the dread possibility of waiting 
 for it another year. The convention of the next 
 summer was to nominate a candidate for governor, 
 and he was determined to try for the nomination ; 
 but lie needed gold to soften his own i)arty and to 
 gild his religion out of sight. Here was his only 
 chance to obtain it. Ambition's fever was eating 
 him up, and his moral perceptions, long blunted, 
 seemed losing their edge entirely. lie allowed the 
 autumn and winter to slip aAvay without doing more 
 than to set a very commonplace detective on his 
 father's track. Nothing, of course, was discovered 
 concerning him. His only confidant in business 
 matters was Mrs. Merrion, whom he had not yet 
 made aware of his change of fortune. He called on 
 her o- 1 afternoon when twilight was drawing near 
 and visitors and admirers were sure to be put aside. 
 She had a new doubt of conscience for him to solve. 
 Her conscience always troubled her now that she 
 was a Catholic. 
 
 ill 
 
 

 232 
 
 SOL'TARY ISLAND. 
 
 m 
 
 Si'" 
 
 % 
 
 ■*:t 
 
 Mi 
 
 ! , ! 
 
 ^hr 
 
 [I 
 
 " Father Baretti told me to-dav " — she affected 
 foreign clergymen — " I had been speaking to him of 
 some dear gentlemen friends of mine " 
 
 " God help him," groaned Florian, " if he has to 
 listen to the tales of women ! I know a tithe of 
 what his sufferings must be." 
 
 " But let me tell you " 
 
 " No, no," he cried impatiently, " not a word. But 
 let me tell you what I came to say. "Would you 
 take me for a Eussian prince of royal blood ? " 
 
 "I -would take you for a czar," siie said with en- 
 thusiasm. 
 
 " "Well," said he, standing before her smilingly, 
 "if you ask the Count he will tell you that he does 
 not believe I am [lain Florian Wallace. He will 
 swear also that I am Prince Florian of Cracow, the 
 heir to a noble title and estate, whom he has been 
 commissioned to find in this country. For want of 
 proof he has not been able to do it. But I have 
 the proofs now. My supposed mother gave them 
 to me on her death-bed, and I am at this moment 
 truly the Prince Florian. Is it not a romance ? " 
 
 She did not answer for a moment, but sat staring 
 into his earnest face. His strange words carried 
 conviction with them, but they caused her such as- 
 tonishment and bitter disappointment that her first 
 expression was a half-stifled sob. 
 
 He looked at her curiously. " I suppose," she 
 began, " oh — I do not know what to say. I cannot 
 congratulate you. Pray tell me all from the begin- 
 ning." 
 
 He obeyed, and she listened with shining eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! what a happy destiny," she cried ; " what 
 
 k 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 233 
 
 a future for your wife! How we missed it that 
 thought so little of you in Clayburgli! "What a 
 bitter punishment for us ! " 
 
 " Ay, indeed," he sighed, " what a bitter punish- 
 ment ! " 
 
 " Ruth will be sorry enough now that she threw 
 you aside." 
 
 " Not at all," said he moodily ; " she it was who 
 lirst heard the story and got me the proofs. There 
 was not one whit of regret in her manner. If there 
 had been " 
 
 He growled the rest of the sentence to himself. 
 
 "If there had been," she continued maliciously 
 and bitterly, "somebody would be left out in the 
 cold." 
 
 A burning flush spread over his face. 
 
 " You see how I estimate you," she said archly, 
 " and you cannot get offended at tlie truth." 
 
 " I have not the title yet. I am not going to Rus- 
 sia nor to wear my title. I am going to sell my right 
 to it and remain in America." 
 
 " You are not going to wear your title ! you are 
 going to remain in America ! That takes the ro- 
 mance from the story. I don't feel like helping any 
 one that's so foolish as to do that." 
 
 " It is not so very foolish. I am to run for the gov- 
 ernorship of this State, and, if I have money enough, 
 I sliall get the place. Which would you prefer, the 
 governor or the prince ? " 
 
 " The governor, by all means," said she promptly, 
 seeing that such was his inclination. 
 
 "But my father, who has the first claim, may 
 be living. I cannot sell while he is known to be 
 
 :i 
 
 m 
 
234 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 m 
 
 ■ -I i 
 
 [. 1 1 
 
 alive ; and if he appears or does not appear, where 
 ami?" 
 
 " Act as if he were dead. Probably he is, and will 
 never disturb you." 
 
 He walked the room in thought. The twilight had 
 deepened into darkness and the street-lamps outside 
 were shining on the wintry night. Her advice had 
 occurred to him already, but he did not like to whisper 
 its dishonesty to himself. 
 
 " I will think about it," he said ; " it's a nice point 
 to decide." 
 
 " And naughty," said Barbara cheerfully ; " but it 
 is the only thing to do, and you ought to do it im- 
 mediately, if you expect to have the money in time 
 for the convention. You are attempting high flights, 
 Florian." 
 
 " It will not be my last if it succeeds. . If it does 
 not I shall come down with a crippled wing." 
 
 " Prince Florian," said she, half to herself, " I fear 
 me you will get the cri}ipled wing. In some ways 
 you have not the support you should have. Frances 
 is too weak a woman for you." 
 
 "I know it," he said calmly, but his face had 
 whitened suddenly and his hands were trembling. 
 " But the one woman fitted to support me is beyond 
 my reach." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. Love and ambition 
 laugh at many things. I know one woman who, if 
 you would dare to to take her in spite of many diiR- 
 culties, would be willing to follow you into hovel or 
 palace. But you are too fearful. You would not 
 dare to do as she would dare." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he answered ; and then, after a 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 286 
 
 a 
 
 
 pause, he said in u singularly quiet voice, " Name 
 her, and I swear to you that if she be the woman I 
 think her I shall dare anything.'' 
 
 Barbara very signilicaiitly gave him her hand. 
 
 Count Vladimir was honored next day with a visit 
 from Florian, who carrie<l a packet in his hands. 
 
 " Welcome, my dear friend," said the Count ; 
 "you are becoming a model iianre. All your time 
 is so exclusively devoted to Miss Lynch that you can- 
 not spare an afternoon to your friends. It is well. 
 Have all the skeletons of the closet laid bare for 
 Madame's inspection, and there will be no dream of 
 them after." 
 
 "Never mind those trifles, Count. 1 have here 
 some serious business for you. I can now prove to 
 you that I am the only son of the missing prince. 
 Here are some new revelations." 
 
 Vladimir could not repress the exclamation of sur- 
 prise that rose to his lips. 
 
 "My mother died in September," said Florian, 
 " and made a confession. She also delivered to me 
 these papers. Now please examine them and tell 
 me what you think of my chances." 
 
 The Count read the documents slowly and care- 
 fully, with an expression of professional distrust on 
 his handsome wearied face. 
 
 " They are very complete," said he, " and I con- 
 gratulate you on your advancement. You are now 
 a fit object for assassination." 
 
 " So I suppose ; but as I emphatically decline to 
 accept either the title or Russian citizenship, I hope 
 that danger is averted." 
 
 " It would be," said the Count slowly, " if you 
 
p 
 
 236 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 li 
 
 :i! 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 M\ I 
 
 
 really mean that. But I cannot understand you to 
 mean that you will not attempt " 
 
 " I mean that precisely. I don't want the title but 
 I am in need of half a million. If my noble relative 
 concludes to buy me off for that sum, he can remain 
 forever unmolested." 
 
 " My dear boy," said the Count, delighted, " you 
 relieve me. I shall never have the pain of seeing 
 your stiflFened body lying in the morgue. Instead I 
 shall have the pleasure of handing you as much 
 money as I can squeeze out of the prince. There is 
 one little obstacle. There are no proofs of your 
 father's death, wherefore it is to be presumed that 
 he is alive." 
 
 " Do not let that trouble vou. My father knows 
 your Russian methods too well ever to bother you. 
 It is I who will receive the trouble, and I am pre- 
 pared for it. If he makes his appearance, depend on 
 me to manage him. If I do not your noble employer 
 will." 
 
 " Is it so ? " said the Count, with a peculiar smile. 
 " Then consider the work done." 
 
 "1 would advise you," said Florian, "to call in 
 that agent of yours and dismiss him. It is impossi- 
 ble to say what harm he might do through the coun- 
 try, looking for the heir." 
 
 " His Avork is ended. Yon need not fear him." 
 
 " That I never did," said Florian. 
 
 That very day he began to lay his plans to secure 
 the nomination at the convention, and with the money 
 which he had acquired, and the influence he had w^on, 
 and his name rung to every change by the partisan 
 newspapers, his prospects looked very fair. The 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 287 
 
 story of Ills life was published far and wide. When 
 it became known that he had preferred his Ameri- 
 can citizenship to the proud birthright of a Russian 
 prince, his popularity knew no bounds, and papers 
 and people were never tired of calling him Prince 
 Florian, and pointing to him as a bright example of 
 American training methods. His reliuion was not 
 mentioned. It was a question which his party never 
 could handle with perfect freedom, and the opposi- 
 tion never disturbed it unless for campaign purposes. 
 The convention nominated him for governor amid 
 universal acclamation : and if the means employed 
 to obtain this result were questionable, such as the 
 free use of money and the glossing over of his relig- 
 ious tenets, they were not crimes and did not dis- 
 turb the sweet serenity of his slowly toughened con- 
 science. In all his life he had never experienced 
 such a thrill of delight as swept through him on seeing 
 his name at the head of the State ticket. It dazed 
 him for an instant. He felt already under his hand 
 the mighty throbbing of the great State whose des- 
 tinies he was to guide for twenty-four months. He 
 would give a world for one continuous draught of such 
 a delight. 
 
 Frances alone was silent and reserved. She made 
 no such demonstration as her mother did, and was 
 ever looking at him with a vague alarm in her face. 
 She received her share of public attention a' -•% but 
 it did not please her. He was sufficiently tender- 
 hearted to feel ashamed in the presence of the pure 
 young girl, and to wish to keep out of her Avay as 
 much as possible. What was he to do with her, now 
 that she was become a burden to him ? It was a 
 
238 
 
 SOLITAKY ISLAND. 
 
 II 
 
 .i , 
 
 question he did not like to face, for when he looked 
 at it squarely it showed him so much in the light of 
 a villain tliatthe reflection was unpleasant. He had 
 no conscience in the mattei-, hut he liad a spark of 
 something which is called honor. During the course 
 of the month he met the Count by a})pointment and 
 received the first installment of his money. 
 
 " After this it will come rapidly," said Vladi- 
 mir ; " and my employer desires me to give the sin- 
 cerest thanks to the young relative who concludes to 
 accept the inevitable for so lumdsome a price. You 
 are always welcome, so he says, at the ancestral 
 hall." 
 
 " Much obliged, indeed. I shall be careful not to 
 call, though, until the price is paid. If I died in- 
 testate the money would revert to tiie Prince. I can 
 fancy ho would like nothing better than an oppor- 
 tunity to get it back." 
 
 " Tell me," said Vladimir, as they were parting, 
 "have you yet any notion of where your father 
 might be ? " 
 
 " What put that in your head ? " with a quick, 
 sharp look into the Count's yellow face. " I hope 
 your bloodhound is not looking for him." 
 
 " "VVe have nothing more to do with him," he 
 said proudly. " It was mere curiosity that prompted 
 the question." 
 
 Nevertheless the Count's curiosity wakened dor- 
 mant considerations in Florian's mind, and he 
 walked away ill at ease. His thoughts were turned 
 forcibly into a channel which hitherto they had 
 avoided. His father, if alive, was probably de- 
 termined to die with his history a secret, yet his 
 
 III 
 
BARHAUA AVIXS. 
 
 239 
 
 oxistenco was in sonio sort a menace to tliat relative 
 who had purchased from Florian ri^^hts which were 
 not actually his to soil. "What if that relative had 
 instituted a search for his fatl\er. And what if ho 
 should be found 1)V that Nicholas whose murderous 
 profession dechired itself in his face? Fh)rian shud- 
 dered and ])ut tlio thought from him as too awful 
 for prol)al)ility ; Init it seemed so fitting a climax 
 for the defections of which he liad been guilty that 
 again and again through that day and night lu; trem- 
 bled with apprehension. Ills faithlessness to Fran- 
 ces, his bad dispositions and political heresies, loomed 
 up before him like gigantic clouds from whose ijosom 
 threatened to leap the thunderbolt of crime. He 
 was urged thereby to renew m< re actively his search 
 for his father, and to have Nicholas shadowed. 
 Under these precautions his mind found temporai-y 
 rest, but occasionally the iirst thought presented 
 itself like a specter and wrung his soul most cruelly. 
 
 Barbara, on his next visit, was absent in Buffalo, 
 but she had left a note for him enclosing a telegram. 
 Its information was stupefying but welcome. ^NFr. 
 Merrion had died suddenly in a Buffalo hotel, and his 
 widow had gone to bring the body home. Fate 
 clearly was helping him in his downward course. 
 There remained between him and happiness but one 
 obstacle — the *ull elections. He had a sublime 
 American faith in the power of gold, and was de- 
 termined to spend his last cent in convincing the 
 people of the harmlessness of his faith in American 
 politics. 
 
 The most effective attacks which were made on 
 Florian during the campaign came from an anony- 
 
 I 
 
 ;li 
 
 ■i 
 
 u 
 
 III' 
 
 Ml 
 
I; J 
 
 ^!l 
 
 240 
 
 SOLITARY ISLA:JD. 
 
 mous writer in letters descriptive of his personal 
 character. They could have b 5en written by no other 
 than a person well acquainted with him. The lettters 
 verged on brilliancy, and gave a fair account of 
 Florian's rise and gradual change of opinions, with 
 the views which orthodox Catholics held concerning 
 him. Florian read them with feelings of indigna- 
 
 tion. There was a traitor in the 
 
 camp, 
 
 and he 
 
 thought seriously of libel suits, until the failure of 
 the letters to appear quieted him. He received his 
 first hint as to their possible author from Barbara. 
 She was certain Peter Carter wrote them. She 
 could see his natural manner in every line ; and sure 
 enough, after critical examination many evidences 
 of the man appeared in them. "When Florian had 
 made complaint to madame, and she had accused 
 Peter of abusing her hospitality, he admitted the 
 charge cheerfully. 
 
 " I've been waitin' this many a year to put him 
 down to the public for what he is," said Peter, with 
 the usual flourish, " and I'm doin' it. Those letters 
 aren't half of it, either." 
 
 Madame glared at him in a dangerous way. 
 
 " You may look, mother-in-law," said he jauntily, 
 " but the days of looks are over. Ye are going to 
 marry Frances, in spite of all my remonstrances, to 
 a man that's fit for nothing better than the Brooklyn 
 freelance. I told ye I'd never permit it. I tell ye 
 
 so agam. 
 
 1* 
 
 Frances was present at this tirade, and felt, with- 
 out knowing its cause, a deadly sickness of heart. 
 She looked at her mother inquiringly, and it drove 
 madame into a passion. 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 241 
 
 ilv, 
 to 
 to 
 
 ye 
 
 "You need not repeat your threats to .,.<..," she 
 said, " but go and execute them." 
 
 '' That 1 will shortly, an' ye can get ready for it. 
 Ye're a queer mother to allow such a man to be 
 connected with your daughter — a man that would 
 give the whole of her for Barbara Merrion's little 
 finger, an' will be apt to do it befoi-e long, now she's 
 a widow. Anyhow, I'll do it for him " 
 
 " How dare you," cried Frances, starting to her 
 feet, pale with rage — " how dare you talk so of a 
 gentleman ? O mamma ! why do you permit it ? " 
 
 " How dare I ? " snapped Peter pitilessly. " What 
 daren't I do? An' he's a gentleman, is he? Oh I 
 he's a gentleman of the new school, I suppose. But 
 I'll teach him ; an' if you don't give him up of your 
 own accord, you will of mine." 
 
 Frances burst into sobs and ran out of the room, 
 which sobered Peter. " From this moment," said 
 madame frigidly, although she was terribly excited, 
 " our relations cease. You must leave this house* 
 forever, and one penny of your allowance you will 
 never again receive." 
 
 " What a joke ! But the day of jokes is over, too. 
 I'll not leave the house, an', by hook or crook, I'll 
 have my allowance to the last." 
 
 " Go, go ! " cried madame, trembling. " Do not 
 urge me to have you forcibly rcnnoved." 
 
 Florian was sitting one evening in madame's pri- 
 vate parlor. Frances was engaged with her needle- 
 work, and her mother was nodding over the pages 
 of a magazine, when Peter unceremoniously entered. 
 One glance at his face would show that he had 
 come on a desperate errand. It was purple from 
 16 
 
 , 1 
 
242 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 f!-^ 
 
 Hi: ^ 
 
 suppressed feeling, and his eyes were averted. He 
 made a great fuss over shutting the door. Madame 
 sat pale and apprehensive, yet with the calmness of 
 a courageous despair. Frances, seeing her mother's 
 expression, grew nervous, and Florian shaded his 
 ^»allid face with his trembling hand. Peter, cough- 
 ing and strutting, stood before him. 
 
 " I have a story to tell you," said he in tones too 
 unsteady for coughing to render iBrm, " and ' like 
 you to listen." 
 
 Florian bowed in a cold assent. One of Peter's 
 peculiarities of speech was that in moments of ex- 
 citement he lost much of his brogue. 
 
 " Ye are engaged to marry this girl here," con- 
 tinued Peter, " Well, I forbid the banns — at 3m ! — 
 that is, the thing can't go on without my apj. roval, 
 which I won't give. I am her father ! " 
 
 Naturally, after this astounding revelation, there 
 was an awesome silence, broken only by a sob from 
 •Frances, upon whom the truth of his last declaration 
 fell crushingly. 
 
 " There ! " snapped Peter, turning angrily on his 
 wife, " there's your training. She's ashamed of her 
 father." 
 
 " She must thank her father for the feeling," said 
 madame, greatly relieved at the bursting of the 
 storm and apprehensive only of losing Florian for a 
 son-in-law. 
 
 "Just so," said Peter thoughtfully. "You see 
 and understand, Mr. Wallace, why I've so often 
 threatened you about this marriage. You see, I 
 know as well as you do that the coming gov^ernor of 
 this State, and perhaps the next president, can have 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 248 
 
 nothing to do with the daughter of the scribbler, 
 the dead-beat, the broken-down gentleman. I'm 
 sorry I didn't tell of it before, an' so prevent any 
 unpleasantness. But my daughter is sensible, if her 
 mother has misled her a little. She'll give you back 
 your freedom, an' for her sake you'll pardon the 
 mother who deceived you into an alliance not at all 
 creditable to one of your blood and position, even if 
 you made it willingly." 
 
 Proud of his speech and his diplomacy, Peter 
 strutted across the room. He had effectually silenced 
 madame. Frances was struggling with her agony, 
 and there was another silence until Florian, shame- 
 faced and awkward, spoke : 
 
 " This is— a — very peculiar— a— accident. I regret 
 extremely that I had not known it sooner. If you 
 will permit me I shall retire to consider " 
 
 " Of course," said Peter briskly, " but not till 
 Frances has sliown the proper spirit of the Des- 
 monds. She's not ashamed of her father, sir, the 
 direct descendant of a noble Irish house, and will 
 release you willingly. Stan' up, girl, and throw 
 him back his pledges— that is, Frank, he couldn't 
 marry you, you know, and your father such a 
 villain." 
 
 " You are free, Mr. Wallace," said she. 
 
 "Bravo!" shouted Peter to supplement her 
 weakness, for Frances was panting with the effort. 
 " Spoken like a Desmond's own daughter." 
 
 " My dear child," said madame, " you wrong 
 Horian " 
 
 " Not another word ! " cried Peter : " you've 
 wronged him enough already, and can't you see by 
 
 :t 
 
^ ^ 
 
 f; / ! ' * lis; 
 
 244 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 his face he's crazy to be rid of us ? Don't dare to 
 play mother-in-law any more." 
 
 " You are entirely free, Mr. Wallace," said Frances 
 again and more calmly. " Under no circumstances 
 could I now think of a marriage with you. Please 
 do not add to the painfulness of this scene by speak- 
 ing, but go at once." 
 
 His pride would not let him depart so meanly, and 
 coming over to her side, he tried vainly to take her 
 hand. " Believe me," said he feebly, " no one more 
 sincerely regrets these circumstances than I do. You 
 will always have my highest esteem, and unless you 
 bid me go I shall never leave your side." 
 
 Madame would have strengthened this oflfer with 
 her own influence but for Peter's silent threat to 
 demolish her if she said a word. 
 
 " Oh I go, sir, go ! " cried Frances hardly able to 
 repress the anguish of her heart, which this hollow 
 speech increased tenfold. He went out of the room 
 rejoicing and flew to Barbara. 
 
 " There goes the greatest villain this side of the 
 Atlantic," said Peter, half-triumphant, half-disgusted. 
 " A Russian prince, forsooth ! A gentleman, an 
 American gentleman, bedad. D'ye mind, Frances, 
 how ready he was to give ye up ? He is gone 
 straight to "Widow Merrion, now, to tell her the 
 whole story and get her ready for marrying him. 
 Fm sorry I let him off so easy. He ought to be 
 made pay for it, and, if it was only to spite him, I'd 
 like to see you married to him. I'll make him pay 
 for it yet." 
 
 " You had better," said madame, " for your work 
 to-night shall cost you dearly. If you are not gone 
 
BARBARA WINS. 
 
 245 
 
 from this house to-morrow the police shall remove 
 you. You shall have no further opportunity to show 
 your vile ingratitude." 
 
 " N , no, mamma," said Frances ; " we have suf- 
 fered too much to add to our sufferings. Father 
 has done well and he shall stay with us in his right- 
 ful position. I am glad to know you, father," she 
 added, throwing her arms about him and kissing 
 him; "only " 
 
 She broke down and wept, and Peter mingled his 
 tears with hers. 
 
 " You are a fool, Frances," said madame severely. 
 
 " Never mind, dear," whispered Peter ; " you'll 
 get over it some time. And you won't be ashamed 
 of your father hereafter. He was born and bred a 
 gentleman, and his Desmond blood was as pure as 
 milk, when the Russian stream was no better than 
 a barbarian's. I've saved you, and I don't care for 
 twenty allowances." 
 
 " But I might have saved him," sobbed Frances, 
 " and now he is hopelessly lost." 
 
 Hi 
 
\<Si 
 
 ■ !'.»■• 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PKINCE FLORIAN. 
 
 Count Vladimir was at this moment a disap- 
 pointed man. Barbara had made a deeper impres- 
 sion on him than he had deemed possible, and he 
 took her indifference keenly. His vanity had re- 
 ceived a more serious wound than his affections. 
 How was it possible that an elegant and titled aris- 
 tocrat could fail in a quarter so open to the influence 
 of such qualities as he possessed ? "Was the blade 
 dulling through long service? He vainly tried to 
 account for Barbara's coolness to him, and was in- 
 clined to suspect Florian of undue interference : but 
 his good sense convinced him that the betrothed of 
 Frances could have very little to do with Barbara at 
 present. 
 
 "Unless," he thought, bitterly, "my instruction 
 and example have made him a more consummate 
 rascal than I imagine." 
 
 This supposition was somewhat wild, however, 
 and he continued to visit Barbara and speculate 
 drearily on the matter until chance revealed to him 
 what reasoning and observation had failed to dis- 
 cover. He paid Florian his last installment of monej' 
 two days before the election, and at the same time 
 referred innocently but effectively to the oft-men- 
 tioned existence of his father. 
 
 246 
 
PRINCF FLORIAN. 
 
 247 
 
 " The prince, my employer," said he, " trusts that 
 should your father turn up you -will see that he sub- 
 mits to the present arrangement." 
 
 " He need have no fear," Florian replied agree- 
 ably. " I am sure of my ability to manage him 
 better than the prince himself." 
 
 " I doubt it," said Vladimir, with a smile whose 
 meaning pierced Florian's heart. " If you failed to 
 deal Avith him by your roun(h)bout American meth- 
 ods, Russian simplicity would surely make an end 
 of him. I warn you of that now and finally." 
 
 " I am glad the whole matter is complete," P'lorian 
 replied indifferently. " It has been very trouble- 
 some and dangerous" — with a placid but meaning 
 look at the Count, who was pleased to let the insin- 
 uation pass. 
 
 " "Well, our business relations, dear Prince, are 
 ended, and your last hold upon your native country 
 is cut off. I wish you all the honor and glory Amer- 
 ica can give you. Let me advise you once more to 
 keep a bright lookout for your father." 
 
