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 THE GENTLE SAVAGE
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD KING 
 
 BOSTON 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 
 1883
 
 Copyright, 1883, 
 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 
 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAUE 
 
 I. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING ... ... ... 1 
 
 II. THE PROTEST ... ... ... ... 12 
 
 III. PLEASANT MEKRINOTT SEES A SHAWL ... ... 26 
 
 IV. CARO AND HER MOTHER ... ... ... 36 
 
 V. STANISLAS ... ... ... ... ... 49 
 
 VI. ALICE HAS AN ADVENTURE ... ... ... 60 
 
 VII. THE GENTLE SAVAGE ... ... ... ... 73 
 
 Vni. A REPROOF FOR PLEASANT ... ... ... 86 
 
 IX. THE GENTLE SAVAGE is AROUSED ... ... 98 
 
 X. A PROMISE ... ... ... . . 109 
 
 XI. A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT ... ... ... 120 
 
 XII. THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN ... ... 131 
 
 XIII. IN THE CATHEDRAL ... ... ... ... 142 
 
 XIV. ON THE SCHAENZLI ... ... . . ... 153 
 
 XV. A WAGER .. 1G5 
 
 XVI. THE ALPINE FIRE ... ... ... ... 177 
 
 XVII. CARO'S CONFESSION ... ... ... ... 189 
 
 X VIII. BETWEEN SORROW AND DOUBT . . ... 199 
 
 XIX. IN THE EXILE-WORLD ... ... ... ... 209 
 
 XX. THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL ... . . 220 
 
 XXI. ON THE HOUSE-TOP ... ... ... ... 232 
 
 XXII. GOLDEN MOMENTS ... ... . . ... 246 
 
 XXIII. A LOVING STRATAGEM ... ... ... ... 257 
 
 XXIV. AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION ... ... 266 
 
 XXV. CONVALESCENCE ... ... ... 277 
 
 XXVI. THE WARNING 288
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 
 ... 299 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 TRIAL AND PARTING 
 
 310 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN ... 
 
 ... 325 
 
 XXX. 
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPORTS FOR ORDERS 
 
 336 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 UNMASKING ... ... ... ... 
 
 ... 349 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 VERA IN THE TOILS 
 
 361 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 THE TEMPTER ... . . . ... 
 
 383 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 VERA FINDS THE NEW WORLD 
 
 ... 394 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 BLUELOTS AND MERRINOTTS 
 
 404 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 ALICE TO THE 1 ; I sr r K 
 
 ... 416 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STRIKES . . . 
 
 426 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 CALM AFTER STORM 
 
 ... 435
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 THE wanderer paused for a moment, as he entered the 
 sweet valley in which Interlaken stands, to look down on 
 the waters of the swiftly-rushing Aar. Then he resumed 
 his walk with a long, swinging stride, which gave his 
 progress a kind of savage grace. He walked as men 
 walked before clothes were made. 
 
 It was seven o'clock in the evening, and a cool breeze 
 from the Lake of Thun came through the vale, fanning 
 the traveller's temples, and bringing delicate perfumes 
 from the meadows in which the newly-mown hay was 
 lying. The Jungfrau had been wrapt in her misty shroud 
 all day, but now she had thrown it aside, and stood 
 revealed in her matchless splendour. As the new-comer 
 reached a point from which he could see the noble peak, 
 an admiring cry came to his lips. He stepped under the 
 broad-spreading boughs of a walnut-tree on the Hoheweg, 
 let his little knapsack slip from his shoulder down to 
 his feet, took off his hat, and stood reverently looking 
 at the snow-clad virgin of the Bernese Alps. 
 
 In all his journey through Switzerland, he had seen
 
 2 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 nothing more lovely than this tranquil nook, sheltered on 
 either side by gigantic mountain ranges, with cloud 
 wreaths hovering about their summits. The rich green 
 of the forests, the gray and mottled tints on the rocks, 
 the intense blue of the. sky, the calm and dewy fragrance 
 of the fields, the houses half hidden in foliage, made up 
 a picture with which he was completely pleased. Yet 
 he turned from his worship of the Jungfrau with a sigh, 
 and when he took up his pack, and moved away again, 
 there was a look of discontent upon .his handsome face. 
 The young ladies from Germany and England and 
 America, who were enjoying their evening promenade in 
 the avenue, twittered and glanced backward as lie passed 
 by them, for he was the most noticeable figure that they 
 had seen in Interlaken for many a day. The blonde 
 serving-maids, lazily following their mistresses, gazed 
 rapturously at him, for to them he seemed a demi-god. 
 The old invalids, hobbling homeward because the dews 
 were beginning to fall, looked approvingly on him, and 
 seemed to get a certain vitality from his momentary pres- 
 ence. Christian Steiner, the guide from the Grindelwald, 
 took off his hat, as he was wont to do before strangers 
 whose appearance impressed him. A great St. Bernard 
 dog came out from the gate of one of the fashionable 
 hotels, crossed over the road and sniffed at the stranger's 
 legs, then followed him meekly and with friendliness for 
 a short distance, accepting a caress as if it were some- 
 thing to be proud of. 
 
 Presently the new-comer left the long line of summer 
 caravansaries beliind him, passed through the small ham- 
 let of Aarmulile, which joins hands with Interlaken, and 
 turned to the right, crossing the Aar by the road which 
 leads over the bridge into Unterseen. At the Hotel du 
 Pout he halted, went into the garden on the bank of the 
 stream, and in rather indifferent French asked the waiter
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 who came running to meet him for a room and for some 
 supper. The waiter took his luggage, and flew as if to 
 execute his commands, leaving him standing in the shade, 
 with his head bent slightly downward, like one engaged 
 in deep thought. 
 
 He was a tall, erect young man, with no small amount 
 of what cautious and timid Europeans would call ' ' defi- 
 ance ' ' in his demeanour. He stood squarely on his feet, 
 and his garments, although of ordinary cut, assumed a 
 symmetry to which it was easy to see that the excellent 
 outlines of his form compelled them. The unconscious 
 ease of his motions and the grace of his person in repose 
 were evidently part of an inheritance from ancestors who 
 had not been confined into and crippled by the conven- 
 tionalities and unhealthy practices of modern society. 
 He did not seem born to move in streets, and to cross 
 from sidewalk to sidewalk at right angles ; but rather 
 with eager step to scale mountains, or easily to take his 
 way across broad prairies. His face was thin and oval, 
 and its colour was not unlike that of new and highly- 
 polished bronze. The features were mainly strong, but 
 regular, and full of the imperious nobility which had won 
 the heart of the dog and had made the guide Christian 
 Steiner take off his hat. About the temples and around 
 the eyes the swarthy skin darkened into a copper-like hue. 
 Yet, thanks to the eyes, which were large and lustrous, 
 this face was more fascinating than if it had been white, 
 and women said that it was full of beauty. The hair was 
 jet black, straight, and long. It hung down to the young 
 man's shoulders. But it gave him no appearence of effem- 
 inac 4 y ; on the contrary, it appeared to add to the proud 
 manliness of his general aspect. He had no beard, and 
 his thin and clearly-cut lips had no need of the concealing 
 shade of a moustache. If there was any sign of weak- 
 ness in the face it was in the chin, which was a trifle
 
 4 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 weaker than the other features, and did not seem to be- 
 long to the same class of race marks as the black hair 
 and the bronze hue. The memory of a mingling of 
 bloods haunted the face. 
 
 Now there is one thing which a strong and healthy 
 youth of twenty-three can never forget after he has been 
 walking up hill and down dale for eight consecutive hours, 
 and that is that he is invaded by a roaring, unreasonable 
 hunger, which grows every moment stronger until it is 
 satisfied. And, as our friend had come over the Brunig 
 Pass and through the Hasli Thai that afternoon, walking 
 with an ease and rapidity which were the admiration and 
 envy'of all the tamer pedestrians whom he outstripped, 
 it is not astonishing that he knocked loudly on the table, 
 and expressed considerable annoyance when he found that 
 the waiter had paid no attention whatever to his vague 
 order for supper. Hunger had brought the youth out of 
 his reverie, and he was indignant that he could not eat at 
 once. He frowned so that the shock-headed serving- 
 man's knees smote together, and that humble individual 
 betook himself to the kitchen to order, with a perceptible 
 whimper in his voice, " everything and anything that 
 might be ready, for a black looking stranger, who had an 
 eye like an eagle of Murren." 
 
 This animated description produced the desired effect 
 in the culinary department. In a few minutes the travel- 
 ler was seated near the stone wall under which the rapid 
 Aar is for ever singing its song, and the aroma of 
 roasted meat was abroad in the garden. The stranger 
 rejected the huge bottle of beer which the waiter placed 
 inquiringly before him ; ordered with discrimination an 
 inoxpensive wine from the card which was next proffered ; 
 ridiculed the servant for not placing fresh water within a 
 thirsty man's reach, when hundreds of millions of gallons 
 were running in the channel at their very feet; and
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 5 
 
 then did ample justice to all the viands, well and ill- 
 cooked. 
 
 While he was finishing his last modest glass of wine, 
 the waiter brought the Fremden-Liste the local journal, 
 containing the names of distinguished persons then hon- 
 ouring Interlaken with their presence and laid it on the 
 table. 
 
 "Ah! yes," said the youth in English, "that's ex- 
 actly what I want;" and he picked it up and glanced 
 eagerly through its columns. Under the head of " Hotel 
 Jungfraublick " he found an address which he carefully 
 noted down in a memorandum book. 
 
 " As Monsieur sees, it is a fine moonlight evening, and 
 there will be a great crowd at the Kursaal," the waiter 
 ventured to remark in French, which, although fluent, was 
 even more indifferent than that of the new-comer. 
 
 ' ' The Kursaal ? What is that ? ' ' 
 
 " Monsieur will find that it is a very nice place of pub- 
 lic resort, where all the honourable ladies and gentlemen 
 staying at Interlaken assemble in the evening to hear the 
 music." 
 
 "Good. I will go there." 
 
 He found his way to his chamber, brushed the dust 
 from his clothing, dipped his hands and face in the cool 
 glacier water which stood on the toilette-table, looked 
 carelessly at himself in the diminutive mirror hanging 
 near his bed, muttered, "That will do ! " and fifteen min- 
 utes later was strolling if a man with such an imperial 
 gait could be said to stroll through the pretty gardens 
 of the Kursaal. 
 
 It was a warm t night in August. The moon shone 
 splendidly forth, and a roseate reflection of her glory now 
 and then rested on the Jungfrau's snowy brow. A few 
 clouds swam in the heavens ; breezes nestled in the odor- 
 ous thickets, or played hide-and-seek in the great alley
 
 6 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 where the sentinel walnuts stood. Behind the wooden 
 hemicycle of the Kursaal the Aar rushed merrily through 
 placid meadows, and the tremendous mass of the Harder 
 stood out, black and grim, against the Italian blue of the 
 sky. In this sheltered valley hosts of semi-tropical plants 
 bloom richly in the fragrant midsummer, and their per- 
 fume awakened in the youth's mind memories of the 
 lovely shores of the lakes of Italy from which he had re- 
 cently come of Como's exquisite banks, of vine and 
 flower-surrounded Bellaggio, and of the wonderful islands 
 in Lago Maggiore, with their terraces crowded with lus- 
 trous blooms, and their bushes in which nightingales sing. 
 The orchestra was playing a mad Strauss waltz, in the 
 rapturous measures of which the moonlight and the carols 
 of birds and the rippling measures of the Aar seemed, 
 by some curious magic, to have got entangled. The 
 music stirred the youth's blood and drew him toward it. 
 He entered the great space, where lights were gleaming, 
 and people from every country under the sun were seated 
 at little tables, drinking beer, or wine, or chocolate, and 
 smoking cigarettes and listening, or were giving attention 
 to the waltz without puffing smoke or absorbing liquors. 
 As he sat down not far from the pavilion in which the 
 musicians were playing, and in the very front rank of the 
 listeners, the waltz became more and more voluptuous, 
 dreamy, intoxicating, and the youth listened, his whole 
 frame aglow with sensuous delight. But presently the 
 measures died away, reeling as if overcome by the excess 
 of their passion ; then the refrain ceased, and a buzz of 
 conversation sprang up in the crowd. At that moment 
 the discontent and the restless sorrow which were so 
 plainly written upon the youth's handsome face chased 
 away the sensation of delight which the music had caused, 
 and asserted themselves more earnestly than ever before. 
 He remembered that he had come to Europe to this
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 7 
 
 place with a purpose, with a task to perform ; and he 
 could not rest so long as his duty remained unfulfilled. 
 The hundreds of people near him, who seemed so happy, 
 so devoid of care, so purposeless, annoyed and oppressed 
 him. He was angry with the thoughtless world which 
 could not or would not divine that he was the victim of a 
 gross injustice, and .thiat he was determined to redress 
 a wrong which had assumed formidable proportions. 
 
 While he was engaged in his gloomy meditations, the 
 leader of the orchestra took up his wand again, and the 
 musicians began to play a composite selection, into which 
 all the great airs of Gounod's " Faust " had been skilfully 
 interwoven. As under the deft hands of the players the 
 beautiful melodies, the half-articulate cries of passion, the 
 murmurs of supernatural spirits struggling for mastery 
 over a soul, and the ecstatic song of triumphant love, 
 one by one fell on the soft air ; as the subtle witchery 
 which Gounod, the great modern high priest of religious 
 mysticism, has entwined about Goethe's immortal poem, 
 made itself felt, the youth's discontent and bitterness 
 increased. The spirit of evil who stalks abroad, majestic 
 and impressive, in the opera of " Faust," seemed to have 
 placed his burning hand upon the young man's brow. 
 The music discouraged the youth so profoundly that his 
 thin lips relaxed and his eyes glistened. He had seen 
 the opera produced in splendour on the Paris stage, and 
 the real significance of Faust had penetrated his soul. 
 The music recalled to him his impression of the hapless 
 hero of the opera as a helpless puppet in the hands of 
 spirits infinitely more powerful than himself as a being 
 doomed to love, to sin, to suffer, to be punished, and to 
 bring harm to the innocent, without being able to stand 
 up against his fate. He could not have given expression 
 to the train of thought which the music had intensified in 
 his mind in any other manner thaii by repeating, as he
 
 8 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 straightway did, in an energetic manner, and bringing 
 down his right hand smartly upon the table at which he 
 sat 
 
 " The world is all wrong ! the world is all wrong ! At 
 any rate, human society is hopelessly, fatally wrong ! We 
 must have a new society a new world ! " 
 
 Having thus formulated his proposition, in the impul- 
 sive manner characteristic of him, the young man came 
 out of his dream, and for a moment or two looked rather 
 wildly, and perhaps a little stupidly, about him ; for, now 
 that the violence of his emotion had culminated, he was 
 dimly conscious that his sudden explosion of thought might 
 possibly have a ridiculous side to it. And he could not, 
 even had he been ordered on pain of death to do so, have 
 explained to any one the subtle analogy in his mind be- 
 tween his own discontent with the present constitution of 
 society and the great eloquent cries of human and super- 
 human anguish and despair which are heard throughout 
 the opera of Faust. 
 
 He withdrew his hand from the table, and began to 
 hope that his outburst had escaped the attention of any 
 one who might have understoood his lauguage. But he 
 was somewhat disconcerted, as the last notes of the music 
 died away, to see his nearest neighbour lean toward him, 
 and, with a benevolent although rather amused expression 
 on his countenance, beckon him to approach. He flushed 
 hotly, but moved in the direction indicated, fancying that 
 he was about to hear some sort of rebuke for his passion- 
 ate conduct. 
 
 The gentleman who accosted him was a large, pleasant- 
 faced personage, wrapped in a light gray overcoat. Health 
 aud honesty beamed from his clear blue eyes, and happi- 
 ness sat on his brow. He removed his hat courteously, 
 and said to the youth in English, with a scarcely percepti- 
 ble German accent
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 9 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but will you allow me to ask you 
 why you spoke as you did just now? I happened to hear 
 you, and as my train of thought was then proceeding in an 
 exactly opposite direction, I fancied well, in fact, I was 
 curious to know why you think the world is all wrong, 
 when I think it is all right." 
 
 " There was no suspicion of sarcasm in the grave voice, 
 and the young man felt reassured. At the same time he 
 was determined not to be lacking in politeness. He in 
 turn took off his hat, and answered, rather hesitatingly 
 
 " Well, sir, I suppose I indeed, I must apologize for 
 thinking aloud. I reckon the music started my train of 
 thought, as 3'ou call it, rather faster than was necessary. 
 I'm right sorry to have disturbed you. I did not know 
 that there was any English-speaking person so near me." 
 
 "My dear sir, half the persons in this audience are 
 English or American. If a man wanted to promulgate 
 a theory to members of the Anglo-Saxon community, he 
 could not have a better opportunity than is furnished right 
 here." 
 
 The youth flushed again, but a look from the honest 
 blue eyes quelled his impatience. 
 
 " I have no ambition, sir," he said, " to be a prophet or 
 a preacher. I only spoke, more vehemently than I should, 
 out of the bitterness of my own heart. You say, sir, that 
 the world seems to you all right. Perhaps you have not 
 been called upon to experience its injustice, or to feel the 
 despair caused by that injustice, so often and so deeply as 
 I have." 
 
 " You interest me very much," said the pleasant-faced, 
 blue-eyed man, turning for a moment to say a few words 
 to two ladies sitting near him, then moving his chair 
 directly to the youth's table. " I hope you will not think 
 that I intended to pry into any sorrow or misfortune which 
 may have made your life bitter for a time. But, as I
 
 10 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 observed, your remark startled me not so much by its 
 emphasis as by the fact that I was thinking exactly the 
 contrary of what you said. I was thinking, as we drove 
 down here from the Jungfraublick half an hour ago, 
 through the charming valley, so full of of moonlight 
 and and peace, what a good and well-ordered world, 
 on the whole, this world of ours has become, and what an 
 amount of happiness there is in it for any one who is 
 willing to take it. It is a very commonplace reflection, I 
 suppose ; but I believe it is very true, also. Still, I know 
 that to-day^ there are whole classes of people who think as 
 3 r ou do that the world has gone wrong and I always 
 like to get at that point of view and see what it is like. 
 This is the recess. The orchestra will not play again for 
 ten minutes." He produced a silver-bound Russia leather 
 cigar-case. " Will you smoke a cigar? They are excellent 
 Havanas not like the rubbish which they give you here." 
 
 "Thank you, I never use tobacco. Excuse me for 
 changing the subject for a moment, but did you not speak 
 as if you were staying at the Jungfraublick Hotel? " 
 
 " I am staying there ; yes." 
 
 "Can 3'ou tell me whether Mr. Harrelston, the banker, 
 is there at present? I saw his name in the list of foreign 
 arrivals this evening, but " , 
 
 " He is still at the hotel that is in fact I am Mr. 
 Harrelston," said the blue-eyed gentleman, a little stiffly, 
 and unconsciously moving back his chair. Your great 
 banker does not like to come into too close contact with 
 the individual whose letters of introduction he has not 
 seen, when that individual apparently wants something of 
 him. He now regretted that he had been so hasty in 
 addressing the young man, whose originality had tempted 
 him to open a conversation in which he had not supposed 
 that the easy etiquette of a watering-place would require 
 any disclosure of identity.
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 11 
 
 The youth arose, and gravely took from his breast-" 
 pocket a small black case. From it he extracted a card, 
 which he handed to the banker, saying 
 
 "Perhaps you will allow me to call upon you to-mor- 
 row. I have some urgent " 
 
 "Oh, if it is a matter of business," said Mr. Har- 
 relston, holding the card up so that the light could fall 
 on it, ' ' perhaps you would better write to our Mr. Wes- 
 sels in Paris. I am resting at present, you understand 
 doctors allow no attention to details you " 
 
 " Sir, I have come four thousand five hundred miles 
 expressly to see you at once," answered the young man. 
 
 Mr. Harrelston moved his chair again, and was silent 
 for a moment ; then he read the name from the card 
 slowly and thoughtfully. 
 
 "'Pleasant Merriuott.' I don't think I ever heard 
 your name before. It is against my rules to see any one 
 on business during my vacation, Mr. Merrinott. If I 
 make an exception in your favour, it will be because 
 I opened the conversation with you to-night. Four thou- 
 sand five hundred miles ! You must be from America. 
 And a fellow-countryman of mine, I suppose? " 
 
 "No, sir," said the youth, rather grimly, and stand- 
 ing very erect. " I am an Indian."
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 THE PROTEST. 
 
 MR. HARRELSTON was seated at a desk in front of an 
 open window, in his private room in the Jungfraublick 
 Hotel, at eleven o'clock on the morning after his inter- 
 view with Pleasant Merrinott in the Kursaal Garden. 
 The banker had a map spread open before him, a pile of 
 documents at his right hand, and two or three black 
 morocco portfolios at his left. After studying the map 
 intently for a few minutes, he leaned back in his chair, 
 and looked out upon the mountain which arose not far 
 away a mass of dark blue at its base, and of tender 
 green at its summit, which was crowned with delicate 
 cloud wreaths. 
 
 He was more than ever inclined just then to cherish his 
 conviction that, on the whole, the world is an excellent 
 world, and that it cannot with truth be said that it is 
 going wrong. " Even if at this moment I were to be 
 overwhelmed by some great sorrow," he said, thinking 
 aloud, as he often did when alone, " I should still regard 
 the world as good enough. Happiness lies within our 
 very grasp ; all we have to do is to close our fingers. 
 Men are the authors of their own miseries. If they 
 would only move along naturally and at reasonable speed 
 they would have no trouble. But some of them must 
 fiiid paths for themselves to the right and the left, and 
 
 12
 
 THE PROTEST. 13 
 
 the consequence is that they fall into traps and get hurt. 
 Others are anxious to get ahead of the natural progress 
 of events. No wonder that they come to grief. The 
 true way is to take life as a blessing, as a grand, noble 
 thing to enjoy and prize ; to despise death ; and to bear 
 affliction with equanimity. I don't like pessimists. 
 Neither do I believe in optimism. Safest in the middle, 
 as my old partner used to say. He always repeated it in 
 Latin, but that didn't make it any more truthful, I sup- 
 pose. Now, what do people gain by going about thump- 
 ing on tables, and declaring that human society is a fraud, 
 and that it must all be built over from the bottom? It's 
 absurd ! I am half inclined to tell that young fellow so 
 when he comes here to-day. An Indian ? What kind of 
 an Indian, I wonder? Perhaps he can tell me something 
 about this rail ' ' 
 
 Here Mr. Harrelston stopped short, and reflected for a 
 moment. A grim smile irradiated his countenance. 
 
 "Of course; that's it," he resumed; " what a stupid 
 ass I was not to have thought of that at once. He has 
 heard of our proposed connection with this railroad, and 
 he has been sent here to tell me something about it. 
 Of course ; that explains his stiffness ! Hum ! he's an 
 enemy of the enterprise. Yes, yes ; now it is all clear. 
 Very well ; we shall hear what he has to say when he 
 comes at twelve o'clock." 
 
 The banker was about to bend over his map once more 
 when a sparrow flew down to the sill of the window, uttered 
 one or two impatient cries, saucily eyed Mr. Harrelston, 
 then flew away to return a moment later in company with 
 another, more shrill of voice and saucier than himself. 
 Mr. Harrelston surveyed the new-comers with a look of 
 comical consternation. 
 
 " Now we shall have no peace until the sparrows have 
 been fed," he remarked. " Alice is not far off, and she
 
 14 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 will make a fine mess of my maps and papers, unless I 
 move them." 
 
 He arose and drew the desk to one side, and the chair 
 after it, the sparrows not even deigning to move from the 
 sill. They were evidently expecting a distribution of alms. 
 "While he was folding up papers and examining letters, 
 there was a gentle knock at the door, and a soft voice said, 
 
 ' ' Papa ! may I come in ? " 
 
 "There's Alice. Hum! no more work until four 
 o'clock now ; and if she knew I had been at it this morn- 
 ing she would scold me. Come in, daughter." 
 
 " Please open the door, papa. I have both hands full." 
 
 Mr. Harrelston hastened to comply with this request, 
 and, as his daughter entered, holding a large loaf of bread 
 in one hand and a prettily carved wooden box in the other, 
 he stooped and kissed her gently on the forehead. 
 
 "How charmingly you are dressed this morning, 
 Cherie ! ' ' said the father, with a note of loving admira- 
 tion in his voice. 
 
 "Oh, papa, do you think you would really know if I 
 were dressed entirely out of fashion? You dear old 
 critic, I should not dare to wear this costume anywhere 
 but here." 
 
 " Now, my child, you know that you chose it because 
 it is bewitching, and because it will make those 'dowdy 
 Prussian and Bavarian girls at the Kursaal green with 
 envy." 
 
 ' ' What an idea ! As if I ever looked at that that 
 sort of girl ! ' ' And the daughter hastened across the 
 room to the window-sill, where more than forty sparrows 
 were now clamorously demanding their breakfast. 
 
 " Take this box, papa ! I bought it for you to put 
 your papers in. Only thirty francs; isn't it lovely? I 
 want to buy a dozen to put bon-bons in on New Year's 
 day. Do take it, or I shall drop it ! " And as the banker
 
 THE PROTEST. 15 
 
 took the present, Miss Harrelston marshalled the birds, 
 and strewed a line of bread-crumbs on the sill. "Now, 
 greedy," she said to one tiny, slate-coloured wretch that 
 seemed to take delight in preventing others from eating, 
 " if you don't behave, you shall be banished. Papa, do 
 see these three fighting for this large crumb ! Oh, the 
 little monsters ! How they pick each other ! " 
 
 She turned enthusiastically to him, her young eyes 
 aflame with innocent delight, and her cheeks glowing. 
 Her father put the box down on the map, and stood gaz- 
 ing almost reverently at her. 
 
 Alice Harrelston had a right to call herself an Amer- 
 ican girl, although she had never been in America in her 
 life. Her father was born in Germany, had lived in the 
 United States for twenty years, had grown to be a re- 
 sponsible member of a great New York banking firm, 
 and had finalty been sent to Paris as its resident partner 
 and the manager of its branch house in that city. There 
 he met and married a charming Philadelphia lady, and 
 there Alice his daughter was born. Nineteen years had 
 passed over the banker's head since he had first taken 
 Alice as a baby in his arms, and during those nineteen 
 years she had never been out of his sight more than two 
 or three days at a time. The good banker had led a 
 busy, uneventful life, rarely absent from his home unless 
 some member of his family were with him. Prosperity 
 had crowned all his efforts, and at fifty he possessed a 
 handsome fortune, the reputation of a " business leader," 
 a mansion on a fashionable boulevard, a country house 
 on a cliff in Normandy, and an unsullied record. Clean- 
 handed, clean-hearted, pure in his affections as a child, 
 generous, loyal, Eric Harrelston was loved by his friends 
 and thoroughly respected, as well as a little feared, by 
 his competitors. His twent} r years' residence in America, 
 whither he had gone as a boy of fifteen, had stamped
 
 16 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 him with the mark of the dauntless young nation. His 
 habits of thought, his ambitions, were all American. 
 
 Alice had inherited beauty from her mother, and a 
 certain decided and independent expression of feature 
 unlike that of any European woman showed that she was 
 American. Her form was more rounded, her consti- 
 tution was mere robust, and her voice was lower and 
 sweeter than those of American girls who have always 
 lived in their own country. In the moist air of Northern 
 France she had flourished like -a rose on a bush that 
 strikes deep root in generous soil ; while in Philadelphia 
 or Baltimore she would have grown up stately ami fragile 
 and delicate as a lity. Although her mother did not 
 believe in the extreme timidity which French matrons 
 display with regard to any independent action on the part 
 of their daughters, she } T et exercised closer supervision of 
 Alice's comings and goings than girls iu the United 
 States are accustomed to, or would like to submit to. 
 The result was that Alice knew but little of the world ; 
 her first winter in society had, oddly enough, 'displeased 
 rather than dazzled her ; and the verdict of the fashion- 
 able circle in which she was just beginning to move was 
 that she was a lovely, unconventional, impulsive girl, but 
 that she was not calculated to lead in social life. Alice 
 certainly did not propose to lead, still less to follow ; she 
 had a mind of her own, manifested in dress as well as in 
 speech. She had taken from the French their best traits, 
 native grace and utter unconsciousness of self in deport- 
 ment, arid had not contracted their impatience and intol- 
 erance. She was vivacious, but not satirical ; romantic 
 in a certain degree, but not melancholy ; was fond of 
 devotion, but not exacting. The gallantry of American 
 gentlemen seemed to her full of an exquisite refinement, 
 slightly tinged with servility ; the manner in which many 
 American young girls received the homage of gentlemen
 
 THE PROTEST. 17 
 
 appeared to her to exact that servility, and to consider 
 it a just tribute paid at the throne of beauty. She was 
 intensely patriotic and national, notwithstanding her few 
 criticisms of her countrymen and countrywomen. The 
 atmosphere of Paris is cosmopolitan, and consequently 
 Alice was not provincial in her likes or dislikes. Amer- 
 ican nationality, in its broadest and finest signification, 
 was stamped upon her soul, and she needed only to be 
 sent for a time to the United States to perfect the Amer- 
 ican ideas of education and female independence which 
 she already possessed. 
 
 She was a pretty picture as she knelt in front of the 
 window-sill to settle the dispute between the trio of quar- 
 relsome sparrows, and as the soft Swiss sunshine fell 
 upon her glossy braids of black hair and her sweet low 
 brow a brow such as poets love in women. There were 
 great possibilities of passion in her face. The thin lips, 
 the brilliant eyes, the olive cheeks bespoke both fire and 
 endurance. She was not a woman to fade in a summer. 
 So thought her father, and rejoiced in the thought as he 
 looked down upon her. She was in perfect health, and 
 health itself is wonderfully charming. 
 
 "Well, my love," said her father, "I leave you to 
 finish your duty to the sparrows. I am going to walk for 
 half an hour, and shall be back at twelve exactly, as I 
 have an appointment at that time. Will you kindly leave 
 the room in good order when this feathered gentry has 
 retired? The desk, you know, belongs in front of the 
 window." 
 
 " Yes, papa. And don't you like the wooden box? " 
 
 " It is very pretty." 
 
 "Papa, is is your appointment with that strange 
 gentleman to whom you were talking at the Kursaal last 
 evening ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, my love."
 
 18 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Is he an American? " 
 
 "I I really don't know," said Mr. Harrclston, as he 
 closed the door behind him, a little annoyed that his 
 daughter should betray any interest whatever in such an 
 eccentric individual. 
 
 Punctually at twelve the banker returned, to find all 
 traces of the sparrows' feast vanished, and his papers 
 charmingly disarranged in various corners of the desk. 
 The map had been carefully packed away at the bottom 
 of the new wooden box. 
 
 " I wish I had told her to let my papers alone," solilo- 
 quized Mr. Ilarrelston, as he laboured to bring things once 
 more into shape. He was spreading the map anew when 
 a servant brought him a card on which was written, in 
 compact, vigorous script 
 
 " PLEASANT MERRINOTT." 
 
 " Show him in, if you please." 
 
 The sen-ant did so, casting a surprised look at the 
 young man, whose motions were quicker and freer than 
 those of any person he had ever seen before. 
 
 Mr. Harrclston greeted his visitor with a cheerful smile, 
 saying, "Well, Mr. Merrinott, does the world suit you 
 any better this morning? Doesn't this bracing air drive 
 all morbid meditations out of your head, and make you 
 wish to live a thousand years? " 
 
 "Not exactly, sir; but I reckon I will have to own 
 that my mood was rather ridiculous last night." 
 
 "Hum! No! It was all explained in the little con- 
 versation that we had. Now, Mr. Merrinott, kindly take 
 a scat, and tell me what your business is. I went to 
 IMlaggio, then came to Lucerne, and finally here, to get 
 away from business ; but I sec it's impossible. I don't 
 complain. You say you have come a long distance, and
 
 THE PROTEST. 19 
 
 I owe you some attention. We will come to the matter 
 at once, if you please." 
 
 " I came, sir, from America to Paris to see you. They 
 told me you were at Bellaggio. I went there. The} 7 told 
 me there that you were in Lucerne. I went there ; you 
 had gone. It was by accident, after arriving here, that I 
 learned of your presence in Interlaken. I felt it my duty 
 to see you at once. I know it is an intrusion, but my 
 errand is urgent." 
 
 " Go on, Mr. Merrinott." 
 
 " I see, sir," continued the new-comer, taking a chair, 
 casting his hat carelessly on another, and speaking very 
 clearly and distinctly, "that you have a map of the south- 
 western portion of North America lying open before you." 
 
 "I have." 
 
 " And I see that a blue line has been drawn across a 
 certain section of the map." 
 
 " Your observation is correct," said Mr. Harrelston, 
 moving uneasily in his chair. He would have liked the 
 young man to be a little more deferential. 
 
 "Across Missouri, Kansas, the Indian Nation, and 
 Texas." 
 
 " You are right." 
 
 " It shows that I have not arrived a moment too soon." 
 
 " I hardly understand you." 
 
 "I will endeavour to make my meaning perfectly clear. 
 Mr. Harrelston, I am a citizen of the Indian Nation, and 
 a Cherokee. As you are probably aware, the country in 
 which I and my people live is entirely separate and distinct 
 from the United States, and our possession of it is 
 guaranteed to us by solemn treaties." 
 
 " I am aware of the manner in which the Indian Terri- 
 tory was created." 
 
 "Very well. Perhaps you know, too, that an over- 
 whelming majority of our people would, if required to
 
 20 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 express their opinion on the subject, vote against any 
 measures which should tend to make our territory part and 
 parcel of the United States." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I need not enter into the reasons for this 
 feeling. Possibly you understand them as well as I do. 
 Perhaps you would call them sentimental. They are, at 
 any rate, clearly defined. The Indians inhabiting the so- 
 called ' Indian Nation ' are opposed to any movement or 
 series of manoeuvres tending toward their absorption into 
 the United States, under territorial government, or in any 
 other manner." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Harrelston, taking up the map and 
 folding it rather impatiently, " I know that the sentiment 
 of a large class of the Indians is opposed to to all kinds 
 of progress, more especially railroads, because of a fear 
 that the United States may swallow up the ' Nation,' 
 as you call it. But there is also a very large class that is 
 in favour of opening the Territory to all the advantages 
 of civilization, and to joining fortunes with the United 
 States." 
 
 "No, sir; no, sir," cried the young man excitedly, 
 rising from his chair. " Excuse me, Mr. Harrelston, for 
 insisting that you are mistaken in this matter. The mass 
 of our people desire to remain entirely independent of the 
 American Government, sir. They intend to insist upon 
 their rights, sir. They have determined to make a 
 vigorous effort at self-defence, sir. Now, Mr. Harrelston, 
 allow me to state the case. Some recent acts of the 
 United States Congress provide for two series of grants 
 of land in the Indian Nation of our land which they 
 have no right to grant, even conditionally, any more than 
 they have to give away the land of the Shah of Persia. 
 Yes, sir ; it is an infamy, sir ! The Congress grants our 
 land, conditionally, to railroad companies, who are building
 
 THE PROTEST. 21 
 
 lines of travel through our country to connect together 
 States of the American Union which lie on either side of 
 us. The first of these grants were conditioned upon the 
 voluntary consent of the Indians, which will never be 
 given, sir, never ! and therefore we may leave those out of 
 the question. But the second, sir, are more dangerous. 
 They are conditioned substantially upon two contingencies 
 which may be forced on us by the arbitrary action of the 
 United States Congress : the first, that our lauds become 
 the public lands of the United States by reversion or 
 extinction of title ; the second, that they be embraced 
 within a State or Territory of the American Union." 
 
 Mr. Harrelston laid down the map, and listened in- 
 tently. The young man walked nervously to and fro, as 
 he continued 
 
 "Yes, sir ; this second series of conditional land grants 
 is where the danger lies. Danger, sir, for ws, for the 
 Indians, who are as proud of their independent nationality 
 as you are of yours ! Suppose, sir, that Congress should 
 pass a Territorial bill, throwing our lands within an 
 organized Territory of the United States, and at the same 
 time robbing us of the title of our land and vesting it in the 
 United States, by special declaration, or reversion, through 
 the extinction of our national autonomy. "Well, sir, in that 
 case millions of acres of our lands which would be required 
 to fulfil the land grants would revert, in spite of our 
 objections, to the railroad companies for whose benefit they 
 were granted by Congress. And it is because we know, 
 sir, that these railroad companies have mortgaged the 
 entire lines, real and prospective, of their roads, and have 
 filed the mortgages in the Interior Department at Wash- 
 ington, and have issued and sold, mainly in New York and 
 Europe, millions of dollars' worth ,of bonds on these 
 mortgages, or, in other words, on the lands belonging to 
 our people, which they propose to take away from us at
 
 22 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the first opportunity, that I have come here to see you to- 
 day, sir, and to protest, sir, with all my might, against the 
 further placing of these bonds in Europe ! Why, sir, your 
 sales can only be made valid after you have taken our 
 lands away from us without our consent, for we will never 
 consent ! It is an infamy, sir, an infamy. Well, sir, a 
 few words more. They told me at home that Mr. Harrels- 
 ton was the man who had charge of the sale of the bonds 
 in Europe ; that his powerful connections and knowledge 
 would enable him to place all the bonds, and so to hasten 
 on the time when our lands are to be taken from us. 
 Then, I said, ' I cannot think that Mr. Ilarrelston under- 
 stands this matter, and I will go to Europe, and find him 
 and lay the subject before him.' So I started at once. 
 And here are my credentials." 
 
 "Credentials?" said Mr. Ilarrelston. "Why cre- 
 dentials? I see no occasion to doubt your sincerity, and 
 your earnestness is very evident. Perhaps I might state 
 the case rather differently, however. I am afraid you are 
 not altogether impartial in your statement of the facts." 
 
 "Facts, sir ! I have told you the truth ! " He handed 
 Mr. Ilarrelston a letter, which the banker opened and rrud. 
 
 "That paper," said the young man, slowly and with 
 less heat than he had shown in his brief protest, "is signed 
 by many of our prominent men in the Cherokee Nation. 
 Some of them would, perhaps, be considered in other 
 countries as humble and ignorant folks. But I know 
 they are sincere, and I believe as they believe ; so I 
 promised them to bring their protest before yon, and 
 before all who may be instrumental, as you may perhaps 
 be, without wishing to do so, in perpetrating a great 
 injustice." 
 
 The letter was a brief authorization of Pleasant Mcrri- 
 nott to represent and to state the sentiments of a large 
 number of persons whose names were signed hi a long
 
 THE PROTEST. 23 
 
 line below. Some of the names were very curious. Mr. 
 Harrelston read them one after another : ' ' Cornelius 
 Blackfox, Filex Redbird, Arch Sixkillcr, Hurry Walkin- 
 stick, Scale- Ragsdalc, Sultuckee Charlie, Syneguvar, 
 Stoning Deer, Garwalarkee, Fishinghawk Killerbill, 
 Watts Johnson, Mix Water Mink, Ridder Sleepingman, 
 Tee-cah-see-mu-Kee, Ezekiel Hair, John Bross, Stand-iu- 
 the- Water, Blue Trap, John Proctor," and a host of others. 
 
 ' ' And these gentlemen have sent you to protest against 
 any participation on my part in the sale of any class of 
 bonds of the railway companies which have interests in 
 your country, because they fear that it may result in the 
 loss of their lauds." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The banker looked at the 3*oung man keenly as he 
 handed him back the letter. After a little pause, he said, 
 " Was it their idea, or yours? " 
 
 Pleasant Merriuott flushed. " Well, sir, it was mine," 
 he answered ; "but they gladly assented to it." He 
 now spoke in a loud, excited manner. "And I hope, sir, 
 that you will consider the protest as not without value. 
 Our people will never consent to the absorption of their 
 Territory into the United States, and " 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Merriuott ; it seems to me that it is 
 rather early to be certain of that." 
 
 "No, sir; they will never consent; they will fight 
 first ! Bear that in mind, sir ; they will fight first ! They 
 have been driven enough, sir ; they will make a stand ! 
 Any attempt to force them to unite their fortunes with an 
 alien people which has alwaj-s persecuted them would be 
 an infamy an infamy, sir ! " 
 
 "Really, Mr. Merrinott " 
 
 " Sir, I have done my duty, and I will not intrude 
 upon you any longer at present ; ' ' and he turned to pick 
 up his hat.
 
 24 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Mr. Harrelston was a little vexed. He did not relish 
 the dictatorial tone of his visitor, and he would have 
 liked to ask him a few questions concerning the Territory 
 and its future which he thought would embarrass him. 
 While he was deciding whether or not he would ask the 
 Indian to call again, he observed that Pleasant Merrinott 
 was gazing steadfastly at a corner of the room, in which 
 was a high pedestal, with a bronze Japanese dragon loll- 
 ing upon it. Beside this pedestal, and so near that the 
 dragon's breath might be fancied to fan her hair, stood 
 Alice, with her hands filled with flowers. She had just 
 entered through a door which communicated with the 
 private dining-room in which the servants had spread the 
 banker's family dejetiner, always served a few minutes 
 before one o'clock. The young man seemed spell-bound ; 
 he gazed at the beautiful girl with undisguised admi- 
 ration, and did not offer to stir. Mr. Harrelston stepped 
 briskly in front of him, blotting out the vision with his 
 compact form, and Pleasant Merrinott recovered his 
 senses. 
 
 " Papa, I did not mean to intrude. I thought I should 
 find you disengaged," said Alice. "Mr. Cliff has come 
 to dtje&ner. See what beautiful flowers he has brought 
 us." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Harrelston," said the Indian, moving 
 toward the door, "I hope you will overlook my warmth 
 in this matter, and perhaps consider what I have said 
 as not without some weight. And I will bid you good 
 day." 
 
 " Since you are determined to go, Mr. Mcrrinott, 
 before you give me a chance to state the case in a way 
 rather dissimilar to your views, I must not keep you. 
 But we shall meet again. Have I your address? Is it 
 on the card? " 
 
 "I am at the Hotel du Pont. Good morning." He
 
 THE PKOTEST. 25 
 
 made a bow, which Alice felt had been intended espe- 
 cially for her, and went out in his quick, graceful way. 
 
 " Well, I declare, I don't know whether to like or dis- 
 like that young fellow," said the banker, as he followed 
 his daughter into the dining-roorn. 
 
 " What is his name, papa? " said Alice. 
 
 " Pleasant Merrinott. A mellifluous name for so earnest 
 and stern a person." 
 
 "Pleasant Merrinott?" said a deep voice; and Mr. 
 Cliff, a tall, elegant, slender man of forty, turned from 
 the window out of which he had been looking, to join in 
 the conversation. "Pleasant Merrinott? Why, he is a 
 Cherokee that is, partly so. Is lie here ? " 
 
 " He has been here this morning. Did you ever meet 
 him when you were in the arm}'? " 
 
 " Yes ; I saw him at Fort Gibson, in the Indian Nation, 
 when I was stationed there, the year before I resigned. 
 He is an enthusiast. I'll tell you all about him presently." 
 
 " What long black hair he has," said Alice.
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 PLEASANT MEItRINOTT SEES A SHAWL. 
 
 PLEASANT MERRINOTT remained in the comparative seclu- 
 sion of the Hotel du Pont for two whole days before he 
 decided that it was his duty to call on the banker again. 
 He was vaguely conscious that he had not made the proper 
 impression. Mr. Harrelston had been so considerate, so 
 calm, but, on the whole, so impenetrable, that the young 
 Indian felt as if he had been trying to split open a glacier 
 with a cambric needle. It was on the morning of the 
 third day after the interview that he determined to go up 
 to the Jungfraublick Hotel once more. 
 
 " Another conversation can do neither of us any harm," 
 he thought ; " and I should like to know what the banker 
 means by saying that he can state the case in another 
 manner." 
 
 Just as he was climbing the little hill on which the 
 hotel stands, a carriage, drawn by two spirited black 
 horses, came rolling rapidly toward him. lie was a trifle 
 surprised' when he saw Mr. Harrelston beckoning to him 
 from this carriage, and saying, in his cheery voice 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Mcrrinott. If you were coming 
 to renew our conversation on the subject of of your 
 mission, jump in here beside me, and during an hour's 
 ride we can learn to understand each other better. Will 
 you come? " 
 
 Pleasant hesitated a moment. But the coachman had 
 
 26
 
 PLEASANT MERRIKOTT SEES A SHAWL. 27 
 
 reined up the horses, and the young Indian saw a rich 
 shawl lying on one of the cushions. This delicate fabric 
 reminded him of the beautiful girl whom he had seen 
 standing near the Japanese bronze in Mr. Harrelston's 
 room, and while he was thinking of her he found that he 
 had put his foot on the carriage-step, and was about to 
 spring in. 
 
 "You are right good," he managed to stammer as he 
 sank back beside the banker. "A ride among these 
 glorious mountains is a pleasure." 
 
 "Yes. The horses are wild for exercise, and we will 
 drive up the valley toward Lauterbrunnen, and then re- 
 turn to the hotel for lunch. I am quite alone to-day, and 
 shall be glad of company at my frugal meal. My wife 
 and daughter have gone with some friends on an excursion 
 to Meiringen, and I have just been to escort them to the 
 boat on the Lake of Brienz. You know the Lake of 
 Brienz how placidly beautiful it is." 
 
 " It is charming," said Pleasant. His gaze fell on the 
 shawl once more, and a shadow flitted over his face. "And 
 the valley of Meiringen is a paradise on earth. But there 
 are more beautiful paradises than -even Meiringen in the 
 Indian Nation, sir ! Great valleys hemmed in on either 
 side by mountains green to their very tops, and watered 
 by streams more lovely, sir, than any that I have seen in 
 Switzerland. And such luxuriance of vegetation and such 
 game ! Why, sir, when I was a child I rarely went into 
 the woods without starting a deer. And what is there in 
 the world more beautiful than a deer when he springs 
 out of his cover and stands palpitating with fear and 
 wounded dignity, staring at an intruder? What have 
 they done with all the game in Switzerland? The 
 country should be full of it." 
 
 The banker eyed Pleasant closely. The young man's 
 enthusiasm was not assumed ; it was natural and pleasing.
 
 28 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Mr. Harrelston felt that he liked the Indian when he was 
 in this mood. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Merrinott," he said, " for a pessimist, it 
 strikes me that you are gifted with a genuine love of 
 nature. I know that your Territory is lovely ; every one 
 who has visited it says so. There was a gentleman at my 
 table the other day, after you left, who has seen much of 
 the section a Mr. Cliff " 
 
 "Mr. Cliff? Colonel Cliff!" said the young man, 
 contracting his thin lips and dilating his eyes so that the 
 face was for a moment quite savage in expression. 
 
 " Yes ; formerly of the army. I think he said that he 
 had met seen you at Fort Gibson." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! And I reckon he told you all the details of the 
 circumstance a personal difficulty in which I was en- 
 gaged in that vicinity, some time ago. Oh! you need 
 have no hesitation in telling me." 
 
 " Mr. Cliff merely mentioned, I believe, that there was 
 an encounter a quarrel in which you were interested, 
 and that the troops were compelled to interfere." 
 