 He went away smiling, as if he knew how^ those 
 last w^ords rankled in Florian's heart. Why did he 
 so persistently refer to the subject ? Had he some 
 new^s of the lost prince, and was the spy still on the 
 trail, seeking to put out of the way this last obstacle 
 to his master's security ? Florian shook like a leaf 
 at the suggestion, and, half-maddened at its possi- 
 bility, sought counsel and sympathy from Barbara. 
 
 " The Count has seen," said she, " that you are 
 annoyed by this idea of your father rising specter- 
 like to demand his own, and delights in punishing 
 you. I do not think your father can be living. You 
 
 If 
 
/" 
 
 248 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 have shown the most admirable diligence in look- 
 i,)g for him. It would not do to be too open or too 
 sharp in the search, for you might meet an impostor 
 who would give you much trouble and expense." 
 
 " That is very true," said Florian, much relieved. 
 " I am too scrupulous." 
 
 " It is highly probable that the prince is dead, or 
 so hidden, in fear of his relatives, that it is too great 
 a task to find him. I do regret one thing in the 
 late transactions with the Count — that in renouncing 
 your rights to your father's estate you did not insert 
 the clause, ' until all heirs of the present family fail.' 
 I have an idea I would look well in a Eussian court, 
 and I am so fond of a title." 
 
 " "When you reign in the executive mansion, ma 
 chere^ you will hold a more assured and brilliant 
 position." 
 
 " But suppose you do not get elected ? " 
 
 " A senatorship then aw^aits me. But you must 
 not begin to croak so soon. If money and influence 
 mean anything, the position will be mine." 
 
 " But your religion," said Barbara, " is a great 
 stumbling-block." 
 
 " I have glossed it over pretty well," he answered 
 lightly, " and my plain utterances on many mooted 
 questions have shut the mouths of my enemies tight. 
 Awa}'^ with these dismal speculations ! You relieved 
 me of my fears for my father, let me now banish 
 your doubts of my election. This is love's hour. 
 Politics and business too rudely intrude on it." 
 
 " Don't be foolish. That is the Count's talk, and 
 I hate it." 
 
 " Poor fellow I his famous to-morrow is almost 
 
PRINCE FLOHIAN. 
 
 249 
 
 here. He has hopes of you still. He is going to see 
 you very soon and settle matters finally." 
 
 " He had an idea," she said indignantly, " that I 
 might fall in love with him after the European fash- 
 ion. I saw it from the first and resented it. Other- 
 wise he would have made an impression on me, for 
 he was a most charming man." 
 
 " That past tense is a hard criticism on him, my 
 dear." 
 
 " There, there, more of the Russian foolishness." 
 
 " I beg pardon," said a voice at the door. " I do 
 not think " 
 
 Florian's haughty self-confidence never showed 
 better than at this trying moment. He released 
 Barbara's hand, and rose politely and coolly to greet 
 Count Vladimir. 
 
 " You will excuse me," said the Count in a vain 
 effort for composure. 
 
 " Certainly," said Florian. " Come in. We were 
 just speaking of you, and you fit into the conversa- 
 tion very well." 
 
 " I am honored," said the Count. " Do you con- 
 verse as tenderly and often about me with Miss 
 Lynch, your affianced ? " 
 
 " Not my affianced. Count. That little romance 
 is dead." 
 
 " I begin to comprehend," said Vladimir, strug- 
 gling desperately with anger and humilation. " And 
 am I to suppose that the lovely Mrs. Merrion is 
 soon to console herself for her recent great sorrow 
 by becoming " 
 
 " Precisely," said Barbara, who had regained her 
 usual coolness. 
 
 itiii 
 
 im 
 
 I'M 
 PI 
 
 lir 
 if 
 
250 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 I ( 
 
 ( ! 
 
 " I congratulate you both," said the Count, whiten- 
 ing to the lips, "and at a more convenient time I 
 shall be happy as a friend to learn more of this ex- 
 traordinary romance. Good-aftern<jon." 
 
 It was with blinded eyes and sta;^gering gait that 
 he found his way out of the nuiuision. A horrible 
 bitterness and wild rage against himself and Florian 
 filled his heart, and but for the shame of publicity 
 he would have raved and cursed where he was like 
 any madman. 
 
 " My teachings have turned on myself," he 
 muttered. " I taught him and he has gone lower 
 than I by degrees. But wait. Have patience, Vladi- 
 
 55 
 
 mir. 
 
 He rushed into his own rooms and gave way to 
 the passion which consumed him. Never had he 
 been so bitterly humiliated, and never had he so 
 poor an opportunity of revenging himself on his 
 enemy. What was the poor consolation of a duel 
 when he wished to tear his rival limb from limb — 
 what benefit to him when death had placed his 
 enemy beyond his reach ? Oh, if he could but 
 inflict upon him some maddening, lifelong torture, 
 "When his rage had cooled somewhat he noticed a 
 letter addressed to him lying on the table, and its 
 well known writing made him seize it hurriedly. 
 It contained but one line : " / have found him,. 
 What am I to do f " A sardonic smile spread over 
 his worn face. He held a match to the letter and 
 stood smiling while it burned to ashes. 
 
 " No answer," he muttered, " is a death-warrant. 
 This is the first drop in the bucket." 
 
 A little flame leaped up from the paper and 
 
PRINCE FLOniAN. 
 
 261 
 
 scorched his finger. He started angrily from tlie 
 reverie into which he had fallen, stamped it under 
 foot, and fell to thinking again. He was not so 
 satisfied with his action when it was done. What 
 had Florian's father done to him that he should 
 wish to murder him ? A word from him at this 
 critical moment would save a human life, and he 
 hesitated to give it because he had been humiliated. 
 Flumiliated ! The word brought the passion of anger 
 on again with two-fold intensity. lie pictured anew 
 the scene he had just witnessed in Barbara's draw- 
 ing-room, and, foaming at the mouth, stamping and 
 blaspheming, he shouted, " Let him die ! Let him 
 die, and his accursed son with him ! " 
 
 The first result of this desperate passion appeared 
 in Clayburgh. The Squire was assorting the morn- 
 ing mail, and he came across a New York postmark. 
 
 " Now who can that be from ? '' he said. " I 
 don't know that I ever saw that handwriting be- 
 fore." 
 
 Ruth suggested that he should open it. He did, 
 and read the name subscribed with a shout. 
 
 " Carter, by all that's amiable ! It's pretty short 
 for a spouter like him to write : ' Dear Squire ' (just 
 so ; we're deeply in love with each other ), ' I have 
 the honor to announce my success in breaking off 
 the match betw^een Florian and Frances.' Ha ! he's 
 at that business yet." 
 
 Ruth trembled with apprehension. 
 
 " ' It's a clean break,' " the Squire continued to 
 read, " ' and I'm proud of it ; but I'm sorry, too, 
 to let the blackguard off too easily. The divine 
 Barbara had a hand in the game. But for hor I 
 
 ! iff 
 
 
 ^ m 
 
 'i 
 
262 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 w 
 
 k 
 
 hi l 
 
 I; II . 
 
 I ! 
 
 an- 
 
 ( I; 
 
 (i : 
 
 don't think it would liuve l)(>on u success. Siie 
 wanted him pretty bad, and I liear tliey are going 
 to make a matcli of it. She lias tight ludd of him, 
 anyhow, and a worse pair never wjdked. So the 
 thing is done at last, and I've kept my word almost 
 to the letter. Of course ho will not marry your 
 daughter, but since he marries a Clayburgh girl it's 
 the next best thing. What do you think ? ' " 
 
 The Squire said " um " two or three times after 
 reading this remarkable bit of news, and looked over 
 it once or twice in a dazed way. 
 
 " Ruth," said he at last, " this is worse than sun- 
 stroke. She was always so smart, I know, and so 
 deep ; but I had an idea Flory was deeper and 
 smarter. We musn't let this get round the town ; 
 it would ruin the boy's chances in this county. Oh, 
 that smiling, darned Barbara ! She turned Catholic 
 just to snare him, and she's got him, she's got him ; 
 I tell you she's got him body and soul, for that's her 
 way." 
 
 Ruth slipped away sick at heart and ran out into 
 the open air. She saw very cieuriy the meaning of 
 Florian's new alliance and his reason for deserting 
 Frances, and her heart was filled with a sort of 
 loathing for the man who could play so poor and 
 shabby a part. Against Barbara her soul rose up in 
 horror. She dared not think it her at all, and turned 
 her thoughts upon the sweet, gentl'^, ard pious 
 woman who had been made the v' j this un- 
 
 scrupulous pair. The day, though u, was cler 
 and beautiful. There was a soft muii. ur f )m the 
 long beach where she stood, and the shores lU about 
 were aflame with the colors of autumn. A single 
 
PRINCE FLOllIAN. 
 
 253 
 
 canoe was visible on the bay, and she recognized as 
 its occupant Scott, the solitary. She waved her 
 hand to hhn, and he came ashore. 
 
 "I have news for vou, Scott. Floriau is to be 
 married to Barbara Merrlon." 
 
 The hermit looked iinusiiallv old and worn as he 
 stood beside her in his averted, slouching manner, 
 and there were deep linos of care or age on his 
 brown face. He received her information with his 
 ordinary indifference. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " said he quietly, and waited si- 
 lently for her to speak again. 
 
 " You are looking old," she ventured to say in 
 sympathy. 
 
 " I am old," he replied curtly, and started when a 
 swallow flew close to his face with a sudden whirr 
 of its wings. 
 
 " Have you lost all interest in Florian ? " she said, 
 nettled by his manner. 
 
 " He has lost so much interest in that part of him 
 which I best liked," he answered gently, "that I can 
 see no use in thinking or talking about him. I sup- 
 pose this woman is no honor to him." 
 
 " Not much. He threw up one th[it would have 
 been." 
 
 " So, so — every step is down. God help him and 
 us 1 " he added, with a long, weary sigh that sur- 
 prised and touched her. It was plain to see that ho 
 was suffering, and less stoically than usual. A closer 
 look at his red curls showed them thickly twined 
 with gray ; there were circles around his keen eyes, 
 and the bearded mouth was ti-emulous from hidden 
 feeling. She longed to comfort him, and knew not 
 
 Si 
 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 
 i 
 
 
254 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 l!!^ 
 
 how to begin. It was a new and astonishing phase 
 in his character to see in him such evidences of the 
 weaker man. 
 
 " 1 thought perhaps," she said hesitatingly, " that 
 you might do something for him. He always thought 
 so much of you, was ever so willing to do as you ad- 
 vised. I would dare to say that in the beginning 
 you might have saved him." 
 
 " I hope you don't mean that," he said. " I'm 
 sure you don't. I wouldn't think for a fortune I 
 hadn't done my share in keepin' a man from evil. I 
 knew him well. I saw there was no use. Don't 
 you think I would have tried hard if there was ? 
 You know I would." 
 
 He was so vehement that the astonished Ruth 
 could hardly believe that it was Scott who talked to 
 her, but she dissembled her amazement. 
 
 " I suppose you would have helped him if you 
 knew, Scott. But people see farther than you know 
 — simple people I mean. And he talked so much of 
 you that we saw, Linda and I — poor Li'ida ! — that 
 you had great influence over him. You did not use 
 it — at least we thought you did not. He spolce with 
 pain of your indifference. "N^ow he is almost lost ; 
 this last act hns completed his ta}\. I do not think 
 you could benefit him any, yet it might do to 
 try." 
 
 " We are all fools," said Scott, with self -bitterness. 
 " I thought 1 did my best ; you had better eyes. No, 
 there is no use now ; but if you think it would do 
 any good I will see him when he comes again." 
 
 " Thank you, Scott. He needs friends now, if he 
 ever did and he has but you and me and Frances." 
 
PRINCE FLORIAN. 
 
 255 
 
 " And one other — never mind who. But he is 
 driving his best friends from him." 
 
 He foil into u reverie, and they both stood silent, 
 with the plash of the water mingling witli tlieir 
 thoughts. The hermit Avas excited and had per- 
 mitted his emotion to be seen ; but, as if regretful 
 for his mistake, the old reserve began to settle over 
 him again. He picked up his paddle suddenly and 
 entered the boat without a word. 
 
 " I shall see you again ? " she said, knowing he 
 could not be detained. 
 
 " I s'pose — I dunno," he answered absently, and 
 pushed off from the shore. 
 
 She watched him until distance hid all but the 
 motion of the paddle from view, and felt strangely 
 depressed in spirit. Billy "Wallace and the Pere 
 came to tea that evening, to discuss the election and 
 quarrel afterwards over their favorite game. The 
 night was boisterous and stormy and had a wintry 
 odor when the three old gentlemen, under Ruth's 
 superintendence, sat down in the cosy parlor to a 
 game of dominoes. The wind was howling and 
 there was a roar from the waves on the beach, while 
 the distant lighthouses twinkled weakly through 
 the thick darkness. But these evidences of an ugly 
 night without made the scene within only the more 
 delightful, and the party prepared to pass a merry 
 evening. 
 
 " It would be just like some old grandmother to 
 take ill, ' said the Squire, " and call you away. 
 There's one thing, though — no mortal man can cross 
 the bay to-night, and you're safe from that direction. 
 It puzzles me " — and he looked at Pere Rougevin's 
 

 256 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ]\ ' 'k 
 
 Hi 
 
 ilt 
 
 round, cheerful outline humorously, " to know what 
 there is in you that sends people rushing after you, 
 at all hours and under all circumstances, to doctor 
 their sick souls. Can't a man die comfortably and 
 quietly without you, and is it necessary that you must 
 shout him into heaven or pray him in, or — what do 
 you do, any way ? " 
 
 " Why, papa " Ruth began deprecatingly. 
 
 " Just so, girl. It's a fair question, and he's goin' 
 to answer it ; and you needn't look daggers at me 
 for asking it." 
 
 " He reminds me " said the priest smiling. 
 
 " Is'o, I don't ! " the Squire roared. " Keep clear 
 of your anecdotes. You don't spin any more yarns 
 on me. Why, Ruth, he has me posted all over the 
 county at the tail end of forty stories." 
 
 P6re Rougevin was silent for the moment, fairly 
 weighed down by the force of Pendleton's lungs, and 
 before he could speak there was a knock at the out- 
 side door. 
 
 « There it is," said Billv— " the sick call." 
 
 The servant brought Pere Rougevin a card with 
 a few pencil-marks upon it. He jumped up without 
 much ceremony after reading it, and ran out into 
 the hall. Thev heard a few hurried remarks from 
 him and the stranger, and immediately he returned, 
 bringing his visitor with him. His face was quite 
 pale, but no one save Ruth noticed it, for all eyes 
 were turned on the new-comer. The latter bore a 
 curious resemblance to Scott, the hermit. He was 
 dressed in the hermit's manner, had much of his 
 silent, stern reserve, and wore his light beard in the 
 same fashion ; but over his eyes the peaked cap 
 
PRINCE FLORIAN. 
 
 257 
 
 threw such a shade as to leave his face a mystery. 
 He stood quietly at the door and neither removed 
 his hat nor took a chair. 
 
 "Pendleton," said the Pere in some excitement, 
 " I have a bit of bjid news. Scott has disappeared. 
 This man lives near him and savs he has not been 
 home since Friday. That Russian has been in the 
 neighborhood, and foul play is feared." 
 
 Only Ruth saw the revelation that lay behind his 
 words and manner and she burst suddenlv into a fit 
 of uncontrollable sobbing. A thousand insignificant 
 incidents of the past ten years rushed before her 
 mind. 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, " I see it all now. It is terrible 1 " 
 
 Her father stared. 
 
 " If any harm has come to Scott," said he, " that's 
 enough. We'll avenge him. But what's the use of 
 being frightened ? If a man stays from home three 
 or four days there's no harm in it. So dry your 
 tears." 
 
 " O papa ! don't you see ? Scott is Florian's 
 father." 
 
 " Yes," said Pere Rougevin with emotion, " he is 
 the lost prince, and we fear this Russian has been 
 hired to injure him, and may have done it." 
 
 The silence which transfixed the Squire for a half 
 minute was so deep that the ticking of the clock 
 sounded like the strokes of a hammer. The roar of 
 the storm beat up against the house. He sat there 
 with his heavy face void of expression, his eyes 
 turned on the priest in a vacant stare, while he tried 
 to realize all that those astonishin*^ words meant. 
 
 " Good God ! " were his first hushed words. Billy 
 '7 
 
 •m 
 
 5il 
 

 
 11 
 
 I: El. 
 
 ft' 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 U. fc 
 
 2o8 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 could say nothing, and Kuth was still sobbing. Pdre 
 Rougevin and the stranger grew impatient for prac- 
 tical suggestions. 
 
 " I'm beat,'' said the Squire ; " but I've got my 
 breath again, I suppose it's so and I don't doubt 
 but that if we had our eyes open we might have 
 known it before. And now when he's most wanted 
 he's gone, and that sneak is after him and means 
 him harm. "Well," he continued ponderously, rising, 
 " we'll look for 'em both, and deal with 'em accord- 
 ing to law. Young man, what have you to say 
 about it ? " 
 
 "The islands ought to be searched," said the 
 stranger, " and a watch set on the waters, so that if 
 foul play has done away with him his body may be 
 found." 
 
 " And word should be sent immediately to Flo- 
 rian," said Ruth. 
 
 " I don't know about that," Pendleton remarked. 
 " To-morrow will be a busy day for him, and he can't 
 do any more than we can do.'' 
 
 " Xot the slightest need of sending for him," 
 P6re Rougevin said hastily. " It will be time 
 enough to notify him when we have found Scott or 
 learn what has happened to him." 
 
 Ruth said no more on the matter, but when the 
 Squire had put on his great-coat she was in the hall 
 ready to go with them and prepared to put in action 
 some idea of her own. They raised no objection to 
 her company, and all rode up together to the village, 
 where the Squire began his search for a boat able to 
 stand the fury of a southwest wind. Ruth in the 
 meantime had sent to Florian the following telegram : 
 
PRINCE FLORIAN. 
 
 259 
 
 »» 
 
 " Come at once, if you would save your father's life." 
 By the time she reached the pier again Pendleton 
 had engaged a tug for the search, and the vessel was 
 getting up steam. A crowd stood about, curious to 
 know the reasons of a water-journey on so tempestu- 
 ous a night; but the Squire sailed away with his 
 party in lofty silence, giving only a hint to his hungi y 
 neighbors that it was concerned with the coming 
 election. Once on the water he called a council in 
 the small cabin. 
 
 "We're going this thing rather blind," said he, 
 " and I would like to hear your opinions and get a 
 little more reason and certainty into it. I suppose 
 we can search all the small islands to-night by our- 
 selves with lanterns ; but if we don't find him we 
 must get help to-morrow, if we mean to do the busi- 
 ness thoroughly." 
 
 " There are certain places," said the stranger, 
 " which Scott frequented, and it might be worth the 
 trouble to examine them. I know them all. But it 
 is more likely that he avoided them when pursued 
 by the Russian. You must know that Scott ex- 
 pected his identity to be some day discovered and 
 had provided hiding-places among the islands. The 
 prmcipal of these was under his own house ; but its 
 secret the Russian discovered a few days ago, and 
 he abandoned it. If he fancies that the others are 
 known he will not go near them." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Squire, " now you have given us 
 a fair start, young man. We must begin with his 
 own house and island first, then take the others in 
 succession." 
 
 He went out to the pilot-house and the P6re fol- 
 
 
 m 
 
 tj-i 
 
 
 ; li. 
 
 
Ill 
 
 i4 
 
 Ms; 
 
 
 
 ij 
 
 ■if 
 
 if 
 
 i. 
 
 IH 
 
 260 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 lowed him, leaving Ruth and the stranger alone in 
 the cabin. The boat rocked and plunged uncom- 
 fortably in the heav}' sea and the great ^vaves dashed 
 against the windows. Nothing was visible outside 
 save the twinkling lights on the shore. 
 
 " You will pardon me, Mr. Rossiter," she said, 
 giving the stranger her hand after a moment's awk- 
 ward silence, " that I did not recognize you until 
 you spoke this evening. I am very glad to meet you 
 and to see that you are well." 
 
 " Thank you," said Paul nervously, and wa-i silent. 
 Not a word was uttered concerning his long and 
 mysterious absence from the world, and both were 
 glad of it, for the greatness of the calamity which 
 seemed to threaten them overshadoAved minor things 
 completely. A sudden quieting of the waves and 
 the rushing of wind through tree-tops signified that 
 they had entered the tortuous channel leading into 
 Eel Bay, and in a half-hour more they were sailing 
 opposite the hermit's cabin. All went ashore save 
 Ruth, who felt that she would be a hindrance in the 
 search, and so remained leaning against the deck- 
 rails, w^atching the movements of their lanterns as 
 they walked over the small island. They returned 
 to the boat unsuccessful and steamed to another 
 spot, which was searched with the same result ; and 
 so through the whole stormy night they continued 
 their vain pursuit of the lost prince, returning to 
 Clayburgh by sunrise for breakfast and additional 
 help. Ruth did not accompany them. Overcome 
 v/ith weariness, she did not feel equal to the fatigue 
 of a twelve hours' journey — Avhich was strictly true, 
 but her real reason for remaining was the telegram 
 
rillNCE FLUIUAN. 
 
 261 
 
 which Florian sent her that morning announcing liis 
 arrival in Clayburgli for that evening. 
 
 It was a dull, stolid day. The winds had died 
 away, and the sun M'as buried in thick clouds before 
 it had been two hours shining, and a bitter suspicion 
 of snow was in the cold, heavy air. At ten it began 
 to rain, and the thick mists shut out the river and 
 brought a dee])er chill to tlie atiiiosi)hcre. Time 
 hung the heavier on her hands. She couhl not read, 
 and thought was distressing. A few old gossij^s 
 came in to hear the news of the day and discover 
 the cause of so much mvsterious runninti: about in 
 the quiet town, and she replied in dai'k and secret 
 language, with many hints of greater surprises 3'^et 
 in store for them, and sent them away satisfied and 
 yet unsatisfied. In the stores and saloons and 
 kitchens that day the Squire's movements Avere 
 thoroughly canvassed. A mystery so important as 
 to require a tug and fifteen men to carry it out was 
 a delightful morsel in dull Xovember, and the peace- 
 ful citizens enjoyed it ; but when the telegraph mes- 
 senger passed the word that a special train was due 
 in Clayburgh at four o'clock that afternoon, nearly 
 three hoars ahead of the regular train, the excite- 
 ment spread to the highest grades of town society, 
 and even the ministers trotted down to the depot 
 under the sa. le umbrella to examine into this second 
 wonder of the day. But Florian knew his native 
 village well. Half a mile from the depot Ruth met 
 him with the carriage, and the train moved into 
 the station without a soul save the employees on 
 board. So with every disappointment the mystery 
 grew. 
 
 I 
 
 k 
 
 if 
 Pi 
 
 
Wll 
 
 262 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 i ! 
 
 A more wretched man than Florian Ruth had 
 never seen, ilis proud bearing was gone, his proud 
 self-possession had melted from him like snow, and 
 his pale, drawn face and listless manner showed what 
 he was suffering. He took her hand gratefully as 
 he entered the carriage. She tried to speak, but her 
 own sobs were too powerful. 
 
 " You need not tell me," he said. " We are too 
 late. I know that, and I might have saved him ; I 
 might have known long ago." 
 
 He repeated the last words over and over like one 
 in delirium. When he had grown calmer she told 
 him all the circumstances of the last few days, be- 
 ginning with her last talk with the hermit, and he 
 sat with head bowed, listening, nor made any com- 
 ment for a time. 
 
 " Where were our eyes," she said crying, " that we 
 did not see through this loving imposture long 
 since? A spy could discover him, and we could 
 not." 
 
 " The spy has exceptional resources," he answered ; 
 " and yet it would have been so easy to have rea- 
 soned. You remember the interest he took in me, 
 and I recall the dreams I had of him kissing me, 
 poor father ! in my sleep ; and how in the grave- 
 yard here one night he lield me in his arms with his 
 cheek against my own ; and the time he came to 
 New York, risking so much for love of me. Then 
 his behavior towards Linda on her death-bed. I be- 
 lieve she knew it, for she looked from him to me so 
 strangely — I see it now ; I could not see it then. 
 And my mother's behavior when he was present or 
 spoken of. What a life!" and he added after a 
 
PRINCE FLORIAN. 
 
 263 
 
 pause, with a shudder of horror and grief, " and 
 what a death, after so much self-denial and love ! " 
 
 " Oh, be patient ! " said she, attempting cheerful- 
 ness. " They are searching for him bravely, and he 
 is so cunning and active that it will take an expert 
 woodman to overmatch him." 
 
 " His pursuer," said Florian gloomily, "is by pro- 
 fession an assassin. He has but one instinct, that of 
 death, and he will follow, follow, follow like abound, 
 never wearying, never stopping, cunning and pitiless 
 as a tiger, until his victim is dead. I can see him 
 now crawling through some lonely patch of timber in 
 the rain with that white face of his shining in the 
 gloom." 
 
 She had to admit that the picture was not over- 
 drawn, and thev came to the house in silence. 
 
 " I will not go in," he said ; " I must get a boat 
 and join in the search. I am going mad, I think." 
 
 " But thei-e is no wind, Florian, and you can get 
 no tug, for there is none here. Better wait until the 
 rain stops ; there Avill be a wind then strong enough 
 to make the boat of use. ' 
 
 He held up his hand in the air. 
 
 " There is wind enough," said he. " I could not 
 stay ; I must go." 
 
 She went into the house and brought out some oil 
 cloths for him to put on as a protection against 
 the rain. With a servant to manage the boat they 
 started, taking a course straight down the river in 
 order to meet the tug; but the wind soon died away 
 almost entirely when they were opposite the well- 
 known channel leading into Eel Bay, and Ruth pro- 
 posed, seeing how impatient he grew, that they 
 
 m 
 
 f. ' 
 
 'I. 
 
 m 
 
f^"" 
 
 264 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 jt; ^ 
 
 ill I' 
 
 would go to the hermit's ciibiii iiiul wait there for a 
 favorable wind. It was done, and lor the first time 
 in years he entered his father's liouse. 
 
 " What a pahice for a })rinc'('I" lie said, and a 
 great bitterness iilled his heart as memory after 
 memory connected with the old cabin rose before 
 him. Darkness came on, and the servant lighted 
 the old candle, and the fire was started in the fire- 
 place. He sat reading Izaak AValton or wandering 
 uneasily to the shore, while Ruth, wearied, lay down 
 to sleep in the inner room. The night passed in a 
 dead calm. At four o'clock in the morning the 
 clouds parted in the northwest and the first suspicion 
 of a wind stirred the water. He waked her, saying 
 gently : " We must be going." It was cold and un- 
 pleasant in the damp morning air, but a few stars 
 shone faintly overh(3ad. As before, they went 
 straight down the river, taking the wider channels in 
 order to intei-cept the tug if she should be returning. 
 At daylight they had reached Alexandria Bay, and 
 in the distance later on, as the sun was rising, they 
 saw the tug steaming further down the river. 
 
 " They have not found any trace of him yet," said 
 Ruth. " They are searching still, or they would be 
 returning." 
 
 "Why do they take the islands below instead of 
 those above? " he asked, 
 
 " I believe they have a guide on board who lived 
 for some time with your father," she replied, " and he 
 thinks he must have fled in that direction. When I 
 last saw him he was going down the river." 
 
 They sailed on, the wind still cold and feeble as 
 before, and in two hours had reached the island. 
 
 hi 
 
PRINCE FLOIIIAN. 
 
 265 
 
 Florian would not go noar the tug or make himself 
 known to any one, but went asliore in liis oil cloths 
 and silently joined in the search, wiiile Ruth sailed 
 to the tug for information. No success yet and no 
 clue ! When she returned Florian was waiting for 
 her on the shore. 
 
 " They will never make anything of this," he said. 
 " It is too wild and tliev Avill have to cover much 
 ground. Let us go back and search the islands 
 above." 
 
 To Ruth this seemed even a more hopeless task, 
 but she did not feel it necessary to tell him so. The 
 wind was freshening from the northwest, and with 
 frequent tacking — for the channel in places was nar- 
 row — tliev arrived at Solitarv Island a little after 
 noon. Un the Canadian shore stood a farmhouse, 
 where they ate dinner, and afterwards the}' hinded at 
 Grindstone and began preparations to search that 
 island through its entire length of seven miles or 
 more. Florian seemed unwearied, but Ruth was 
 half dead from fatigue. Obstacles of every sort be- 
 gan to fall in their way. They had endeavored to 
 secu^'e horses from an island resident and help, which 
 he was disp<jsed to give only for enormous pay, 
 and his petty delays waste<l the precious time until 
 half-past three. When at last they were almost 
 ready, Ruth with beating heart, i)ointed out to Florian 
 a canoe with a single occupant making for Solitary 
 Island ; and he, pale as death, watched it for a mo- 
 ment, and then, seizing her hand, ran down to the 
 boat and bade the servant hoist the sail. II is eves 
 did not for an instant leave the figure in the canoe, 
 and a flush of deep excite.nent and tender feeling 
 
 if! 
 
 If 
 
266 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 'i '-fl 
 
 spread over his face as Scott stopped leisurely from his 
 boat and walked slowly to his cabin. Ho had taken 
 the pains to pull up his canoe on the beach, and after 
 entering the house closed the door. Evidently no 
 harm had happened to him, and the noise which had 
 been made over his accidental disappearance was 
 premature. It was a few minutes past four when 
 their boat touched the shore. Four o'clock in the 
 afternoon of the first day of November was a mo- 
 ment which had scarred Ruth's memory years back 
 so badly that the hour never struck without bring- 
 ing the tears to her eyes. At that hour on that day 
 Linda died. She wept now with a violence that 
 surprised Florian as he helped her from the boat and 
 led her joyfully to the cabin. He pushed open the 
 door with some difficulty because of a heavy mov- 
 able obstacle on the other side. "When he saw and 
 recognized the object he stood quite still for a mo- 
 ment, pushed Ruth gently back and, calmly as might 
 be, knelt beside the fallen form of his father and put 
 his hand over the heart. It was forever stilled. 
 The pallid "ace and half-closed eyes were evidence 
 enough without the bullet-wound and the bloodstains 
 on his garments. Scott was dead. In his hand he 
 held a small crucifix, and the tears which he had 
 shed in his last moments still lay on his cheek. 
 
 mi 
 
 I! I 
 
 bt?'l 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE PRINCE 8 STORY. 
 
 It was a rare day in Clayburgh — rare for No- 
 vember. The air had a golden, fine-spun clearness, 
 and the blue river was bluer than ever, although the 
 islands, no longer green, showed their gray sides 
 over the sparkling waters like faded tombstones in 
 a spruce forest. The village was not one whit less 
 dull than usual, and villagers shook their heads over 
 the burst of unexpected sunshine. The late tragedy 
 which had taken place had ruffled for a few hours 
 the placid stream of existence. The affair was no- 
 body's business in particular. There was no widow, 
 no children, no relatives. Scott had lived and died 
 a lonely man, and the violence of his taking off con- 
 cerned only society in general and the officers of the 
 law. Had he been a popular, sociable fellow there 
 might have been great excitement ; but it being a 
 case of nobody's funeral, no one minded it after the 
 shock was over and all had been said about it that 
 could possibly be said. Clayburgh had a public 
 calamity to grieve over. Florian had been defeated ; 
 his defeat had hurt it to the quick. It could not 
 understand the counties lying to the south and 
 southwest. "Were they ignorant of the merits of 
 the candidate, or had they been practised upon by 
 
 designing rivals or office-seeking Whigs ? The dem- 
 
 267 
 
 fTsj. 
 
268 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 orrats had deserted their candidate bv thousands. 
 The rest of the ticket had been elected. Florian 
 alone, the pride of Clayburgh, had been " scratched " 
 by his supposed friends and left a tot^I ruin upon 
 the battle-field. What was the murder of a solitary, 
 sour fisherman to such a crime ! 
 
 However, the villagers did not, in their deep grief 
 for their candidate, forget neighborly duMes to the 
 dead. On the second day after Scott's death a fair 
 number of the fathers, in blue swallow-tails, black 
 chokers, and white felt hats, made the pleasant 
 journey across the river and througli the islands 
 with a deep sense of the fj "or they were conferring 
 on the dead man in taking so much trouble to pay 
 him funeral honors. They were severely taken 
 aback on finding, when the boat landed them on 
 Solitary Island, that they formed a very respectable 
 minority of tlie people there assembled. Boats of 
 all kinds lay lalong the shore. Their owners were 
 scattered about the island in holiday clothes as fresh 
 and stylish as those which came from Clayburgh. 
 The old white hats walked up to the cabin with 
 muttered " I had no idees," and paid their respects 
 to the man whom living tliey had rarely presumed 
 to address. He lay in tlie little kitchen which for 
 twenty years had been his living room. The brown 
 habit of the scapular was his shroud and was the 
 source of nuich speculation and wonderment. For 
 no one had been aware that Scott heUl any religious 
 opinions. The serene, lueditative face had a new 
 expression which few had ever before seen. The 
 close-fitting cap was gone and the bushy whisker's 
 trimmed neatlv. Was this really the face of the 
 
THE PKLNCE f> STORY. 
 
 269 
 
 common fisherman ( Around a reverential forehead, 
 white as snow, clustered the yellow locks. The 
 regular and sweet features were Florian's own, but 
 less stern, more exalted, more refined in their ex- 
 pression. The people looked at this unexpected 
 countenance in awe, feeling there was more in this 
 man than they had fathomed. 
 
 Izaak Walton was in its place on the table. Can- 
 dles burned there around a crucifix. An altar stood 
 beside the bedroom d ).n', and on it lay the black 
 vestments for the Mass. Scott was after all a 
 Catholic ; and while the neighbors owned to a senso 
 of disappointment at this discovery, they also ac- 
 knowledged a deeper respect foi' the character of 
 the dead. Beside the cottin sat Ruth weeping, her 
 veil down, her haiuls chisped in prayer, her eyes 
 rarely turning from the face of Linda's father. 
 Thus had she sat since with her own hands she had 
 prepared him for his rest. Linda's father! Oh I 
 wasted years which had been spent in ignorance of 
 this rich treasure. Now she knew why her heart 
 had gone out to him, and she wept again and again 
 as evei'v memory showed the fathei-'s love for his 
 child ron and his children's friend. She could not 
 uiidersi md it ! How could any one have been so 
 l)lir/l i How could love have felt no thrill from 
 this magic presence, when hate discovered and d(^- 
 stroyed it ( A rough costume, a tight-fitting cap, a 
 silent manner had hidden him from his own and not 
 from his enemies. She wrung her hands and wept 
 as this sharp reflection pierced her heart. But 
 what need to trouble the min' now Avith conflicting 
 thoughts ? It was all ov(.'r Tn a strange land, 
 
 ml 
 
^i^mHmmsmmmmKm 
 
 270 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 among a strange people, the exile had died ! In a 
 poor hut the Russian prince, dead and cold, received 
 from the hands of plain citizens those rites which 
 kings would have been proud to give ! In a free 
 country he had fallen as helplessly as in the land of 
 the czars ! Its laws had been no protection to him. 
 Little he cared now, indeed, for what had been or 
 for all his wrongs ; what he asked was a grave and 
 a prayer for his soul. 
 
 In the closed bedroom reclined the lately defeated 
 candidate for the chief magistracy of the State. 
 His costume was not one of mourning, but such as 
 he had been accustomed to wear, correct and gentle- 
 manly, with a smack of over-polish. His face was 
 a trifle pale and wearied. No evidence of any deep 
 disappointment for his defeat or of any shock at the 
 violent taking off of his father was visible. For a 
 man in his unique position he bore himself very 
 veil. Looking at the dead hermit, and saluting him 
 as his father after they had followed him to his 
 cabin, Florian accepted the hard conditions which 
 Providence had placed upon him, as he had taught 
 himself to accept all unchangeable facts. No tears, 
 no excitement, no curious questions, but a complete 
 acceptance of the state of affairs that was marvel- 
 ous. There was a show of irritation occasionally 
 against two persons, Paul and Pere Rougevin — so 
 faint that only the latter perceived it, because ho 
 suspected its existence. These tvv'o men had been 
 favored with the hermit's intimacy. They had, as 
 it were, supplanted the heir in his father's affec- 
 tions, being, as Florian well knew, better conformed 
 to his father's idea of what men should be. Almost 
 
THE PRINCE S STORY. 
 
 271 
 
 ■SO 
 
 he 
 been 
 
 as 
 (Tee- 
 med 
 
 QlOSt 
 
 d. 
 
 mechanically the irritation showed itself. P^re 
 Rougevin kept himself and the unconscious Paul 
 out of the great man's way. For this reason they 
 were rarely seen in the dead room, whitlier Florian 
 often came to gaze quietly on the prince's face. 
 
 It had been decided to bury Scott on the island, 
 as he had often desired, and to show no signs of 
 mourning which would lead the neighbors to suspect 
 the real state of affairs. The grave was dug among 
 the pines on the highest point of land on the island, 
 and P6re Rougevin had brought over the requisites 
 for the Mass of requiem. Ruth had gently hinted 
 the propriety of laying the prince beside Linda, but 
 prudence forbade. It was never to be known save 
 to the few who this poor lonely fisherman had been. 
 
 Near noon the crowd assembled in the room and 
 about the door at a signal from the Squire. The 
 singers from the Clayburgh choir intoned the first 
 notes of the " Kyrie Eleison," and the singing rose 
 and fell on the clear air in that beautiful solitude 
 like the sound of weeping. The incense floated 
 through the door, the holy water was sprinkled, and 
 the tones of the priest were heard delivering the 
 sermon. Then came the shuffling of feet and the 
 outpouring of the people. The Squire gathered them 
 all before him in order to select the bearers, but in 
 reality to give the mourners time for an unobserved 
 parting with their dead. It was done very quickly. 
 The P6re and Paul and Billy looked for the last 
 time on the handsome face. Ruth kissed the fore- 
 head with an involuntary moan. For a moment, as 
 the son pressed his cheek to his father's, his features 
 were twisted by an internal anguish more intense 
 
272 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 f Mi: 
 
 than physical pain. They screwed down the coflBn- 
 lid, and the bearers entering, a procession was 
 formed. Florian offered his arm to Ruth. To the 
 singing of the psalms they moved down the slope in 
 front of the house and up the opposite hill Here 
 was the grave. All around were the islands, with 
 no human habitation in view. Below were the placid 
 waters. The voice of the priest blessing the tomb 
 arose : " Lord, in the bosom of whose mercy rest 
 the souls of the faithful dead, bless this grave and 
 give it into Thy angels' charge. Loosen the bonds 
 of sin which press the soul of him whose body is 
 here buried, that for ever more with Thy saints he 
 may rejoice in the possession of Thee, through 
 Christ our Lord. Amen," The clods rattled on 
 the coffin with a sound familiar both to Ruth and 
 Florian. Ten years ago that very day they had 
 buried Linda! The crowd broke up respectfully 
 and vet with relief, and were not down to the shore 
 when the laugh followed the joke and the healthy 
 concerns of life banished the mists of death. Thank 
 God, the world on this gloon y day was not all 
 gloom ! The white hats and blue coats boarded the 
 Juanlta with hilarity, a fleet of skiffs and sail-boats 
 fluttered out into the bay, and very soon the island 
 was left to the Squire and his party. 
 
 An awkward restraint v^us in the air. The Squire 
 had no ono to praise him for the glorious manner 
 in which he had carried out the programme, and, 
 warned by the preoccupation cf the others, dared 
 not sound his own trumpet. 
 
 " You'll stop around for a few days, Florv," he 
 said. " You can have the run of the house, and I'll 
 
 Nil 
 
THE PRINCE 8 STORY. 
 
 273 
 
 take it upon my shoulders to keep off the crowd, 
 unless you go to Buck's." 
 
 " I shall stay here for a time," said Florian. They 
 all looked at him, and a glance from Ruth kept the 
 Squire silent. " My lawyer can attend to whatever 
 business there is in New York. Let me thank you 
 for your kindness during these few days. I am 
 deeply grateful." 
 
 " I presume," said the priest rather hurriedly, 
 " you prefer to remain here until you return to New 
 York ? " Florian nodded. " There are some matters 
 which you would probably like to be accjuainted 
 with before your departure. When you find it con- 
 venient I am readv to tell vou all that I know con- 
 cerning your fatlier. Mr. Uossiter can furnish you 
 with some facts, perha])s " 
 
 " I am the bearer of a message from the prince to 
 his son," said Paul. " It is best to defer its delivery 
 for a few days, however. Whatever I know about 
 him I am most willing to tell." 
 
 The faintest irritation showed itself in Florian's 
 manner, and his eyes blazed with some hidden feel- 
 ing which the IV're alone observed. 
 
 " I thank vou both," said Florian. " In a few 
 days I shall hoar you ; not now, if you please — not 
 now," 
 
 " Mr. Rossiter, you are my guest for the present," 
 said the Pere, " and you will accompany us to the 
 village. There is no need to delay longer." 
 
 The S([uire went out to get ready the yacht in a 
 dazed way, for he could make nothing of these ar- 
 rangements. 
 
 '' The bov has loss nonsf'tise about him than the 
 18 
 
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 IP 
 
 II 
 
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 m 
 
 
 274 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 common," he said to Billy, " and it's no sickly senti- 
 ment that keeps him here. Who'd think, to see 
 him, that he was defeated in a 'lection two days ago, 
 and lost his father before he found iiim ? " 
 
 " I'm glad he's not my son," said Billy, with a 
 snuffle. "I'd rather have nobody at my grave, 
 nobody, than such a stick. He's worse than Sara." 
 
 The yacht sailed away and left Forian sitting on 
 the boulder over the spot where Linda hud received 
 the fatal wetting. He thought of tliat and of many 
 other incidents of the time. He felt on his hot cheek 
 the cool breezes of that first night on the island, 
 when his dreams awoke him and sent him rambling 
 along the shore. Those dreams of his had been a 
 wonderful reality. His father had really kissed him 
 in his sleep. It was pleasant to recall those kisses. 
 He was first in his father's heart in s])itp of his 
 sternness and secrecy. Then there was the night 
 in the graveyard, when for a moment he lay in his 
 arms and felt his cheek lovingly against his own. 
 Accident then, now the pui'pose was visible. And 
 Linda knew it l)efore she died. Happy Linda, whose 
 innocence merited such a reward, and to whom it 
 had not been given to know him first when death 
 had claimed him, ai\d to suspect that — Again that 
 Hpasm of mental agony twist(»d his features shape- 
 less for an instant, but passed away beneath iiis 
 wonderful s(>lf-poise. "That way madness lies," 
 was the thougiit which shaped its(»lf in his mind. 
 He sat tiiere all the afternoon, and when niglil 
 came, heedless of the change, he walked up the hi'l 
 and sat down on the grave — the first grave on Soli- 
 tary Island I Three days ])assed days of some an.^- 
 
THE PRINCES STORY. 
 
 275 
 
 a 
 
 iu])e- 
 iiis 
 
 liiM 
 
 iety to the friends of Florian. What was he doing 
 on the island ? His letters were sent to him daily, 
 and there were many of them, while the mail sent 
 back by him was voluminous enough to show that 
 his idle hours were few. Yet Ruth was apprehen- 
 sive. About what she could hardly say ; so with 
 the Squire she called on Pere Rougevin to hear the 
 latest news of Florian, " He will bo here within 
 the hour," said the priest. " I received a note from 
 him to that effect. He is coming to learn what I 
 know of his father." 
 
 " I am so glad that — well," and she stopped 
 abruptly, "after all, I do not know that he is 
 well." 
 
 " There is nothing to disturb him particularly," 
 said the priest, with the faintest touch of scorn, -which 
 the Squire took for praise. " He remained on the 
 island partly to investigate the cabin where his father 
 lived, and partly to enjoy quiet and retirement after 
 an arduous campaign. Sentiment does not enter 
 largely into Florian's make-up." 
 
 " He's too much of a Yankee for that," said the 
 admiring Squire. " There's nothing in this world 
 can put Flory down, unless death. I just dote on 
 that boy." 
 
 The sharp ring of the door-bell sounded at the 
 moment. 
 
 " This is ho," said the P6re. " I invite you both 
 to remain and hear what I am to tell about this so- 
 called Scott. It is a curious histcM'V and contains 
 nothing that you may not know." 
 
 " If Florian does not object " 
 
 " Don't you fret," said the Squire, cutting off Ruth's 
 
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 276 
 
 80LITAUY ISLAND. 
 
 polite remarks, for he was eager to stay. " Don't 
 you fret. Flory has no family secrets from me— us, 
 I mean." 
 
 When Florian entered the Squire saved any one 
 the trouble of replying to his grave salutation by at 
 once taking the }X)sition of chairman of the meeting. 
 Ruth was satisfied to note in silence the changes 
 which a few days had made in the politician's face. 
 It was paler than usual, and the eyes seemed sunken 
 and weary. The evidences were that Florian had 
 not passed as quiet a time at the island as the priest 
 believed, but in the hurry and gentle excitement of 
 an animated conversation the paleness and hollow- 
 ness disappeared to a great degree. 
 
 " As you intend to return to-night,'' said P6re 
 Rougevin, by the way of preface, " I suppose you 
 are willing to have me begin my narration. I wish 
 that Miss Ruth and her father should hear it, if you 
 have no objections." 
 
 Of course Florian had none, and tlie Squire was 
 delighted. 
 
 " T became aware of the facts which I tell to you," 
 he said, " not by any favor on your father's part, but 
 through an acciilent. In the ordinary course of mv 
 parish business the prince found it necessary to con- 
 fide in me. If he was more precise in his account 
 of his life to me than to any othei', it wiis because I 
 insist(Kl on knowing the whole story, with every 
 shade that time had cast u[)on it. 
 
 " Y<ni know the title wiiich belongs to him and 
 how he lost it. lie was a Catholic and favored a 
 poor relative, of no jirinciple. He lost his position, 
 and almost his life, through this relative, who, by 
 
THE PHINCES STOUY 
 
 277 
 
 intrigues quite possil)le in Russia, convinced the C'zar 
 tliat his rehitive, your father, was conspiring against 
 him. A friend laid before tlie unfortunate Pr::ice 
 the state of affairs. He saw at once that nothing 
 short of a miracle could sjivo him. lie was young' 
 and practically friendless, for a Catholic noble of 
 the blood royal was uni(|ue and stood alone. With 
 his two children he hurried into France. 
 
 " The fate of his wife, the Princess, was particu- 
 larly sad. She was a woman of mind and will. 
 AYhen the Prince spoke of exile she refused to leave 
 her country. On good and reasonable grounds, how- 
 ever. Iler family was i)owerful. She at least was 
 safe, and she was bent on doing her utmost to save 
 her husband's estates and name. But for safety's 
 sake she urged the Prince to depart with the chil- 
 dren, which ho did, without misgivings, yet without 
 hope. Ilis bi'ave wife returned to the home of her 
 father, made many effoi'ts to save the estates, and 
 gained so many imjjortant favors from the emperor 
 that the scheming relative saw his plotting in danger 
 of coming to naught. In her father's house the 
 Princess died suddenly, of ])oison. 
 
 " There was no crime, it seems, at which this rel- 
 ative would stop. The Prince ami his children — 
 his name was Florian, like your own, sir — shortly 
 felt the sting of his unscrupulousness. Tracked to 
 Paris, to Madrid, to (irenoa, to London, they had 
 many narrow escapes from death at the hands of his 
 agents. The wilds of America offered him a refuge, 
 to them he fled. Hope was dead in him. Hence- 
 forth his one effort was to hide himself and his chil- 
 dren from the assassin. He could not do it, as you 
 
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 278 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 have see.^, but all that man could do he did, and, if 
 he fell himself, probably saved you. The rest you 
 know." 
 
 It was abrupt, concise, unsympathetic, this recital 
 of an unfortunate man's life, and it left as many 
 points unsettled as bad been told. Florian, however, 
 was prepared with a bristling array of questions. 
 He burned to discover the spirit of his father's 
 strange life, and could not bo content with these dry 
 bones. 
 
 " Much of this information was contained in the 
 letters and documents held by Mrs. Wallace," said 
 Florian. 
 
 " I do not know," replied the priest. " I never 
 saw the letters. Your father fondly preserved them 
 as mementoes of a time forever gone. Mrs. Wallace 
 removed them to her secret closet without his 
 permission." 
 
 " I thought my father of no religion," said Flo- 
 rian. " I had never seen about him in all the time 
 that I knew him a single evidence of his faith. Was 
 he a " 
 
 " No," said the Fere, with a touch of generous 
 feeling, " he was a fervent Catholic, such a Catholic 
 as misfortune makes ; but it was a part of his plan 
 to let little be known about himself. In an obscure 
 village miles eastward from here he went to Mass 
 and confession." 
 