 " Compelled, sir? They had no business to interfere. 
 That was the ground I took, and that was what brought 
 me into conflict with Colonel Cliff. Now, sir, let me tell 
 you in a few words what happened. There's an old feud 
 between two powerful families in the Cherokee Nation. It 
 sprang up more than half a century ago, before our people 
 were pushed out of their homes in the south, and driven 
 west of the Mississippi river. It is a feud, sir, that began 
 in blood and will finish in blood. It began in injustice to 
 my family, and in treachery to our nation. From time to 
 time it breaks out into actual fighting, and lives are lost; 
 and it will never be at an end until the wretched family 
 that begun it has been exterminated." 
 
 "Exterminated, Mr. Merrinott! That is hardly a 
 civili/A-d manner of settling a difficulty ! "
 
 PLEASANT MERRINOTT SEES A SHAWL. 29 
 
 " Well, sir, I have not intimated that it is civilized. 
 You forget," he added, with a certain bitterness in his tone, 
 " that I am an Indian, and that the people of whom I am 
 talking are Indians. I don't know that we have made up 
 our minds to accept civilization as an unmixed blessing 
 quite yet. We believe in justice, and our experience is 
 that under civilization and law we don't always get justice." 
 
 ' Well, really, Mr. Merrinott, I don't suppose you are 
 prepared to say that law is not usually based on justice ! 
 And, right here, allow me, if you please, to ask one or two 
 questions. AVhat was the origin of the feud of which you 
 speak ? Was it not a difference of opinion as to the con- 
 duct of your nation ? Was not the party to which you and 
 yours are so bitterly opposed somewhat in favour of taking 
 down the barriers which separate you from the rest of the 
 world, and of dividing in severalty among the members of 
 the various tribes the lands which are now held in com- 
 mon ? Was there not a decided desire manifested by this 
 family with which you and yours are at war and by a 
 good many people who believed as that family did to 
 see the Indians settle down into citizens of the American 
 nation, and renounce their dream of maintaining an em- 
 pire within an empire? " 
 
 The coachman was driving rapidly through the woods 
 on the brow of the hill near the ruins of Unspunnen. The 
 keen odours of leaf and twig, of mosses and flowers, which 
 came from the aisles of the forest, delighted the young 
 Indian. lie was so absorbed in his enjoyment of them 
 that he did not answer the banker for a minute or two. 
 Presently he said 
 
 " No ; that was not the origin of the feud not exactly. 
 It began in a struggle for power at a time when both parties 
 were agreed as to maintaining an eternal separation from the 
 Americans, who were driving us westward, and would have 
 been glad to drive us into the Pacific Ocean. But in course
 
 30 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 of time the faction that began the feud added treachery 
 to its other crimes, and it began to talk about yielding 
 before the march of progress in short, merging our 
 country with the United States." 
 
 ' ; Then you admit that there is a class of people in your 
 country who are not averse to joining their fortunes to 
 those of the United States ? But you did not tell me so 
 the other day, when you came to protest, on behalf of 
 your friends, against any participation on my part in the 
 sale of the railroad bonds, etc." 
 
 Pleasant winced. He looked up sharply at the banker, 
 bit his lips, and then looked down again. 
 
 " What I did tell you, sir, is true, however," he said, 
 at last. "All the efforts of a miserable minority to de- 
 stroy our nationality will not succeed. Our lands cannot 
 be taken from under our feet. We will fight first ; we will 
 exterminate traitors in our own midst ; and we will- resist 
 any and all endeavours to drive us into becoming part 
 and parcel of a nation that has persecuted us." 
 
 " Very good. I understand your protest perfectly ; but 
 I don't consider it as the protest of a whole people. Mr. 
 Merrinott, you have been very plain with me ; permit me 
 to use the same liberty with you. By the way, where were 
 you educated? You will excuse me for remarking that 
 we are not accustomed to expect such ample evidences of 
 education and refinement as you show from Indians in a 
 frontier territory." 
 
 " My father, sir, was a decently educated man of mixed 
 blood. My mother was a Cherokee woman, of pure race, 
 and she, too, was far from ignorant. I learned a right 
 smart bit at home, and was sent to a university in the 
 Southern States. I left there recently." 
 
 ' Then you believe in education, if not in all the other 
 blessings of civilization? You have a sprinkling of the 
 blood of the white race in your veins, and you have been
 
 PLEASANT MERKINOTT SEES A SHAWL. 31 
 
 educated in the schools of that race ; and yet you rejoice 
 in the fact that you are an Indian and an alien, and you 
 wish to remain such, and to maintain and perpetuate your 
 independence, although your nation is directly in the track 
 of modern progress, and and a dangerous obstacle 
 to it!" 
 
 "Yes, sir; yes, sir! The process of fusion has gone 
 far enough. It is time to stop it. We want to stop it. 
 Or, to be more exact, we don't wish to be swallowed up 
 and lost. And we don't propose to be swallowed." 
 
 Mr. Harrelston was now entirely of Mr. Cliff's opinion, 
 that Pleasant Merrinott was " an enthusiast." 
 
 " I will not enter into discussion with you on that point, 
 Mr. Merrinott. But as you have been good enough to come 
 so far to see me, I wish to set you right on one important 
 point. You are entirely mistaken in supposing that the 
 bonds which have been sold in Europe in connection with 
 these railroads running through your nation's territory have 
 anything whatever to do with the conditional land grants 
 made by Congress. In other words, and to put it more 
 clearly, you do me and all who are connected with me gross 
 injustice in supposing that we would lend ourselves in any 
 shape or fashion to a scheme for selling your lands with- 
 out the consent of the majority of your Nation, from 
 under your feet, as you call it. Why, sir, that is not the 
 way in which we do business in Europe at least, nowhere 
 except at Frankfort. I don't know," he continued, crum- 
 pling up a newspaper which he had been holding in his 
 hand, and brushing his forehead with it as if to drive 
 away the flush of indignation which had mounted there, 
 ' ' how I should have received such an imputation on my 
 good sense and honest} 7 as as was implied in that part 
 of your protest, if you had made it in my business office. 
 But you were probably impressed with the fact that it was 
 true. Allow me to assure you that it was utterly false."
 
 32 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear you say so," said Pleasant, in 
 a voice so different from that in which he had been speak- 
 ing that the banker was astonished " I am very glad to 
 hear you say so." 
 
 He leaned back in his seat and said nothing more for 
 some minutes. The spirited horses trotted briskly through 
 the delicious valley of Unspunnen, past the ruined tower 
 overgrown with vines, and, after an inspiriting ride 
 among the green fields where the peasants were tossing 
 the fragrant hay, the coachman turned towards home. 
 As the carriage whirled around, a mischievous breeze 
 caught in a fold of the shawl, at which Pleasant was 
 again steadfastly gazing, and threw it to the banker's 
 feet. Both the banker and Pleasant moved hastily to 
 pick it up. 
 
 " How in the world," said Mr. Harrelston, "was that 
 shawl left? I am sure Alice wished to take it. And 
 although it has been lying here before me, I haven't noticed 
 it until this minute. Probably Mr. Cliff was charged to 
 take care of it and forgot it. He's a careless " 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Cliff has gone with your family to Meirin- 
 gen, has he? " inquired Pleasant, leaning forward as if to 
 examine the texture of the shawl. 
 
 " Yes. And the mention of his name reminds me to 
 ask you if if there was anyone killed at the time of 
 that Fort Gibson affair? " 
 
 Pleasant' s face took on the savage scowl which the 
 banker had already noticed there once or twice before. 
 
 Killed?" he said. "Certainly. M}' brother was 
 killed ! He was shot dead, sir, by our enemies the Blue- 
 lots. That opened the feud again. AVc took the road 
 to avenge his death, and we would have done it if the 
 soldiers had not interfered, without the shadow of a right 
 to do so. just at the wrong time for us." 
 
 ' Indeed! Your brother was a victim, then? Colonel
 
 PLEASANT MERRINOTT SEES A SHAWL. 83 
 
 Cliff did not tell me this. And are you not afraid that 
 you will lose your own life some day in this this bar- 
 barous warfare ? ' ' 
 
 " Afraid, sir? I don't think I know what that is." 
 
 " But there is no security for life, and no enjoyment 
 of life, in a community where such things are possible. 
 It seems to me that you are furnishing an excellent argu- 
 ment against your scheme for keeping the United States 
 at bay. Certainly one of the advantages of union with 
 the States would be a more settled society more law 
 and more order." 
 
 "But you forget again, sir," said Pleasant, in a tone 
 which the banker tried in vain to anatyze, " that we are 
 Indians, and that perhaps we do not want law or order 
 exactly as you desire and require them." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But I will tell you frankly, Mr. Mer- 
 rinott, that what you have said leads me to believe that 
 the maintenance of your nation as an independent power 
 is not altogether desirable ; that if it were merged in the 
 United States you would all be better off. Why, all the 
 land grants, conditional and others, ever made in connec- 
 tion with all the railroads which penetrate your Territory, 
 form only an insignificant potato patch in comparison with, 
 the rest of your magnificent domain." 
 
 "That may be, sir; but we shall do our best to keep 
 the American invader out of that domain as long as we 
 can . ' ' 
 
 " I think we may now dismiss this subject until after 
 dejeuner," said the banker. He was sure that he liked 
 Pleasant better than on the day of the protest. He was. 
 even inclined to honour him for his sturdy independence-.. 
 " Let us talk a little about Europe," he said. "I sup- 
 pose you intend to remain long enough on this side of the 
 ocean to see two or three countries. Surely you will not 
 return at once to the Indian Nation? "
 
 34 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "I think," said Pleasant, " that I will walk for a few 
 days longer in these mountains, and then that I will go to 
 Paris by way of Geneva." 
 
 " A very wise resolve." Mr. Harrelston observed that 
 Pleasant's eyes were fixed on Alice's shawl, and for some 
 reason which he did not try to explain to himself he was 
 glad that the } T oung Indian was not likely to prolong his 
 stay in Interlaken. 
 
 The carriage drew up in front of the hotel, and a 
 servant came to help Mr. Harrelston to alight. When 
 the banker was on the ground, the same servant offered 
 his support to Pleasant, but the young Cherokee shot by 
 him like a flash of light, astonishing him so that he stood 
 looking after him for some moments. 
 
 Pleasant and the hanker talked freely on many subjects 
 over deje&ner, but carefully avoided an}- further reference 
 to the railroad topic. The Cherokee was reasonably 
 familiar with current literature, had a tolerably accurate 
 idea of the condition of European politics, and was much 
 better informed on American history than are most young 
 men of the present day. It was clear, too, that he had 
 read a good bit about the unfortunate peoples in Europe 
 the Hungarians, the Poles, the Slavs and that he had 
 formed clear judgments concerning them. " This man is 
 not only an enthusiast," thought the banker; "he is a 
 leader ; and we shall hear of him again." 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Pleasant returned to 
 -the Hotel du Pont. He called for writing materials, and 
 wrote steadily until six o'clock, addressing his longest 
 letter to " Cornelius Blackfox, Tahlequah, Cherokee Na- 
 tion, Indian Territory, North America." Then he went 
 to his room, packed his knapsack and swung it over his 
 shoulder, and, returning to the garden, asked for his bill. 
 
 " But will Monsieur take no supper before he leaves? " 
 stammered the waiter.
 
 PLEASANT MERRINOTT SEES A SHAWL. 35 
 
 " Monsieur wants no supper. How far is it to Mei- 
 ringen ? ' ' 
 
 " To Meiringen? Surely Monsieur is not going so far 
 to-night?" 
 
 " Bring the bill, if you cannot answer the question." 
 
 "Meiringen? It is five hours' -ride by a carriage. 
 Does Monsieur think the diligence starts at night? " 
 
 "Bring the bill." 
 
 The bill was brought and paid, Pleasant failing to 
 observe, in his haste to be gone, that the " addition " was 
 wrong, that he was charged with two omnibuses, and that 
 the day of the month on which this extraordinary docu- 
 ment announced that he had arrived was the day on 
 which he had left Bellaggio. He gave the waiter a silver 
 coin, pushed open the garden gate, and was half-way 
 across the bridge over the roaring Aar before the servant 
 had said, "A lucky journey to you, sir; and may you 
 come safely back." 
 
 Pleasant began to reflect after he was well out of 
 Interlaken on the way to Brienz. It suddenly occurred 
 to him that he was going to Meiringen because the banker 
 had told him that Miss Alice Harrelston was there. But 
 what was that to him ? And might she not be miles away 
 from Meiringen before he could arrive there? And but 
 he stopped thinking on that subject as he came down from 
 the high hill, near the border of the lake ; and fell to 
 meditating, for the hundredth time since he had left the 
 banker's breakfast-table, on the small impression which 
 his " protest " appeared to have produced. 
 
 It seemed to him now not only as if he had been 
 prodding a glacier with a needle, but as if the needle's 
 point had been suddenly broken.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CARO AND HER MOTHER. 
 
 IT was nearly ten o'clock when Pleasant reached the 
 little town of Brienz. The moon had arisen, and the night 
 was charming. The young Indian had begun his walk 
 at a speed which astonished the belated cowherds and 
 the old women with oaken buckets on their backs, as he 
 strode past them in the uncertain twilight ; but as the 
 evening deepened, and cool scent of grasses came from 
 the fields, and the moonlight made paths of silver on the 
 lake, he relaxed his pace, and presently he began to loiter. 
 The silence, the majestic outlines of the great mountains, 
 the young winds that made merry among the weeds, 
 delighted him. His blood ran riotously in his veins ; he 
 felt the inexpressible joy of living. Perhaps he would 
 have forgotten that he was going to Meiringen, and would 
 have lingered by the-. wayside until the sunlight came to 
 drive the shadows out of the ravines, if he had not been 
 startled by a jingling procession of tourists' carriages 
 coming from Lucerne, the coupes filled with somewhat 
 hilarious young gentlemen from America, singing a negro 
 melody, and the interiors crowded with ladies, fretting 
 because the long journey was not at an end. 
 
 " Is there no means of getting away from these trav- 
 ellers?" grumbled Pleasant, forgetting that he himself 
 was a traveller. He felt a selfish desire to have the lake, 
 36
 
 CAEO AND HER MOTHER. 37 
 
 the valley, the guardian ranges, all for his own private 
 delectation, as he might have had some vast and lonely 
 quarter in his Indian Territory. These good people, with 
 their songs and cigarette-smoke and fretfuluess, annoyed 
 him. So he began to walk rapidly again, and went on 
 past ruined castles or churches perched high on rocks, 
 through hamlets where the industrious wood-carvers were 
 still bent over their benches, coaxing quaint or beautiful 
 forms out of the stubborn blocks, and tracing delicate 
 designs by the glimmer of candles ; under a frowning 
 ledge covered with mosses and clinging plants, among 
 which moonbeams were playing ; past a cabaret, where 
 peasants were drinking and singing boisterous songs, 
 which terminated in "whoops" not unlike those that 
 Pleasant had heard in the wildest sections of his own 
 "Nation;" past monster houses with acres of sloping 
 roofs, and with dozens of tiny windows, and with pious 
 mottoes written in Gothic text under their eaves ; and at 
 last came to Brienz, and sat down on the shore of the 
 lake, in a garden almost exactly like that which he had so 
 lately quitted at the Hotel du Pont. 
 
 A little maiden brought him a huge mug of beer, with 
 a heavy leaden lid on it, and vanished without asking 
 him a question. For how could any human being, even a 
 foreigner, sit down in a public place in Switzerland with- 
 out having something to drink beside him ? Pleasant was 
 not born thirsty, as Germans are ; so he ignored the cool- 
 ing draught, and glanced around the garden. Under the 
 low branches of the trees a few belated villagers, with 
 their wives sitting demurely beside them, were discussing 
 crops and strangers two never-failing subjects of inter- 
 est for the Swiss. On one side of a long bowling alley a 
 wooden William Tell was aiming an arrow at a wooden 
 apple on the wooden head of his wooden son opposite. 
 One or two boatmen, smoking porcelain pipes, were play-
 
 38 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ing lazily at bowls. The guardian of the public peace 
 a red-nosed personage in a blue uniform, with a sword 
 buckled at his side passed through the yard, and stared 
 rather boldly at Pleasant's long hair and swarthy face. 
 Pleasant returned the stare with interest and a scowl, and 
 the guardian, who was a trifle unsteady on his pins be- 
 cause of innumerous potations of white wine, went on his 
 winding way. Presently a fat landlord, in a braided 
 jacket, followed by a lean wife in & costume composed of 
 a velvet sack with silver ornaments, enormous white-linen 
 sleeves, puffed and pinned back to her shoulders, and a 
 short petticoat and coarse shoes, popped out from the inn 
 to which the garden belonged, and began preparations for 
 closing for the night. Pleasant called the Boniface, paid 
 for his beer, set aside the host's entreaties that he would 
 sleep at the inn, and went down to the border of the lake 
 to enjoy a glimpse of the moon-swept expanse before leav- 
 ing. A small boat, neatly covered with an awning, like 
 those in use upon the Italian lakes, was approaching a 
 landing close to the wall where Pleasant stood. The 
 burly oarsmen soon brought it up to the foot of a flight 
 of stone steps, and in another minute two female figures, 
 enveloped in cloaks, and followed by one of the boatmen, 
 carrying valises and packages, were in the hotel yard. 
 The man set down the luggage and stretched forth his 
 huge right hand, into which the taller of the women 
 dropped several coins. He counted them, and immediately 
 burst into a series of reproaches in wretched German, of 
 which Pleasant did not understand a word, but the accent 
 of which was unmistakable. 
 
 "There! Eight francs six for us, and two for the 
 baggage in your hand. Can't you see it? Wai, what 
 are you scoklin' about? " said the tall woman. 
 
 The bold Swiss navigator appeared to grow angrier 
 with every word that his passenger uttered. Once more
 
 CARO AND HER MOTHER. 39 
 
 he indulged in a series of reproaches, in which guttural 
 consonants and broad vowels seemed rushing wildly hither 
 and yon in hopeless confusion. 
 
 "Wai, sputter away," remarked the tall woman. 
 "Did you ever see such a critter, Caro? He said six 
 francs for passage and two francs for baggage, and he's 
 got it, and now he's madder 'n a hornet. I wish to gra- 
 cious 't I understood him. I don't like to have a man 
 sass me unless I can answer back ! " 
 
 "Ma!" 
 
 This monosyllable was uttered by a sweet, rather 
 plaintive voice, and indicated a certain amount of re- 
 proof. Pleasant understood at once that the new-comers 
 were mother and daughter and Americans. 
 
 "I don't care," said the "Ma." "I ain't goin' to 
 let any of these Swiss snub me. We've done as we 
 agreed, haven't we? " 
 
 "Well, let us take up the valises and go along. We 
 never shall get to Meiringen at this rate. Let the man stay 
 there and scold. He won't dare to do anything else." 
 
 The mother accepted the daughter's advice, and 
 stooped to take up the parcels ; but the Swiss navigator 
 pounced upon them, and grew more voluble and unin- 
 telligibly insolent than before. 
 
 " Let's leave him, ma," said the daughter, " and go and 
 get a policeman, if there is such a thing in this sleepy old 
 place. AVe can gain nothing by quarrelling with him." 
 
 " No ! I won't stand it," said the older woman. " If 
 he jabbers at me any more, I'll box his ears. He thinks 
 jest because we're alone he can impose on us ; but he'll 
 find out!" 
 
 " Very well, ma ; go on and make yourself ridiculous," 
 said the plaintive voice. " I am going to try and find some 
 one who speaks French, and get out of the difficulty. 
 Perhaps I can get the landlord of the hotel over there. ' '
 
 40 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 The girl did not need to hunt for this worthy, for he 
 appeared on the scene at that moment, and, without 
 saluting the ladies, entered into an animated conversation 
 with the angry boatman. Then he turned to the elderly 
 lady, who stood towering above him like a prophetess of 
 doom, with a severely deprecatory expression on her sharp 
 features, and, addressing her in English, remarked 
 
 "Dis man say he bring you from de Giessbach 
 here." 
 
 " Wai, that's true enough, but whatever else he says is 
 sure not to be true, I know, by the wa} r he says it. You 
 tell him we've paid him his six francs for passage and 
 two francs for baggage, and that now if he doesn't let 
 us alone we'll go and get a policeman." 
 
 "Excoos me, lady, de man say he tell you six francs 
 each persown, and now you only has paid him for one 
 persown." 
 
 "Oh, of course, ma; I knew there was a mistake. 
 We misunderstood him ; that was all. Do pay him, and 
 let's go. What is the use of fretting about six francs 
 more or less ? ' ' 
 
 " Caro, if this man hadn't sassed me so much, I 
 would have done it ; but now I WON'T. And he can 
 make jest as much fuss as he likes. I won't be trod on ! " 
 
 The elderly lady drew her cloak tightly around her, and 
 looked defiantly at the boatman, who was rather sullenly 
 awaiting the result of the explanation. 
 
 " He say it is de tariff, six francs each persown. I 
 thecnk you will have to pay it," observed Boniface. 
 
 This was evidently the daughter's opinion also, for she 
 took out a little morocco portemonnaie, held it up so that 
 the moonlight would fall on it, brought out three two- 
 franc pieces, and handed them to the boatman, with the 
 remark, ' Now go and finish your scolding somewhere 
 else." The man went away grumbling, without offering
 
 CAEO AND HER MOTHER. 41 
 
 thanks, while the mother protested vigorously, and called 
 her daughter " a headstrong girl." 
 
 " Never mind, ma! time is more precious than money 
 just now. I am afraid we shall arrive at Meiringen at a 
 scandalously late hour if we don't go on at once. Can 
 you get us a carriage for Meiringen?" she concluded, 
 addressing the landlord. 
 
 "To Meiringen, lady? Yes, plenty carriages in de 
 morning, but not now. You must stay here to-night. 
 Will you have one room or two rooms?" He whistled, 
 and a porter came running forward and began to gather 
 up the luggage. 
 
 "But we don't wish to stay here to-night. We wish 
 to go to Meiringen. It is only a little way ; and we have- 
 been told that carriages can be had at almost any hour of 
 the night." 
 
 " Oh, I assure you dat it is quite impossible. Dis 
 way, if you please." And he grasped a valise and set 
 out ponderously for the tavern door. 
 
 But suddenly he found his progress arrested by a tall 
 man, with bronzed face and flowing hair, who looked 
 down at him sternly, and said 
 
 "How do you know it is impossible? You haven't 
 even taken the trouble to inquire." 
 
 "My!" said the elderly lady, in a low voice, to her 
 daughter, " that's an American, I know, by his voice." 
 
 " Do be quiet, ma ! " said the daughter, in a whisper. 
 
 " Are you right sure that no carriages for Meiringen 
 are to be had?" said Pleasant. 
 
 The landlord was greatly annoyed at this interference. 
 His rage arose as speedily as the waves rise on a Swiss 
 lake in a storm. And with his rage came a capacity to 
 speak English which he had not yet displayed. 
 
 "Very well," he said, disdaining to answer the ques- 
 tion about carriages. "If you are in charge of dese
 
 42 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ladies, perhaps you will be good enough to look deir 
 luggage after yourself." 
 
 He dropped the valise at Pleasant's feet; his porter 
 also threw down his load, and the gentle twain marched 
 off to the tavern without once looking behind them. 
 
 Pleasant glared after them, but held his peace. He 
 then took off his hat to the elderly lady, and said 
 
 "Madam, if you will allow me to offer my services, I 
 think I can find a carriage for Meiringen." 
 
 " Oh, you're very kind, but we shall be sorry to trouble 
 you. You are" an American, aren't you? " 
 
 " I am from America." 
 
 " Are you going our way ? " 
 
 ' ' Ma ! how indiscreet ! ' ' murmured the daughter. 
 
 " Yes, I am going to Meiringen." 
 
 "Why certainly we might take a carriage. You 
 think there is one to be had, don't you? " 
 
 Pleasant was quite sure that he heard the daughter 
 whisper ' Mother ! " in an appealing manner. 
 
 He picked up the valises and packages without further 
 introduction. "I reckon this landlord won't want us in 
 his garden any longer," he said. "If you will allow me 
 to suggest that you follow me to another tavern I think 
 we can soon find a carriage." 
 
 . " Thank you very much. I begin to believe that wo- 
 men can't travel alone in Europe as they do in America. 
 I tell my daughter I think they try to impose on us be- 
 cause we arc women. I should like to ketch any one 
 doing that at home when I was around ! " 
 
 The ladies followed Pleasant out of the garden and to 
 another inn, where, in less than ten minutes, a deep- 
 voiced Jehu was summoned into their presence. Yes, 
 be had a zweispanner, a two-horse carriage, at the dis- 
 position of the ladies. He was anxious to return to Mei- 
 riugcu that uight, as he expected to get a party for Lucerne
 
 .CARO AND HER MOTHER. 43 
 
 in the morning. So a bargain was made, happily free 
 from misunderstandings, despite the defective French used 
 by Jehu on the one part and by the young lady on the 
 other part, and mother and daughter were soon seated hi 
 the vehicle, with their luggage stowed in the box behind. 
 
 "We must not go without thanking the gentleman, 
 mother," said the daughter. 
 
 " Why, he's going with us, of course." 
 
 The daughter's mouth opened as if she intended to say 
 " Ma ! " once more, but was quite too astonished to do so. 
 At last, after settling herself very far back in her corner, 
 and drawing her cloak around her, she observed 
 
 "You never arc the same woman two days in succession. 
 You wouldn't let Count Ferocky offer us his carriage, and 
 accompany us from his mother's house in Geneva to the 
 Hotel de la Paix, after I had sung at the old lady's party, 
 and yet you will make the acquaintance of a wild- looking 
 man with long hair, in a mountain village, in the middle of 
 the night, and ride off along a lonesome road to Meiringen 
 with him. I think it's inconsistent, that's all ! " 
 
 The old lady's garments rustled. "You do, do you? 
 Wai, now, Caro, let me tell you that your mother knows 
 a heap more'n you do. This gentleman is an American, 
 and that is the same thing as saying that there isn't the 
 least impropriety in driving with him from here to Meirin- 
 gen. Count Ferocky is an I-talian ; and that is as much 
 
 as to say Wai, at any rate, I don't propose to have 
 
 the world say that he's payin' his attentions to any 
 daughter of mine." Then, with a sudden tenderness in 
 her voice, " Do wrap your throat up, Caro. Jest think 
 how dreadful it would be if you should ketch another cold ! 
 Are you warm enough? Sh h ! Here he comes." 
 
 "And now, ladies," said Pleasant, appearing at the 
 side of the carriage, and making a graceful bow, " I wish 
 you a pleasant drive. Good evening."
 
 44 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Oh really, Mr. " 
 
 "Merrinott, ma'am." 
 
 " Merrinott, we thought you were going to Meirin- 
 gen." 
 
 " Quite true, ma'am ; but I intend to walk, the air and 
 the moonlight are so fine." 
 
 "To walk! Why, you won't get there before two 
 o'clock in the morning, if it is as far as the driver says 'tis. 
 There's plenty of room in our carriage, Mr. Merrinott, 
 if you haven't fully decided to walk," said the old lady. 
 
 "Very well, madam, if you will not consider it an 
 intrusion." 
 
 "Certainly not," murmured Miss Caro, who felt that 
 it was her turn to say something. 
 
 Pleasant took a seat facing the ladies, unstrapped his 
 knapsack from his shapely shoulders, and said 
 
 " It will be only an hour's drive with these good horses." 
 
 "How warm the air is!" said the mother. "But, 
 Caro, you'll certainly ketch your death o' cold if you don't 
 wrap up better. My daughter's terrible imprudent, Mr. 
 Merrinott. I don't know what she would do if she hadn't 
 a mother to take care of her." 
 
 Pleasant hardly knew what to say ; but, after some 
 reflection, he remarked that the mountain air was not very 
 dangerous. 
 
 "No; but you see my daughter's studyin' for the 
 operatic stage, and her voice has ben a good deal over- 
 worked, and she ketches cold easy. It sort o' discourages 
 her morally when her voice is troubled. Don't it, Caro?" 
 
 The girl looked up quickly at her mother, with a shade 
 of annoyance on her features. Pleasant thought that he 
 could interpret the look as an appeal to be less confidential 
 to the stranger. But the old lady went on 
 
 " Have you ben over long, Mr. Merrinott? " 
 
 " Only a few weeks, madam."
 
 CABO AND HER MOTHER. 45 
 
 " You're a fortunate man, I think. I know it'll be the 
 proudest day of my life when I set foot on the ship that's 
 to carry me back. I feel kind o' transplanted out o' sorts 
 over here. I tellCaro Ulinoy is good enough for me." 
 
 Pleasant laughed. It pleased him to hear the good 
 woman talk. " I reckon you're right, madam," he said. 
 " It's only natural that we should like our own country 
 best." 
 
 "Are you from our part of America, Mr. Merrinott? 
 Are you from the West? " 
 
 " I am from the Indian Territory, ma'am." 
 
 "I want to know. Are you are you Injun?" she 
 added, with a momentary tinge of distrust in her voice. 
 
 " Well, yes ; I suppose I am." 
 
 " Let me see," continued the old lady, in reflective vein. 
 " John Merlin, my husband's brother our name's Mer- 
 lin, as perhaps I might have told you before John Mer- 
 lin went out from Illinoy nigh on to twenty years ago ; 
 and I believe he settled in the Indian Territory for a while, 
 as a kind of Government agent down among the Choc- 
 taws, I think 'twas. Mebbe you've heard of him? " 
 
 " No ; I reckon not. I am a Cherokee, and I happen 
 never to have been among the Choctaws." 
 
 Here Pleasant became conscious that the daughter was 
 scrutinizing him rather sharply with a pair of deep blue 
 eyes. While Mrs. Merlin continued an account of her 
 relative who had migrated to the Choctaws, Pleasant had 
 time to observe that Miss Caro Merlin had a thin, sensitive 
 face, full of a certain mournful beauty which was in 
 striking contrast to the mother's prosaic and plain coun- 
 tenance. Miss Merlin's broad brow and frank blue eyes, 
 her well-balanced chin and firm lips, gave the impression 
 that she was a person of character. Her chestnut hair 
 was not tortured into artificial curls, nor twisted into un- 
 sightly frizzled confusion, but was combed smoothly down
 
 46 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 in the sweet and feminine fashion in which our mothers 
 wore their tresses when they were young. This he noticed 
 as she removed her bonnet and drew over her head a 
 warm opera wrap, the ends of which she carefully wound 
 about her throat. 
 
 " Do you find it cold? " he said. " The carriage top 
 can be raised on each side, and we can close the windows, 
 if you wish." 
 
 "Oh no!" answered the girl. "Thank you, but I 
 think this moonlight is too lovely to part with for the sake 
 of a little warmth. Isn*t it heavenly out there? " And 
 she waved her hand toward the valley beyond them. 
 
 In truth, it was a beautiful spectacle. The Aar, rushing 
 merrily along in its narrow stone-bordered channel, shone 
 in the moonlight like a silver band. The long grasses and 
 the grain swayed with rhythmic voluptuousness under the 
 caresses of the breezes. On the right the mighty, massive 
 ledges affronted the sky, and cataracts, born of the far- 
 away glaciers, leaped and frolicked and rioted and sang as 
 they sprang recklessly down into the shadows below. 
 Here a dizzy flood seemed to pause, shuddering, before it 
 took its plunge ; there a vast veil of spray hung from 
 moss-grown rocks. On the left the Brunig rose abruptly ; 
 and miles distant, in front, were peaks tipped with eternal 
 snow, upon which the moon now and then cast delicate tints 
 of rose. Beneath a clump of trees the friendly lights of 
 a cottage gleamed ; from a field came the plaintive accents 
 of a shepherd's song ; and on the air lingered a delicate 
 odour as of aromatic shrubs and freshly-plucked flowers. 
 
 " Look, mother ! the mountains ! the mountains ! How 
 white and ghostly they are ! " cried Miss Caro, pointing 
 to the massive and remote group. 
 
 " Why, daughter, you're as enthusiastic about nature 
 as Alice Ilarrelston. She can't set still when she's talking 
 about it. It's a sight to see her fidget over a mess of
 
 CARD AND HER MOTHEE. 47 
 
 flowers. She's got all the French ways of talkin' with 
 her hands and eyes and shoulders every nerve a- 
 dancin'." 
 
 " Well, mother, do you think there's any harm in that? 
 You certainly seem to take great interest in my lessons in 
 acting, and you're always urging me to make gestures." 
 
 u Law, child, that's for opera, of course. You don't 
 ne.ed such things in real life. Don't you think so, Mr. 
 Merrinott?" 
 
 Mr. Merrinott was thinking of something else. These 
 people knew the Ilarrelstons ; they had spoken of the 
 daughter ; perhaps they were going to meet her now. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin did not seem to notice his inattention. She 
 felt the necessity of talking, and so she continued, in a 
 loud, sharp voice, which now and then made Miss Caro 
 raise her e}-es in appealing fashion. From her rapid 
 remarks Pleasant soon gathered that she and her daughter 
 were residing in Paris, where the young lady was pur- 
 suing her musical studies with much energy ; that they 
 were now making a brief tour in the mountains in order 
 that the girl, who " was only eighteen, ( and delicate of her 
 age," might get some new strength for her winter cam- 
 paign ; and that Mrs. Merlin held the French and Italians 
 in unmitigated horror, and was anxious to finish with 
 Europe and return to America as speedily as possible. 
 
 "The only place I've felt to home in sence I joined 
 Caro over here," she said, " was up there to the Giessbach. 
 Haven't you ben there? It's a beautiful place, high on 
 the mountain, and the waterfall plashin' and cascadin' all 
 the time. They light it up at night, and there's thousands 
 of folks come to see it. But seems to me I like nature 
 best without frills. Wai, there's one good thing ; lots of 
 Americans come there, and there's somebody to talk to. 
 We didn't want to come away a bit, at least I didn't ; but 
 we had a pressin' invitation from Miss Harrelston, a
 
 48 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 friend of ours from Paris, to join her in Meiringen, and to 
 go to the to the ' ' 
 
 " Grimsel, mother," said Miss Caro. 
 
 " To the Grimsel with her and some friends to-morrow, 
 and so we set out to come. But we couldn't get ready 
 for the afternoon boat, and so we took a skiff across the 
 lake, as you know. I don't know what we should 'a done 
 if it hadn't ben for you." 
 
 Pleasant entreated her to ignore the obligation, and 
 was in hopes that she would say something more about 
 Alice Harrelston. But he was disappointed, for the rest 
 of the way to Meiringen she talked of nothing but the 
 inferiority of Swiss cooking and agriculture as compared 
 with those of America. As for Miss Caro, she seemed 
 contented with the beauty of the scenery. 
 
 It was very late when the driver cracked his whip at 
 the door of the Hotel Reicbenbach a pretty hostelry 
 outside the town whither Miss Caro had told him to 
 take them. But lights gleamed from the balcony, and the 
 sound of music was heard. 
 
 " Who is playing Chopin, I wonder, at this time of 
 night? " said Miss Caro. 
 
 "I suppose Alice retired hours ago," remarked the 
 mother. 
 
 Then the landlord, and three porters, and a head- 
 waiter, and a guide, came running out of the hall, to greet 
 the arrivals, and Pleasant bade his new acquaintances 
 good night, after having insisted upon paying one-half of 
 the carriage hire. 
 
 " Wai, I must say that is the most civilized Injun I 
 ever see," said the mother, as she followed her daughter 
 up the stairs of the hotel.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 STANISLAS. 
 
 PLEASANT sat down in the little room into which he had 
 been ushered by a sleepy serving-maid, and began to 
 wonder what he would do next. For the first time in his 
 life he felt as if he were not his own master ; as if some 
 tyrannical fate pushed him on, compelled him, and made 
 him its puppet. He did not feel the least inclination for 
 sleep, and he would have been glad had the fate sent him 
 out to wander in the moonlit valley. While he was mus- 
 ing, the music in the parlour below ceased ; there was a 
 merry hum of voices ; and a few moments afterwards he 
 heard a deferential knock at his door. 
 
 It was the landlord, smiling, with a lighted candle in 
 his hand. 
 
 " Monsieur will pardon me," he said in English, " but 
 was not Monsieur here the other day ? ' ' 
 
 Monsieur had, in fact, passed through Meiringen, stop- 
 ping at the Rcichenbach Hotel, and had found it a com- 
 fortable and agreeable inn. 
 
 The landlord made a low bow. " Then Monsieur will 
 pardon the liberty that I take in inviting him to come 
 down and hear the concert in the parlour. All the ladies 
 and gentlemen are listening ; some of the people who had 
 gone to bed have got up again. Monsieur may not have 
 
 49
 
 50 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 another such chance for years. If Monsieur will ex- 
 cuse " 
 
 Pleasant smiled. " Why, landlord, i8 the music so 
 wonderful? Who is the musician? " 
 
 "It is the great Stanislas. He arrived this evening. 
 He has been walking in the mountains for his health. 
 The most extraordinary pianist of his time. The young 
 English ladies staying in the house are quite wild with 
 delight. Monsieur will perhaps come down. The ladies 
 who came with Monsieur are acquainted with Stanislas. 
 It is, I am sure, an honour for my hotel. Is Monsieur 
 fond of music? " 
 
 And the great Boniface would have gone on practising 
 English until the crack of doom, if Pleasant had not said, 
 " Thank you ; I will come in a few moments." 
 
 "Monsieur is very kind." 
 
 The landlord disappeared, and the young Indian, after 
 a hasty toilet, went down stairs to see what this mid- 
 night concert was like. The tourists seated in the hall, 
 at the entrance of the dining-room, and about the door 
 of the diminutive apartment dignified with the appella- 
 tion of " parlour," stared at the bronzed complexion and 
 long black hair of the new-comer so boldly that they 
 made him rather uncomfortable. He was fortunate 
 enough to find a place close to the parlour entrance, and 
 as he sat down a sharp voice said in his ear 
 
 " I knew we warn't pushing through to Meiringen so 
 fast for nothin', Mr. Mcrrinott. Jest think of our findin' 
 Stanislas here ! Ain't it splendid ! Of course you know 
 who he is the givatest pianist ! There's Caro talkin' 
 to him now. My gracious ! I hope them young English- 
 men will gi-t done starin' at her by-and-by. We've had 
 Stanislas at our house in Paris ; he plays for my daughter 
 when he won't play for anybody else. I believe he'd cut 
 his head right off to please Caro. There, Caro's going
 
 STANISLAS. 51 
 
 back to set down by Miss Harrelston and now Stanislas 
 is goin' to play again. If he gets excited, he may keep 
 us here till daylight." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin stopped short, for Pleasant had turned so 
 quickly round upon her at the mention of Miss Harrelston's 
 name that she was a little frightened ; but after a moment's 
 reflection she concluded that such sudden movements must 
 be part of Indian manners, and she began again. 
 
 " No ; he's fidgetin' with the piano keys now. And 
 such a piano ! I don't see how he can git any music at 
 all out of it. I hope he won't take it into his head to 
 have Caro sing. The poor girl is tired to death, and 
 that would jest about finish her. That's Miss Harrelston 
 settin' there in the corner with the knit white shawl on, 
 and her mother's next to her. Real nice folks, they are. 
 Never met them, did you? " 
 
 " I know Mr. Harrelston, slightly," said Pleasant. 
 
 " I want to know ! Wai, you ought to know the fam- 
 ily ; they're the salt of the earth. I wonder who they've 
 got with 'em." 
 
 At this moment the great Stanislas began to play 
 again, and every voice was hushed. He played a nocturne 
 so weird and quaint and full of plaintive refrains that it 
 was as if he were interpreting the moonlight, or the wav- 
 ing of the grasses before the wind, or the murmurs of the 
 pine trees in the forests on the mountain side. Under the 
 subtle and inspiring touch of his white fingers the keys 
 sang the burden of the night. Was it an improvisation, 
 or was it some master's composition which this strange 
 man had committed to memory ? Pleasant did not know, 
 nor did he care. The music exercised an electrical influ- 
 ence upon him, yet he was scarcely conscious that he 
 heard it as he gazed into the parlour. He saw Alice 
 Harrelston seated on a low chair, with Miss Caro at one 
 side of her on a cushion. On the other side, bolt upright,
 
 52 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and looking as if he considered the music an intolerable 
 bore, stood Colonel Cliff. Pleasant fixed his sharp eyes 
 for an instant on that personage, and then tossed back 
 his long black hair with an impatient gesture, as though 
 he were driving away an unpleasant memory. He was 
 presently a trifle confused to observe that Miss Caro was 
 whispering to Miss Harrelston, concerning him, evidently, 
 for they both glanced at him, and then returned to the 
 sweet contemplations prompted by the music. A few 
 English girls in travelling dresses, seated on a long sofa, 
 listened ecstatically to Herr Stanislas ; and one or two 
 elderly gentlemen, in knickerbockers and holding in their 
 hands white hats with blue veils on them, lent their ears 
 with critical air. 
 
 The artist at the piano was a youth of twenty four or 
 five years, tall and slender, with long arms, very white and 
 tapering fingers, symmetrical features, and cheeks into 
 which from time to time the blood mounted, almost imme- 
 diately to recede, as if the pianist blushed at the fervour 
 of his own inspiration. He was seated so that Pleasant 
 saw his face in profile, and noted its statuesque grace ; 
 but from time to time, while idly following the fanciful 
 measures of the nocturne, the musician turned the face 
 fully round, and Pleasant noticed that the eyes were of a 
 curious blue-black colour, and seemed to give out light as 
 diamonds do. They were dangerous eyes, powerful to 
 inflict woe ; and although Pleasant could not fully express 
 this thought, it nevertheless passed through his mind. A 
 tender and gentle melancholy filled the face, as if it were 
 the expression of a soul saddened by its vain endeavours 
 to utter all the noble and beautiful sentiments which filled 
 it ; but when the white fingers, smiting the keys more 
 sternly than usual, brought from the piano some stirring 
 chord, the melancholy gave way to a kind of rude gran- 
 deur. Then Stanislas threw his chin up and his head
 
 STANISLAS. 53 
 
 back, and without affectation seemed to be courting the 
 caress of some invisible spirit upon his brow, which was 
 broad, pale, and serene. If Pleasant had voiced the im- 
 pression which Stanislas produced upon him, he would 
 have said, " This is a great, but not a good young man. 
 There is a savour of wickedness even in his inspiration. 
 He is a consummate artist, but his art does not comfort ; 
 it charms, while it frightens ; it has a touch of the super- 
 natural in it." 
 
 A nocturne was scarcely appropriate, for it was half-past 
 one o'clock in the morning when Herr Stanislas finished 
 this " selection," as Mrs. Merlin called it, and leaned back 
 in his chair, while the parlour and the halls rang wijth the 
 applause of the delighted tourists. The head- waiter 
 pushed his way through the crowd, bearing a silver salver 
 on which was a foaming glass of champagne. 
 
 The player looked at it, smiled, and shook his head. 
 " No, thank you," he said ; "it would ruin the inspiration. 
 Let me see," and he passed his thin right hand once or 
 twice over his forehead " let me see if I can recall the 
 melody that came to me as I stood in the mists, all alone 
 on the peak, on the Grimsel yesterday. It was something 
 like this : " and he dashed his hands down on the keys, 
 producing an imposing combination of harmonious chords, 
 which gradually shaped themselves into rhythm. 
 
 Pleasant was amazed. The man's power began 
 thoroughly to assert itself over him now ; yet he felt like 
 rebelling against it, like arising and getting out into the 
 night, away from the bewitching sounds of the music. 
 In the hope of diverting his attention entirely from the 
 player he ventured to look up at Miss Harrelston, and was 
 startled to find that her gaze was fixed intently on him. 
 He was both delighted and pained. All his sensations 
 were so new and composite that he did not comprehend 
 them.
 
 54 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 And now he saw that Colonel Cliff was aware of his 
 presence, and was coldly staring at him through his eye- 
 glasses. Pleasant endeavoured to avoid a recognition, but 
 Colonel Cliff caught his eye and deliberately bowed. The 
 young Cherokee returned the bow, looking into space as 
 if he saw something extreme!}' interesting a mile or two 
 away, and then looked at Miss Harrelston. To his pro- 
 found chagrin that pretty damsel was smiling as if she had 
 read his secret thought and was very much amused at it. 
 If she had known how the wild blood of the young 
 Cherokee bounded in his veins with resentment for one 
 instant, and then how ashamed he was a moment later for 
 his lack of self-control, she would have been amazed, 
 and possibly frightened. 
 
 "There!" ejaculated Mrs. Merlin, with that peculiar 
 burr in her speech which betrays the "Westerner, "now 
 he's good for all night ! Wild horses couldn't drag him 
 away from that piano." 
 
 It seemed as if she were right. The musician, intoxi- 
 cated with his thought, played on and on, regardless 
 of time and people and everything except the current of 
 melody which flowed through his magnificent improvisa- 
 tion. The vastness and sweetness of nature in her gran- 
 diose aspects were in this strange composition. Wander- 
 ing tones expressed the roar of the cataracts, the booming 
 of the avalanches, the whir of the winds on the borders of 
 precipices. Into the body of the composition were wrought 
 the perfumes of the hardy wild flowers, the glitter of the 
 glaciers, the slow processions of the clouds, the splendour 
 of the roseate sup sets seen over the peaks tipped with 
 snow. Miss Caro listened with parted lips and quickened 
 breathing. lien 1 Stanislas awoke a passionate longing for 
 expression in her soul. She envied him almost bitterly 
 for a moment. Tears stood in her eyes as he went on from 
 exaltation to exaltation, now in his frenzy seizing upon a
 
 STANISLAS. 55 
 
 theme and enriching it with a thousand variations, now 
 leaving it with childish impatience for another, around 
 which he lovingly wove vines and flowers, soft twitter of 
 birds, and the melodious flow of brooklets. In the mind of 
 each hearer he aroused sensations of which no one of them 
 would have been capable at another time ; he embodied 
 their formless and floating thoughts, and sent them lightly 
 hovering like spirits into the air. Even Colonel Cliff put 
 aside his e3'e-glasses, sat down on a stool, and swung his 
 hat helplessly backwards and forwards. The splendid 
 enchantment of genius had for the time metamorphosed 
 all these people into poets, and they were so exhilarated 
 that they dreaded the cessation of the music and their 
 own return into the solemn and sad-coloured world of 
 reality. 
 
 He stopped suddenly, letting his hands rest on the 
 piano as if he were unable from very weariness to lift them. 
 The blood rose in a swift wave to his cheeks and brow. 
 " Ah ! " he said in French, and in a low voice which only 
 those in the little parlour heard, " I am horribly fatigued ! 
 What nonsense I have been treating you to ! My head 
 swims! I think there is no air here. Ciel! Is that 
 window open? One would not say so. Ah, my poor 
 friends, I have wearied you ! " 
 
 Mrs. Merlin arose with officious air. "Don't you 
 think, Mr. Stanislas," she said in a loud voice, "that a 
 cup of reel good strong tea would be about the very best 
 thing you could possibly take now? " 
 
 The English girls began to titter, but they ceased when 
 the player turned round, and with a radiant smile answered, 
 in clear, staccato English 
 
 " My clear Mrs. Merlin, you always interpret my desires. 
 Ah ! if you will but make the tea I will drink it with 
 pleasure, for you know how to brew a heavenly beverage." 
 
 ' ' Wai, I know you always take it when you come to
 
 56 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 our house in Paris," said Mrs. Merlin, with a look of 
 intense satisfaction in her face, after she had glared for a 
 moment at the unhappy English girls. 
 