 " Yet his whole speech had a certain coloring," 
 Ruth said earnestly — " a spirituality which only a 
 Catholic could feel and show. We thought it was 
 philosophy — backwoods philosophy." 
 
 " He was a great philosopher, too," said the Pfire. 
 
THE prince's story. 
 
 279 
 
 J) 
 
 " His education had been thorough. He was a 
 finished scholar." 
 
 " Then the Izaak Walton was a blind," blurted out 
 the half-indignant Squire, " and his talk about govern- 
 ments meant more'n / thought." 
 
 " It was his deep, and sincere, and simple piety 
 that thrilled me most," Ruth said, with glownig 
 eyes. "However else he deceived us, h. could not 
 hide that, and I loved him for it. He was like a 
 child." 
 
 "Of that there is no doubt. Suffering of the 
 severest sort had chastened him beyond belief. For 
 one so tossed about and so btv. aght up as he, his 
 simplicity was as sweet as unexpected," the priest 
 said feelingly. 
 
 To this compliment Florian gave no apparent 
 heed. 
 
 " Before Linda died," he said, " I suppose, from 
 what I recall of that time, that he told her his 
 secret." 
 
 " On the very day of her death he told her. He 
 found it hard to make her see the wisdom of keeping 
 it a secret still, from you at least ; but with my aid 
 he succeeded." 
 
 " Poor Linda I poor child ! " 
 
 Ruth glanced from the priest to the politician re- 
 gretfully. There was very little in the manner of 
 either to warrant a suspicion of mutual disUke, but 
 the priest's deliberate mention of his connection 
 with the task of keeping Linda silent was a simple 
 declaration of war. Passing over the hermit's visit 
 to New York, he came to the events immediately 
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 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 "The letter v hicli I received from an unknown 
 friend warning me of the Russian's designs against 
 me was probably penned by my father ? " 
 
 The Pere shrugged his shoulders. He did not 
 know of the letter, nor had the hermit told him of 
 it. 
 
 " "Was he apprehensive, after the visit of the spy, 
 that trouble was coming upon him ?" 
 
 " "Well, yes," said the priest, slowly ; " yes, he was. 
 But he had so much confidence in his disguise that 
 he feared only for 3'ou. "When he heard how you 
 arranged the matter he was thoroughly satisfied 
 and said, * ]N^ow the danger is over.' " 
 
 " Did he have any occasion to lose this confidence 
 afterwards ? " 
 
 " Not until two weeks ago, when a heavy sadness 
 disturbed him which he could not shake off. At 
 that time he was not aware of the presence of his 
 murderer. He must have discovered it suddenly and 
 frightfully for his usual prudence and sagacity to 
 have deserted him at a critical moment. His end 
 is wrapped in mystery, as was his life, and I believe 
 he preferred to have it so." 
 
 There was for a short space a little solemn thinking. 
 
 " I found a handkerchief in the old cabin the time 
 the Count Behrenski and I were here together," said 
 Florian. " It had a faint monogram, ' W ' " 
 
 " It was Mrs. Wallace's," interrupted the priest. 
 " She stole to the island that night to warn him of 
 the presence of the Count, and to bid him beware of 
 meeting your friend." 
 
 " And there is nothing further known of his hid- 
 den life ; no letters, no scraps, no familiar insights, 
 
THE prince's STOxvY. 
 
 281 
 
 V 
 
 nothing to show whiit the man was under all his 
 misfortunes, to make one feel that he was — a — 
 father." 
 
 The last words came hesitatingly, and were an- 
 swered by a curt nod from the Pere. 
 
 " I have his last letter," he replied ; " it was v;rit- 
 ten for vou to read in the event of his death. And 
 Paul Rossiter may tell you things wdiich he has not 
 told to me. ]\[ore than that " 
 
 A shrug of the shoulders finished the sentence. 
 
 " Linda had some idea of it," continued the P6re, 
 " and it made her very happy in dying. Perhaps his 
 old confessor might be able to give you a glimpse of 
 his interior life. I doubt it, however. It seems to 
 have been a sanctuary into which angels only could 
 enter." 
 
 " You have, then, so high an opinion of his life," 
 said Ruth gratefully. The Pere bowed and said 
 nothing for a few minutes, but, as if regretting his 
 moroseness, he went on to say : 
 
 " He was a martyr to his religious convictions of 
 course. He could have easily won the favor of his 
 emperor by embracing the Greek religion and, had 
 he been a less tender father, might have lived in com- 
 parative comfort. The fear of bringing upon his 
 children the sufferings he had endured made him self- 
 forgetful." 
 
 " If you will let me have the letter you spoke of," 
 said Florian, who had been indulging in a reverie, 
 '* I will be going. The hour is late, and the island is 
 a good distance off." The P6re silently handed him 
 a package, and rose as if to end a rather distasteful 
 interview. 
 
282 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
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 " I hope," said Ruth, " that you are not going to 
 bury yourself in that dreary solitude. Before you 
 return to New York we would be hajtiiy to have you 
 stop with us a few days." 
 
 " And now that the cold weather is here," said the 
 Squire, who felt himself on familiar gi ound for the 
 first time that evening, "you'll be apt to stick there 
 if the ice came on too thin to bear vc and too thick 
 for a boat. So you had better make r move double 
 quick. And now see here, Flory, you ain't doing the 
 right thing by the party and by yoursel f. You ought 
 to be in New York making cover for what is loft of 
 your hay. Your father was a good man, l)ut the best 
 man that ever died wasn't quite worth half the fuss 
 made over him." 
 
 riorian received this lecture as pleasant badinage, 
 nor did he make any reply to Ruth's kindly invita- 
 tion, but, wishing them all good-night, politely with- 
 drew and made his way across the rivei' in a dreary 
 unsettled way, as if he had started for no place and 
 forgotten the harbor he had left. He was very eager 
 to know something of the real life of his father, and 
 somewhat bitter at finding himself left out so regu- 
 larly in the cold. This one knew and that one knew 
 some trait or incident of the hermit, and Linda had 
 received a full measure of knowledge at the last mo- 
 ment. He alone knew nothing. His thirst — and it 
 increased every day — was always unsatisfied. His 
 father spoke to him only through the cold, unsym- 
 pathetic channels of dead letters or of outsiders who 
 cared little for him. It was a hard condition. He 
 accepted it in his usual matter-of-fact way, but it hurt 
 him nevertheless. 
 
THE prince's story. 
 
 288 
 
 When the iskind was reached and the door closed 
 on all the workl — on all his care and disappointments, 
 on all his ambitions — he pulled the curtains over the 
 window, replenished the fire, and with Izaak "Walton 
 at his elbow sat down to read his father's last com- 
 munication to him. Just as his father had sat often 
 (luring the nights of thirty years ? The old charm 
 of the place was not yet lost to him ; it increased 
 rather because of its pathetic associations. Here he 
 had slept and dreamed that his father kissed liim ; 
 here the hermit had made a last attempt to keep him 
 in Clay burgh ; here he had tried to discover, with- 
 out much if any help from G , what his vocation in 
 life might be. The warning which the Prince had 
 given him still haunted his memory, but he had not 
 gotten over his old skepticism on that point and re- 
 called it ,vith a smile. By the light of the old tallow 
 candle he opened his father's letter and read reveren- 
 tially : 
 
 i 
 
 " My son, my most dear son : I have little time to 
 speak to you. I fear, I >- m sure, our enemy is on my 
 track. I thought you had forever averted the dan- 
 ger. It is not so. These people will not be satisfied 
 until they have killed me. God's will be donel 
 When you read this I shall be dead. Much obscurity 
 hangs over m}'^ life. It will never be removed in this 
 world. It will pain you, but it was ordered so for 
 your good. Believe me, your father, every moment 
 of my life was a study to save you from what will 
 befall me, every word that I have said to you dic- 
 tated by the strongest love. Be content with what 
 you may learn of me from strangers. I give you 
 
284 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 my love and bid you adieu. I return to you, accord- 
 ing to promise, a A7ell-kno\vn document. My most 
 dear son, a stranger to me all my life, your father 
 hopes and prays to meet you in heaven. 
 
 " Florian." 
 
 ;:« 
 
 He read it over three, four, ton times, Avith a more 
 vivid picture each time of the circumstances under 
 which it was written, until the long suffering of his 
 father's life and the a^onv of that farewell was tear- 
 ing his own heart, until sobs and tears came to show 
 him that he was no more, after all, than a son of 
 man. He felt humiliated, but onlv before himself. 
 In these moments of meditation that peculiar twist- 
 ing of the features took place which had been noticed 
 during the funeral, as if his very vitals had been 
 seized by the grasp of intolerable pain. "With his 
 strong will he reasoned its cause down, but still the 
 shadow haunted him night and day. 
 
 U'^^^ 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 u 
 
 BAKBAKA 8 SPITE. 
 
 After a defeat the vanquished naturally hides his 
 head for a short time. This reflection did not at all 
 soothe the anxiety of Barbara over Florian's absence. 
 Twenty times a day she tried to read between the 
 lines of the passionate letters from Clay burgh, and 
 because she found nothing her anxieties increased 
 tenfold. Ruth was there, and who could tell what 
 would happen ? He hiul deserted one woman. Such 
 a man was not to be trusted ; and if the old love 
 were still stronfi: after ten vears' of absence from its 
 object, what would it not be in her presence, what 
 might it not dare if Ruth said, I am willing ? Finally 
 Barbara packed her trunk and started for Clay burgh 
 to pay her old friend a visit. She was a little fear- 
 ful of the effect of her appearance upon Florian, but 
 trusted to luck and her owa charms to allay his 
 anger. 
 
 The sight of her stepping from the train sent a 
 cold chill along the Squire's spine, and Ruth's first 
 glimpse of her coming up the v/alk to the house pro- 
 duced a serious misgiving in that lady's heart. She 
 was going to stay with them, of course. The city 
 was so dull that she could no longer endure it, and it 
 was so long since she had been to Clayburgh. While 
 
 she was removing her bonnet and preparing to make 
 
 385 
 
 If 
 

 
 i: 
 
 1 ' ! "i 
 
 i- 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 HI 
 
 ''it H 
 
 j;i| 
 
 hi i 
 
 286 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 herself comfortable the Squire found opportunity to 
 whisper to Euth : 
 
 " Not one word about Flory. Thafs who she's 
 after." 
 
 "Barbery," said he solemnly, as he sat down 
 before her, " don't you attempt to tell me you came 
 all the way from Xew York jest to see your old 
 friends. You don't care two coppers for us. You've 
 got an object in coming here, and I want to know 
 it. Because if you're after me I may as well give 
 in at once and save the trouble of a long courtship. 
 If you're not, then I can rest satisfied and you can 
 stay here as long as you wish too." 
 
 "The vanity of an old fellow," said Barbara. 
 " Now what could I possibly want with an antique 
 like you ? " 
 
 " An antique ! " said the Squire, dazed. " Ruth, 
 can you sit by and hear your father called an antique 
 by a mere strip of a widow ? If you can you have no 
 more notion of your duty than any other woman." 
 
 "Well, papa, you are the sheriff — put Barbara 
 in jail." 
 
 " I wish I could," said he gloomily. " She's not 
 safe even in jail, though : she'd bewitch the jailer, 
 the chief of police, lawyers, judge. There ain't 
 nothing, in fact, to hold her. Barbery, speak right 
 out. Are you after me ? " 
 
 And the Squire groaned in mock anguish of spirit. 
 
 " No, I'm not after you, you poor man : I have 
 nothing to do with you, except to eat your dinners 
 and make myself expensive and troublesome for a 
 few days." 
 
 " The hull house is yours, ray girl, and all that's in 
 
BARBARA S SPITE. 
 
 287 
 
 it. If you say the word you can have any man in 
 the town that you're fishing for brought right here 
 into the parlor, and I'll help you do the courting. I 
 will, by Jupiter ! " shouted the Squire, joyfully. 
 
 " Thank you ; but I am engaged already. Squire." 
 
 " Jes' so," said Pendleton dubiously ; " but you're 
 not safe, engaged or married." 
 
 Sitting quietly in the parlor after dinner she flung 
 down her gage of battle to them with disconcerting* 
 suddenness. 
 
 " I suppose you are both aware of the object of 
 ray visit here," she said. 
 
 " Well, Barbery," said the Squire coolly, " Flory's 
 high game, and I don't blame you, but you'll never 
 get him ; mark my words — you'll never get him." 
 
 " You know where he's hiding. Why do you not 
 tell me what I want to know ? " 
 
 " 'Tisn't fair, my dear. Flory must have a show," 
 the Squire said with much gravity ; " and as he's 
 somewhat cast down now, it wouldn't do to let you 
 go cooing around him. You'd have him married to 
 you in a wink. Your cooing doesn't suit as well 
 after marriage as before, and I'm going to save him 
 from you, if I can." 
 
 " You might as well know," she said, with height- 
 ened color, " that I am Florian's promised wife. 
 Will you tell me where he is ? " 
 
 " If you're engaged to him," the Squire remarked 
 wickedly, *' you ought to know where he is." 
 
 " I have a batch of letters which he has written 
 to me every day since he came here, and I know 
 that he is here, and that is all." 
 
 " You'll have to find him yourself, then," raid the 
 
288 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 tl. 
 
 ■i: ■ 
 
 ii\'^ i 
 
 Squire ; " and, as we don't care to mix ourselves up 
 in your doings, perhaps you wouldn't mind going to 
 stay with your friends in the town." 
 
 " I ha '^e already decided on that, you funny old 
 man, for it would be too much to accept of your 
 hospitality farther." 
 
 Ruth rose and left the room without a word, hurt 
 beyond measure at the vulgarity of Barbara's char- 
 acter. That it was light and insincere she well 
 knew, but she had always given her credit for a 
 certain refinement and natural pride sufficiently 
 strong to prevent such behavior as she had just 
 shown. It was bitter for her to recall that she had 
 confided the tenderest secret of her heart to this 
 woman, and that nothing might hinder her from 
 publishing it to the world. Barbara looked after her 
 with light scorn, and the expression in her face stung 
 the Squire into a rage. 
 
 " You've done enough for one day," he said, pur- 
 pling, " to give you a chance at a ten years' penance. 
 That good girl sees what you are to the core, and if 
 she doesn't make it known I will." 
 
 " That go»>(l girl ! " said Barbara, with a sneering 
 laugh. " She was always so good ! Yet she en- 
 couraged Florian into ofl'ering her marriage, and 
 then threw him off. She went to a convent in a 
 streak of gushing piety, and when the gush stopped 
 came running down to New York after a little poet 
 upon whom her heart was set, and, if she had found 
 him would have proposed to him and married him. 
 That modest girl indeed ! " 
 
 "With this shot Barabara transferred her effects 
 and herself to the hotel in much distress of mind. 
 
BARBARA S SPITE. 
 
 289 
 
 She had gotten herself into a difficulty, and saw no 
 easy way of escape as long as she held to her deter- 
 mination to discover Florian. To it she was bound to 
 hold in spite of fate, confident that her old luck 
 would not desert her. But matters had a gloomy 
 look, and her orders to the landlord that she be 
 taken to the depot for the night train was a sort of 
 submission to fate which miglit not come amiss later. 
 Sitting in the shabby hotel pai'lor, idly touching the 
 keys of the consumptive piano, to her entered Paul 
 Kossiter. He was not aware of her presence. A 
 glad sparkle lit up her eyes at sight of him. Here 
 was a chance to attain her object, here was an op- 
 portunity to stab Kuth Pendleton to the heart. 
 
 " Mr. Kossiter — O Mr. Eossiter ! is it really 
 you ? " 
 
 " It is, Mrs. Merrion and I am delighted to meet 
 you." 
 
 " And where is Florian — Mr. "Wallace ? "Why are 
 you in the same town and not together ! " 
 
 " I suppose he is loafing on his island still," said 
 the thoughtless poet. " He spends most of his time 
 there and rarely comes to the village. And may I 
 ask what fate has cast you at this unhappy season 
 on the shores of the St. Lawrence ? " 
 
 ** My native place receives me at any time." 
 
 " Ah ! your native place ! " 
 
 "You, I suppose, are soon to make your home 
 here?" 
 
 " I return to New York in a week, Mrs. Merrion." 
 
 " Where you are hopelessly unknown by this time, 
 as most people think you have drowned yourself. 
 And is Euth to go w^ith you ? " 
 19 
 
290 
 
 SOLITAKV ISLAND. 
 
 ' ' 
 
 i ! 
 
 " Ruth ! " stammered tlie poet. " Do you mean" 
 Miss Pendleton i I have not acUlressed her twice 
 since I came to tlie town. For a U)ng time I was 
 not aware she liad left her convent." 
 
 " And yet she left the convent for your sake." 
 He Hushed a little, ignorant as he was of the motive 
 of her boldness. Slie had, as she thought, an oppor- 
 tunity for belittling Ruth, and if tlie i)oet could not 
 suspect it he could feel an uneasiness at her frank 
 communications. 
 
 " Do vou I'cmember a bit of bristol-board," she 
 continued, " scribbled upon by you in the convent- 
 grounds last year ? " 
 
 He did remember something of the sort . 
 
 *' It was found and given to Ruth. Romantic, 
 wasn't it ? Thev could no longer hold her in the 
 convent. ' She went by hill, she. went by dale,' 
 until she came to me in the city, showed me the card, 
 and implored me to aid her in finding you. "When 
 you were not to be found she was nearly frantic, 
 and fled to the seclusion of Clayburgh to hide her 
 grief. "Worse than a convent, isn't it ? And I 
 thought you had settled the matter, and would take 
 Ruth with you to the city ! "Well, there's bashf ul- 
 ness for 3'ou ! And so, Flo — Mr. "Wallace is on the 
 island. "Which island, I'd like to know ? " 
 
 " Solitary Island I think they call it," said Paul, 
 absently, his whole body hot with mingled feelings 
 of shame and delight. But he added, " I have heard 
 that he returns to New York in the morning." 
 
 " Thank heaven," murmured Barbara, "" I shall be 
 there ahead of him." 
 
 Paul went out into the open air in a daze of happi- 
 
BARBARA S Hi'lTK. 
 
 291 
 
 ness, — Ivuth loved liiiii ; his fate was no longer un- 
 certain, l)ut he was sorry that her tender secret had 
 found a resting-place la Barl)ara\s boson. lie could 
 not see the motives of the hitter's coarse revelation 
 of it to him. IIo was sure, however, that malice 
 prompted both the coarseness and the revelation, 
 and he had a dim suspicion that something might 
 have happened since Barbara's arrival in town to 
 bring it to pass. Perhaps Ruth Icnew and dreaded 
 that Barbara would do something of the kind. How 
 could she ever look in his face again, suspecting 
 that Barbara had so ; ., 'dessly exposed her ? The 
 more the poet looked at lie matter the stronger his 
 suspicions grew, and alongside theni grew the de- 
 termination to leaT Jlay burgh Jiat night as quietly 
 as he had entered it nK.nlhs before. Ruth w^ould 
 then feei easier. In time he could come himself to 
 press the suit in which he had altogether despaired ; 
 and if it was hard to forbear flvinT" to her then and 
 soliciting a surrender of the secret which rightfully 
 belonged to him, its compensation was that the 
 delicacy of his wife-to-be would not be so cruelly in- 
 jured. She loved him and had sought for him and 
 was grieved at his absence. He did not want more ; 
 but he walked near tlio house just alter twilight, 
 and saw her sitting at one side of the parlor table, 
 with the Squire at the other, her calm, peaceful 
 face as sweet in its repose as if the nim's veil hung 
 about it. 
 
 Barbara was on the train with him that night, 
 but he discreetly kept out of her way. He had yet 
 to learn of her engagement to Florian, of the in- 
 jury done to Frances by the hermit's proud son. 
 
 i 
 
292 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 The Ftory would have spoiled his journey. He had 
 some respect still for Florian, enough to pity him. 
 Very little the great man cared either for his pity 
 or his respect. 
 
 In the whirlpool of city life again ! Paul realized 
 it with a sense of delight as unexpected as it was 
 pleasant ; for he had never a great love towards the 
 metropolis, and his many sorrrows there had em- 
 bittered him against it forever. Not quite forever, 
 as he now felt. He had the secret of his misfortunes 
 in his grasp, and nevermore could Russian spies go 
 about whispering slanders and bribing the managers 
 of theaters because of his likeness to the Prince of 
 Cracow. There was a fair field before him. A few 
 months' absence had banished the mists that once 
 hung round him. One manager was glad to have 
 him back, and another, and a third. In fact, a few 
 calls in the course of the day filled the poet with in- 
 ordinate vanity. 
 
 Peter Carter received him in a commonplace attic 
 with tears and embraces, and spent a luxurious hour 
 describing the perfidy of Florian, tlie woes of Fran- 
 ces, and the cruelt}'^ of madame, who had driven him 
 forth into the Avorld without mercy and without al- 
 lowance. He drank too much, or perhaps too fast 
 for perfect and easy narration, and fell to snoring 
 before all the details, — worthy indeed of his fame 
 — were given to Rossiter. The poet marveled greatly 
 at the antics the city had played during his brief 
 absence, and went to hi ^, old quarters with some haste 
 and anxiety. 
 
 Madame De Ponsonby Lynch gave him a gener- 
 ous welcome. She was still madame, reserved, 
 
Barbara's spite. 
 
 293 
 
 exclusive, and good-hearted, and very handsomely 
 apologized for her treatment of him ; nor did the 
 faintest trace of feeling appear on her smooth face 
 at mention of an incident which brought her exiled 
 lord to her mind. Frances, she said, was probably 
 about the house somewhere — most likely in the 
 famous attic which he had so queerly deserted — and 
 she begged him not to be surprised at anything in 
 the young lady's manner or a})pearance for she had 
 lately met with a severe disappointment. The dis- 
 appointment he had probably heard of, since it was, 
 in a quiet way, the talk of metropolitan society. 
 The poet, after engaging his old attic, climbed the 
 stairs to look for Frances. There was a burning in- 
 dignation in his breast against the heartlessness of 
 the man who could inflict so cruel an insult on a 
 woman so gentle and good as his promised wife. 
 
 She came to the door in answer to his knock, and 
 for a few seconds there was a hush of astonishment 
 as the two met face to face. " Mr. llossiter, or liis 
 ghost ! ' she exclaimed. 
 
 " And the substantial Miss Lvnch," said he, offer- 
 ing his hand. " I liav<^ engaged the garret for a long 
 term, and am not likely to lose it by any more mis- 
 understandings.*' 
 
 " How can I ever " 
 
 " Your mother has done it ; don't say a word." 
 
 " And my poor father, that made all tlie disturb- 
 ance " 
 
 " I just came from him," said Paul, smiling, " so 
 do not let b^'^gones trouble you. I know you have 
 enough of unhappiness." 
 
 Her lip trembled and she could not trust herself 
 
 W 
 
 :iii 
 
294 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 
 to speak. While talking the poet took a quick in- 
 ventory of the changes sorrow had made in her. 
 She was still the gentle, sprightly girl of a year past, 
 but his eye noted the trembling lip, the melancholy 
 shadows around the mouth and eyes, and the ner- 
 vousness of her manner. 
 
 " 1 have seen him so late as yesterday," Paul said, 
 " and I thought you ought to know. There have 
 been so many strange things happening in his life. 
 I was in Clayburgh, and he was there. He discov- 
 ered his father in the person of an old fisherman 
 that he had known for years. Think of it — a prince 
 of royal blood, with a Yankee dialect and a Yankee 
 look, leading a solitary life on an island of the 
 St. Lawrence ! " 
 
 " I am so glad," said Frances ; " his happiness will 
 now be complete." 
 
 " I suppose," the poet said cynically, but recol- 
 lected himself in time. " Alas ! Frank, there never 
 was a more unhappy meeting of father and son. 
 The father was dead, shot fatally by a sneaking 
 assassin, and it was only a corpse which death handed 
 to Florian." 
 
 " Oh ! " she murmured, with clasped hands, and 
 the tears began to fall. 
 
 " I think it was a punishment on him," said Paul 
 calmly. " No, don't look at me so. "We only buried 
 the Prince two weeks ago, and in telling you all 
 about him I must say some hard things of Florian. 
 You know I met Florian's father by a mere accident. 
 He took me into his cabin, make a favorite of me, 
 and let in some light not only on his own life but on 
 mine. Florian was unworthy of him. He deserved 
 
BARBARA'S SPITE. 
 