 " If Madame will step into the dining-room," said the 
 landlord, rubbing his hands with glee, " hot water and tea 
 shall be brought in a little minute, and Madame can make 
 it to suit Herr Stanislas. What an honour ! what a night 
 for my house," he murmured, as he bustled away to give 
 his orders. 
 
 " Oh, I grow each minute more tired ! " said Stanislas, 
 "as tired as tired as these good ladies and gentlemen 
 who have done me the honour to listen to my ravings. 
 But we must not send them to bed with that nightmare 
 symphony on their souls. AttonsI Miss Caro. will you 
 not sing them a ballad ? that little one that you sang 
 the day of the picnic at Viucennes ? How does it go : it 
 is so pretty ! " and he felt out on the piano keys the 
 simple burden of the song. 
 
 " Sing, Caro, once, please unless you are too tired," 
 said Miss Harrelston. 
 
 The tourists applauded as Miss Caro went forward to 
 the piano, and standing beside the musician, sang, with 
 much grace and simplicity, an English song. Stanislas 
 accompanied the girl with infinite art, investing the ballad- 
 music with a richness of which few had ever supposed it 
 capable, and nodding his head approvingly. The girl's 
 voice pleased every one, and the old gentlemen were pro- 
 fuse in their compliments. She listened demurely, but 
 when Stanislas said, " Ah ! my friends, one day you will 
 be glad to say that you heard her sing to-night for she 
 will be famous," she turned toward him with a radiant 
 which made Pleasant, who was observing her 
 y, stare. Miss Caro was evidently very proud of 
 the approval of Stanislas. 
 
 And now the company began to break up, with renewed
 
 STANISLAS. 57 
 
 expressions of approval and thanks ; and as Pleasant rose 
 to make way for the English girls, he found Colonel Cliff 
 standing beside him, and holding out his hand. 
 
 "How are you, Mr. Merrinott?" said the ex-army 
 officer, in a cheery voice. Pleasant scowled but shook 
 hands. " I heard that you called on Mr. Harrelston at 
 Interlaken, and I should have called on you, but the ladies 
 claimed me for this excursion. Glad to see you in Europe. 
 This is better than the Nation, isn't it? Oh, I say, let by- 
 gones be by-gones about that affair of ours, will you? I 
 only did what I thought ' ' 
 
 " Really, Colonel Cliff, sir, I don't think there is any 
 occasion to allude ' ' 
 
 " Oh, well, I couldn't let you cut each others' throats, 
 you know. I always thought you misjudged me about 
 that matter " 
 
 " Colonel Cliff , sir " 
 
 " Besides, I am not an army officer now, and I'm very 
 glad of it, too. Dog's life, especially for an unmarried man. 
 Honour bright no ill feeling. Now, think of it if I had 
 allowed that feud to go on that night, you might not have 
 been here to listen to this grand music. Come, I want to 
 introduce you to Stanislas. Extraordinary man ! Regular 
 musical volcano. We are going to take a little supper 
 with him after the mob has gone to bed. High intellectual 
 dissipation this, eh? "Will you come?" 
 
 Pleasant never knew why he yielded, unless it was be- 
 cause there was a chance that he might be introduced to 
 Miss Harrelston. He longed to say " No " to Colonel 
 Cliff, but he said 
 
 " "Well, sir, you are very kind; but I am afraid, sir, 
 that I shall be out of place in your party. I am not very 
 wise in music." 
 
 "Nonsense. Come along." 
 
 And, before Pleasant could object again, he had been
 
 58 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 introduced to Stanislas, who wrung his hand, said he 
 thought Indians were the only real Americans, and that 
 they had been shamefully treated ; that he would like to 
 visit America, and meant to go there some day, and write 
 a symphony describing the grand natural scenery ; and a 
 host of other pretty nothings which fairly took the young 
 Cherokee's breath away. 
 
 " Mr. Merrinott is an old acquaintance of mine," said 
 Colonel Cliff; "and I have taken^the liberty of asking 
 him to join us at supper." 
 
 "Oh, I am very glad! " said the musician enthusi- 
 astically. 
 
 " At breakfast you mean, I guess," said Mrs. Merlin, 
 coming in. "Jest see if you dare look the clock in the 
 face. Caro, I could 'a shook you when I heard you singin' ! 
 Don't you know how wicked it is to fly in the face of Provi- 
 dence that way? Didn't you come up here to rest? Wai, 
 the tea's read} 7 , and it's reel good, ef I did make it." 
 
 Pleasant was here dimly conscious that an elderly lady 
 stood before him, with a young girl with brilliant eyes 
 and olive cheeks beside her. 
 
 "Mrs. Harrelston, allow me to present Mr. Pleasant 
 Merrinott," said the voice of Colonel Cliff. " Miss Alice 
 Harrelston, Mr. Merrinott. And now, suppose we all go 
 in to supper. The landlord has told me something about 
 a cold chicken " 
 
 " Caro," said Mrs. Merlin, " don't you let me ketch you 
 eatin' any supper. You may drink some tea, but " 
 
 "Ma!" 
 
 While Mrs. Harrelston was saying to Mr. Merrinott 
 that she had heard her husband speak of him, and he was 
 informing her that he had spent the previous afternoon 
 with her husband, his eyes were fixed upon Alice. He 
 would have been glad to remove his gaze, but he could 
 not. It was a mercy that she dropped her fan. He
 
 STANISLAS. 59 
 
 picked it up and handed it to her with the ceremonious 
 gallantry which he had learned in " social assemblies " in 
 the small Southern town where he was educated. His 
 hand touched hers as she took the fan. Pleasant flushed 
 deeply beneath his bronze mask, and looked so quickly 
 and with such a light in his eyes at Alice that she turned 
 away and began talking with Miss Caro. This made 
 Pleasant' s trouble all the greater, and he engaged des- 
 perately in conversation with Mrs. Harrelston, who was 
 prepared, from her husband's description of him, to find 
 him " original," and was a trifle disappointed at his studied 
 and formal courtes} 7 . 
 
 At the supper table he plucked up courage enough to 
 address a few words to Miss Alice, who talked pleasantly 
 with him about music, and chiefly of operas which he had 
 never seen. The ladies stayed but a few minutes at table, 
 however, protesting that the lateness of the hour was 
 scandalous ; and after they had gone and the musician 
 and Colonel Cliff had lighted cigars, Pleasant felt that a 
 great weariness had all at once fallen upon him. So he, 
 too, pleaded fatigue, and stole away to bed. As he 
 climbed the stairs to his room, it occurred to him that 
 he now knew why fate had sent him to Meiringen.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 ALICE awoke at noon, and found her mother standing at 
 her bedside. 
 
 "Why, daughter," said Mrs. Harrelston, " what were 
 you dreaming of? Something wonderfully exciting, I 
 should judge ! You are very much agitated." 
 
 The daughter blushed faintly, as with a deft motion of 
 her round, white arm she pushed back the luxuriant 
 masses of hair which had fallen about her shoulders. 
 
 " Is it very late, mamma? " she said. 
 
 " High noon ; and we are waiting for you to take 
 dtjetmer with us. Come down as soon as you can." 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston retired, leaving Alice glad that her 
 mother had not repeated her question about the dream. 
 Was it a dream ? It had seemed real enough for a few 
 moments. She had dreamed that she was wandering with 
 Pleasant Merrinott through a wild laud, and that she was 
 the means of saving him from a great danger. His dark 
 face still floated before her as she made her hasty toilette, 
 and ran down to join the company in the dining-room. 
 She found Stanislas already at the piano, playing dreamy, 
 sorrowful bits of Chopin, alternated with mood}* and 
 gloomy compositions of his own. As she flitted past the 
 parlour doorway he ran to join her. 
 
 " We are all here except the Indian," he said. 
 60
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTURE. 61 
 
 " Heaven knows where he has gone. The landlord tells 
 me that he was off an hour or two after dawn, climbing 
 the hills as if he were hunting for something that he had 
 just lost. He is an original, is he not? And very inter- 
 esting." 
 
 "I hope he hasn't gone for good," said Mrs. Merlin, 
 who was pouring the coffee, and at the same time ad- 
 ministering bits of advice to Caro, in a nasal undertone. 
 " Don't eat so much butter, child ; it'll spile your voice. 
 I think Mr. Merrinott's reel amusin' ; don't you, Mrs. 
 Harrelston? Caro, do put away that horrid Dutch news- 
 paper. You mustn't read while you eat." 
 
 Miss Caro laid aside her paper and her bread and 
 butter, and folded her hands, while the rest of the com- 
 pany took seats. "If you will let me alone, ma," she 
 observed. " I will take my breakfast here ; if not, I shall 
 claim Herr Stanislas as an escort, and go and eat in peace 
 on the balcony." 
 
 "Oh no. The Indian has not gone for good," said 
 Colonel Cliff. "His knapsack is still here, and he will 
 be back in the evening. I overheard him telling the 
 servant so. Upon my word, the fellow speaks very 
 passable French." 
 
 "My! you ought to see him when he's mad! " re- 
 marked Mrs. Merlin. "When he saved us out of the 
 clutches of that landlord down to Brienz he seemed to 
 grow ten feet tall; didn't he, Caro?" And the good 
 woman told the story of his benevolent interference, em- 
 bellishing it to that extent that Pleasant appeared as a 
 brave chevalier, devoted to the task of rescuing forlorn 
 females from trouble and anno}*ance. 
 
 Caro was on the point of appealing with her customary 
 "Ma!" a dozen times; but she observed that Alice 
 listened intently, and something prompted her to let her 
 mother continue her narrative.
 
 62 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " I must see more of him," said Stanislas. " We will 
 walk together in the mountains, if he is not too proud." 
 
 ' ' Oh ! we hold you for the excursion to the Grimsel 
 to-morrow," said Mrs. Harrelston. "I know that you 
 have just come from there, but " 
 
 "I shall gladly return in such charming company," 
 said the musician. 
 
 ' ' Perhaps we can persuade Mr. Merrinott to accom- 
 pany us," said Colonel Cliff, bending forward and looking 
 intently into his coffee-cup, " unless the ladies " 
 
 "Unless we object?" said Mrs. Merlin. "How can 
 we?" She looked at Mrs. Harrelston, who made no 
 answer, but did not appear especially to disapprove of the 
 Cherokee. 
 
 So the subject languished, and breakfast usurped the 
 whole attention of the party, except Colonel Cliff, who 
 was vaguely conscious that he had blundered in suggest- 
 ing Pleasant for the excursion. He did not dislike the 
 Indian, although he was quite sure that the Cherokee 
 held him in abomination. But Colonel Cliff was uneasy 
 because of Pleasant's arrival on the scene, and wished to 
 make him declare his intentions as soon as possible. 
 
 " I wonder if I madfc an ass of myself in introducing 
 the young featherhead to to Alice last night?" he 
 said, when he was alone with his cigar in the garden 
 after breakfast. Colonel Cliff always thought of Miss 
 Harrelston as " Alice," and fancied that he had a certain 
 sort of protectorate over her, although he would not have 
 dared to say so to any one. This grave man of forty, who 
 had left the young wife whom he had known only for a 
 year buried in a grave on a bleak hillside, near a frontier 
 fort in Kansas, was beginning to recognize the fact that 
 he was already intensely jealous of others who dared to 
 solicit Miss Ilarrelston's favourable notice. " Confound 
 the Indian ! " he said ; " he seems to throw a shadow
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTUKE. 63 
 
 across my road. I wish one of his sudden impulses 
 would take him back, post haste, to the ' Nation.' Per- 
 haps it will." 
 
 But if Colonel Cliff could have read the mind of 
 Pleasant Merrinott at that moment he would have de- 
 spaired of any such hope. The Indian was determined 
 to remain near Alice Harrelston for a time. Ever since 
 he had seen her in her father's room at the Hotel Jung- 
 fraublick in Interlaken he had felt a strong desire to be 
 where she was to breathe the same air with her. Pleas- 
 ant was a child of nature, and the great mother had 
 brought him up to manhood pure, with all his feelings 
 untainted, with his spirit unspotted. A city-bred man 
 would have laughed at this young Cherokee's explanation 
 of his emotions. Impulsive and passionate, the youth 
 was capable of infinite suffering, and was doomed to be 
 misunderstood by commonplace people. He had not been 
 submitted to the excellent attrition of society in great 
 towns, and did not realize that the chief art in life -is to 
 dissemble. He would not have thought of concealing the 
 ardent admiration which he already felt for Alice if he 
 had possessed the courage to speak to her about it. 
 Nothing surprised him so much as that he had been timid 
 and abashed in her presence. 
 
 He had slept but little, having been more excited 
 than he had fancied possible by the weird music, and 
 as soon as he had bathed and dressed he rambled away 
 across the fields and climbed to the edges of precipices 
 and peeped over the rocks until noon, when he found 
 himself in a small village perched on a crag. There 
 he made himself much at home until late in the after- 
 noon, lunching at the house of an old peasant who 
 did not understand a word that he said, but who seemed 
 inclined to assent to everything that Pleasant alleged. 
 He explored all the cottages, turned the heads of the
 
 64 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 children by bestowing small pieces of money upon them, 
 and at four o'clock began to think about returning to the 
 Hotel Reichenbach. The children accompanied him down 
 a steep path among the rocks, and into the main high- 
 way, which wound along the mountain to the vale of 
 Meiringen. 
 
 Pleasant wandered over this road in half-bewildered 
 mood. The exquisite purity of the air, the splendour of 
 the sunlight, the deep greens of the foliage on the banks 
 high above the route, the murmuring of the crystal waters 
 as they stole out from the recesses in the rocks, the fright- 
 ened cries of the little birds as they saw a sinister hawk 
 sailing majestically in air above them, and the vast calm 
 of the deep valley below him, thrilled his soul with delight. 
 Once or twice he stopped suddenly as if trying to collect 
 his scattered senses. He was comparing his mood on that 
 particular afternoon with the wretched and discontented 
 one into which he had fallen some time before his depar- 
 ture from America, and out of which he had fancied that 
 he could never climb. What was the cause of these 
 sudden lights and perfumes which had invaded his whole 
 being? Surely the world was a good world and fair to 
 look upon, and he felt almost ashamed of the despairing 
 declaration which he had made in the Kursaal Garden, and 
 which had been overheard by Mr. Harrelston. Was he 
 not neglecting the business on which he had come abroad ? 
 Had he not forgotten the important character of his self- 
 appointed mission ? What was it his duty to do ? 
 
 While he was thus questioning himself for the hun- 
 dredth time, he found that he was approaching a comfort- 
 able-looking inn, over the central door of which was a 
 sign bearing, in German text, these words "The Chalet 
 L'Ami." On a broad, green terrace a few feet above the 
 road a group of waggoners were drinking red wine under 
 the spreading boughs of an ancient tree ; a fat and frowzy
 
 ALICE HAS AK ADVENTURE. 65 
 
 landlord was watching the gambols of two puppies ; and 
 a baby, guarded by a little girl five or six years old, was 
 dipping its hands in the clear water in a horse-trough, and 
 laughing loudly at each splash and ripple. 
 
 Pleasant sat down in a tiny arbour which overlooked 
 the valley, and the landlord came shuffling to him, and gave 
 him a sharp look. Then he said, in English so bad as to 
 be barely comprehensible, that there was a cave in the 
 woods behind the chalet, and that no tourist failed to visit 
 it. And what would the gentleman drink? 
 
 The young Indian ordered a pint of wine, paid for it, 
 left it untouched on the table, and set out for the cave. 
 As he followed the weedy path into a small patch of 
 forest, a cool gust of wind smote his temples, and far off 
 among the crags he heard a sound as of rumbling 
 thunder. He fancied, too, that for an instant the sky 
 grew quite dark. 
 
 Ten minutes of rapid walking brought him to a wooden 
 portico, within which were one or two shaky seats, and 
 from this point he could see that what the landlord had 
 described as a cave was really an immensely long and very 
 narrow canon, at the bottom of which the river Aar was 
 roaring with impatience to get down to the lakes. An 
 earthy scent came up from this caSon, which seemed 
 full of lurking shadows. " I will go into it presently," 
 thought Pleasant, as he sat down and leaned his head, 
 a trifle wearily, against the wooden railing. But before 
 he had contemplated the yellow and green mosses on the 
 rocks near him for two minutes, he fell asleep. 
 
 At that moment Alice Harrelston was seated on a rocky 
 shelf at the bottom of the canon, listening delightedly to 
 the strange stories of gnomes and fairies told her by a 
 diminutive guide, clad in homespun garments. She had 
 left the hotel in company with Colonel Cliff for a stroll on 
 the mountain road, and they had found their way together
 
 66 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 into the canon. Alice was so impressed with its weirdness 
 and beauty that she had requested the good Colonel to 
 return to the inn at Meiringen, order the carriage, and 
 bring the other ladies to join her. 
 
 " Then we can drive down in the cool of the evening, 
 after having seen the effect of sunset over the valley," she 
 'said. "I will remain here and talk with this mite of a 
 guide until you come back." 
 
 Colonel Cliff would have obeyed had Alice ordered him 
 to crawl on his hands and knees from the canon to Inter- 
 laken. He set out at once, and had just turned a corner 
 on the highway when Pleasant arrived at the Chalet 
 L'Ami. 
 
 Alice knew the German language almost as well as 
 English and French, but she found it somewhat difficult 
 to follow the stories which the quaint little guide told 
 her. In every sentence there was a barbarism which re- 
 quired explanation. But the boy, who was proud of his 
 employment, and who fancied that his German was unex- 
 ceptionable, sat with his feet curled up, like a Turk, at a 
 respectful distance from Alice, and recited the legends 
 which he had heard from the lips of the " oldest inhabit- 
 ants " in the Hasli Thai. He told her that the gnomes, 
 whose homes are in glittering palaces of gold and silver 
 and crystal in the hearts of the mountains, once came to the 
 valley to visit men, and that many a peasant, when trudging 
 homeward with his kine, or when ploughing a field, had 
 seen the merry dwarfs perched on a tree bough or on a rock 
 .near him. From that very grotto in which Alice was now 
 sitting, the gnomes had often come up to the light of day, 
 said the guide. Ay, and if the sons of men had not mal- 
 treated them and driven them away, they would come now 
 as of old. The wicked peasants played tricks upon the 
 innocent and friendly gnomes ; they sawed the tree 
 branches half in twain, so that when the dwarfs came to sit
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTURE. 67 
 
 upon them they would get a fall ; and they strewed hot 
 ashes on the rocks where the strange beings loved to dis- 
 port. And when the gnomes saw these things, they lifted 
 up their voices, and cried, " wie ist der Hinimel so hoch 
 und die untreue so gross heute Melier und nimmermehr 1 " 
 (" How high are the heavens, how great is man's ingrati- 
 tude ! let us leave to-day, and nevermore return ! ") The 
 peasants have never seen them since that mournful cry was 
 uttered. Good little men were they ; kindly to farmers 
 who were kind to their beasts and honest with each other. 
 The gnomes loved the chamois, and protected it from the 
 hunter. " Ach ! " said the guide, " my grandfather once 
 told me of a hunter who was pulled over a precipice by a 
 gnome, because he persisted in hunting the chamois after 
 he had twice promised not to do so." 
 
 Miss Harrelston laughed merrily and long at the pale 
 face and lowered voice of the boy, as he told her these 
 legends of valley and cliff ; but she started uneasily as a 
 great shadow fell on the rock where they were sitting 
 a shadow so cold and dull that for an instant she almost 
 expected to see a swarm of the friendly denizens of the 
 underworld come out of it. 
 
 The guide jumped up. "There will be a storm in a 
 few minutes," he said. " Perhaps the lady would like to 
 return to the chalet? " And as he spoke, a long roll of 
 thunder and vivid flashes of lightning came to confirm his 
 prophecy. " It thundered a while ago, also," he added. 
 " This is the second warning ; we must make haste." 
 
 " Why? Is there any danger? " said Alice. " I think 
 it would be grand to see a storm here. Can we not get 
 some shelter under the edge of the rocks ? ' ' 
 
 " If the lady thinks that she will not be frightened " 
 said the mite, who admired Alice's courage. " But no ; 
 the wind is too string. I think we shall have time to reach 
 the chalet."
 
 68 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 He helped her to leave the rocky shelf, and began 
 springing lightly up the rude steps before her. Suddenly, 
 with a thunder-burst like the report of hundreds of cannon, 
 the storm swept down from the crags. The shadows grew 
 so dense that Alice could scarcely see, and she stopped, 
 trembling with fright, as the lightning darted its fierce 
 flame into the recesses. The wind shrieked and raved at 
 the top of the steep path leading out of the canon, and a 
 few broken branches from the trees above fell at her feet. 
 Then came a crash so terrific that the boy turned and held 
 out his hand to Alice, fearful lest she might make a mis- 
 step in the agitation caused by the grandeur of an Alpine 
 storm. 
 
 "No, thank you," she said, pausing on a small hillock 
 beside the path; " I can get on very well alone. Isn't 
 the storm glorious? I wish you would roll one of those 
 great stones down to the Aar ; I should like to hear it 
 rumble, and see it jump from point to point.'' 
 
 "If the lady will stand farther back I will do so," 
 answered the boy. And a moment afterward a stone 
 bounded by her and leaped recklessly along the declivity, 
 awakening strange echoes as it passed. 
 
 "Ah! that is splendid!" cried the girl. "Roll one 
 more, and then we will run for the chalet, for the rain is 
 coming." 
 
 The mite obediently threw himself on his knees, and 
 tugged stoutly at a stone which lay imbedded in the earth. 
 While he was thus occupied a flash of lightning so startled 
 Alice that she stepped down from the hillock and forward 
 into the path. Then she heard a loud shout, and looked 
 up to the enntrace of the canon. 
 
 In unsettling the stone at which he was tugging, the 
 boyish guide had loosened the supports of a huge boulder, 
 and was horrified to see that it was toppling over, and in 
 a moment would bound down the narrow pathway, sweep-
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTUBE. 69 
 
 ing everything before it. He had but just time, by an 
 adroit movement, to whirl himself to one side ; and, 
 glancing at Alice, he screamed with fright as he saw that 
 she had stepped into the path. The immense stone turned 
 over with a creak, and started remorselessly on its way, 
 as the guide cried 
 
 "Oh, Herr Je ! what have I done ? She will be killed ! 
 Take care ! Step back ! " And in his fear he threw 
 himself on the ground, and shudderingly watched the 
 dreadful mass as it moved downward into the shadows. 
 
 ' ' Back ! for your life ! back ! ' ' shouted a louder and 
 more resolute voice ; and Alice, although confused and 
 alarmed, obeyed it. 
 
 The mighty stone rushed past her as if it were a missile 
 hurled from the hand of a Titan. She stood, blankly 
 staring at it for a minute, until it disappeared, then, 
 comprehending the danger which she had escaped, her 
 strength gave way, and she sank down on the hillock in 
 a dead faint. 
 
 The mite, pale with apprehension, ran to her, and was 
 raising her, when he was swept away by a strong arm, 
 and recoiled in terror from the apparition of a tall, dark- 
 faced man, with long, flowing black hair, who gathered 
 the girl up in his strong arms as if she were as light as a 
 feather, and leaped quickly from rock to rock to the outer 
 entrance of the canon, where he disappeared. The mite's 
 first thought was that a supernatural being had come to 
 carry off the maiden ; but presently he saw a broad- 
 rimmed hat tying on the ground, and, concluding that the 
 person who had dropped it in his haste must be human, 
 he picked it up, and rather dejectedly made his way into 
 the open air to restore it to its owner. 
 
 Pleasant had been awakened from his nap by the 
 storm, and his first thought had been to take refuge in 
 the canon. As he stepped forward into the entrance, the
 
 70 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 lightning had shown him the whole situation at a glance. 
 He saw Alice, and divined her peril, for his quick eye 
 detected the movement of the boulder before the guide 
 had seen it. He had not thought it possible that she 
 could escape unharmed, and even after he had borne her 
 into the light, and had seated her on a bench under the 
 wooden portico, he expected to see signs of some ugly 
 wound. In his anxiety he threw himself on his knees 
 before her, and violently pressed one of her hands to 
 bring her to consciousness. Just then a gust of wind and 
 rain passed through the valley, and the cool drops which 
 fell upon the face of Alice revived her. She opened her 
 eyes, and was naturally very much surprised to find the 
 young Indian holding her hand and kneeling at her feet. 
 A faint flush stole into her pale cheeks. She withdrew 
 her hand hurriedly, and arose. 
 
 "I am glad you are better, Miss Harrelston," said 
 Pleasant, speaking very fast, but not so rapidly that his 
 words could keep time with the beating of his heart. 
 "You had fainted. You must forgive me. I was try- 
 ing to bring you back to life. I well I you had 
 a narrow escape from that rock. It was dreadful for a 
 moment. It made my blood run cold. Can I shall I 
 what can I do to help you? You must not stand here 
 in the rain." 
 
 Alice pressed her hands to her forehead. She re- 
 membered now. "Was it you who shouted the first 
 time?" she said, dreamily. 
 
 "Yes. I hope I didn't frighten you; but I I was 
 right alarmed myself." 
 
 " It was your shout that saved me," said Alice. 
 
 Plcasant's dark face was quite radiant for a moment ; 
 but it grew sombre again as Alice said 
 
 " I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Merrinott. I 
 was quite quite dizzy down there. It was very foolish
 
 ALICE HAS AN ADVENTURE. 71 
 
 of me to remain there, while Colonel Cliff returned to 
 Meiringen for the other ladies. I I think I will try 
 to reach the chalet before the rain comes more heavily." 
 
 And looking around, she caught sight of the penitent 
 mite, and motioned him to precede her. Pleasant stood 
 aside to let her pass. 
 
 " I am sorry that I have no umbrella to offer you," he 
 said. " But an umbrella in the Swiss mountains " 
 
 "Would seem like an insult to nature. Thank you 
 very much again for your kindness, Mr. Merrinott." And 
 she tripped quickly away through the wet grass, quite 
 unlike a young woman who had fainted five minutes 
 before. 
 
 The Indian stood gazing after her, and started half 
 guiltily as she turned and held up one hand. 
 
 "Perhaps I may ask you not to mention my little 
 adventure in the cave when when you return to the 
 hotel," she said. "My mother is very nervous, and it 
 would shock her." 
 
 He bowed his obedience. 
 
 The rain was merciful, and Alice was able to reach the 
 chalet without a drenching. As they were entering the 
 yard, the mite, who had not ventured to speak before, 
 observed 
 
 "If it had not been for that black-looking gentleman, 
 I don't know what would have happened. But he gave 
 me a famous start. When he caught you up in his arms 
 and ran out of the place, I thought that he was the " 
 
 ' ' Caught in his arms you you little monster ! ' ' 
 said Alice. " How dare you? Do you know what you 
 are saying ? ' ' 
 
 He shrank away from her as if he feared her anger. 
 But when she was comfortably seated in an arm-chair 
 in the landlady's private room, and had instructed the 
 hostess to inform her of the approach of -her friends as
 
 72 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 soon as they were in sight, she called the mite to her, 
 and said 
 
 " Now tell me how it happened, and ever3*thing exactly 
 as it was after after I fainted, or I I shall scold 
 you for your carelessness." 
 
 And he was still telling her the story when it was 
 announced that the carriage was in sight.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 THE GENTLE SAYAGE. 
 
 COLONEL CLIFF came hurrying into the chalet, his manly 
 face betraying real anxiety. The rain was now falling 
 heavily, and the vast sheets of water were from tune to 
 time blown down the valley by a roaring wind. 
 
 " Are you drenched? " cried the Colonel, displaying a 
 carriage blanket which he carried on one arm. " It was 
 all my fault. I shall never forgive myself for leaving you 
 there." 
 
 Alice looked up at him quickly, with a slight expres- 
 sion of vexation in her eyes. She thought she detected 
 undue agitation in the Colonel's manner. It was not the 
 first time that he had shown an extreme solicitude for her 
 comfort, and she rightly interpreted it as the sign of an 
 earnest affection. This filled her with a vague sense of 
 alarm and disquiet. But she carefully concealed from 
 him these sudden impressions, and answered, gaily 
 
 "The storm has done me no harm, Colonel. This 
 little man warned me in time, and we have been snugly 
 ensconced here since the rain began." 
 
 She had warned the mite anew not to allude to her 
 adventure in the canon, and he had promised absolute 
 secrecy. After she had taken his promise, she questioned 
 herself as to her motive in doing so. Why should she 
 
 73
 
 74 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 conceal so trivial an occurrence from her friends ? What 
 was it to them or to her that the young Indian was at 
 hand to warn her of her danger? She would tell Caro. 
 No, she would not ! A blush stole into her cheek as she 
 thought again and again of Pleasant Merrinott at her 
 feet, holding her hand pressed in his, and the shock that 
 she felt when she recovered from her unconsciousness and 
 saw him ! No ! she could describe it to no one. 
 
 "Of course mamma did not come with you, as she saw 
 that a storm was brewing," she said, taking the blanket 
 from the Colonel's hand and throwing it over her pretty 
 shoulders with a graceful gesture which he observed with 
 adoring eyes. 
 
 " No. Your mamma had retired to her room, and we 
 thought it best not to disturb her. But that good soul, 
 Mrs. Merlin, is here." 
 
 "And Caro?" 
 
 "Bent over the piano with the Stanislas. Do you 
 know, Miss Harrelston, that the musician has something 
 sinister in his face? The more I see of him the more I 
 am inclined to be afraid of him." 
 
 " How strange ! " said Alice. " That is the feeling that 
 I have. There are moments when he makes me shudder. 
 I feel, when I am looking at him, just as I do in presence 
 of some beautiful and noble wild animal that eyes me from 
 behind the bars of its cage. I cannot help trembling. 
 But I suppose we are very absurd, for I have always 
 heard Herr Stanislas spoken of as a pattern of a man." 
 
 "That's it," remarked the Colonel dryly. "That's 
 just it. He's too too much of a pattern. Men of 
 genius like Stanislas ought to have some grand irregularity 
 some safety-valve. He is like a volcano that has been 
 slumbering a long time, but around the summit of which 
 a menacing shimmer of fire always hovers. It would not 
 do to say it to the Merlins, however "
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 75 
 
 " No : Caro worships him." 
 
 " Who's like a volcano? " said Mrs. Merlin, coming in 
 at that moment. "Why, Alice dear, how your eyes 
 shine ! You hain't seen no ghosts up here in the mountains, 
 have you? Jest look at the Colonel, letting his umbrella 
 drip all over this clean floor ! You can judge how it rains, 
 Alice ; we spiled that umbrel comin' from the carriage to 
 the door. But it's goin' to break away. Yer mother's 
 gone ter lie down, so we didn't tell her that you was up 
 here, gettin' ketched in a storm. Caro's tied to the piano, 
 with Stanislas a moonin' away over it wuss 'n last night ; 
 and you 'n' I won't stir from here till the rain stops, 
 will we, child? " 
 
 She sat down in an arm-chair, and, as if she expected 
 no answer to her question, drew a bundle of crochet-work- 
 from her pocket, and began to occupy her nimble fingers 
 with it. Colonel Cliff, after a few moments of conversa- 
 tion about the rain, left the room, saying that he would 
 notify the ladies when the return to Meiringen was practi- 
 cable. As his tall form disappeared, Mrs. Merlin laid 
 down her work, looked up at Alice, who was standing at a 
 window near her, and remarked 
 
 "There goes one of the nicest men that ever lived. I 
 never set eyes on him till last night, but I know he's 
 jest as good as gold. American army officers always are 
 gentlemen leastways, I never see any that wasn't." 
 
 " Father thinks Colonel Cliff is a sterling man," said 
 Alice. " Sterling is the highest complimentary adjective 
 in father's vocabulary." 
 
 "Your father's right. The Colonel's the kind of a 
 man, now, that would sacrifice himself, as easy as not, for 
 anybody 't he was fond on. He's a model. But human 
 natur's curious. There's Stanislas : he's jest as full of 
 genius ez he can stick, but I don't believe he's trust- 
 worthy ; yet he's twice as interestin' as the Colonel.
 
 76 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 There's the Injun ; no doubt he's a perfect pack of mis- 
 chief, and can't control himself no more'n a wild beast 
 can ; but he's ever so much more interestin' than the 
 Colonel. Don't you think so yourself? " 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Merlin, I hadn't thought of making such 
 comparisons. And you say that you distrust Herr Stanis- 
 las? Why?" 
 
 " Instinct, my dear child, instinct. There's somethin' 
 wrong about his natur' , radically wrong ; but we must 
 look at the artist side of the'crittur, I suppose. That's 
 what I tell Caro. If I thought that she could be interested 
 in him in any other way, I'd send him packin', mighty 
 quick." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin's emphatic tone amused Alice. " Do you 
 think Caro could learn to adore the man, rather than the 
 artist?" she said. 
 
 " She can't," was the confident answer. " My daugh- 
 ter's wedded to her profession ; nothing else can turn her 
 head. You may be sure that she rates Stanislas jest 
 right. You ask her some day, and you'll see ! Mercy on 
 us ! what a crash ! " 
 
 The two women shivered as a grand peal of thunder, 
 heralded by a superb flash of lightning, echoed through 
 the long valley. It was the storm's announcement of its 
 departure. In a few minutes the rain had ceased, the 
 vapours had arisen, and the sun came forth in splendour 
 to flood the hills and valleys with light before he dropped 
 below the western horizon, and retired for the night. 
 Alice threw open the window and looked out on the green 
 banks, jewelled with millions of rain-drops ; on the stream, 
 discoloured, swollen, and brawling, which rushed away to 
 the plain as if alarmed by the neighbourhood of the tur- 
 bulent mountains ; and at the vast and stone-ribbed sides 
 of the Briinig in the distance. 
 
 " I wonder where the Injun is about now? " said Mrs.
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 77 
 
 Merlin. "If he's in the mountains he's got a good 
 duckin' ; but I don't s'pose he'd mind it. He hain't ben 
 seen at the house sence morning." 
 
 Alice turned from the window, laughing merrily. A 
 picture of Pleasant in the canon, huddling in a corner to 
 escape the rain, and blown upon by melancholy winds, 
 suddenly arose before her. 
 
 "What are you laughin' at the Injun?" asked 
 Caro's mother. "Why, there he is, now!" she added, 
 rising and pointing to a tall figure passing with elastic 
 step by the window. 
 
 She went out to the porch to meet him, but Alice did 
 not follow her. In a few minutes Mrs. Merlin came back. 
 
 " He's dry as a bone," she said. " The Colonel asked 
 him ef he'd ride down with us, but he said he'd ruther 
 walk. Yes, he actually said ruther. He hasn't got much 
 sense of gallantry. Said he'd ben promenadin' the hills 
 all day, and liked it. He looks quite quite poetic-like ; 
 mebbe he isn't so savage as we think he is." 
 
 " A gentle savage," said Alice. " What a fascinating 
 study ! But Colonel' Cliff tells us that Mr. Merrinott is 
 far from gentle when he is aroused." And she repeated 
 to Mrs. Merlin the story which the Colonel had told her 
 father and herself of the wild feud in which Pleasant had 
 been engaged in the Indian Territory. 
 
 "Yes; wal " said Mrs. Merlin, in philosophic vein, 
 " I s'pose mebbe he's killed a man or two. Most folks 
 down there have." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Merlin! how can you say such a horrible 
 thing? If I thought that man's hands were stained with 
 the blood of one of his fellow-creatures, I could never 
 endure the sight of him again ! ' ' 
 
 She shuddered ; and Mrs. Merlin felt that she had 
 produced an unpleasant impression on the girl's mind. 
 So she said, caressingly
 
 78 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "But, law! I don't know anything about it. The 
 young man may be as pious as if he was studyin' for the 
 ministry, for all I 't have heard to the contrary. I'm 
 sure he treated me with the greatest attention. All I do 
 say is that any man that kerries such eyes in his head 
 as Mr. Merrinott does '11 need a mighty deal of tamin' 
 before he settles down for good. Now you jest bear in 
 mind what I tell you ! ' ' 
 
 His eyes ? Alice remembered their varied expressions 
 very well. When she had first seen him, in her father's 
 room in Interlaken, his eyes had a wild, furious look, 
 which she did not like, and which she had never before re- 
 marked in any other human being. But as she knew that 
 the fierce blood of the Gherokees ran in Pleasant's veins, 
 she thought she could understand what that look meant. 
 It expressed the rage of a race that had been ill-treated, 
 robbed, driven from one home in quest of another, and 
 now fairly at bay. But the second time that she had 
 met him, in the tiny parlour of the inn at Meiringen, his 
 eyes glowed with a deep, intense passion of which she was 
 not afraid, and which she instinctively respected. He had 
 looked at her with the frankness, and, at the same time, 
 with the timidity of a child. Then his eyes were, as 
 Alice imagined his mother's might have been, filled 
 with a languid and bewitching tenderness, behind which 
 slumbered fires of anger and resentment. And the eyes 
 of the man, as they gazed up at her in that one stirring 
 moment when he was at her feet ; ah ! the eyes of the 
 gentle savage were full of mysteries then mysteries 
 which Alice felt herself for the moment incompetent to 
 fathom. 
 
 Colonel Cliff came to tell them that they might now 
 venture abroad, and they drove slowly down the mountain- 
 side in the splendour of the sunset. Alice was silent, and 
 the Colonel, who always respected her moods, made no
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 79 
 
 attempt at conversation. Mrs. Merlin gossiped now and 
 then, expecting no responses. Alice felt her heart filled 
 with a strange happiness, for which she could assign no 
 cause. Nature seemed to her to possess a new and deeper 
 significance than ever before. The majestic mass of rock 
 over which the Alpbach poured, and through the crevices 
 of which it seemed to tear and rend its way, awoke in her 
 soul the same sensations aroused by the stately resonance 
 of harmonious chords of music. The beautiful plain, with 
 the river winding along it, reminded her of the quiet close 
 of some memorable symphony. She heard the melodious 
 tinkling of cow-bells, and the deep, melancholy notes of 
 an Alpine horn, and the rustle of rain-laden leaves on the 
 bank, and the twitter of drenched birds saluting the 
 grateful warmth of the departing sun, and the merry 
 shouts of rosy-faced children playing by the brook's side 
 as if they were all parts of a grand refrain. Now and 
 then a sigh rose to her lips, and tears stood in her eyes, 
 as if she were strongly excited by the music of Nature. 
 Everything pleased and contented her ; the cottages under 
 the spreading boughs of the ancient trees had seemed to 
 her prosaic and rather gloomy as she walked up the 
 mountain with Colonel Cliff ; but now they appeared 
 romantic and cool Arcadian retreats. The fable of the 
 gnomes seemed real to her ; she half expected to see weird 
 little men peering from the hollows of the rocks, or vault- 
 ing from bough to bough in the trees. And all the time 
 there was in her heart a strange longing for something 
 indefinite, unknown, in the future, something which would 
 make life a perpetual joy. 
 
 When they reached the hotel, the sun had disappeared, 
 and the shadows had already settled over the village of 
 Meiringen, and around the tower of its ancient church. 
 At the Reichenbach Hotel silence reigned ; Stanislas had 
 evidently left the piano ; and the guides had retired for
 
 80 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 their evening meal. Suddenly out of this tranquillity 
 arose a fresh and powerful young voice, a delicious so- 
 prano, that soared and hung in the sky, and seemed to 
 make the very hills listen. Alice heard it with mute 
 ecstasy; the Colonel lent a critical ear, and murmured 
 two or three " Bravos ! " but practical Mrs. Merlin lifted 
 up her voice, and cried 
 
 "Carol" 
 
 "Yes, ma." 
 
 " What did the doctor tell you before we left Paris? " 
 
 " Not to shag. But it's no use ; I can't help it. It 
 worries me more than it rests me to keep silence. Stanis- 
 las thinks so too." 
 
 And Miss Caro came running down to meet them, 
 singing as she came. "Don't scold, mother," she said. 
 " I am so happy to-day that I can no more help singing 
 than a bird can keep from flying." 
 
 " Wai, I'm glad we're goin' for a mountain excursion 
 to-morrow, where there are no pianos," said the mother. 
 "Your cheeks are flushed, and your nerves are a-dancin'. 
 I declare I can't leave } r ou a minnit. You'll be in a 
 racin' fever, first thing I know ! " 
 
 " The noble red man came in just ahead of you," said 
 Caro to Alice, " and he is in the parlour doing the agree- 
 able to your mother, who has got up with the headache 
 that she went to rest with. I think he means to make her 
 invite him for the excursion to-morrow." 
 
 This was said in a low voice, but Colonel Cliff over- 
 heard it, and made a wry face as he went upstairs. 
 
 Alice and C'aro looked in at the parlour door, and found 
 Pleasant standing l>olt upright before the piano, talking in 
 animated fashion to Mrs. Harrelston, who was laughing 
 heartily, and whose headache seemed to have been momen- 
 tarily dispelled. When he saw Alice his voice fell, and 
 his ease of manner departed. She felt abashed and
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 81 
 
 nervous ; for a moment it seemed to her almost wicked to 
 keep their meeting at the canon a secret from her mother 
 and the others. But he greeted her presently, as if he 
 had not seen her since the concert, and then sat down 
 awkwardly, as if expecting her to say something. Caro- 
 came to the rescue. 
 
 " Our little party is all alone in the house to-night,"" 
 she said. " The English and Americans, in gray ulsters, 
 and yellow ulsters, and striped ulsters, are gone ; the 
 chattering French are gone. The landlord says the hotel 
 is exclusively ours. Think of it ! "We are the only guests 
 at the table d'hote, and for us only the Reichenbach fall 
 will be illuminated this evening." 
 
 " And charged in our bills as ' illumination,' one franc 
 and fifty centimes each," responded Colonel Cliff, peep- 
 ing in. 
 
 " Monster ! ' ' said Alice. " Don't spoil our fair young 
 dream with your cynicism. How dare you mention francs 
 and centimes in this happy Valley of Rasselas? " 
 
 " I hide my diminished head," said the Colonel, hum- 
 bly. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Merrinott," exclaimed Mrs. Harrelston, 
 " your story must not be spoiled because these merry folks 
 have arrived. Please tell me some more about the peas- 
 ants that you met in the village. I believe that you have 
 really driven my headache away." 
 
 But Pleasant had forgotten how to be amusing. Alice 
 absorbed his attention. The girl was not slow to perceive 
 this, so she quietly left the parlour. The young Indian 
 brought his story to a hasty conclusion, and gave Mrs. 
 Merlin an opportunity, for which she was anxious, to talk 
 about everything in general and nothing in particular 
 until the dinner-bell rang. 
 
 Stanislas came to the table with an open letter, written 
 on odd-looking green paper, in his hand.
 
 82 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Quel ennui!" he said. " I bad promised rm-self great 
 pleasure in the excursion to the Grimsel to-morrow, but 
 I must go to London at once. The wretch who manages 
 my business arrangements has promised me for a grand 
 concert at Lady Somebody's house early next week. Can 
 you understand a Lady Somebody who has the taste to 
 give a concert after Parliament has risen and all the 
 fashionable world has gone grouse shooting? But I am 
 the slave of my agent, and I must go. Will Mrs. Harrels- 
 ton forgive me? " 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston said that she would, and expressed the 
 conventional regrets. She was not fond of Stanislas, and 
 the truth was that she saw his departure with pleasure. 
 
 " This wicked letter has followed me from Lucerne and 
 found me out, although I took a roundabout course to get 
 here so that no one should ' ' 
 
 " Strike your trail," suggested Pleasant. 
 
 ' ' Succeed in following me and annoying me with 
 business," concluded the musician. "AUons I let us dine ; 
 and, Miss Caro, I will give you, over the dessert, the advice 
 which I had promised you for to-morrow." 
 
 The company was merry during dinner, and Pleasant 
 was glad to receive an invitation from Mrs. Ilarrelston 
 for the excursion to the Grimsel. He saw Alice looking 
 gravely at him as he accepted, and this confused him so 
 unaccountably that he upset the tiny cup of coffee which 
 the servant had just placed before him. 
 
 ' ' That is the first time we have seen him do anything 
 ireally gauche," said Mrs. Ilarrelston to her daughter, when 
 they were in their private room putting on their cloaks 
 for the walk to the waterfall. 
 
 They found Stanislas standing beside a carriage when 
 they came down to the gate of the little garden. " I have 
 decided to go at once," he said. "This brave fellow re- 
 turns to Interlakeu with his team to-night, and I have
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 83 
 
 engaged him. -I shall think out some new music as I ride 
 along in the moonlight, for the moon will be up presently, 
 but not soon enough to put out the mimic fires of your 
 illumination. Good-bye, everybody ! Mademoiselle Caro, 
 I shall see you in Paris in December." 
 
 " Not until then ? " cried Mrs. Merlin in dismay. "Why, 
 you promised us a visit for the last of September." 
 
 "Alas! I am no longer my own master. Blame the 
 wretch in London, Mrs. Merlin. For the next three 
 months it is concerts concerts everywhere ! And shall 
 I take any message to Mr. Harrelston in Interlaken? " 
 
 He turned lightly to Alice, with his travelling cap in 
 his hand. 
 
 ' ' We have sent a letter to papa asking him to join us 
 here," said Alice. "We think the air will do him good." 
 
 Pleasant, who was sitting on a wooden bench in the 
 shadow of the garden palings, looked up hastily as he 
 heard this. He wondered what Mr. Harrelston would say 
 to him when he found him in the company of his wife and 
 daughter. 
 
 Stanislas rolled away in his carriage, leaving the land- 
 lord bowing and scraping, and murmuring, "What an 
 honour for my poor house ! ' ' Then a bell rang noisily, 
 and Pleasant was surprised to find Miss Caro standing in 
 front of him, saying 
 
 "Mr. Merrinott, will you kindly give me your escort? 
 That is the signal that the men have left for the falls with 
 their lights. Come, ma." And Pleasant found himself 
 walking along the darkened road between Mrs. Merlin 
 and Caro. 
 
 They stopped on a small wooden bridge over the tor- 
 rent not far from the hotel, and there Alice and her 
 mother and Colonel Cliff joined them. They heard the 
 roar of the Reichenbach fall, but could see nothing. 
 
 " It's more impressive when you can't see it," said the
 
 84 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Colonel. " The idea of burning blue lights in front of a 
 Swiss mountain stream ! " 
 
 " There ! " cried Caro. 
 
 The mountain side was brilliantly lighted up ; the 
 Reichenbach sprang out of the blackness, and was seen 
 leaping and foaming among the rocks. Now it was blood- 
 red, now purple, now green, now violet, and at last in- 
 tensely white. Then the lights went out. 
 
 " I like the darkness best," said Pleasant. 
 
 " Don't frown on the moon, Mr. Merrinott," remarked 
 the Colonel. ' ' For see there she comes, peeping timidly 
 over the horizon ' ' 
 
 " As if she had heard 'you express your preference for 
 the dark, and were half inclined to go back again," 
 observed Caro. 
 
 " She is not afraid of me," said Pleasant. " She has 
 been with me on many a hunting excursion at night, and 
 has helped me through marshes and over hills. Come 
 back here at midnight and see what she can do in the 
 line of illumination. I reckon it would take a hundred 
 million Roman candles to equal one of her beams." 
 
 " Oh ! but you see the landlord couldn't charge for the 
 moonlight, and he can for the candles," was Mrs. Merlin's 
 remark. " Let's go in ; I'm all of a shiver." 
 