 295 
 
 to lose him, and to lose biiii as he did, for he died as 
 much from a broken heart as from a bullet- wound. 
 I wanted Florian to know that, but he suspected me 
 and kept away." 
 
 " Paul,- ' said she, through her sympathetic tears, 
 " what has he ever done to you that you should talk 
 of him so?" 
 
 " Nothing more than he has done to an}' true man 
 in his treatment of you. God sent him one punish- 
 ment, and he got no sense or grace from it. I doubt 
 very mucli if he will gain anything fi-om another. 
 So vou all thought I had committed suicide ( " 
 
 That remark brought the smiles to her face. 
 
 " Well, you know what a despairing poet is apt to 
 do," she replied. " But we hopeil you had merely 
 changed your residence. Let me ask you, did you 
 meet in Clayburgh that lovely Ruth Peiulleton i " 
 
 It was more than the poet could do to keep the 
 blood from his fair face. It rose to his collar, over 
 it, to his ears, to his eyes, to the roots of his hair, 
 nor could his glib chatter hide it from her eyes. 
 
 Mi 
 
 
 \M 
 
CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 TERRIBLE TRUTH. 
 
 ' "I 
 
 Florian resumed professional labors with a zest 
 somewhat keen after his long confinement on Soli- 
 tary Island. It had been a trying time for him, but 
 he had come out of those hard circumstances a 
 victor. They had left little trace on him, and he 
 had put the incident of his father's death out of his 
 life as thoroughly as the death of his sister, the loss 
 of Ruth, and the late election. Life's busy round 
 was gone over as evenly and as hopefully as if these 
 tragedies had never been. Yet he could not deny 
 that his real self had been held up to him in the 
 quiet of his late retreat more minutely than at any 
 time in the last ten vears. He had even come close 
 to admitting the truth of the portrait which nature's 
 mirror presented to him. But it was a little too 
 ghastly for truth, he thought, and he put off an 
 inspection of it until such time as his discerning 
 mind had recovered its nice balance. When that 
 time came he had forgotten it. He had to admit to 
 himself that these sad events threw a shadow long 
 enough to reach the pleasantest of his days. They 
 were shelved, indeed, but not annihilated. He was 
 human after all, he said, when a protracted period 
 of restlessness troubled him. With another man it 
 
 would have been the " blues " or lonesomeness ; with 
 
 296 
 
TERRIBLE TRUTH. 
 
 297 
 
 him it was an indigestion, or a phenomenon in- 
 dependent of the will. He bore it as he bore a 
 rainy day or a vexatious laAvsuit. There would be 
 an end to it some time. A calm, steady glance on 
 the road ahead was enough to neutralize the effect of 
 depression. 
 
 It could not be said that he had a habit of dream- 
 ing in daylight. In studying a political or legal 
 problem he occasionally wandered into unpractical 
 speculations on the incidents or personages of a suit. 
 Not often. Nowadays he fell into a habit of re- 
 viewing events connected with his father's mourn- 
 ful history, and of studying those points at which his 
 own and Linda's life had come in contact with the 
 life of the solitary prince. These reveries had always 
 one unvarying conclusion. Over his face passed 
 that expression of anguish Avhich twisted the body 
 like the rack, and which had attacked him many 
 times on the island. He blamed the pictures and 
 mementoes in his room for this weakness. There 
 was the painting of the yacht and a score of pretty 
 things belonging to that former time. A glimpse 
 of any one of them disturbed him, but he had not 
 the heart to put them away. He was content to 
 wait the time when all these things would stand in 
 his memory like distant mountains wrapped in a 
 heavenly mist. He had lost none of his political 
 standing by his defeat, and the Senate was open to 
 him. He had resolved to accept the office. It 
 would be a very quiet affair, and its dullness would 
 be a safe refuge for a vessel without any definite 
 harbor. His love affairs were not going smoothly. 
 
 Barbara was acting oddly. He had said to her a 
 
 m 
 III. 
 
ill, 
 
 
 n-m.i.- 
 
 m 
 
 (1 1 
 
 
 lijii 
 
 III 
 
 298 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 few short, polite words on the general character of 
 her Clayburgh visit which were certain to put an 
 end to escapades of that sort. She had a stock of 
 other annoyances, however, and dealt them out 
 carelessly. At an assembly she had chatted much 
 with Rossiter and the Count in turn. "When he 
 gave her his impressive reasons why she should do 
 these things no more, she had laughed at him and 
 done them again. Finally the climax was cap])ed 
 when he encountered the insidious Russian in 
 Barbara's recej^tion-room. It was certainly an odd 
 thing for Florian to show his feeling strongly, 
 but he did so on this occasion. Plis face paled 
 slightly and a light sweat burst out on his forehead, 
 while his hands hanging at his side shook as if with 
 ague. He stood in the doorway, unable to do more 
 for an instant, his eyes fixed on the Count with an 
 expression which frightened Barbara into a faint 
 scream. Vladimir smiled with deep satisfaction, 
 and, bowing politely to the lady, bade her good- 
 morning and withdrew. The scream brought 
 Florian to his senses, and Barbara's pretty and 
 anxious inquiries were met with his usual self-pos- 
 session. 
 
 " My dear," said he — and the little lady recog- 
 nized the tone very Avell ; it always reminded her of 
 the late visit to Clayburgh — " the Count is obnoxious 
 to me for the best of reasons. I do not wish to see 
 you and him together again on any occasion. As 
 for coming to vour house, it must be his last visit." 
 
 " And you were such friends ! " pouted she. " But 
 I don't care two pins for him, and I think it annoys 
 him so to see us together. You are just a little, a 
 
TERR I CLE TRUTH. 
 
 299 
 
 very little, hard, Flory. Confess, now, are you 
 not?" 
 
 " Not hard enough for him," the great man said 
 savagely, " there is so much of the devil in him." 
 
 Barbara was both curious and venturesome. 
 What was the secret of their mutual dislike ? It 
 was something more than mere jealousy, and she 
 would like to know it. Until she found out the 
 cause her intentions were to keep on terms with the 
 Count. It would require caution and secrecy. 
 What of that ? She was too clever to be caught by 
 such a mass of dignity as her beloved Florian, who 
 was unacquainted with short cuts in life's path, 
 would not take them if he were, and fancied his 
 promised wife fashioned after his own ideas. 
 Barbara and the Count became quite friendly once 
 more on the understanding that he was to keep out 
 of Florian's way. Every art known to the fair 
 widow was used to win from the Count the secret of 
 his broken relations with Florian — which he never 
 told, of course, but amused and revenged him- 
 self instead by filling Barbara's mind with wild 
 longings for the title and grandeur to which Florian 
 had so lately resigned the right. He made her be- 
 lieve that these things could yet be obtained, and, 
 by picturing the glories of tlie Russian court, made 
 the life of a senator's wife in Washington appear 
 by contrast tedious. The Jistute Barbara was caught 
 fast in the trap, and from that moment Florian was 
 beset with artifices and entreaties. A significant 
 incident put a sudden end to her ambition. 
 
 " Florian," slie said one (hiy as her eagerness burst 
 bounds, " do try to win your title. AVe were not 
 
 ,t 
 
i 1 
 
 800 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 "■'■' 
 
 m 
 
 ifft 'i" 
 
 1:'' ';■ 
 
 illli'i 
 
 i:j-r 
 
 made for this horrid, homespun American life. I 
 shall just die thinking of what might have been, if 
 you do not make the attempt at least." 
 
 He mistook her eagerness for satire and showed 
 her a caseknife. 
 
 " Take that," said he, " and stab me to the heart. 
 It is as well do it now as to wait for a Russian spy 
 to do it for you." 
 
 She looked at him and the knife for a few mo- 
 ments until the meaning broke upon her mind and 
 with it the full malice of the Count's suggestions. 
 
 " Do you suppose, my dear," he said, amused at 
 her astonishment, " that if there were a chance of 
 obtaining my title and estates I would hesitate ? I 
 got what was possible, and with that we must be 
 satisfied. An American prince is an oddity. Let 
 us enjoy what glory we may from it." 
 
 •'Hard fortune, my prince," she replied with a 
 bitter sob. He was troubled no more with these 
 longings. Barbara did not, however, give up her 
 pleasant dealings with the Count. She enjoyed a 
 petty revenge upon him by allowing him to continue 
 his lectures on the glories of the Russian court, and 
 in return described to him imaginary scenes with 
 Florian in which the latter, for patriotic motives, 
 utterly refused to leave America. It did not take 
 the shrewd Russian long to discover that she was 
 playing with him. "Was he always to be the sport 
 of this woman and the politician ? 
 
 " You are a clever inventor," he said one evening, 
 " and I see that you have discovered me. You are 
 bound to remain in politics, Yankee politics, when 
 it lies in your power to enjoy the refined pleasures 
 
TERRIBLE TRUTH. 
 
 301 
 
 of a civilized court. There is no accounting for 
 tastes." 
 
 " Is Florian any the less a prince in America ? " 
 she asked. "According to your doctrines his blood 
 is as blue and his title as good as any in Europe. 
 With that I am satisfied." 
 
 "Always Florian," he said, unable to hide his 
 fiery jealousy. " If you should lose this manly par- 
 agon, what then? " 
 
 " If I " And she laughed in her exasperating way. 
 
 " You are playing with fire, dear lady. You do 
 not know me. I have not given you up, I never 
 will. I can destroy him in a breath, and if you do 
 not take care I loill destroy him. My mother's 
 prayers have kept me from nothing so far, and I do 
 not suppose they are yet more powerful." 
 
 " You are charming, Count, when you talk and 
 look like that. How many times have you made 
 the same protestations ? " 
 
 " Believe me, never before. Barbara, Barbara, 
 
 )> 
 
 you are- 
 
 " There, there. Count do not be unfair. I know 
 all that you would tell me and sincerely beheve it. 
 Let us talk of something — well, interesting." 
 
 He ground his teeth in silence and asked himself 
 how much longer he would be the scorn of this but- 
 terfly. 
 
 "If the door opened now to admit your Flo- 
 rian " 
 
 " Always Florian," she interrupted reproachfully. 
 
 " In what a position you would be after his com- 
 mands to you concerning my visits ! " 
 
 " But he will not open the door, and if he did you 
 
 % 
 
302 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 1 
 
 would not be found here. The window, these cur- 
 tains, your honor — what a number of happy circum- 
 stances I trust to ! " 
 
 " Pshaw ! what is the matter with me ? I have 
 never allowed myself to bo led by a string so with 
 any woman. And ni}' hand holding the winning 
 card ! One word and Florian would look on you 
 with horror. What is the matter with me that I do 
 not utter it ? " 
 
 " The matter with you, Count," said she, looking 
 at her watch to hide a faint apprehension, " is that 
 you have stayed too long. Kow take yourself off 
 while the door is open to 3^00, or you may have to 
 go by the Avindow." 
 
 " One word, one little word," said tiie Count, half 
 to himself, " and you are assured to me. 1 swear 
 my belief that Florian would never wish to see your 
 face again." 
 
 " If you will not go," she said, rising, with a 
 trembling voice, " I must leave you. You have 
 always treated me with honor " 
 
 " And I am bound so to treat you always," he ex- 
 claimed, at once jumping to his feet. " You shall 
 not be compromised on my account, even to satisfy 
 ray hate for your lover. My time will come, and 
 this hand which now I embrace — will you permit 
 me " 
 
 -" He kissed her hand while she stood laugh- 
 at his foolish devotion ; and this was the tableau 
 which greeted the cold, steady gaze of Florian en- 
 tering at that moment by the softly-opening door. 
 There was an awkward pause. Barbara grew pale 
 to the last degree of pallor, and the Count felt a 
 thrill of delight leap along his veins. The great 
 
TKUKIBLE TItUTH. 
 
 303 
 
 laugh- 
 
 man alone was equal to the occasion, for he strode 
 into the room as if nothing had happened, and made 
 his politest bow to the two guilty ones. The Count 
 took his hat and retired towards the door until 
 Florian detained him. 
 
 "You muv l(?ave here with a wrong impression of 
 my relations to Mrs. Mei'rioii," he said, as blandly 
 as was possible, " which I wish to correct. I once 
 presented her to you as my promised wife. It was 
 a pleasantry which now merits explanation. The 
 lady herself will assure you that henceforth she is 
 less to me than to you or an\' other man." 
 
 The Count bowed with a sardonic smile, but Bar- 
 bara rushed t(j Florian and threw both her arms 
 about him amid a storm of sobs. 
 
 " He threatened you, Florian ! " she cried. " He 
 said you were in his j)ower. I did it for your sake. 
 Oh ! do not be cruel, do not be hastv. A little 
 time, my love — time, time, time." 
 
 Florian was staggered out of his stoical calm by 
 this plausible explanation, and looked at the Count 
 inquiringly. 
 
 " It is true," said the latter proudly, " and if you 
 will come with me I can show you the truth of what 
 Madame is pleased to assert of me." 
 
 " I will go," said Florian in a voice which made 
 her heart quake. 
 
 " Kemember, sir, that the truth will bring a heavy 
 penalty on your head." 
 
 " You must not go to-night, Florian," she sobbed 
 — " oh ! not to-night, my dearest. "Wait until you 
 are recollected. Appearances are against you and 
 me, and this man is your sworn enemy." 
 
 r 
 
IK . 
 
 I ' I 
 
 -m ' 
 
 at 
 
 804 
 
 BOLITAKY ISLAND. 
 
 He flung her off almost rudely. 
 
 " You are under suspicion also," he said in that 
 same awful voice, the voice of suppressed rage or 
 fear. " Be silent until I come again. Not a word ! " 
 
 She fell back among h(!r cushions as the door closed 
 on the two men and thtjir footsteps died gradually 
 away. The two rivals in the affections of Barbara 
 lost no time in reaching the luxurious quarters of 
 the Count. Each raged with sincere hatred of the 
 other, and each was sufficiently destitute of principle 
 to use any means to compass the other's destruction. 
 The successful rival saw his success smirched and 
 befouled by his jealous opponent. The Count could 
 not forgive the deception practiced on him, and, 
 thoroughly unscrupulous, had little pity for the de- 
 ceiver. With courage and bitterness they sat down 
 to their weighty conversation. The Count having 
 the advantage, could afford to be slow and sarcastic. 
 
 " An odd change this," he said, " for us who were 
 friends." 
 
 "Spare your sentiment," Florian replied, "and 
 come to the point. And let us understand each 
 other. You said I was in your power, and you used 
 that assertion to intrude yourself on my promised 
 wife. I do not think the first true, and the second 
 merits a punishment which you shall certainly re- 
 ceive — on conditions." 
 
 " A capital phrase — on conditions," sneered the 
 Count. " There are many conditions, then, why I 
 shall never receive the merited punishment. First 
 of all, Madame Merrion is clever. I never made use 
 of any threats to induce her to receive me. She has 
 permitted my visits, secretly, of course, since you 
 
TEKKIBLE TllUTH. 
 
 805 
 
 forbade her the pleasure of my company. At my 
 instigation she urged you to make an attempt to 
 regain the title you lately sold. She docs not care 
 for me as siie does for you, I know. You out of the 
 way, I foresee what would lia})pcn. Of course I have 
 left no means untried to put you out of the way. 
 This interview is one of them. It is my trump card." 
 
 He looked into Florian's set face with the old, 
 gay, devilish look that the great nuin had often ad- 
 mired. There was anything but admiration in his 
 soul then. Even the Count awed a little under the 
 intense purpose expressed in his frowning face. 
 
 " Your father is dead," he said suddenly. " I know 
 that^ you see, and also who did it. Have you never 
 suspected ? " 
 
 " Your spy," said Florian, with a shudder and a 
 groan. 
 
 " He sent the bullet," the Count said, " obeying 
 in that another's will. But there were circumstances, 
 remote and proximate, which led to the crime. I 
 mean, have you never suspected them ? " 
 
 " Is that the secret of your power \ " asked 
 Florian, shading his face for an instant to hide its 
 contortions of pain and horror. Ilis voice was very 
 low and quavering, almost pitiful. From that 
 moment until the Count had finished speaking he 
 uttered not a word. 
 
 " Ah ! you do suspect it," said the Count wickedly, 
 "and you see I do not spare you. But you have not 
 gone into the secret so deeply as I. You and I, my 
 Florian, are a dangerous and bad pair. The prayers 
 of your father and my mother have only made us 
 worse, and it is lucky that our faces and wills are 
 
 29 
 
 * 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 Rli 
 
■ '1 
 
 \\i 
 
 806 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 set toward the — well, best not to mention it, 
 perhaps." 
 
 Florian said nothing when he paused. He was 
 listening like one in a terrible dream for the sole 
 point of this discourse which concerned him. 
 
 " I will do you the honor of believing that had 
 you foreseen the tragedy to spring from your man- 
 ner of life for years past you would have changed it. 
 I Avould not, I fear. You might not, for your ambi- 
 tion has always been strong enough t(3 blind you to 
 truth and right. Pardon me for moralizing, but I 
 wish you to understand me fully. You are a man I 
 have never trustetl since I knew you, and never could 
 trust you. Had you not dropped your faith " — Flo- 
 rian started as if struck — " to become a politician it 
 would have been different. AVith a man who has once 
 been a firm Catholic it is dangerous to deal. You 
 went looking for your father ; so did we. You were 
 afraid to find him: we were also, or at least I was, 
 for I foresaw his taking off. You were afraid his 
 appearance would lose to you the title-sale money. 
 The motives of each of us compare to the son's dis- 
 advantage, do they not ? " 
 
 It was of little use for Vladimir to fix his mocking 
 eyes on the averted face. The great man, face to 
 face with the specter Avhich had so long stood at 
 his side, had only its horrid features in his gaze. 
 
 " "Well, you begin to comprehend, my Florian ; 
 you begin to recognize your own soul in this mirror 
 of mine. You were false to a son's instincts because 
 of your ambition ; you were false to a lover's in- 
 stincts because of your passion. AVhat folly it was 
 to expect you would be faithful to your friend when 
 
 IK 
 
TERRIBLE TRUTH. 
 
 307 
 
 it, 
 
 his 
 
 ang 
 
 he stood in your way ! You fooled us all very cun- 
 ningly — alas ! only in the end to shame yourself. 
 You left your princely father exposed to the bullet 
 of the assassin when a little honesty and patience 
 would have saved him. How could you suppose I, 
 the libertine, the unprincipled one, would bear your 
 insults in quiet ? We continued to look for the 
 father you deserted, and we found him. Your am- 
 bition left him exposed to oui" fury. But I was merci- 
 ful. I had no taste for blood, for tlie blood of an 
 unfortunate, a countryman, a co-religionist, my 
 friend's father. I would have saved him but for 
 you." 
 
 Again the great man started, and his face, hidden 
 from the Count, was twisted shapeless from that in- 
 ward agony. The llussian's face had assumed a 
 stern, malignant expression as he bent his fierce eyes 
 on his foe and sometime friend. The last words 
 he uttered as one would thrust tlie knife into a man's 
 heart. 
 
 " I would have saved him but for "ou. You left 
 the honored woman whom you had soler.inly promised 
 to marry, to deprive me of the one woman of my 
 life — a woman far below your standard, hypocritical, 
 but charming ; a woman to further your ambitions, 
 but not to be the mother of Catholic children. As 
 your desire for money exposed your father to danger, 
 so your desire for this woman destroyed him. You 
 remember that day which revealed to me your love 
 for Barbara Merrion — a selfish, cruel love, doing no 
 honor even to her. How you triumphed over me! 
 You sent me home mad ! I shall never forget that 
 day on which I sealed my own damnation, if there 
 
 %' 
 
r,'H 
 
 i! 
 
 I.' i 
 
 ifj^^ 
 
 308 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 be damnation, because of you ! The spy had found 
 your father ! What shall I do with him ? he asked ; 
 and I said, Kill him ! " 
 
 There was still no need to look at Florian, now 
 plunged into the depths of shame and agony. He 
 uttered no moan even ! Outside there was a roll of 
 carriage wheels, and presently the servant was knock- 
 ing at the door with Paul's card. The Count read 
 it, and upon second thought declined to see the 
 gentleman, but the poet was already in the room 
 making his apologies. One look at Florian convinced 
 him that he had come too late. 
 
 " There is no need for me to say anything, Count," 
 he explained, "since I see you have done the mis- 
 chief I wished to prevent." 
 
 The Russian smiled, although he too was pale from 
 emotion and triumph. He rejoiced in his success, in 
 the humiliation of his rival, in the joy of once more 
 possessing Barbara, even if it had been accomplished 
 through a dreadful crime. Low as Florian was, he 
 was yet a degree lower. He whispered his last accus- 
 ing words in the great man's ear with something 
 like a laugh. 
 
 " The bullet of Nicholas slew your father, and I 
 
 permitted it ; but you — you " He broke off 
 
 abruptly and turned to Paul, his hateful feelings 
 almost bursting from his worn, evil face, his fin- 
 ger pointed at Florian. 
 
 " Behold the murderer of his father ! " he cried. 
 
 Florian rose and his face came into the light. A 
 dumb animal would have pitied its woe, and the poet 
 gave a cry of anger and sorrow which the politician 
 did not hear. He bowed mechanically to the two 
 
TERRIBLE TRUTH. 
 
 809 
 
 Jind walked out gravely and steadily as a man 
 proudly going to execution. 
 
 " If I were his friend, sir," the poet said in his 
 simple, truthful way, " or had the slighest claim up- 
 on him, I would feel happy in the right to punish 
 you for what you have done." 
 
 " Mr. Rossiter," replied the Russian courteously, 
 " I would be sorry if you had a claim. ITe deserves 
 no pity. It will do him good, the knowledge which 
 he has of himself. You will excuse me." 
 
 He offered his hand, which the poet did not take, 
 and the look which he cast at the shapely member, 
 as if he saw its bloody stain, brought an instant's 
 flush to the brazen cheek. Paul \v«nt out to his car- 
 riage, and as he entered it he heard the gay voice of 
 Vladimir humming a joyous tune. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 hi 
 
 !0»'m 
 
 m 
 
 hk\ 
 
 Rossiter's presence in the Count's chambers was 
 the result of an hysteric appeal from Barbara, who 
 fled to him in despair the moment the door closed on 
 her angry lovers. It took some time to get the nec- 
 essary explanations from her, and then Rossiter was 
 only too eager to find the two rivals, before either 
 could do mischief to the other. His failure did not 
 at first sight threaten serious consequences, until he 
 had time to reflect on the details of the painful scene. 
 He had never seen any human being so affected by 
 liorror as Florian had been. He grew apprehensive 
 over it, and on his return, after dismissing the now 
 quieted Barbara, communicated his apprehensions to 
 Frances. 
 
 " I am troubled for his sake as well as yours," he 
 said, and the kindly words brought a smile to her 
 lips. " He has heard what I threatened to tell him, 
 from no very gentle lips, and he looked when he 
 left us as if his heart had been cruelly wrung. 1 
 do not know if the trutli will make him ill or bring 
 him to his senses. It is better that he should know 
 it perhaps. I shall watch him and keep guard over 
 him for your sake and his father's until any possible 
 danger is passed." 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 811 
 
 She thanked him gently. The poet climbed to 
 his attic, sadly haunted by Florian's despairing- 
 face. 
 
 " That time truth struck home," said he to himself, 
 " and pretty sharply. If it does not drive him to 
 any extreme it may have a healthy eifect on him. 
 But his eyes looked bad." 
 
 He did not like to utter the thoughts which trou- 
 bled him. F^lorian's mental balance was remarkable, 
 but the events of a few months j)ast were of a kind 
 to shake the reason of strong souls. Xeither Flo- 
 rian nor Barbara Avas to be seen the next day nor 
 the day after, nor the third day. The papers had a 
 curious rumor then of a sudden departure for Europe 
 of the accomplished Barbara and a well-known at- 
 tache of the Russian embassy, but Paul would not 
 believe it until a perfumed note in Barbara's hand- 
 writing reached him. Every one seemed to make 
 him their confidant. 
 
 " Dear Mk. Rossitek : 
 
 " Try to believe everything people say of me in the 
 next two weeks. My word for it, it is all true. I 
 was married to Count Behrenski this morning. Tie 
 convinced me it was all over Ijetween me and Flo- 
 rian, and it almost broke my heart to know it, but 
 it did not cloud my senses to my own advantages. 
 I am a Russian, at all events. I wish you luck in 
 your love-affair. A u vei'o'n' ! 
 
 " Barbara, Countess Behrenski." 
 
 The news of Mrs. Merrion's departure in the role 
 of countess, after exciting the usual wonder of the 
 
t.4t3 ^» 
 
 !> 1 8 
 
 \^ 
 
 •;^';j|^j.il;rtlj 
 
 
 S12 
 
 iBOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 town, settled out of siglit. It did not reflect on Flo^ 
 rian, whose broken engagement to the widow was 
 not Icnown ; and still it would have mattered littl« 
 to him, under present circumstances, if that disgrace 
 had been flung upon him. He was not to be found 
 in his oiRce or in his boarding-house, but, with his 
 usual careful foresight, he had left written instruc- 
 tions for his clerk, Avithout hinting at any date of 
 return. Paul grew more and more uneasy when a 
 week had passed and there was no news of him. 
 Frances, with her wistful eves and a dread in lier face 
 which he alone understood, came to him daily for in- 
 formation. That he could not give it frightened 
 both, and vainly the poet cudgeled his brains to dis- 
 cover some clue to Florian's motives for suddenly 
 disappearing. Had he gone to the island ? What 
 could bring him there in the dreary days of March ? 
 If he were repentant 
 
 " There, that will do," said the poet ; " that's not 
 a sensible thought, and I don't know as I've had any 
 sensible thoughts about this whole matter. I think 
 I'll turn to the unexpected for a change." 
 
 " "What can we do ? " was Frances' daily cry. 
 
 " I can go to Clayburgh," he said, almost with a 
 blush. " I have a silly idea that perhaps a great 
 misfortune has made him penitent, and he has gone 
 to do penance over his father's grave." 
 
 " That is it," said Frances eafjerlv. " I knew it 
 would come to that. Mercy is not beyond him, 
 Paul. Oh I go, like his good angel." 
 
 " I feel it is a nonsensical thing to do," said he, 
 " but I suppose it must be done. And if I find him, 
 and evervthinjr sliould be favorable, what could we 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 813 
 
 say to him about — well, your mother and father, for 
 instance ? " 
 
 He examined the paper on the wall attentively, 
 while she looked at him with a puzzled face. 
 
 " If he is safe, that is enough," she answered 
 simply. 
 
 " Well, let it go," said Paul, smiling. " He doesn't 
 care very much for any of us, I fear, much as we are 
 interested in him. And, Frank, as long as you live 
 let no one know that I made myself such a goose for 
 your sake and his father's." 
 
 Rossiter slipped into Clayburgh without exciting 
 attention. He found a close-mouthed fisherman 
 after a few minutes' search, Avho for a reasonable sum 
 agreed not only to take him to Solitary Island, but 
 also to keep his mouth shut about it until eternity, 
 and the journey Avas made in successful secrecy. 
 Arrived at a spot overlooking the well-known cabin, 
 Paul dismissed his guide and crossed the ice on foot 
 to the opposite shore. It was now midnight. The 
 lonely island lay three feet beneath the snow, singu- 
 larly tranquil under the dim stars. A faint wind 
 added to the gentle lonelinsss, and, stirring the trees 
 on the hill, brought Paul's eyes to the grave beneath 
 them. No light or sign of human presence any- 
 where ! No tracks in the snow save his own until 
 he reached the cabin-door; there began a pathway 
 which led down the slope and up the opposite hill to 
 the grave — the path marked out by the funeral pro- 
 cession ! Even while he looked a figure came stagger- 
 ing from the grave along the path to where he stood, 
 a figure stooped, uncertain in its gait, moaning, and 
 stopping rarely to swing its arms upwards in potent 
 
314 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 m 
 
 ji 
 
 despair. Paul trembled with dread, and the tears 
 sprang to his eyes. Was he to find the mental 
 wreck he had once pictured ? Florian gave no sio-n 
 of surprise when he saw him. but adopted at once 
 his usual reserve. He was not insane. 
 
 " You here ? " he said calmlv, but the voice 
 quavered. " I believe you were there that niglit, 
 and I remember you said you had a message for me. 
 Will you come in if you care to ? " 
 
 A cheerful fire burned in the hearth of the single 
 room and the tallow candle showed Izaak Walton 
 in his usual place, with every other circumstance of 
 the room undisturbed. Paul said nothing until he 
 had scanned his old friend keenly. The great man 
 sat down before the fire placidly and submitted to 
 the inspection with an indifference so like his father's 
 own that Paul drew a breath of delight. In ten 
 days he had changed wofully. Ilis clothes hung 
 upon shrunken limbs, and his face was wasted. 
 Hollow cheeks, hollow, burning eyes, and wide 
 nostrils ! The hand which rested on the favorite 
 book showed its cords and veins, the shoulders were 
 rounded, and his whole attitude one of physical 
 exhaustion. The tears again sprang to tlie poet's 
 eyes. Here was a penitent surely, and there was 
 something boyish or childish about him that ap- 
 pealed to the heart wonderfully, as if misfortune 
 had stripped him of all the years since boyhood, and 
 all his honors. 
 
 " I have a message for you," the poet said, " but, 
 with your permission, I'll put it off till to-morrow. 
 I am going to remain here for to-night with your 
 »>ermission also." 
 
 if 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 315 
 
 he tears 
 mental 
 no sio-n 
 
 at once 
 
 le voice 
 t niglit, 
 for me. 
 
 le single 
 Walton 
 tance of 
 until he 
 eat man 
 litted to 
 father's 
 
 In ten 
 )s hung 
 wasted, 
 d wide 
 
 ivorite 
 rs were 
 )hysical 
 
 poet's 
 ire was 
 hat ap- 
 fortune 
 od, and 
 
 " but, 
 lorrow. 
 ;h your 
 
 " Oh ! certainly," Florian replied, in the same 
 uncertain voice ; " there is a good room yonder 
 where he slept. You can have the bed. Have you 
 had supper ? " 
 
 "I would like something to eat," the poet said 
 out of curiosity. Florian took down a loaf of bread 
 from the cupboard, poured some water into a cup, 
 and sat down again without any apology for the 
 scanty fare — just as his father would have done. 
 Paul ate a slice or two of the bread and drank the 
 water, while a pleasant silence held the room. He 
 did not know how to open a conversation. 
 
 " Tliis was his favorite book," said he, touching 
 Izaak AYalton tenderly, " I remember often to have 
 seen him reading it in this room." 
 
 " Yes," said Florian, with interest, " and it is one 
 of my memories of him. I was very unfortunate in 
 not knowing more of him. The world fooled me 
 out of that treasure — and of many another," he 
 added partly to himself. Paul was surprised more 
 and more. This pleasant, natural manner of speak- 
 ing offered an odd contrast to liis woebegone looks. 
 It was something like the Florian of years past. lie 
 deliberated whether it would not be better to defer 
 his communication until he understood his motives 
 better. 
 
 " I came from New York to-night," he ventured 
 to say. " I was anxious about you, and so were 
 others." 
 
 " There was no need to be anxious," said Florian 
 cheerfully. " I am quite happy here. It is a pleas- 
 ant residence winter and summer. I shall never 
 regret the city, which will certainly not regret me." 
 
hi' 
 
 '\ i 
 
 H 
 
 ♦-'-«■ 
 
 i . 
 
 
 i S 
 
 ' ■ 1 
 
 rk 
 
 I ■ ■ , 
 
 j; 
 
 
 I 
 
 ■ r . ■ 
 
 |! 
 
 i'; 
 1 
 
 
 ]l 
 
 y-- 
 
 l' ■ 
 
 '{ 
 
 ■ 
 
 ; ; 
 
 
 ■' i' 
 
 i 
 
 i :: 
 
 ; 
 
 316 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " You may not have heard of Mrs. Merrion," 
 Paul remarked helplessly, so astounded was he by 
 the last remark. 
 
 " No," said the other without curiosity. " Some 
 scandal connected with a Count Behrenski, prob- 
 ably." 
 
 " No. She married him and went to Europe last 
 week quietly." And after that the poet said no 
 more, for he was in a maze and knew not what to 
 think or do. 
 
 " I shall retire now, with your permission, Florian," 
 he said finally, using the old familiar name. " I 
 hope I am not troubling you too much or driving 
 you from your own bed." 
 
 " Not at all, Rossiter, not at all. I never sleep 
 there. Good-night ; and if you should not find me 
 in the morning have no uneasiness. I shall turn up 
 again assuredly." 
 
 Paul fell asleep without settling the vexed ques- 
 tions which Florian's odd manner and words sug. 
 gested. The great man, left to himself, behaved in 
 a simple matter-of-fact fashion at once pathetic and 
 amusing. He snuffed the candle with a face as ear- 
 nest as if snuffing candles was the one duty of his life, 
 put away the remnants of Paul's supper carefully 
 after washing the cup and drying it neatly, stirred the 
 fire, opened much-handled Izaak, and settled him- 
 self for a quiet hour's reading. Ten days had fixed 
 him in the Solitary's groove as firmly as if he had 
 been in it for years. On the night of Vladimir's 
 revelation he had driven to his own apartments in a 
 state of mind not to be described. He had long 
 suspected his own share in his father's death, but 
 
 :1 ! 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 1)1 t 
 
 leri'ion," 
 as he by 
 
 " Some 
 ki, prob- 
 
 ro])e last 
 
 said no 
 
 what to 
 
 Plorian," 
 
 me. " I 
 
 driving 
 
 ver sleep 
 find me 
 turn up 
 
 ed ques- 
 
 rds sug. 
 
 laved in 
 
 etic and 
 
 |e as ear- 
 
 his life, 
 
 arefuUy 
 
 rred the 
 
 ed him- 
 
 ad fixed 
 
 he had 
 
 adimir's 
 
 nts in a 
 
 a,d long 
 
 ith, but 
 
 the lurid color in which Vladimir painted his guilt 
 was a fearful shock to him. lie fled from the Count 
 in a sort of daze which his firm will could not dispel, 
 and it seemed to him that madness or delirium Avas 
 prevented only by the persistency with which he 
 beat off the tumultuous thoughts that crowded upon 
 him. His self-possession was entirely gone. The 
 life which he had led, the ambitions which he had 
 cherished, the woman whom he had loved, all cir- 
 cumstances connected with his father's death, filled 
 him with wild horror when ho recalled them. He 
 could not think of anything with method. He could 
 only feel, and his feelings threatened to drive him 
 into insanity, so sharp, so bitter w^ere they, so con- 
 fused yet active. 
 
 It was instinct more than reason which sent him 
 to Solitary Island. It was a mechanical effort of 
 the will which produced the instructions for his 
 clerk ; but once on the journey, with people mc ving 
 about him, and scene after scene bringing peace to 
 his distracted mind, Florian was able to cry like a 
 child hour by hour of his sorrowful flight. lie 
 scarcely knew why he wept, unless to ease the bur- 
 den pressing upon his heart, which seemed to flow 
 away with his tears. Like Paul, he reached Clay- 
 burgh in the night, and unseen fled away on foot 
 across the ice over the well-knov^n course which he 
 and Ruth and Linda had often taken in the yacht ; 
 past Round Island with a single light for the ice- 
 waste, leaving Grindstone to the left as he ran along 
 the narrow strait with two islands rising on each 
 side of him like the walls of a coffin ; through the 
 woods to the spot overlooking the old cabin ; across 
 
Ill 
 
 w. 
 
 
 M' .1 
 
 ■ ; ■ .1 
 I. '■ 
 
 i 
 
 i!i»i':ffliii.!i;i' i 
 
 j! I 
 
 ^ii| ll < 
 
 I'll II I 
 
 liliii II 
 
 i^!!^^ 
 
 
 I!lll.!!i 
 
 818 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 the bay and up the slope to the lonely grave on the 
 summit, where he cast himself with a long, sad cry 
 of grief and despair. 
 
 Five days passed before anything like calm and 
 systematic thought returned to him. One idea stood 
 before him like an inhabitant of the island, with a 
 personality of its own — the words of the Count: 
 " Behold the murderer of his father 1 " He muttered 
 the accusing w^ords many times in the day and night, 
 sitting on the grave, regardless of the cold and whis- 
 pering them to himself ; weeping, sobbing, raving, 
 moaning, silent by times, as the fit took him ; never 
 sleeping tAvo hours at a time ; haunted always by a 
 dreadful fear of divine or human vengeance. Phan- 
 toms of past incidents and people were floating 
 around him sleeping and waking, causing him con- 
 stant alarm. Even the sweet face of Linda frowned 
 upon him, and that was hardest of all to bear. At 
 the close of the fifth day his delirium suddenly left 
 him and he enjoyed a long and refreshing sleep. 
 When he woke the hideous nightmare of sorrow and 
 remorse and dread had vanished. He was himself 
 again, but not the self which had fiitted from New 
 York to hide its anguish in the icy solitude. There 
 was another Florian born of that long travail, and a 
 better Florian than the world had yet known. 
 
 He was not aware of any change. He had lost 
 his habit of seli-consciousness, and he was to become 
 aware of \\ 1 .at was working within him only when 
 others pointed it out to him. Kneeling in the snow 
 at the foot of the grave, he said his morning prayers, 
 promising the father of his love that never again 
 would he have occasion to grieve for him, and that 
 
THE HIDnp:N LI IE. 
 
 aio 
 
 on the 
 jad cry 
 
 ilm and 
 sa stood 
 with a 
 Count : 
 uttered 
 I night, 
 id whis- 
 raving, 
 ; never 
 ys by a 
 Phan- 
 floating 
 lim con- 
 Towned 
 ar. At 
 nlv left 
 sleep, 
 ow and 
 himself 
 m New 
 There 
 I, and a 
 I. 
 
 ad lost 
 jecorae 
 f when 
 e snow 
 rayers, 
 again 
 id that 
 
 what man could do to atone for murder ho, with the 
 help of God, would do. Ilis hreakfast he niudo on 
 fresh fish and meal found in tlie larder, traveling 
 many miles that day in the snow to obtain Hour aiul 
 meal and necessaries at a distant village. lie was 
 very weak, but it troubled him not at all. lie had 
 no regard for his own sufferings, so firmly were his 
 eyes fixed on the martyrdom his father endured for 
 his sake. Every available moment found him at the 
 grave in deep thought or prayer. The priest of an 
 obscure village heard with wonder his strange con- 
 fession of ten years of life, marveling what manner 
 of man this man could be ; and his Communion was 
 simple and fervent, as became a penitent. Thus be- 
 gan the eighth day, and at its close he was sitting 
 calmly before the log-fire in the kitchen, and Izaak 
 Walton was in his hands. 
 
 "What was he going to do ? His period of uncon- 
 trolled grief was over and his long penance begun. 
 AVhere Avas it to end? He had many injuries to re- 
 pair — his scandalous life, his rejection of Frances, 
 his treatment of all his friends. Not for one mo- 
 ment did he think of returning to the city or to pub- 
 lic life. He saw clearly the precipice from which 
 Providence, by means of great misfortunes, had 
 snatched him. He had entered the great city a pure- 
 hearted boy to whom sin was almost unknown, whose 
 one desire was to preserve the faith, in spirit and in 
 word, incorrupt in himself. How gradually and how 
 surely he fell ! Careless intercourse with all sorts of 
 people and the careless reading of all sorts of books, 
 with the adoption of all sorts of theories and ideas, 
 brought upon him an intellectual sensuality only too 
 
 M 
 
f i 'm 
 r 4 
 
 « 
 
 
 ^ I 
 
 '^■« 
 
 ! )' i 
 
 11 
 
 820 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 common and too little noticed in the world. Then 
 came the loose thought and the loose glance and the 
 loose word, the more than indifferent companions, 
 the dangerous witticism, the state which weakened 
 faith and practice, and prepared the soul for its 
 plunge into the mud. Thank God ! he had escaped 
 the mud, at least. But who had saved him ? And 
 was he to go back to it all^ "There are some men 
 whom politics will damn." Wise words for him, at 
 whom they seemed to point. "Wliat was he to do ? 
 He thought over it that night and the next morn- 
 ing. His resolution formed itself slowly ; tinally it 
 was made. He would take his father's place on the 
 island, and remain there until death released him 
 from his penance. Wiis it a hard thing to do ? Xo, 
 he said, not with the graves of father and sister so 
 near him. And thus was he situated when Paul 
 found him. 
 
 The poet made his morning meal in silence and 
 constraint. It reminded him forcibly of many meals 
 he had eaten in the same room while sharing the 
 hermit's hospitality. The circumstances were little 
 changed. Although the day was cold, the sun 
 shone through the red-curtained window with a 
 summer brightness, the log-fire glowed in the hearth, 
 the savory smell of broiled fish pervaded the little 
 room, and Florian, a wonderful likeness of his father, 
 sat eating sparingl}^, silent but not gloomy, save for 
 the sad shadows occasionally flitting over his face. 
 The contrast between the placid manner and the 
 feverish countenance was odd, but not so forcible 
 as the difference between this silent man and the 
 ambitious politician. Paul gave up speculation as 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 321 
 
 I. Then 
 and the 
 panions, 
 '^eakened 
 I for its 
 . escaped 
 1? And 
 Dine men 
 r him, at 
 le to do ? 
 xt morn- 
 tinally it 
 ce on the 
 ased him 
 io? No, 
 sister so 
 len Paul 
 
 ence and 
 ny meals 
 aring the 
 rere little 
 the sun 
 with a 
 [e hearth, 
 the little 
 |is father, 
 save for 
 his face, 
 and the 
 forcible 
 and the 
 lation as 
 
 a hopeless task, and rightly judging his present 
 temper, plunged abruptly into the matter of his 
 visit. 
 
 " You may be aware of the circumstances Avhich 
 led to my stay on Solitary Island," said he for a 
 beginning. Florian regarded him placidly, without 
 a trace of the old feeling in his looks. Paul thought 
 it pretense ; but it was real. The great man had no 
 feeling towards him. 
 
 " I am not aw^are of them," lie replied. 
 
 " Strangely enough, our reseml)lance was the cause 
 of it," said Paul. " The spy, who pursued you be- 
 cause of your resemblance to your own family, pur- 
 sued me for the same reason, drove iv.e out of all 
 employment and, with tlie aid of injudicious friends, 
 brought me to the verge of poverty and death. Your 
 father saved me, and, for reasons quite plain to us 
 both, took me in and earned my everlasting gratitude 
 for himself and his son." 
 
 A faint flush spread over Florian's face in the 
 pause that followed. 
 
 " I must ask your pardon," he said humbly, " for 
 my guilty share in your sufferings. I Avas your 
 friend, and I should have aidei. you ; but I was 
 led to believe you stood between me and Ruth, and 
 again bet .veen re and Frances Lynch. I was glad 
 you suffered. 1 regret it sincerely now. I trust 
 you ■^vill forgive me." 
 
 It wap the poet's turn to blush at this humility. 
 
 " Don't mention it," said he. " Peter Carter was 
 the cause of all these troubles. You are not to blame. 
 I am not sorry for them. They brought me in con- 
 tact with your father. 
 
 SI 
 
 ?> 
 
% ^ 
 
 I'i 
 
 m 
 
 !; •}. 
 
 1:111 
 
 !H 
 
 n 
 
 322 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " And I hated you for that," Florian went on 
 the same tone, " uecause your worthiness won a privi- 
 lege which my crimes deprived me of I spoke to 
 you once under that impression in a manner most 
 insulting. I ask " 
 
 " Hold on ! " said Paul, jumping to his feet with 
 a red face. " No more of that, Florian. I cannot 
 stand it. If you are really sincere in this change 
 that has come over you kjep your apologies for 
 Frances and others. But I do not understand it. I 
 expected something like this, but not so complete 
 and astounding a revolution." 
 
 Florian offered no remonstrance to this blur.t sus 
 picion, but after a little pointed out to tht grave 
 with such a look in his face ! then back to himi:>=)lf . 
 
 " ' Behold the murderer of his father,' " he saia in 
 a sudden burst of sobs, as he repeated the Count's 
 telling words. " If I could apologize to him as I 
 do to you, as I shall do to all the others. Alas 1 
 what humiliation is there greater than that ? " 
 
 " He's on the right track," said the satisfied poet, 
 wiping his eyes in sympathy and thinking joyfully 
 of Frances. 
 
 " It's all cleared up between us, then, Flory," said 
 he cheerfully, as he clasped the great man's hand. 
 "My business is made the easier for that, and it 
 will send me back to New York with a light heart. 
 Come, I have some spots of interest to show you 
 about the old house. Your father loved me, Flory. 
 How proud I am of that honor ! But, ah ! not 
 as he loved you, his son. I was his confidant in 
 many things, and I have the secret of his life and 
 the explanation of its oddities. Flory, your father 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 323 
 
 rent on 
 L a privi- 
 ipoke to 
 ler most 
 
 'eet with 
 [ cannot 
 J change 
 ogies for 
 ind it. I 
 complete 
 
 blurt sus 
 ,ht grave 
 himfc>=ilf. 
 he saia in 
 3 Count's 
 
 him as I 
 ^s. Alas ! 
 It?" 
 
 tied poet, 
 joyfully 
 
 ?j 
 
 lory," said 
 In's hand. 
 it, and it 
 rht heart, 
 show you 
 le, Flory. 
 „ ah! not 
 ifidant in 
 is life and 
 ►ur father 
 
 was a saint, of princely soul as well as princely 
 birth." 
 
 He lifted a trap-door in the floor of the bedroom, 
 and led the way, holding a Ughted candle, into the 
 cellar. 
 
 " It is not a cellar," he explained, flashing the 
 light on the rocky walls, " but a cave. Here is a 
 door concealed in the rock very nicely. We open it 
 so. Now enter and here we are." 
 
 They could hear the sound of running water in the 
 cave, but Florian paid it no attention. His eyes 
 were fastened on the new discovery. A set of rude 
 shelves took up one whole side of an almost square 
 room, and was thickly crowded with books. The 
 general character was devotional and mystical, but 
 the classics were well represented, and astronomy 
 and philosophy had the choicest volumes. A rough 
 desk below contained a wooden carved crucifix, a 
 few bits of manuscript, and writing materials. From 
 a peg in its side hung a leather discipline, whose 
 thongs were tipped with fine iron points. A few 
 sacred prints hung on the walls. Flor' >n knelt and 
 kissed first the crucifix and then the discipline. 
 
 " This spot," said Paul reverently, " is a secret to 
 all save you and me. When I first came here, 
 broken down and disheartened — it £ 3ems a beautiful 
 and fit sanctuary for the disheartened — I was sin- 
 cerely disposed to lean more heavily on God for the 
 support I needed. After a little the prince took me 
 into his confidence, and I beheld such a sight " — the 
 tears of emotion poured from his eyes — "as I had 
 never dreamed of seeing this side of heaven. Long 
 meditations and prayers, mortifications such as that 
 
il ! 
 
 |:JI 
 
 324 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 discipline hints ut, unboiuukd charity for all men, 
 are virtues common to all the saints. They did not 
 impress me as did the glimpses of his soul which I 
 received. Ah! such an ovei'i)o\vering love of God. 
 It seemed to burn within him like a leal flame and 
 to illuminate the space about him as does tiiis candle. 
 I would have feared liim but for the love and strength 
 these very qualities gave me. I knelt liere with him 
 often, and wlien I was strong enough tried to stay 
 by him in his vigils. I know the angels often came 
 t v\w visibly. I saw Avonders here and dreamed 
 re I .ms. And no one knew it save myself. 
 "Wl.o . !ild have believed it had they not seen what 
 I saw ? " 
 
 " Blind, blind, blind ! '' murmured Florian. " We 
 all caught glimpses of his glory, but my love was 
 not as shai-p as hate, and my soul too low to look 
 for such a manifestation of grace. ^Fy sin is all the 
 gj'cater." 
 
 '" The last time I saw him," continued Paul, " was 
 in this spot, kneeling w^here you are kneeling. He 
 had a premonition of his coming passion, but it was 
 lightened by the conviction — perha])s it had been 
 revealed to him — that out of it would come your 
 salvation. ' Tell my son,' he said, ' that I died be- 
 cause of him.'' " 
 
 " ' Behold the murderer of his father,' Florian mur- 
 mured to himself. 
 