 Caro managed adroitly to take possession of Colonel 
 Cliff as they turned homeward, and to bring Alice and 
 Pleasant together, leaving the two mothers to follow in 
 the rear. The Indian offered his arm to Alice as if he 
 feared that she would not take it, and stumbled against 
 a stone in the road as he did so. Miss Harrelston was 
 amused at his trepidation. It consoled her a trifle for her 
 own, which she felt whenever she thought of the canon 
 and her adventure. As they approached the hotel her 
 escort said, in a very low voice 
 
 " You did not tell your mother? "
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 85 
 
 " No. Do you think I ought to do so? " 
 
 "Certainly not; that is I reckon what is your 
 idea?" 
 
 "There is nothing to tell," she said, rather coldly. 
 " The gentle savage is somewhat inquisitive," she thought. 
 
 Pleasant was so abashed by her answer that he said 
 nothing else to her but ' ' Good night, ' ' as they reached 
 the hotel door. 
 
 When he went to bed, two hours later, his keen eyes 
 caught sight of a folded paper lying in the corner of a 
 stair. He picked it up, and examined it, by the dim 
 candle-light, when he reached his room. It was a letter, 
 written in French, and besides the date, at Berne, it con- 
 tained these words only : "Dear Stanislas, Come at once. 
 VERA." The words were scrawled in delicate feminine 
 script, on singular-looking green paper. 
 
 The gentle savage smiled. " I should not have read 
 this," he said to himself. " This is the letter which Mr. 
 Stanislas had in his hand when he came to the dinner-table. 
 In the hurry of going away he dropped it on the stairs. 
 Now, how am I to get it to him again? It's odd. But 
 perhaps his agent in London writes to him on green paper, 
 too."
 
 CHAPTER VIH. 
 
 A REPROOF FOR PLEASANT. 
 
 IN the morning, when Pleasant awoke and saw the green- 
 coloured letter lying on his dressing- table, he smiled again, 
 and then he fell to wondering who " Vera " could be, and 
 whether this were really the letter which Stanislas had 
 held in his hand when he came to the table d'hdte. While 
 musing, he heard a dull pattering sound on the roof of the 
 porch just under his window, and, looking out, he observed 
 that it was raining heavily. It was evident that there 
 would be no excursion to the Grimsel that day. He was 
 glad of it ; perhaps he would have a chance to be near 
 Alice, to hear her speak, to note the faint red which came 
 into her cheeks when she was engaged in animated con- 
 versation or as she listened intently, and to rest his eyes 
 on the sweet, low brow, crowned with the black and glossy 
 hair. The great mists which came sweeping through the 
 valley, blotting out the fields and trees and cottages, and 
 seeming to leave the little inn floating among the clouds, 
 pleased him, and he could have thanked them. It was 
 yet early, but he dressed hastily, and after putting the 
 green letter carefully away in a corner of his knapsack, 
 he went downstairs. No one was astir ; not even the cor- 
 rect and usually punctual head-waiter showed his white 
 and fatigued face. 
 80
 
 A EEPEOOF FOE PLEASANT. 87 
 
 Pleasant paced the corridor for half an hour, at the 
 end of which time there was a lull in the down-pouring 
 rain. He ran up to his room, came down again with some 
 towels over his arm, and went away into the mist, striding 
 along like the hard}' forester that he was. He climbed 
 to a secluded nook in the mountains, where a small pool 
 under the shadow of some great rocks was formed by a 
 torrent which found its impetuous course checked by rocky 
 barriers. There he stripped off his garments and plunged 
 into the cold, foamy water. Ten minutes later he stood, 
 a bronze demi-god, naked and dripping, on a rock, with 
 the mists circling about him. He was so absorbed in 
 thought that he narrowly escaped walking down to the 
 hotel in the primitive condition in which he had left the 
 water : he had quite forgotten his clothes. But pres- 
 ently the cold wind on his shoulders reminded him of his 
 nudity, and he made himself once more presentable, think- 
 ing, as he dressed and tried to dry his long hair ; thinking, 
 as he tied a negligent knot in the loose cravat at his 
 throat ; thinking so hard, as he pulled on his shoes, that 
 he sat for some minutes with one of them half on, with 
 his fingers in the straps and his body bent double. 
 Pleasant was making up his mind for a course of action 
 which he feared he might regret. By the time he had 
 descended the steep path to the hotel he was pretty fully 
 resolved, aud the firmness of his decision was visible in 
 his eyes. 
 
 "My! look at the Injun, bareheaded, with his hair 
 strearnin' down his back, comin' into the garden," cried 
 Mrs. Merlin from the parlour to the girls, who, merry and 
 mutinous after a night's refreshing sleep, came running to 
 the window to see if Pleasant answered to the description. 
 " Wai, I must say that he does love to tramp around in the 
 rain !" she added ; but she had no time for further criticism, _ 
 for he was at the parlour door before they could retreat.
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 kt Why, Mr. Merrinott, you are abroad early!" said 
 C'aro. " Were you out in the rain ?" She observed that 
 his hair was wet, and in his hurried toilet at the torrent 
 h3 had thrown it back from his forehead in a manner 
 which gave his face a new expression fiercer than 
 usual. 
 
 "In the rain?" he answered gaily. "I have been 
 in the creek, the bach, the stream up yonder; " and he 
 pointed to the hills. " It was delightful. When I was 
 quite alone there, with the clouds all around me, and the 
 water clashing over me, I felt as if I were the first man ; 
 us if the world were all primitive and savage as yet ; as 
 if there were no clothes, no firearms, no railroads, no 
 laws ; and as if I should come out of my bath, get warm 
 by vigorous exercise, and proceed to hunt my breakfast 
 with a stone for a weapon, as my ancestors did ! It 
 was a great sensation ! " 
 
 Caro was puzzled. She blushed, and threw out a 
 listress signal to Alice, who was also disturbed by this 
 odd burst of enthusiasm, which she hardly knew whether 
 to regard as ludicrous or fine. Mrs. Merlin spared them 
 by remarking 
 
 " Most likely you ketched cold. Takin' baths in the 
 open air in the rain ain't over-conducive to health. But 
 perhaps you're used to it at home, Mr. Merrinott? " 
 
 Oh yes; indeed, I am never afraid of the water, 
 whether it falls from the sky, or over a precipice, or flows 
 in a deep channel. But I once got into a river sooner 
 than I expected to, and now I think of it I reckon I 
 was right startled for a minute or two." 
 
 Hi' sat clown on the sofa, and, dropping his hat care- 
 lessly beside him, seemed inclined for conversation. 
 
 " Oh, was it an adventure, Mr. Merrinott? If it was, 
 please tell us about it," said C'aro, recovering courage, 
 and glancing at Alice, who seemed at first disposed to
 
 A REPROOF FOR PLEASANT. 89 
 
 leave the room, but who sat down on the piano stool the 
 moment that Pleasant began to speak again. 
 
 "An adventure? Yes, it was an adventure, right 
 stirring, for a short time. My brother was in it my 
 brother who is dead." His brow clouded and his eyes 
 flashed. The two girls looked up quickly at him, for his 
 voice had betrayed strong emotion. "I suppose you know 
 that the country I live in is but thinly settled, wild, full of 
 game a paradise for hunters. Some years ago my brother 
 and I, with five or six of our neighbours, were returning 
 from a hunting excursion, and I reckon 'twas about six or 
 seven in the morning when we came to the Grand River, 
 at the ferry opposite Fort Gibson. It was in January ; 
 there had been a cold spell, succeeded by a thaw, and the 
 ice in the stream was breaking up, and making for the 
 Arkansas, into which the Grand empties, not far below 
 the fort. It was a noble sight to see the great cakes of 
 ice jumping up and down and knocking together, or 
 thumping against the banks. AVe signalled the ferryman 
 to come over, but he didn't seem inclined to make the 
 attempt. The ferry-boat is a barge attached to a cable 
 stretched across the river by ropes fitted with pulleys, so 
 that they run along the cable when the barge is poled 
 back and forth. The current is right powerful, and the 
 ferryman, thinking of that and of the ice, hung back. 
 But we were anxious to get home, and couldn't afford to 
 wait his pleasure, so we paraded our horses up and down, 
 fired off our revolvers, and shouted, but all in vain. Just 
 as we were making a final effort, seven of the Bluelots 
 rode up. Their arrival set us to thinking of a right smart 
 lot of things besides getting over the ferry." 
 
 " Why? " inquired Mrs. Merlin. 
 
 " The Bluelots are a family of half-breed Indians, who 
 have had a feud with my family ever since we were all 
 children. Our fathers were enemies before us. I am
 
 90 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 afraid that this is not a proper thing for ladies to hear ; 
 but the Bluelots and the Merrinotts have been fighting 
 each other so long that whenever any representatives of 
 the two names meet blood is right certain to flow." 
 
 " It is horrible wicked," said Alice, rising and look- 
 ing at the young Indian with indignation in her eyes. 
 "It isn't civilized." 
 
 " Quite true ; but it is Indian." 
 
 " Please go on," said Caro. 
 
 "Well, the Bluelots, like ourselves, had been hunting; 
 the two brothers each had a deer hung over his horse's 
 back, and their five sons were not empty-handed. When 
 they rode up and saw us the brothers gave a start, and 
 began to mutter to their sons. We didn't exactly want 
 any disturbance, for we were anxious to get home, and 
 my brother and I, being the only Merrinotts in our party, 
 didn't feel strong enough to meet the seven. The oldest 
 of the Bluelot brothers by-and-by burst out laughing, and 
 he said, in Cherokee, to his partner, ' What strange com- 
 pany we meet, when we get up early in the morning.' 
 Then the whole seven laughed, and my brother put his 
 hand on his revolver, but he thought twice, and didn't 
 draw it, for just then he saw the ferryman put off and try 
 to get across to us, tempted by the additional number of 
 passengers who had arrived. 
 
 "After a powerful deal of trouble and some danger 
 the old barge swung up to the bank, and the Bluelot 
 brothers and their sons rode down to it ahead of us. 
 We made no objection, because we didn't want to in- 
 volve the hunters with us in a difficulty. There was no 
 end of work in getting the horses, and the dogs, and the 
 dead doer aboard, but when we did get untangled, and the 
 ferryman pushed off, we found the seven Bluelots on one 
 side of the barge, and our party we were only six on 
 the other. Even the horses seemed to separate by instinct,
 
 A EEPEOOF FOR PLEASANT. 91 
 
 and the Bluelot dogs showed their teeth at the Merrinott 
 dogs. But the Bluelot brothers laughed, and their laugh 
 was worse than the dogs' barking. 
 
 " The river was running mighty high, and the ferryman 
 had all he could do to keep the barge moving. ' If the 
 cable snaps, boys,' he said, ' we'll all go waltzing down to 
 the Arkansas Eiver,' as we seemed likely to do at any 
 minute. The soldiers came out from the fort and looked 
 on with interest. All at once the ferryman cried to us to 
 pick up some of the long poles lying in the bottom of the 
 barge, and to help push past a great ice-cake that looked 
 ugly. "We all took hold then, for we saw that we were 
 in danger, and the Bluelots were working alongside of us 
 before we knew it. After a little time we got past the 
 cake, and threw down the poles. One of the Bluelot boys 
 managed to drop the heavy end of his pole so that it fell 
 on one of my brother's feet. 
 
 " My brother jumped into the middle of the barge floor. 
 'You black-looking scoundrel,' said he to the Bluelot boy, 
 ' I'll teach you to drop poles on me ; ' and there were six 
 or eight revolvers out in a second. I stood up beside my 
 brother, when the father of the Bluelot boy who had made 
 the trouble reached at me and caught me up I was not 
 full-grown then. He gripped me hard and fast, I 
 reckon he held me out at arm's length and he said, ' We 
 don't want any children interfering in this fight. I'll put 
 you into the water ; ' and the next minute I was splashing 
 in the Grand River, and grasping at the slippery sides of 
 an ice-cake." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin laughed ; Caro wore a critical look ; but 
 Alice seemed deeply shocked and offended. She glanced 
 impatiently at the Indian, as he continued his story after 
 a short pause. 
 
 "Of course I was right startled, but I was so mortified 
 and so angry that my fall didn't hurt me any. There was
 
 92 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 a lump of ice, though, half as large as a log cabin, which 
 ran over me, and scraped me so hard that I fainted dead 
 away. When I recovered my senses, I was lying on the 
 bank, and the old ferryman was pouring liquor down my 
 throat. A couple of soldiers from the fort had brought 
 down some blankets, and I was covered up to the chin. 
 ' Who got me out ? ' I said. ' Your brother Elias,' answered 
 the ferryman. ' He fired two shots, and then he leapt in 
 after ye. He's gone off home for help, for he's afraid the 
 Bluelots may come back.' ' Are they whipped? ' I said. 
 ' They are. Two of them are dead as stones two of the 
 sons. The folks that was with ye turned in, and said they 
 wouldn't 'low no foolin' round men they'd been huntin' 
 with, and they helped Elias clean out the Bluelots. Yer 
 brother's the bravest man in the Cherokee Nation, but he 
 can't fight seven half-breeds.' The old ferryman's Eng- 
 lish sounded good to me when he told me these things, 
 but not so good as Elias's Cherokee language did when 
 he came back an hour afterward and told me all the 
 details of the story. Well, when I got warm once more 
 I mounted a horse and rode home, and that was all. I 
 only mentioned it because I happened to think of my 
 involuntary bath in the Grand River." 
 
 ' ' But the two men that were killed who who 
 shot them?" said Alice, with a strange anxiety in her 
 voice. 
 
 " My brother never told me that," answered Pleasant. 
 " It would be difficult to say, because it was a general 
 fight. But just two years afterward my brother was killed 
 by the Bluelots. The account is still open." 
 
 " What a nightmare story you have told us, Mr. Mer- 
 rinott ! " said Curo, sitting down on the piano stool, 
 from which Alice had moved away to the door. " Mercy ! 
 what a picture ! I can see the Grand River running 
 rapidly, with the ice-blocks bounding up and down, and
 
 A EEPKOOF FOR PLEASANT. 93 
 
 the ferry-boat toiling across, and the fight in progress. If 
 Stanislas were here he would make a symphony of it." 
 
 " And Mr. Merrinott spinnin' through the air and 
 fallin' plump into the water!" said Mrs. Merlin. "I 
 should like to see Stanislas put that in his symphony." 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Merlin," said Alice, " I can see nothing 
 laughable in this story. It seems to me full of horror. 
 Tell me, Mr. Merrinott, is that the kind of life which you 
 lead in the Indian Nation? " 
 
 Pleasant rose and took up his hat. The frown had 
 vanished from his face, and there was an expression of 
 deep regret in his eyes. " I can see, Miss Harrelston," 
 he said, humbly, " that my story has offended you. I am 
 right sorry, and I hope that you will forgive me. You 
 cannot regret my error more than I do. I am afraid that 
 I am not a companion for ladies. Yes, there are feuds on 
 the border, and I reckon there always will be. They are 
 legacies that we are forced to accept, and we grow to 
 consider them as matter-of-fact." 
 
 " Legacies which can bring only sorrow, bitterness, 
 shame, and despair," said the girl. 
 
 Pleasant looked down at the floor. Alice's words were 
 full of reproof meant for him. 
 
 ' ' There is one thing which I ought to tell you ! " he 
 said. "Justice and right in this feud are on our side on 
 my side. The Bluelots are the head and front of the party 
 which wishes to give up our independence as a nation, and 
 to become part of the population of the United States. 
 They are traitors, and they have carried on war against 
 my family for years because we have dared to tell them 
 that they are guilty of treason, and have been successful 
 in checkmating their plans. There is no way of settling 
 the dispute with them except by exterminating them ! " 
 
 "Noway?" said Miss Harrelston. Her cheeks were 
 flushed now, and she came back from the parlour entrance
 
 94 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 to the middle of the room, and spoke so quickly and 
 earnestly that Pleasant recoiled a step or two. " Do you 
 mean to say that there is no virtue in persuasion in 
 arbitration in eloquence that can keep the members of 
 two families from flying at each other's throats every 
 time that they meet because they disagree on a question 
 about land ? No way ? Mr. Merrinott, would you make 
 us think that you are savages? " 
 
 'I believe that is what we are generally called," 
 answered Pleasant, coldly. He was sorry now that he had 
 entered the parlour. Alice alarmed him ; he felt that if 
 he allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion with her 
 she would place his conduct in such a light that he himself 
 could not approve of it. But he approved of her most 
 emphatically although she was judging him harshly. 
 He thought that he had never seen a more lovely creature 
 than Alice Harrelston was, as she stood before him with 
 her face brilliant with excitement. " Let me ask you 
 once more to excuse me for introducing the subject," 
 he said. 
 
 " Mr. Merrinott," said Alice, "did you ever kill a 
 human being? " 
 
 The question was so abrupt that Mrs. Merlin and Caro 
 looked at the girl in astonishment, and for a moment 
 seemed to think her almost guilty of unmaidenly forward- 
 ness in persecuting the unlucky Pleasant, who was now 
 thoroughly ill at ease. Had they known the tremendous 
 effort which it cost Alice to ask the question, and her real 
 motive in asking it. their respect for her would have been 
 increased an hundredfold. 
 
 'Never." answered Pleasant; "I have once or twice 
 been obliged to defend myself, but I have never taken 
 a life. But I will not deceive you. When my poor 
 brother was killed as Colonel Cliff has probably told 
 vou I did mv best to "
 
 A BEPROOF FOK PLEASANT. 95 
 
 " Hush-sh," said Mrs. Merlin. " Alice, here comes 
 your mother. I don't think that it would do her any 
 good to know what we've ben talkin' about. Mr. Mer- 
 rinott, don't look so gloomy. Caro, can't you play a 
 tune with some go to it ? And's'pose we talk about 
 somethin' better 'n murders at the breakfast-table." 
 
 Caro dashed recklessly into the mazes of the Kiinst- 
 lerleben Waltz," and Mrs. Harrelston, when she came in, 
 fancied that they had all been discussing Strauss. 
 
 " No excursion for us to-day," she said. " The world 
 seems drowned. I think the hotel will float away pres- 
 ently. And, Alice, here is a letter from your father " 
 
 "Who can't come, of course. I wonder if the dear 
 old father remembers that this is the first time I was ever 
 out of his sight for three consecutive days." 
 
 "No, he cannot come. He has been summoned sud- 
 denly to Paris ; the despatch had reached him before our 
 letter arrived. He begs us to return home as soon " 
 
 "As convenient, and remains ever I know just how 
 the letter reads. Poor papa ! he is a slave to stocks and 
 checks, and first and second mortgages, and railway 
 bonds, and such horrors." 
 
 Pleasant glanced at Alice, and saw such a mischievous 
 expression on her face that he looked in the other direc- 
 tion as quickly as possible, and began biting his thin lips, 
 and nervously pushing back with one hand the long black 
 hair which fell forward on his shoulders. 
 
 Colonel Cliff came down, magnificent in a velvet coat, 
 and was prodigal of compliments to the ladies. A vague 
 sort of envy arose in Pleasant's breast. He looked the 
 Colonel over critically, and resolved to copy from him such 
 points as might seem, on mature reflection, desirable. He 
 felt a trifle humiliated after he had made this resolve, but 
 he set it down to the charge of the Fate which was now 
 pushing him on in so totally unaccountable a manner.
 
 96 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 And now Caro ceased playing the " Kiinstlerleben," 
 and they all went in to breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin stopped pouring the coffee, as she was about 
 to fill Pleasant's cup, and looked at the young man, who 
 sat next to her, with an expression of motherly solicitude. 
 
 " Your coat is damp almost wet, Mr. Merrinott," she 
 said. " You ought to change it. You'll catch cold." 
 
 " I have no other with me," he said, frankly ; " I didn't 
 expect to remain long on the road or or to present my- 
 self in company, when I started from Lucerne, and so I left 
 my baggage there. But there is no danger. I have hunted 
 for a whole day with drenched clothes on. I am a savage 
 as Miss Harrelston thinks we all are in my country in 
 one respect, at least; I am storm-proof." 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston looked at Alice as if she would like to 
 know what her daughter had been saying, but the daughter 
 was busily engaged in conversation with Caro. 
 
 "I declare to goodness," said Mrs. Merlin, " I begin to 
 feel as if we had settled down here for ever. But it won't 
 do. Caro an' I must go back to Paris to our work." 
 
 " And I must go to mine," remarked Pleasant, in a low 
 voice. ' ' This delightful this our visit here makes me 
 forget what I came to Europe for." 
 
 " That's right," said Colonel Cliff, in a burst of friend- 
 liness, which he could not explain. " Forget it for a little 
 while. It will do your soul good." 
 
 Pleasant winced, and made no answer. But when he 
 was in his room alone once more, after breakfast, he took 
 from his pocket the credentials of his " mission," the paper 
 beginning, " We, the undersigned, residents of the Indian 
 Territory and Citizens of the Cherokee Nation, hereby 
 authorize Pleasant Merrinott, Esq.," and ending with 
 the quaint and nearly illegible signatures of " Cornelius 
 Blaokfox, Felix Iledbird, Arch Sixkiller, Hurry Walkin- 
 stick," etc., and read it carefully through.
 
 A REPROOF FOR PLEASANT. 97 
 
 " No," he said ; " no, I will not forget you not even 
 for a little while my poor, abused, threatened country- 
 men - not for a minute ! My duty is first of all to you ! " 
 
 And for an instant he felt as if he had succeeded in 
 backing his Fate into a corner, and saying courageously 
 to it, "See here! What do you mean by driving me 
 about in this unceremonious fashion!"
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AROUSED. 
 
 IT rained steadily for three days, and the sweet vale 
 of Meiringen was gloomy and desolate. Pleasant came 
 and went, regardless of the storms ; but the ladies com- 
 plained of headaches, were late to breakfast, excused 
 themselves at dinner, and Caro had a slight attack of 
 fever, which so alarmed her mother that she began to 
 prepare for returning to Paris the moment that the 
 weather would permit. 
 
 " If you was to have a fit of sickness here, Caro," she 
 said, " it would worry me into my grave, an' what would 
 you do without your mother? I won't stay here a minnit 
 longer 'n I'm obliged to." 
 
 Colonel Cliff smoked innumerable cigars, read German 
 novels every morning, and spent his afternoons in seek- 
 ing opportunities for conversation with Alice. The girl 
 seemed ill at case, and the Colonel readily saw that she 
 was preoccupied. She chatted merrily with him, but it 
 was evident that she was thinking of something which she 
 could not disclose to him. Whenever Pleasant was in 
 her company, she appeared to take a certain pleasure in 
 making the gentle savage uncomfortable. lie had grown 
 more than usually shy since his unexpected burst of con- 
 lidence on the morning when he related his Grand River 
 98
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AKOUSED. 99 
 
 adventure ; and he now avoided any allusion to the Indian 
 Territory or to his people when conversing with Alice or 
 the Colonel. Alice was almost terrified one evening at 
 the fierce look which came into his eyes after she had 
 made some mildly satirical remark. She trembled, and 
 reflected that this youth had depths of passion in his soul 
 which it might not be safe to fathom. 
 