 " ' Tell him also not to despair, but with a good 
 heart, and without haste or great grief for anything 
 save for his sins, to begin his ])enance.' You see he 
 knew ; and when I asked him if he were about to die, 
 *God holds all our days,' said he, 'who knows but 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 325 
 
 11 men, 
 did not 
 which I 
 of God. 
 Lrae and 
 5 candle, 
 itrength 
 ith him 
 i to stav 
 en came 
 Ireamed 
 myself, 
 en what 
 
 I. " We 
 
 ove was 
 
 to look 
 
 s all the 
 
 |.il, " was 
 g- He 
 b it was 
 id been 
 pe your 
 Idied be- 
 
 lan mur- 
 
 a good 
 lything 
 
 see he 
 
 ^t to die, 
 
 )W8 but 
 
 this may be our last i ' I never saw him again in life. 
 God rest his soul, if it has suifered any delay I " 
 
 There was again a short pause as Paul waited to 
 review that last scene and to recall the tones, the 
 feelings, the incidents of a most pathetic moment. 
 Florian still knelt at the desk with his fingers about 
 the discipline. 
 
 "Well, it is all over," he said to the kneeling 
 figure ; " let us go. You notice tlie dry air of the 
 cave. It is beautifully ventilated and very safe for 
 such a place. Your father loved it. Come, my 
 friend. Or do you wish to remain here ( " 
 
 Florian rose and they returned to the room above. 
 
 " I have finished my work — almost," said the poet, 
 putting on his hat, " and now I am going. Can I be 
 of any help to you ? " 
 
 " My father's friend and mine," Florian replied, 
 " I have need only for your pardon and the renewal 
 of that affection vou once had for mo." 
 
 " And never lost, Florian. You have it still, and 
 the pardon which is al ways yours beforehand. After 
 a little you will return to Xew York ? " 
 
 " Yes, after a little," he replied slowly, " but not 
 to remain. Here is my home in the future. I have 
 my business to close up and a great act of justice to 
 perform. After that my solitude." 
 
 It was on the poet's lips to dissuade him from so 
 extravagant a course, l)ut he thought better of it and 
 said nothing, preferring to leave so delicate and 
 dangerous a matter to time and the good providence 
 of God. Florian walked out with him as far as the 
 opposite sliore, a smile of joy lighting up oddly the 
 sad lines of his face. He seemed, however, singu- 
 

 [' i' 
 
 mil' 
 1 
 
 llviil' 
 
 'i ; i 
 
 326 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 larly destitute of the power of self-reflection. His 
 thoughts were ever fixed on what he had seen and 
 heard of his father, without much attention to their 
 effect on himself. He was smiling, not for joy, but 
 in obedience to some hidden impulse which he did 
 not think of analyzing. 
 
 "Why do you look so pleased?" said the poet 
 to him. 
 
 " Do I look pleased ? " he asked, with a puzzled 
 expression which silenced the poet. They parted at 
 the entrance to the woods. 
 
 " Until I see you again," said the poet, clasping 
 his hand. 
 
 That was a miserable day for Kuth Pendleton 
 which witnessed the vulgar outbursts of Barbara 
 Merron and showed to her the real character of the 
 woma,n in whom she had confided. There was noth- 
 ing to prevent her telling Rutli's story to the whole 
 world ; and in her heart there was the dread of its 
 reaching Paul's ears, as it must if lie remained long 
 in the town, or if Barbara encountered him. She was 
 compelled to believe that Paul thought no more of 
 her than of any other woman, in spite of Barbara's 
 gossip. His manner had always been cordial, re- 
 spectful, and distant. He had never sought her out, 
 and he so near ; had never presumed to any of a 
 lover's familiarity ; had always been as distant as a 
 polite acquaintance could be, and talked of New 
 York and his visit to her convent as common things, 
 which they were not to her. Was the bit of Bristol- 
 board a fancy then ? She looked at it many times 
 a day. How it would amuse him when Barbara re- 
 lated Itc history ! Her cheeks burned at the thought 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 327 
 
 poet 
 
 of the humiliation. The Squire assured her that he 
 had arranged it with Barbara nicely. 
 
 Ruth was fain to be satisfied, but could not trust 
 Barbara until she heard that Paul had also departed 
 from Clay burgh. It was a delicate and though 'ful 
 act on the poet's part, and well deserved its intended 
 effect. Ruth rejoiced over it from one point of view. 
 It was hardly probable that he had met Barbara. If 
 so, and she had told him, there was no dread of 
 meetino; him again in this world. Her dream faded 
 into the chill reality of day. Resignation was Ruth's 
 stronghold, and she bore this sorrow as sweetly as 
 she had borne many others in her placid life. The 
 winter wore away, until blustering March began to 
 hint at the warmth of spring. Then walking out 
 one day she met at the postoffice Paul, hearty and 
 loud from a consciousness of the happiness to come. 
 It was : 
 
 " Miss Pendleton, are you not glad to see an old 
 face to-dav ? " and " Mr. Rossiter, this is an unex- 
 pected pleasure," with bows and tremblings and 
 heart-beats innumerable, and many inquiries about 
 nothing at all, until Paul s^aid : 
 
 " You may wonder at my return in this rough 
 season, but I come on a matter that concerns us 
 both." 
 
 " Had you not better wait ? " she said politely, 
 glancing around while inwardly she grew hot and 
 cold from shame. 
 
 " I merely wished to give you a hint," he said, " of 
 what you are to expect." Knowing the double 
 meaning in his words he watched her confusion with 
 secret delight. " The island has another solitary." 
 

 328 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 U:<' 
 
 
 h u:-' 
 
 Bll'jF 
 
 
 She cast a stai'tled look at him. 
 
 " Florian has come back a penitent, thrown up the 
 world and its honors, and proposes to live and die, 
 as did his father, in the obscurity of that island." 
 
 " I am dazed," she replied ; " I cannot understand 
 such things." 
 
 " They are as true as they seem. Miss Pendleton. 
 This evening I shall explain them. Florian is on 
 the island, has been there for ten days, and Mrs. 
 Merrion has married a Russian count and gone to 
 Europe, You are still more surprised. Let me say 
 good-day to you, and do me the honor of being at 
 home this evening." 
 
 Ruth was again deceived. This visit concerned 
 only Florian, she thought, and consequentl}^ there 
 was no reason why she should fear that Barbara had 
 exposed her. That night when Rossiter called talk 
 drifted into the usual channels. Paul related the 
 circumstances which had led to Florian's flight to 
 the island, and gave Ruth a descri])tion of his ex- 
 perience with the penitent that morning. 
 
 " It is a wreck you have seen, not Florian," she 
 said, with the tears in her eyes ; " but out of it the 
 old Florian will come back to us. Thank God ! I 
 hope Linda and the prince know, this day of joy." 
 
 " It is quite impossible," said Paul, " that he should 
 take up the life his father led. Yet it fits him 
 wonderfully ; and to see him you would think the 
 prince was revived." 
 
 " We shall leave Pere Rougevin to settle his future. 
 He will make it easy for him to resume the old life 
 without violence to the grace which he has received. 
 I shall make bold to visit him to-morrow." 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 829 
 
 up the 
 nd die, 
 id." 
 jrstand 
 
 dleton. 
 1 is on 
 d Mrs. 
 ;one to 
 me say 
 eing at 
 
 ncerned 
 y there 
 ara had 
 [led talk 
 ted the 
 ght to 
 lis ex- 
 
 an," she 
 f it the 
 od! I 
 
 joy." 
 
 e should 
 its him 
 link the 
 
 s future, 
 old life 
 •eceived. 
 
 " I shall have the honor of accompanying you," 
 said Paul, " if } ou have no objections. I am going 
 to the Island myself. My two reasons for coming 
 here were — I wished to make certain of what had 
 happened to Florian for the sake of Frances." 
 
 " Poor girl ! " said Rutli, " slie will be his salvation 
 yet." 
 
 " Indeed she will, Miss Pendleton, I believe his 
 heart turns that way still. Ko great heart like his 
 could ever find content in such a creature as Mrs. 
 Merrion. And my other reason was to remove any 
 misunderstanding between you and me." 
 
 " Misunderstanding ! " said Ruth, greatly sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " I have loved you a long time, Miss Pendleton — 
 fully eight years. I have tried to keep it a secret, 
 to bury it forever from your knowledge, and yet I 
 could not. I could not leave you without having 
 spoken. God knows if I might not have made a 
 mistake in so doing ! It would be an eternal regret 
 to me, and so I wish to know from your own lips, 
 Ruth, if I must part from you forever. It rests 
 with you to give me tlie greatest happiness or the 
 greatest sorrow of my life." 
 
 " I shall be compelled to give you " She hesi- 
 tated, for her emotion was strong, and she dreaded 
 an exhibition of tears. Paul trembled in spite of 
 his confidence in Barbara's story. 
 
 "I shall be compollod to give you," said Ruth 
 calmly, after a time, " what you call the greatest 
 happiness of your life." And she laid her hand in 
 his for an instant while their eyes met and exchanged 
 the thoughts too true and sweet for expression. His 
 
■V. 
 
 330 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ' ifl 
 
 PI 
 
 
 face was radiant, and he made no demur when she 
 begged to be excused and withdrew to her own 
 room. God had been very good to her. In the 
 very moment of her resignation to His will He had 
 honored and blessed her beyond belief. The Squire's 
 heart fell when Paul made a formal demand upon 
 him for his daughter. 
 
 " I had thought Ruth's idea of marrying was 
 over," said the Squire sadly ; " but, if you've made 
 it up between you, I have only to say yes." 
 
 Florian easily guessed the relation existing be- 
 tween the two who visited him the next day. Ruth's 
 manner was always so clearly marked in its modesty 
 and reserve that her intimates might soon discover 
 any variation in it. The new hermit accepted the 
 position quietly and without so much as a single 
 reflection on what might have been. He did not 
 look for any surprise on the part of those who came 
 to see him, nor did Ruth manifest any. It was as if 
 he had been there ten years. Paul gave them an 
 opportunity to talk alone. 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Florian gravely, " on 
 your present happiness. You are every way deserv- 
 ing of it." 
 
 " And I congratulate you on yours," said Ruth. 
 " Our island seems destined to have a tenant al- 
 ways." 
 
 She would have wept, had she been alone, at his 
 sadly altered appearance, stooped, pale, hollow-eyed, 
 and the firm lips quivering. But better that way 
 and dearer to God than in the pride of his physical 
 strength and political glory. 
 
 " Yes, this is a place for happiness," he said, look- 
 
THE HIDDEN LIFE. 
 
 331 
 
 J was 
 made 
 
 u 
 
 on 
 
 ing around the 
 father's heart — 
 
 homely room. " It healed my 
 
 " And it will heal yours," she added for him as he 
 left the thought on his lips unexpressed. He smiled 
 as if she had reproved him. 
 
 " I hope so. You have not known all my wicked- 
 ness, Ruth. I deserted Frances " 
 
 " 1 know it all, Florian. Do not distress yourself 
 with recounting it. Your reparation will be all the 
 sweeter to her, poor girl." 
 
 " IIow can I make it ? " he said humbly. " I have 
 put a shame upon her which only marriage can take 
 away ; yet I could not ask her after the wrong I 
 have done." 
 
 " Do not think about it at all," said Euth with 
 emphasis. " Go to her, tell her your sorrow and 
 your resolutions. Her love will find a way through 
 difficulties. Linda would rejoice to see this hour," 
 she added. " Florian, what a time it has all been I 
 What a treasure we missed finding ! I cannot forgive 
 myself for not knowing in time." 
 
 " I came near missing it altogether," he said in 
 turn. " I was but little disturbed at his discovery 
 and death. What a fate is mine 1 Had I remained 
 in Clayburgh he would have made himself known 
 to me. Had I even been faithful to God while in 
 the world he would have granted me the favor. 
 Had I tried to discover him, and not feared it, I 
 would have found him. Had I ^ . n faithful to 
 Frances he would not have dieu. My ambition, 
 avarice, disloyalty to the faith, and desertion of my 
 promised wife have been paid for by the fact that I 
 am his murderer. I would never have known my 
 
882 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 s ; 
 ) 
 
 ill 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 ^ '^^ 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 f l-.y- .■:. 
 
 
 
 r :!; : 
 
 !l 
 
 ll' 
 
 : P 
 
 Mi 
 
 
 
 :.i\\. 
 
 dreadful share in his death had I responded to the feel- 
 ings whicli decency and grace prompted in mo when 
 I was last on the island after his death. But no ; I 
 went back to evil and thus was I turned from it. 
 May God and my saintly father lielp me; but indeed, 
 Ruth, I am a most miserable man 1 " 
 
 His cheeks flushed while he was speaking, and 
 Ruth's tears fell slowly. It was his second outburst 
 of feeling in mortal presence since the night his 
 crime was fixed upon him. He bowed his head upon 
 the table and wept in silence. 
 
 " Thank God, as I do, for these tears," she said. 
 " Yours is a strong nature, Florian, and once turned 
 from the right it would require just such means to 
 bring you back. I am not sorry for your sins, 
 since I see your repentance. Your father cannot 
 regret his sad ending, nor your share in it. when he 
 sees your tears falling into the hand c )d. O 
 Florian 1 be of good heart ; all your sins Uiv. ox'given 
 you." 
 
 It was a haggard face that he presented on rising. 
 
 " I know they are forgiven. I am very fortunate. 
 Pardon me for intruding these things on you. It is 
 not a day for tears." 
 
 The sun was shining maliciously on the helpless 
 snow, whose white fingers clung in vain to the 
 spruce trees and the rocks, and with much weeping 
 lost their hold and fell out of sight. Patches of gold 
 color lay along the ice, and big shadows stole around 
 the islands, retreating from the sun. The air and 
 earth sparkled. A soft wind blew from the south in 
 gusts and filled the narrow channels with music. It 
 was not a day for tears, as Florian had said, but the 
 
THE HIDDKN LIFE. 
 
 333 
 
 the feel- 
 iie when 
 it no ; I 
 from it. 
 ; indeed, 
 
 ng, and 
 outburst 
 ight his 
 ad upon 
 
 lie said. 
 3 turned 
 leans to 
 ur sins, 
 
 cannot 
 vhen he 
 
 )d. O 
 oi'given 
 
 1 rising, 
 rtunate. 
 I. It is 
 
 sight of that lonely grave upon the hill wjis ever in hi8 
 eyes and the beauty of the world lay under its shadow. 
 For him the sun rose and sot behind it, and beyond it 
 ho saw heaven and holl, the eternal truths of religion, 
 and the path that led to heaven. He could no^but 
 bo a little gloomy, and the presence of men aug- 
 mented the gloom. His friends parted from him wntli 
 many kind wishes and hopes for the future. Like 
 his father, he said nothing and watched them until 
 they were out of sight. What was he thinking of i 
 The poet thought it might be of the days when the 
 rights now exercised by another over Ruth belonged 
 to him. The poet was wrong. Florian was won- 
 dering if his repentance would bring him the peace 
 of heart which attached to the former hermit of 
 Solitary Island! 
 
 helpless 
 
 to the 
 
 tveeping 
 
 I of gold 
 
 1 around 
 
 air and 
 
 south in 
 
 iisic. It 
 
 but the 
 
CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 P 
 
 m 
 m 
 
 li 
 
 
 rM) 
 
 iiii 
 
 nf 
 
 r.i 
 
 ti 
 
 
 
 I* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 '! 
 
 
 p: . 
 
 
 ' 1 
 
 1 
 
 ■ 
 
 1 ' 
 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 EEPAKATION. 
 
 The oldest inhabitant of Clayburgh, mindful of 
 that day, years back, when Florian had received a 
 public reception from his townsmen, and particularly 
 moved by the physical and moral grandeur of the 
 man at the time, had he seen the figure which one 
 lone April day walked to the depot, would have been 
 overcome with resentment and shame. Still pale 
 and emaciated, stooped ard shambling in his walk, 
 as plainly clothed as a workman, Florian proceeded 
 tiQrough the streets of the town as calmly as if it was 
 a custom with him so to do. People stared at the 
 stranger and wondered at his likeness to " their boy," 
 speculated as to who he might be, and were mystified 
 when no one knew him. Florian was more than 
 disguised. It was another person who walked the 
 streets that day on his pilgrimage of reparation. 
 
 He took the morning train for New York, buying 
 his ticket with the Squire's startled eyes fixed on him 
 fearfully. "Was this a ghost ? the Squire asked him- 
 self. He did not venture to address the figure, and 
 Florian did not observe him, while the more he looked 
 at the undressed beard and the lean form the less 
 resemblance could he see to his famous boy. The 
 eyes of New Yorkers were not so easily deceived. 
 
 Passing through the streets to his long-deserted office, 
 
 834 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 335 
 
 )uying 
 mhim 
 him- 
 [•e, and 
 looked 
 less 
 The 
 3eived. 
 office. 
 
 he met a few acquaintances, and all recognized him, 
 offered him their sympathy for th' i^res of which 
 they had heard nothing, and wondered at the odd 
 manner in which he accepted their condolences. 
 Just then he was a political cipher and was not 
 troubled with the presence of old adherents. A 
 paragraph in the paper announced his return to the 
 metropolis, and brought fear and trepidation into the 
 De Ponsonby household, but in no other circle did it 
 create any excitement. No one had any idea that 
 Florian would visit the boarding-house soon after his 
 arrival in the city, and Paul was counting on that 
 supposition to get madame into a reasonable frame 
 of mind. All were surprised when the servant one 
 day laidFlorian's card in the mistress' hand, and they 
 heard his name. 
 
 " Send him up," said madame, promptly, while 
 Paul rose to go. " No," she continued, " you may 
 remain. This matter is as public as was his engage- 
 ment. I wish it to be so." 
 
 The poet sat down disturbed in mind. Frances 
 was in a state of agony utterly beyond her vv^ill to 
 control, but madame never once alluded by word or 
 look to her nervous manner. It was a formidable 
 court before which the penitent presented himself. 
 Yet Florian entered as indifferently as if he were in 
 the lonely island cabin, and, after saluting the three 
 gravely and politely, sat down. His appearance 
 astonished madame greatly, and drew a quickly 
 smothered sob from Frances, but all signs of emotion 
 were presently buried in a dead calm, which grated 
 upon Paul's nerves like saw-sharpening. He was 
 bound by circumstances, and could say nothing and 
 
336 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 If^ 
 
 '(• I 
 
 do nothing to alter the condition of affairs. The 
 battle lay between madame and true love. If Flo- 
 rian suffered from any emotion it was visible only in 
 the long interval which followed his entrance before 
 speaking. Like a true and determined enemy, 
 madame said not a single word while waiting for 
 the parley to begin, until Paul in his hard indigna- 
 tion felt that a battery would not be too much to 
 bring to bear on this feminine obstructor to the nat- 
 ural course of penitence and love. 
 
 " I have done you and your daughter a great 
 wrong," Florian said with simple directness, " and I 
 thank you for giving me this opportunity to express 
 my sorrow and ask your pardon. I deserted Miss 
 Lynch for another far beneath her in real worth. It 
 was a heartless act, but at that time I found such 
 acts of mine easily justified. My eyes were opened. 
 I have no words to express my sorro ,v for what I 
 have done. I hope you will forgive me." 
 
 " You were forgiven at that time," said madame 
 gently — so gently that Paul's heart leaped with 
 hope. 
 
 " I owe it to you to say," continued Florian, bow- 
 ing, "that my feelings towards Miss Lynch have 
 never changed. They have only been obscured. I 
 believe sincerely that at one time these feelings your 
 daughter returned. Although she released me from 
 the engagement, I do not think she lost those rights 
 on me which it gave her. I am glad to make the 
 poor restitution of renewing the offer which I once 
 had the honor to make to her. I do it fully con- 
 scious of my own un worthiness. I beg of you not 
 to misunderstand my motives." 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 337 
 
 The 
 f Flo- 
 aly in 
 before 
 nemy, 
 [g for 
 cligna- 
 ich to 
 le 13 at- 
 
 , great 
 ' and I 
 express 
 ;d Miss 
 th. It 
 id such 
 ppened. 
 what I 
 
 ladame 
 with 
 
 I, bow- 
 
 Ih have 
 
 [red. I 
 
 j's your 
 
 le from 
 
 rights 
 ike the 
 
 I once 
 |ly con- 
 
 rou not 
 
 Madame never hesitated in her reply, although 
 while Florian was speaking she had caught the peti- 
 tions of three appealing faces, the third being now 
 visible through the half-open door, Avhere Peter was 
 listening, impatient and interested, 
 
 " I do not pretend to know your motives," she said 
 calmly, " but your offer we reject for good reasons. 
 It is quite impossible that my daughter should ever 
 again consider marriage with you.*" 
 
 The face of Frances grew pale as death, but her 
 lips were pressed tight in determination. Paul 
 growled and Peter started forward, then drew back. 
 Madame crushed these signs of rebellion by her proud 
 and confitient iudilTerence. 
 
 " Perhaps it is best," Plorian said after a pause, 
 lie had received her answer without any surprise, 
 as if he considered it a very ])ro])er thing. " There 
 have been many changes in my life which might not 
 be agreeable to you. In no way am I the same as 
 when I first had the honor of proposing for your 
 daughter's hand. I will never again be the same, I 
 trust. I have done all that I know how to do in 
 atoning for a great injury. You have forgiven me. 
 It would be a great pleasure to know that in your 
 opinion I have done all that is ])ossible." 
 
 His wistful gaze and simple words disconcerted 
 madame considerably. She was half-convinced that 
 the man was acting, but his motives were hidden, 
 nor could she discover them. There was no ade- 
 quate motive to explain this masquerade. 
 
 " You could not have done more," she answered 
 steadily in a tone that closed the interview. Florian 
 rose and bowed his farewell, A rumor crept through 
 
 33 
 
338 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 hi ■ • 
 
 political circles in the metropolis that Florian was 
 closing up his legal business on the })oint of retiring 
 to a more congenial field of labor. It was only a 
 rumor, and before it could be verified the great poli- 
 tician had utterly disap])eared from the sight of 
 men. A reporter was knocking his door out of shape 
 for an interview at the very moment which saw him 
 approaching Clayburgh on the evening train. Thus 
 the world could alwavs knoclv at the doors of his 
 heart. Never again would they open to any of its 
 emissiiries, and his joy had somotlnng fierce in it as 
 he reflected that, CJod willijig, he was entering Clay- 
 burgh from the south for the last time. Behind 
 him in the distance his burnt shi[>s were smoulder- 
 ing — his fame, his power, his wealth, his memor}", his 
 love I Men would nevermore see them in their 
 proud beauty sail rough seas towards glorious har- 
 bors! If they heard of him— and he prayed they 
 would not — it would only be to hear of his conquests 
 over himself ; and probably they would wink, and 
 smile, and touch their foreheads knov.ingly to insin- 
 uate his mental weakness, a fact which pleased him 
 greatly and drew a smile fi i him, as showing how 
 often the worhl mistook' wisdom for foil}'. 
 
 lie jumped from the train before it reached the 
 depot, and made his way acro:-s the fields to the 
 1 iver. It was noAv the lirst weelc of May and the 
 ice was gone, but the chilly air blew sharply across 
 the water, and the shore resounded under the 
 l)reakers. Tie stood on the hill for a moment with 
 his eyes fixed on Linda's resting-place, where the 
 tall monument pierced the sky. His resolution had 
 been to look no more to the past, to leave its sad 
 
 li\ 
 
in was 
 etiring 
 only a 
 it poli- 
 ght of 
 f shape 
 \\\ him 
 Thus 
 of his 
 Kj of its 
 in it as 
 ig Clay- 
 Behind 
 loulder- 
 lory, his 
 in their 
 Dus har- 
 ed they 
 inquests 
 nk, and 
 to insin- 
 sed him 
 ing how 
 
 led the 
 to the 
 and the 
 y across 
 ider the 
 ent with 
 Hi ere the 
 Ition had 
 its sad 
 
 REPARATION. 
 
 339 
 
 reflections in the grave, and to keep his eyes on the 
 future, while his thoughts engaged the present and 
 made what they could out of it. At this mouient it 
 was impossible. Back went his recollection to the 
 hour when Linda was in the meridian of her health 
 and beauty, when he was young and full of hope 
 and unstained by sin, when Ruth was his by love's 
 clear title. The intervening yeai's were like a niglit- 
 mare — ignorance at the beginning, murder at the 
 end, and mystery everywhere. Was he not di-eam- 
 ing now 'i At a convenient spot along the shore he 
 found a boat, whose he knew not, but used it as if it 
 were his own. It was a long and weary pull against 
 a north wind until he reached the shelter of the 
 channel; longer and Avearier across Eel Da}' to the 
 anchorage below the cabin ; and the night reminded 
 him of that blustering, raw evening when withTliith 
 he had first set foot on this island. First to the 
 grave and then to the house ! He lit the lire and 
 drew the curtain, fondled Izaak AValton, and settling 
 close to the log blaze, felt himself at home. His 
 home ! He was cut off from the world at last and 
 forever. 
 
 Ruth quickly received word of his return and the 
 events preceding it, and had a long conversation 
 with Pere Rougevin touching the new hermit. As 
 a part of a plan which she had conceived, and the 
 P6re improved and ])erfected, the Scpiire was in- 
 formed of Florian's presence in Clayburgh. 
 
 " Where is he stopping ? " said the old man, 
 doubtfully. " What's he doing here at this time of 
 the year ? What's he come for?" 
 
 " Hq is living by himself on Solitary Island," 
 
340 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Mia 
 
 !" i 
 
 said Kuth. " For the rest you had better ask him- 
 self." 
 
 " What ! " murmured the Squire, and he said a 
 queer word under his breath, " have you Jesuits got 
 hold of him again ? " 
 
 " The news came from New York," Ruth re- 
 plied indifferently ; " I know nothing more about it, 
 papa." 
 
 " Well, you'll know more after I get back, girl. 
 Living on Solitary Island, hey ? I'll blow that island 
 to the — cats. It's more trouble, for a little two-acre 
 mud-hole that it is, than old Grindstone I Does the 
 Pere know of this ? " 
 
 " I told him, papa." 
 
 " Of course you did. You and he are always 
 plotting and planning. He's a sneaky Jesuit, and 
 rU tell him so when I see him. And mark me, 
 Ruth, don't let me hear of you or the priest visiting 
 that boy without my permission. You're both free 
 and independent, but by the shade of McKeuzie I'm 
 Sheriff, and I'll make you both feel it if I'm diso- 
 beyed." 
 
 " We have not the faintest desire, papa," said 
 Ruth meekly, " to see Florian ; but we fear he is 
 troubled, and we know that there is no one like his 
 old friend to help him. Unless you permit it, we 
 shall not go near him." 
 
 " You're a deep pair," said the distrustful Squire, 
 shaking his leonine head, " but I'm to be ahead of 
 you, anyhow." 
 
 What he feared and distrusted he scarcely knew, 
 but he was ready to maintain against all opponents 
 that Florian's proper place at any time was New 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 341 
 
 V 
 
 said 
 
 York City. Not to be tliere was, in bis eyes, dan- 
 gerous for so prominent a politician. lie sbook 
 hands with the hermit on entering the cabin, and 
 sat down in a panic. This was the man who had 
 bought the ticket weeks previous in Clayburgh sta- 
 tion, but it surely was not Florian. 
 
 " What's happened, Flory ? " he asked in a hushed, 
 awed voice. 
 
 " I've changed my method of living,'' said Florian 
 gravely. 
 
 " I should think you had," murmured the Squire 
 feebly, " but I don't get the hang of this thing, 
 somehow." 
 
 The hermit did not seem to care much for his 
 dazed condition, as he made no effort to relieve it. 
 The Squire shook off a tendency to fiiiiit with 
 disgust. 
 
 " Flory," said he sternly, " I've sworn l)y you 
 since you were born, because there was not a year 
 nor an hour of your life that I couldn't put my hand 
 down and say, lie's just so. I can't do that now. 
 What's come over you ? Wh}^ are you here instead 
 of in New York? Who's been bewitching you? 
 What has happened to you ? Good God ! " cried ho 
 in an excess of feeling, standing u]) to hit the table 
 into fragments with his fist, " tell me something, or 
 I'll think you've been dead and come back to life 
 again." 
 
 The crash of the broken furniture sobered him for 
 an instant. Florian looked with slight displeasure 
 at the ruin. 
 
 " There is no need of excitement," he said sooth- 
 ingly, and the tone cut the Squire to the heart. 
 
842 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 !.M' 
 
 H * i 
 
 
 He sat down trembling, almost crying, as a sus- 
 picion of Dorian's sanity entered his head. 
 
 " I 2oas dead," continued Florian, "and I came to 
 life again. You are very shrewd, Squire." 
 
 He paused, and Pendleton waited long for further 
 information, but none came. The hermit sat gazing 
 into the dying embers of the fire, and at times 
 moved naturally around the cabin, arranging odd 
 articles or brushing them. The Squire stared at 
 him with a feeling, as he said afterwards, that 
 Eev. Mr. Buck was pouring ice-water down his 
 spine. 
 
 " I suppose it surprises you, old friend," Florian 
 said, with sudden cordiality, " but I have come here 
 to live for good. You know who lived here before 
 me. I am not better than he, am I ? It pleases me 
 to follow him, and I don't think the world has any 
 reason to make a fuss over it." 
 
 Pendleton considered this expression of a future 
 policy some moments, and then, reverting to the 
 words, " I am not better than he, am I ? " said em- 
 phatically : 
 
 " Yes, you air, Flory, and don't you forget it." 
 Here a pause, while he gathered himself for another 
 burst, and then, "Better than himf "Why, what 
 was he more than a slave of the Russian Empire — 
 with all respect to him as your father — a fellow that 
 didn't dare call his life his own ? And you are 
 an American citizen, a governor, almost, of the 
 greatest State in the Union and a Clay burgh boy. 
 Flory, this looks like insanity. Flory, I don't know 
 what to say to you. I'm groping. Can't you look 
 and talk for one minute as you used to, Flory ? " 
 
a sus- 
 
 came to 
 
 further 
 : gazing 
 t times 
 ing odd 
 ared at 
 Is, that 
 )wn his 
 
 Florian 
 me here 
 3 before 
 ;ases me 
 has any 
 
 I future 
 to the 
 aid em- 
 get it." 
 another 
 y. what 
 mpire — 
 ow that 
 you are 
 of the 
 •gh boy. 
 t know 
 '^ou look 
 
 REPARATION. 
 
 348 
 
 This appeal made no further impression on the 
 hermit than to illuminate his pallid face with a 
 smile. The Squire made a few more weak attempts 
 upon the hermit's defenses, and then rushed in sud- 
 den and overpowering disgust for the door. 
 
 " Fve got to think," said he, " and I can't do it 
 looking at a corpse." 
 
 He did not hear Florian laugh as he banged the 
 door — the first laugh that had passed his lips since 
 the night of Vladimir's revelations. After an hour 
 he returned and resumed his seat with determina- 
 tion written all over him. 
 
 " I must know the ins and outs of this thing," he 
 said quietly ; " and I'm going to put some questions 
 as the sheriff of JeflFerson County. What's to pre- 
 vent me from jailing you ? " 
 
 " Nothing," said Florian, " unless the consequence 
 — jailing yourself." 
 
 " Now, Flory, be reasonable and answer squarely. 
 Have you thrown up politics for good and all ? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 " And you are going to live on this island for the 
 next forty years or so ? " 
 
 "With God's will, yes." 
 
 " H'm ! that smacks of the Jesuits. What's the 
 reason of all this, Flory? Did you get a pious 
 stroke ? " 
 
 " I suppose it was that," said Florian, meditating 
 as if a new question had touched his soul. 
 
 " Is it in the papist line, lad, somewhat like your 
 father ? I hoped you were working away from the 
 Jesuits?" 
 
 A faint blush spread over Florian's face. 
 
m 
 
 ?i ' 
 
 h ]\ 
 
 M 
 
 844 
 
 SOLITAKY ISLAND. 
 
 f'i 
 
 " I am nearer to the Jesuits than ever, but not as 
 near as I could wish." 
 
 " So I thought," said the Squire, shaking his head 
 — "so I thought. And I must say my opinion of 
 the Jesuits is considerably smaller than it was an 
 hour ago." 
 
 He reflected a few moments, and saw that Flo- 
 rian's curiosity was aroused. 
 
 " Had I been the boss of the Jesuit corporation," 
 said he, aiming eyes and finger at Florian's reason, 
 "I think I could have done a smarter bit of business 
 than has been done in letting you bury yourself out 
 of sight. When you got your pious stroke and came 
 to me to have it utilized, put in the market, so to 
 speak, I'd have thought in this way : * Here's a man 
 as clever as "Webster, a speaker, a Avire-puller, a states- 
 man ; knows the ins and outs of everything. Heio 
 we are, papists without nmch understanding, Avitli no 
 politicians to speak of on our side ; nobody to look 
 after us when the spoils are dividing and the Meth- 
 odists are gobbling everything ; nobody with the 
 ears of the nabobs between his finger and his thumb 
 to tell our story there. Here's a man dying to get 
 such a job.' And I'd give it to you and send you 
 out, if you did nothing less than educate young 
 papists to do as you did, Flory," said the Squire 
 solemnly. "Could you let me have the name or 
 the daguerreotype of the boss Jesuit? I've heard 
 and seen a great many fools in my time, but I 
 put him down as the completest fool that was ever 
 bom." 
 
 It was an impressive speech and had a meaning 
 which Florian seized upon quickly. The Squire had 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 846 
 
 sent home like an arrow a tiiouglit which had not 
 yet broken upon Florian's mental vision. When he 
 described his speech to Ruth, in fear that lio might 
 spoil the effect which lie had created, she forbade 
 further visits to the island until the hermit had time 
 to revolve the thouglit in his mind. 
 
 " You know Flory," she said to him — " how when 
 you present him a new idea he thinks and thinks 
 about it until he knows it to tlie core. Let him think 
 upon it for a week. It was such a very good idea." 
 
 " Wasn't it, now ? " said the gleeful Squire. " I'd 
 like to present him with one more, and that would 
 fetch him." 
 
 It was reserved for Pdre Rouge vin, however, to 
 present the second idea ; and as a result of his visit 
 and long talk with Florian Ruth was informed that 
 the time was ripe for her interference. The Squire 
 insisted on accompanying her. Ruth could hear her 
 heart beat as she approached the cabin above the 
 boulder. What would the final result be? They 
 could not keep from Florian the secret of their 
 assault upon his determination to do penance as a 
 solitary. Would the knowledge drive him to ob- 
 stinacy ? She did not yet know the extent of the 
 change which had taken place in him. Florian 
 opened the door for them. 
 
 " If your visitors are all as persistent as we are," 
 said she, smiling, " you will not have much of your 
 solitude." 
 
 " I fear I am not to have much of it anyway," he 
 replied, in such a tone as made it hard to tell his 
 feelings. " Your father, here, has disturbed me on 
 that point, and Pere Rougevin has almost settled it 
 
Ifjl 
 
 346 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 ml 
 
 f'ii' 
 
 f 
 
 I'k 
 
 ml 
 
 tliiit I shall go out into the world and be a heraiit 
 there." 
 
 *' The best thing the P6re ever did in his life," said 
 the Squire. 
 
 " Which would be very hard for you, Florian," 
 said Ruth, with a gentle sympathy that woke him at 
 once, while the Squire was resolved into a thunder- 
 cloud at this treachery. 
 
 " Euth, you toll me what to do," Florian said 
 hunil)ly, and submissively. 
 
 " It is easy enough to endure this solitude," she 
 continued ; " it may bo beautiful to certain natures. 
 But to be alone in the busy world is very trying. 
 Of course duty makes the hard things easy and 
 sweet. That would be your only consolation, 
 Florian." 
 
 " It is this way with me, Ruth," he began eagerly, 
 and making no account of the Squire : " I have 
 learned to love this place, this life, as I never loved 
 anything in this world. You know why. And 
 what I was is such a horror and shame to me that 
 to return to its scenes is like death. Yet it seems to 
 me and to your father, and to the Pore that I ouofht 
 not throw aside a power which could certainly be 
 used for the general good, merely to satisfy myself." 
 
 " And you ought not, that is true " 
 
 " That's what /maintain — that's what i'w main- 
 tained all along ! " shouted the Squire. '' Flory, if 
 you do otherwise you must write your mme be- 
 side the boss Jesuit's." 
 
 " Now, papa ! " said Ruth ,jug the boiling 
 
 volcano down to a harmless t uier. " You ought 
 not, Florian, if there would be no f' anger to your- 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 347 
 
 hermit 
 
 e," said 
 
 lorian," 
 I him at 
 hunder- 
 
 an said 
 
 le," she 
 natures, 
 trying. 
 sy and 
 olation, 
 
 Bagerly, 
 ' I have 
 er loved 
 . And 
 me that 
 seems to 
 I ought 
 linlv be 
 myself." 
 
 ve main- 
 Flory, if 
 ame be- 
 
 boiling 
 u ought 
 to your- 
 
 Kolf in holding a powor which was to you so strong 
 a temptation." 
 
 " I would take and hold it under protest," he ro- 
 ])li(3d confidently. " I value it no more than a straw, 
 r cannot dis<j:uise from mvsolf that hereafter I can 
 but despise it. O Tiutli ! is there no middle course? 
 Yet why do I ask? I have set myself to do that 
 which is hardest. Let me take the worst with joy." 
 
 Ruth's face kindled into enthusiasm. 
 
 " Well, there is a middle course," she said, trium- 
 phantly. " You can remain in your solitude and 
 yet retain your interest in the world." 
 
 Both gentlemen uttered exclamations of delight 
 or rage, and turned upon her — the hermit, hopefully, 
 the Squire in despair. 
 
 " Have you forgotten Frances ? " she said. 
 
 " No," and he drew away as if hurt. " She has 
 justly forgotten me. I saw her. It is all over." 
 
 " You saw her mother, Florian. If you had seen 
 herself vou w^ould not have been in trouble lonfj. 
 It is not all over. That dear girl is as faithful to 
 you as if you never wronged her. She let her 
 mother speak first, as obedience required ; and she 
 was silent, as became her modesty. But she never 
 lost faith in you when we all trembled, and she loves 
 you still." 
 
 This picture of feminine devotion drew the tears 
 to Ruth's eves. 
 
 "Then, besides, you were half-glad the test of 
 coming here to live was not to be laid before her. 
 She would have followed you to a tent, you foolish 
 fellow. Florian, w^here are your wits 1 See that hill 
 yonder ? Build there a pretty villa, and bring 
 
848 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 Frances to preside over it. There is no reason why a 
 great politician should not live among the islands and 
 rule from this solitude. You need not practice law. 
 And so your temptations are minimized, your influ- 
 ence is preserved, and your solitude is saved to you." 
 
 It was a sight to see the Squire's face glow as 
 Ruth reached her cliuiax, and when the last word 
 was uttered he gave a cheer th'xt rattled the loose 
 articles in the room. 
 
 " You can think over it," said she, seeing that the 
 Squire's emotion jarred upon him. " These things 
 cannot be done hastilv. " If it be God's will that 
 
 ft/ 
 
 you stay here " 
 
 " More Jesuitism ! " growled the Squire. 
 
 " You must do so. If duty points another road to 
 you, my advice Avill occur to you as an easy way 
 out of the difficulty. You will not forp-et Frances ? " 
 she added wistfully. 
 
 " I can never forget her," he replied. " I thank 
 you for your visit, Ruth. In a little while I can 
 decide, if I have not already decided. Squire, not 
 another word, or I stay here forevei ." 
 
 Pendleton saw dimly that few words and a speedy 
 departure were two important points in Ruth's pro- 
 gramme, and for a wcnder be tucked his daughter 
 under his arm and, with a ci-ief farewell, led her 
 down to the boat. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 TRUE .HEAET8. 
 
 Clayburgh was " completely upsot," as a native 
 expressed it, by the publication of the banns of mar- 
 riage between Paul Eossiter ai d Ruth Pendleton. 
 It had " reckoned " on her remaining an old maid ; 
 it " admired " what the Squire would do now ; it 
 " swowed " its astonishment over and over for two 
 weeks, at the end of which time the marriage Avas 
 accomplished in white satin and tulle, and a great 
 part of the town assisted in the festivities. Parker 
 C. Lynch, as Peter Carter was now known, was ex- 
 ofRcio the master of the feast. In full morning- 
 dress, gloved and collared to perfection, this erratic 
 representative of the bluest blood of Ireland was 
 a fine-looking gentleman on the model of an Eng- 
 lish squire, and, when he posed or walked undor the 
 wide eyes of the assembly, showed that he had 
 not forgotten his earlier training. The Squire 
 co'ild not restrain his astonishment or refuse 
 his admiration. In his suit of armor he was as stiff 
 as a post ; growled and swore secretly at intervals 
 and looked anxiously for the opportunity to steal 
 away and disrobe. 
 
 " Where did you get the knack of wearing this 
 confounded rig ? " said he to Peter. " Can you see 
 
 349 
 
w 
 
 :iir 
 
 :i 
 
 350 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 '!: :l 
 
 !,f 
 
 those tails of mine ? I feel like a swallow. I don't 
 know what minute I am going to fly." 
 
 " You're a ground-swallow," replied Peter, with 
 a grin, and a drinking gesture. " Ye're cavernous, 
 Squire. Faith ye look well for an old country buck 
 that knows so little, and ye carry the odd garment 
 neatly." 
 
 " How do you manage to do it ? " said the Squire 
 awe-stricken. 
 
 " It was born there," Peter said — " the coat I 
 mean. I had it on when I was born. D'ye notice 
 the shape of my legs ? Ye can never wear a swal- 
 low-tail unless you are sluiped so." 
 
 The Squire looked down mournfully at a fearful 
 waste of thighbone and flesh on his particular per- 
 son. 
 
 " I must look awful," said he sadly. " Couldn't 
 we get away, Peter, and get rid of these togs ? " 
 
 Not the least distinguished of the guests was Mrs. 
 Buck and her minister, as faultless in costume as of 
 old. The good lady had been somewhat left in the 
 shade since the discovery of Florian's real parentage, 
 and her vanity had received a deep wound in being 
 cut off so roughly from her famous brother. Mr. 
 Buck alone could have told her severe disappoint- 
 ment at not having l)een the Princess Linda, and 
 her ravings over the possibility of Mrs. "Winifred 
 having put Linda in her place. These weaknesses 
 Sara kept from the world prudently. She was now 
 quite a mother in Israel. Five blooming and clever 
 children clung on occasions to her voluminous skirts, 
 and her matronly figure, with its still coquettish 
 movements, was almost charming. Her faith was 
 
TRUE HEARTS. 
 
 ool 
 
 wholly dead. She never was troubled with a single 
 longing for the truths on which she had been fed, 
 nor with a single scuple as to her apostasy. In 
 being liberal enough to consider Catholics on a par 
 with Episcopalians rnd in despising the sects she 
 considered herself doctrinally safe. She seized upon 
 the Squire at a most critical moment. Peter had 
 just winked at him knowingly and then disappeared 
 into the upper rooms. 
 
 " Aren't you happy, Squire ? " buzzed Sara in his 
 ears. " Who would have thought, knowing, as we 
 do, all that has happened, that this day would ever 
 have come ? Who is Mr. Rossiter ? Such a fascin- 
 ating man ! How is it that he wasn't gobbled up 
 by a handsomer woman than our Ruth ? " 
 
 " Because in Xew York, where tlicre aren't any 
 women," said the sarcastic Squire, "he didn't see 
 any one handsomer. If he had come to Clayburgh 
 first, where the women are as thick as sardines, Ruth 
 wouldn't have had a chance." 
 
 The two old gentlemen finally nuide themselves 
 comfortable in the kitchen attic, as became barba- 
 rians fond of undress uniforms, cards, and punch. 
 Once the Squire felt a mystery in the air, and ex- 
 postulated with Ruth. 
 
 " Why isn't Flory here ? " he asked. 
 
 "The man with the gizzard," said Peter. 
 
 " Give him time," replied Ruth. " These great 
 men don't come and go as we common people do." 
 
 " Common people ! I'm sheriff of the county ! " 
 
 " And I represent the Tribune,^^ said Peter. 
 
 " Don't be q uarrelsome. When Florian comes you 
 shall see and hear him." 
 
352 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 '.it ' 
 
 " What's all this running about for ? " 
 
 " Now, Papa, go away and be reasonable or I shall 
 punish you." 
 
 " Gimme my punishment now," urged the Squire, 
 and, after pulling his whiskers, she dismissed him 
 with a kiss. At twilight the guests were gone, and 
 the Squire and Peter were peacefully sleeping off 
 the effects of the day's excitement. The poet and 
 his bride stood together on the veranda, facing the 
 calm waters of the river, her head resting on his 
 shoulder and her dee]) eyes watching the stars in the 
 cool, far-reaching sky. 
 
 "It is all over," she sighed, occasionally — "all 
 over. One effect of a steady life in these old vil- 
 lages is peculiar. The years seem as days. I am 
 not ten days older in thought than when Linda used 
 to come down that road — O my dear little princess ! 
 — waving her hands and singing to me a long way 
 off. All the nights like these seem as one, there 
 have been so many of them." 
 
 " And there are to be so many of them," said the 
 poet. 
 
 " Let us hope so, dear," said she. " With all the 
 sufiFering and uncertainty in the past there has been 
 more beauty in it than ugliness, more good than evil. 
 Even poor Florian will find certain and unexpected 
 rest to-night." 
 
 " There are two figures coming down the road, 
 Kuth. It is time for Florian to be here." 
 
 " Do you meet them, and then send Florian up to 
 the parlor," said she. " Tell him I would like to 
 see him." 
 
 P6re Eougevin and Florian came up the steps to- 
 
TRUE HEARTS. 
 
 353 
 
 gether, and the politician congratulated the poet 
 where he stood. The three gentlemen seemed to 
 be in perfect accord, and at ease Avith one another. 
 Florian proceeded alone to the apartment where 
 Ruth, all aglow with delight, awaited him. 
 
 "Accept my best wishes for your future happi- 
 ness," said he ; " the present is all your own." 
 
 She looked at him with satisfaction. His dress 
 was the usual neat-fitting citizen's costume, his hair 
 had been cut and his beard trimmed. Florian, sub- 
 dued and pale, was very much himself again. 
 
 " I conclude from your appearance," said Euth, 
 " that conscience has again decided against a solitary 
 life for you." 
 
 " It is settled," he said, " that I am still to remain 
 in the political world — most of the time here ; as it 
 may need in New York." 
 
 " You are very sad over it. Have you forgotten 
 my ma media ? I flattered myself you would act on 
 that immediately," 
 
 " How gladly would I, if it rested only with my- 
 self! But, Ruth, put yourself in my place. You 
 know the motive I bad in deserting Frances. I have 
 no courage that would send me to the feet of one I 
 have so wronged to ask a great favor." 
 
 " How is it ever to be done ? " said Ruth. 
 " Frances has forgiven you, will have no other but 
 you, waits for yoa, weeps for you. She is not bold 
 enough, and you are excessively humble. This will 
 never do. There should be no go-betweens, yet I 
 cannot see how it is to be avoided if you will not 
 speak for yourself." 
 
 He was silent for a few moments. 
 23 
 
'/'.' 
 
 ,1 
 
 I!' 
 
 t! 
 
 354 
 
 SOLITARY ISLAND. 
 
 " It would be a great happiness for me," he said, 
 " to have the support and sympathy of one so ten- 
 derly loved. Yet you know her bringing up. You 
 see the life that awaits me and those Avho attach 
 themselves to my fortunes. liow can I ask her to 
 banish herself to Solitary Island ? " 
 
 "It might be hard enough, but heartache and 
 luxury are not always preferable to a handsome 
 villa and content on the island." 
 
 " You leave mo no way of escape," he said. 
 
 " I am laying a snare for you. Do you know that 
 I have been over-bold ? I wrote to your Frances. 
 I told her everything as I knew it. I asked her if 
 the past could not be mended in tlie only way that 
 it could be. She wrote to me a verv brief letter ! 
 "What do vou think it said ? " 
 
 He waited for her to answer her own question. 
 "Read it," she said i)lucing it in his hands. It con- 
 tained but a single sentence. 
 
 " Tell him he may come." 
 
 " Thank God," said Florian with a sigh. 
 
 " You are a happy man, Florian." 
 
 " And I owe so much of it to you, Ruth," he re- 
 plied gratefully. 
 
 They went out on the veranda, where the priest 
 and Paul sat talking. Both gentlemen shook hands 
 with hhn in silence, and the conversation drifted 
 into commonplace matters. The marble shaft bear- 
 ing Linda's name was visible from the house. The 
 calm waters of the river lay placid in the moonlight. 
 It was an hour of great rest for these four persons, 
 whose saddest memories were connected with the 
 scene before them. Although they were full of joy 
 
TRUE HEARTS. 
 
 355 
 
 at the happy ending of so many difficulties, the re- 
 membrance of what had happened chastened that 
 joy severely, and, if they saw before them a pleasant 
 future, it was made so only by the hope that, no 
 matter what fortune befell them, God would never 
 permit them to wander from His fold. Life is hard 
 enough, and death bitter, but when sin takes hold of 
 both there is no sorrow can surpass them. 
 
 THE END.