 Pleasant saw Alice often when she was unaccompanied 
 by any one except her maid, a demure little Alsatian girl, 
 who did not understand a word of English ; but he took 
 care not to allude to the adventure in the canon. It was 
 tacitly understood between them that the subject was 
 tabooed. The mere thought of it sent the hot blood into 
 Alice's cheeks, and in Pleasant's heart it awoke a sweet 
 delirium full of mingled pain and pleasure. Each day 
 he resolved that he would go away ; each day his self- 
 appointed mission seemed to call him ; and each day, just 
 as he was ready to depart, a word, a look, a gesture from 
 Alice, kept him near her. Even when she stung him with 
 the shafts of her delicate feminine wit, he felt that there 
 was a secret sympathy between them. C&ro watched 
 them now and then, while they were gossiping in the 
 parlour where she lay on the sofa wrapped in shawls, and 
 it was not long before she confided to her mother, as an 
 important discovery, the fact that the Indian was des- 
 perately in love with Alice. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " was Mrs. Merlin's response. " The Injun 
 don't know small wood from brush. He don't know his 
 own feelings. He is dazed kinder mixed up like 
 because Alice treats him civilly but that's all ! " 
 
 " Not at all," said Caro. "It's a case of love at first 
 sight. Why did he come back here to Meiringen? Be- 
 cause he had seen Alice for a moment at Interlaken 
 had fallen in love with her, and had determined to be 
 near her. A man like that would follow a woman to the
 
 100 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 end' of the world. And I really believe that Alice finds 
 his company more than agreeable. She'll think she can't 
 get along without it, unless she's care " 
 
 "There your face is all flushed again, Carol You 
 must lay still and not talk. I never see such a disobedient 
 girl as you be. Do you want to spile your future? And 
 suppose them two young folks do fall in love with each 
 other, how does that concern us, I should like to know? " 
 
 " Ma! Surely you wouldn't like to see Miss Harrelston 
 in love with an Indian ! Gracious ! What an idea ! " 
 
 "Why not? He's a mighty sight more manly and 
 interestin' than them danglin' Frenchmen that come 
 mooniii' around American girls in Paris. And for ap- 
 pearances ! Why, he's a regular statue ! " 
 
 " Yes, a bronze statue," remarked Caro. 
 
 " Well, what of his colour? Is that anything against 
 him?" 
 
 " Why, mother," concluded Miss Merlin, " you defend 
 Mr. Merriuott as if he were your own brother. I am not 
 finding fault with him ; but I think that, if Alice learns 
 to love him, she is providing herself with a nice stock of 
 misery for future use ; that's all. He's loyal and frank 
 enough now, but his nature is full of passions which he 
 does not try to control. After all, he's a savage ! " 
 
 " Caro, you're a goose ! " said the mother; " all that 
 you say is perhaps so, but Alice can take care of herself : 
 she's one of the wisest girls I ever see. And that's just 
 what her mother thinks, too." 
 
 It was true that Mrs. Harrelston had much confidence 
 in her daughter's wisdom, but that she thought it best 
 usually to supplement it with a certain amount of maternal 
 caution. It had not occurred to the good lady, however, 
 that there was the slightest occasion for warning Alice 
 against any sudden decision in favour of Pleasant Merri- 
 nott, for she fancied that the young Cherokee was dis-
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AROUSED. 101 
 
 tasteful to her daughter. Mrs. Harrelston looked upon 
 Pleasant as a curious type, whom she was not sorry to 
 study for a time, and who had many excellent and praise- 
 worthy traits ; but she did not dream that either she or 
 her daughter were likely to give him a passing thought 
 after they left Meiringen. She had listened with an 
 amused yet languid attention to the stories that Colonel 
 Cliff had told her of Pleasant' s youthful escapades in the 
 Territory, but they had made no especial impression upon 
 her mind. The Indian would pass on his way, and she 
 would forget him, as she had forgotten dozens of odd and 
 interesting people before. 
 
 On the evening of the third day the rain ceased ; the 
 mists were swept out of the valley by a strong young wind 
 which came to set the leaves dancing on the trees, the 
 long grasses mysteriously waving and nodding, and the 
 vines on the trellises trembling as if they already dreaded 
 the approach of autumn. The sun peeped out.; the guides 
 followed his example ; two or three carriage loads of trav- 
 ellers came in from Lucerne ; the porches of the inn were 
 encumbered with packages of ulsters, blankets, and shawls, 
 with metal bath-tubs, packed full of the prudent cockney's 
 baggage, with Alpine "stocks," and canes pointed with 
 steel for use in climbing glaciers, and with huge boxes 
 marked " Chicago," " St. Louis," and " St. Paul." Mei- 
 ringen resumed its wonted aspect, and the landlord of the 
 Reichenbach recovered his temper. In the morning the 
 vale swam in floods of delicious light ; a warm breeze had 
 come from Italy, and was visiting every nook and corner ; 
 the swollen torrents sang loud paeans of joy. 
 
 Alice spent the forenoon on the balcony, trying to 
 read ; but on each page of the book, as she endeavoured 
 to fix her thoughts upon it, appeared a picture of a rustic 
 portico, in the mountains, with a young girl seated within 
 it, and a youth kneeling at her feet. Mrs. Merlin came
 
 102 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 to gossip with her, but Alice felt an almost irresistible 
 desire to be alone. After luncheon, moved by a sudden 
 impulse, she called her maid, and said 
 
 " Bertine, tell mamma that I am going to walk, and will 
 take you with me ; and say that we will be back soon." 
 
 The maid presently returned with Mrs. Harrelston's 
 injunction to wear thick shoes, and not to go far, and not 
 to be gone more than an hour, and to take an umbrella, 
 and to come to her as soon as she came in. Alice dressed 
 herself in a gray walking suit, a dainty little hat, which 
 seemed to have hovered down and lighted for a moment 
 only on her beautiful tresses, as a humming-bird touches 
 a flower ; and, equipped with stout English walking boots 
 and an alpenstock, she set out merrily for the village of 
 Meiringen, followed by the meek and diminutive maid, 
 who was somewhat encumbered with umbrellas, a cloak, 
 and Alice's camp-stool and sketch-book. 
 
 Colonel Cliff, usually so vigilant, did not see them 
 depart ; Mrs. Merlin and Caro were taking a nap ; and 
 Pleasant had not been seen for hours. Alice rejoiced in 
 her freedom. She walked briskly through the quaint 
 village, where the wooden houses, with their immensely 
 broad sloping roofs, their many windows, and their pious 
 inscriptions, seemed distrustfully to eye the mountain 
 which cast its tremendous shadow upon them, and to be 
 ready to edge as far away from it as they possibly could 
 at a moment's notice. The treacherous hills have often 
 sent down torrents of mud and great masses of stone 
 upon the cottages and the streets ; and it is not odd that 
 after a hard rain the villagers and the village itself have 
 an uneasy and apprehensive look. 
 
 Miss Ilarrelston found nothing in the village which 
 she cared to sketch except an old dwarf, who scowled at 
 her so frightfully when she asked him to accord her the 
 honour of a sitting, that she left him, and made her way
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AROTTSED. 108 
 
 toward the Brunig as rapidly as she could. On the 
 mountain road she found the enjoyment which she had 
 coveted. She rambled on so fast that the maid could 
 hardly follow her, and every moss-bed full of gleaming 
 rain-drops, every quivering leaf, every glimpse of the 
 broad expanse of valley below, with its silver rift of river, 
 every green hill-side on which a brown-faced mower was 
 at work mowing where any one but a Swiss would have 
 fallen headlong upon the scythe and cut his own throat, 
 filled her with delight. When she had reached a point 
 where the road, which winds along the flanks of the 
 Brunig, made a sharp turn to the right, leaving on its 
 left a path of pine forest, clothing a pinnacle which stood 
 out above the valley and at a noble height, she stopped, 
 and waited for Bertine to come up. 
 
 " We will rest here in the woods, Bertine," she said. 
 " I will make some studies of these tree-trunks, with the 
 effects of light and shade on them and on this mossy bank." 
 
 They went into the bit of forest, and after telling 
 Bertine where to place the camp-stool, and to open the" 
 sketch-book, Alice strolled forward to the edge of the 
 pinnacle, curious to look out over the vast gulf between 
 the Brunig and the massive line of hills on the other side. 
 There was a hollow in the rock just below where she 
 stood a hollow upon which the sunlight fell and she 
 was about to ask the maid to bring the stool and sketch- 
 book there, when she saw something which made her 
 utter a faint cry of surprise and start back hastily, with 
 deep blushes crimsoning her face. 
 
 Pleasant Merrinott was seated in the hollow, on a cosy 
 stone, which seemed to have been fashioned expressly for 
 a seat. A bundle of letters and papers lay beside him, 
 and he was intently reading a journal. 
 
 ' ' How vexatious ! ' ' said Alice to herself. ' ' We are 
 certain to meet even in the most improbable places. Ber-
 
 104 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 tine must pack up the things, and we will find another 
 place to sketch." 
 
 She had turned to retire when she heard a loud cry, 
 and then a torrent of passionate invective in a language 
 which she did not understand, but which she instantly 
 suspected must be Cherokee. Her first inclination was 
 to laugh at this outburst of savage wrath in an unknown 
 and probably a barbarous tongue, so incongruous with 
 the idyllic beauty of the scene. But then came an im- 
 pression of fear, for the voice deepened, and she knew 
 that the words which it uttered were full of hatred and 
 menace. The maid came to listen, and looked around 
 timorously. 
 
 "Does not Mademoiselle think," she said, in the ex- 
 tremely bad French which she had taken pride in speaking 
 since the war between Germany and France had occurred, 
 and her parents had chosen to remain French citizens 
 " does not Mademoiselle think that we would be safer in 
 the highway ? ' ' 
 
 Mademoiselle did not know exactly what she thought, 
 and had she known, she would not have been able to ex- 
 press it, for she stepped back in much confusion as a twig 
 crackled, and Pleasant, his hands filled with letters and 
 papers, and his face clouded with wrath, sprang up out of 
 the hollow, and under a tree directly in front of the girl. 
 For a moment he did not see her, he was so occupied with 
 his own thoughts ; but the maid gave a discreet scream, 
 and he looked up. 
 
 " You here, Miss Harrelston? " he said. " Oh ! I had 
 no idea that any one was near. But I am glad you are 
 here. I know that you will sympathize with me ; I know 
 3'ou will feel the indignation that I feel." 
 
 His lips trembled, his eyes sparkled, and there was such 
 vehemence in his gestures, as he brandished the papers 
 and letters which he had that morning received from
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AROUSED. 105 
 
 Lucerne, that the maid shrank behind the mistress . and 
 pulled at her robe, as if to admonish her to come away at 
 once unless she wished to be killed and eaten. Bertine 
 had learned that Pleasant was an Indian, and therefore 
 considered this fit of rage as preliminary to a scene of 
 carnage. She trembled violently, and wished that she 
 were back in Saverne, even though the Prussians were 
 there. 
 
 " Yes," said Alice feebly. " I am here. I came out to 
 sketch. I we clidn ' t know that you were here and 
 and the noise frightened us. Was that your voice that 
 we heard a moment ago all those outcries you know?" 
 
 " Certainly. Outcries, Miss Harrelston? Let me 
 explain ' ' 
 
 "What language were they in ? " She had now recovered 
 her courage, and a faint smile flitted over her face. 
 
 "I I suppose I must have been talking Cherokee," 
 answered Pleasant. 
 
 "It's a very very rough language, isn't it? Well 
 adapted to the expression of anger, I should think." 
 
 " No," he answered, sharply. " On the contrary, it is 
 musical right musical. I am sorry that it frightened you. 
 But listen for a moment, Miss Harrelston. I know that 
 you will sympathize with me. Here is an infamy well, 
 read for yourself . This is what aroused my anger." He 
 thrust some of the letters and journals into his coat 
 pocket, and strode up to her side with two newspapers 
 open in his hand. "Look! More treachery more 
 meanness more vindictive pursuit of the Indian by the 
 white man ! Do you wonder that I am angry ? Do you 
 wonder that I am in a rage to think that I am more than 
 four thousand miles away ! Read ! " 
 
 There was the ring of command in his last word. Alice 
 took one of the papers and read the paragraph which he 
 had designated. It was a telegraphic despatch from Par-
 
 106 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 sons, Kansas, announcing that a second attempt to invade 
 the Indian Territory, as the Black Hills had been invaded, 
 was. in progress. Three or four hundred determined white 
 men from Missouri and adjacent States, united with some 
 stout settlers from Iowa, contemplated squatting on the 
 lands in the northern section of the Territory. The 
 Government troops had been ordered to prevent the ad- 
 venturers from entering, but they probably would find it 
 inconvenient to interfere. It was time that the rich lands 
 of the Territory should be opened to improvement by white 
 men. The action of these ' ' squatters ' ' would doubtless be 
 followed by a general movement for the assimilation of the 
 Indian country to those sections of the United States that 
 bordered upon it. Men and arms could be had to bring 
 the Indians, who were useless dogs in mangers, to. reason. 
 And much more of the same sort, related in the elaborately 
 sensational style peculiar to the telegraphic' correspondence 
 of newspapers. 
 
 "And here is the other! Read the other and later 
 account!" he cried, putting the second paper into her 
 hands. " Sixty of the men have crossed the frontier of 
 the Indian Territory. Two hundred more are expected to 
 follow at once ! Read ! " 
 
 Bertine, observing that her mistress was not tomahawked 
 and thrown over the precipice, plucked up heart, and 
 peered around, over Alice's arm, at the nervous and 
 excited Indian. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" said Alice, when she had 
 finished reading. "Of course I partly understand but 
 not you see, I have never been in America, and " 
 
 "What does it mean?" answered the Indian, taking 
 back the papers and crushing them in his right hand. 
 "Mean? It means that the Government of the United 
 States is a cowardly and lying Government, incompetent 
 and unwilling to keep its promises ; ready to see its most
 
 THE GENTLE SAVAGE IS AEOUSED. 107 
 
 sacred treaties trodden under foot at a moment's notice ! 
 It means that after having driven our people from their 
 homes in the South, where they were happy and pros- 
 perous, that accursed Government now proposes to drive 
 us from the lands which were deeded to us, by solemn 
 treaty, as a refuge as our own for ever and for ever 
 given to us as some slight compensation for all that had 
 been taken from us ! Mean ? It means that the white 
 man will not be satisfied until he has driven us into the 
 Pacific Ocean, and .that the time has come to make a 
 stand against him, even if we have to renew those wars 
 in which history will tell you we have not always come 
 off second best ! " 
 
 "But I never heard of all this," stammered Alice. 
 "Is it possible that such an injustice can have been com- 
 mitted, and no outcry made about it? " 
 
 Pleasant smiled as Alice looked up at him with real 
 perplexity on her face. 
 
 "No," he said, more gently than she would have 
 thought possible after his indignation. " No, you never 
 heard of it ; or if you have now and then heard it men- 
 tioned, it has not been considered of sufficient importance 
 by those who spoke of it to command their attention or 
 yours for more than a moment. There are plenty of 
 people in the United States who have never given any 
 thought to this injustice. But they have worried their 
 brains a great deal over Poland and Ireland, and the 
 Servians and the Bulgarians." A moment later he added, 
 "Perhaps the Indians have been overlooked because they 
 have never had any really great advocate of their own 
 race to urge their claims and to expose their wrongs. 
 But now it is too late to reason. Unless they make a bold 
 stand they will be crushed ; they will be whirled away as 
 these sprays of pine here at our feet will be scattered 
 before the autumn wind."
 
 108 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " And what do you mean to do, Mr. Merrinott? " 
 
 " I am going home home at once. My duty lies on 
 the other side of the Atlantic now, and 1^ must get there 
 as soon as I can." 
 
 " Home at once, Mr. Merrinott? I thought papa or 
 was it Colonel Cliff said that you had but just arrived 
 in Europe." 
 
 " That is true. But I must go to-morrow." 
 
 "Must you?" 
 
 The young Indian looked at Alice in surprise. There 
 was a tone in her voice which he had never noticed before. 
 It was full of regret of longing. Alice was gazing in- 
 tently at a mossy stone at her feet. 
 
 " Now," thought Pleasant, " is the time to tell her that 
 I love her loved her the first tune that I saw her, and 
 shall love her for ever. But I dare not." 
 
 "I sec that you are an enthusiast, Mr. Merrinott," 
 Alice said after a long silence. 
 
 " I reckon I am," responded the Indian. " I am ter- 
 ribly in earnest about this question of territory. But I 
 am sorry to have troubled you with it. I know that at 
 times my earnestness makes me ridiculous." He was 
 quite sincere in saying this, for he was morbidly self- 
 conscious. " Let us forget it for the present," he said. 
 "Ah, you were going to make some sketches, and I am 
 keeping yon from much pleasanter occupation than a dis- 
 cussion on frontier politics." 
 
 " No. The sketching is of no consequence. But I 
 should like to understand this whole question this in- 
 justice to the Indians a great deal better." 
 
 "Then it really interests you?" said Pleasant. And 
 his face was quite radiant.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A PROMISE. 
 
 THERE is nothing so inspiring as genuine sympathy, and 
 Pleasant found this eminently true in his case. He began 
 to talk to Alice on his favourite subject with diffidence 
 and with awkwardness ; but presently he saw that she was 
 deeply interested, and then he grew eloquent. Alice sat 
 down on the camp-stool, opened her book, and pretended 
 to be engaged in the reproduction of a tuft of moss not 
 far away ; but in reality she could not sketch. The 
 young Indian's voice, his large, quick, and energetic 
 gestures, and his tremendous sincerity exercised a strange 
 charm over her. Once or twice she blushed as she ob- 
 served that Bertine's eyes were fixed on her with grave 
 and almost reproachful surprise ; for she knew that the 
 maid considered it highly improper for Miss Harrelston 
 to engage in this woodland tte-a-tte with a young man 
 whom she had known but a few days. But the narrative 
 into which Pleasant had plunged was so logical and clear, 
 so filled with dramatic incidents, that Alice could not 
 have moved from the spot had she wished to do so. She 
 glanced up at the young man occasionally, and the manly 
 figure standing erect before her, the dark glowing face, 
 and the flashing eyes, pleased her. She did not attempt 
 to deny this to herself ; still, she felt it her duty once or 
 
 109
 
 110 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 twice to utter a sarcastic comment, which made Pleasant 
 bite his lips, and restrain his enthusiasm for a minute 
 or two. 
 
 An hour had passed unperceived when he finished his 
 recital with a graphic description of the injustice which 
 had culminated in the removal of the remnants of the 
 Creek, Cherokee, Chickasaw, and other tribes of Indians 
 from their Southern homes to the great territory which 
 they now occupy west of the Mississippi. He drew a 
 long breath, stepped back a few paces, and glanced rather 
 timidly at Alice, as if fearful that she might have been 
 laughing at him. Then he said 
 
 "That's all, Miss Harrelston. You asked me to tell 
 you, or I should not have thought of taking your atten- 
 tion from your sketching for such a time. But it's a 
 right long story." 
 
 " And a very sad one," said Alice. " Are you certain 
 that you do not exaggerate some of the details, Mr. 
 Merriuott ? It seems to me that you have made the white 
 man appear like a rogue." 
 
 "When I was at college," remarked the Indian, "I 
 read Chateaubriand's 'Journey in America.' Chateau- 
 briand says that he met an old Iroquois chief, who told 
 him that the white men would never be satisfied until 
 they had possession of all the land, and that they would 
 not leave the last of the Indians enough earth to cover 
 their bones. That was in 1791. The Iroquois's prophecy 
 bids fair to be fulfilled." 
 
 " Let us hope not. Surely some way out of the diffi- 
 culty can be found. You must not give way to despair." 
 
 " Ah ! the saddest feature of our decay is that we are 
 somewhat divided against ourselves. That's the reason 
 that a man of action is needed in the Nation now." His 
 eyes sparkled, and he stretched out his right arm as if he 
 held a weapon, and were about to lead an attack. "At
 
 A PROMISE. Ill 
 
 the beginning of this century, Miss Harrelston, when our 
 tribes lived in the beautiful lands in Georgia and Alabama 
 and Tennessee, the Creeks condemned to death and exe- 
 cuted one of their chiefs who- had dared to sell land to 
 the white men without having received permission from 
 the Council of the Nation. But the old spirit is gone 
 now, and I suppose I must confess that traitors are not 
 only allowed to live in our midst, but to speak their minds 
 boldly." 
 
 " You are thinking of the Bluelots now," said Alice, 
 with a gentle accent of reproach in her voice. " Of those 
 dreadful people you remember one of whom threw 
 you into the Grand River." 
 
 "If our people were the men that their fathers were, 
 the Bluelots would give us no more trouble. The 
 traitors would be hanged to the first convenient trees. I 
 reckon. They deserve death for being willing to give up 
 our lands, or to admit white people to settle upon them ; 
 for land is power everywhere, at all times. Give up the 
 land, and he who takes it becomes your master. We hold 
 our lands in common as a safeguard ; for we know that 
 the moment they can be divided, and bought and sold by 
 white men, the acres will slip from under the feet of the 
 Indian, and we shall be homeless on the face of the earth. 
 Bah ! when I think that such injustices can be consum- 
 mated it makes me feel that the world is all wrong, and 
 that the whole order of society ought to be destroyed, so 
 that men can begin over again, and build better the second 
 time!" 
 
 Alice smiled, for she remembered the account which her 
 father had given of Pleasant's ill-humour with the world, 
 as manifested in the garden of the Kursaal at Interlaken 
 the first time that he had seen him. She closed her 
 sketch-book, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up 
 at the Indian.
 
 112 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Don't you think that you are in danger of doing the 
 world injustice?" she said. "Because you are suffering 
 from a sense of wrong is it right to accuse the universe 
 in that grand general fashion? " 
 
 " I don't know what it all means," he said faintly, as 
 if the problem lay heavily upon him and crushed his 
 strength out. " I cannot see why one race should slowly 
 exterminate another : why a civilization that is barbarous 
 enough Heaven knows should be allowed to dictate 
 terms to people whom it chooses to consider barbarians, 
 and why plighted faith should not be kept when pledged 
 to a red man by a white man. It appears to me that the 
 tendency of what people are pleased to term modern 
 civilization is to assume that white human beings are 
 ordained by fate to be the eaters, and that the black and 
 yellow and red races are to be the eaten." 
 
 Miss Harrelston did not feel prepared to follow Pleasant 
 into the intricate mazes of an ethnological argument. She 
 was thinking of the Bluelots, and of the savage feud 
 between Bluelots and Merrinotts. A little picture of a 
 young man lying dead with a pistol wound in his side 
 his long black hair streaming over the flower-besprinkled 
 sward of a prairie and his enemies striding quietly and 
 sternly away from the scene of their crime, flitted before 
 her eyes. 
 
 "You are divided against yourselves, as you say, Mr. 
 Merrinott. How can that be remedied, except by dis- 
 cussion, and by persuasion? Surely that is better than 
 fighting. Oh ! I am afraid that you are going home to 
 renew the feud of which you have told us so much ! " 
 
 Pleasant looked down at the mosses and the pine 
 sprays. Alice had divined his secret thought. He longed 
 to be at home that he might checkmate the Bluelots 
 exterminate them if necessary. 
 
 "You know my sentiments about those people, Miss
 
 A PROMISE. 113 
 
 Harrelston," he said, doggedly. "It's no use repeating 
 them to you, for I reckon that you do not approve of 
 them." 
 
 Alice was silent. She had determined to exact a 
 promise from Pleasant Merrinott before he left her that 
 afternoon, but she was sorely perplexed as to the manner 
 of approaching the subject. 
 
 The sunlight poured in through a cleft in the pines, 
 and Alice's fair young head was transfigured by the 
 radiance. Pleasant looked so earnestly at her that she 
 felt uneasy, and arose. Bertine started forward to shut up 
 the camp-stool and take the sketch-book ; and now that 
 Miss Harrelston prepared to depart, Pleasant suddenly 
 remembered that this was the last day that he should see 
 her, and that he had decided to tell her of his love. But 
 while the very words of confession were at his lips, he 
 was rendered speechless by the doubt which arose 
 gigantic, shadowy in his mind, as to his right to speak 
 of his affection. The news which he had received from 
 the Territory had revived all his passion for his race, his 
 prejudices, his Indian pride. He was called anew to enter 
 upon the active duties of his mission. Was this the 
 moment in which to tell a woman of the white race that he 
 loved her deeply, irrevocably, passionately ; that in the few 
 days since he had first seen her, she had usurped complete 
 control over his being ; that her image was before him day 
 and night ; and that, in short, she epitomized the universe 
 for him? Was it not rather his duty to tear his love for 
 her out of his heart ; to fly from the enchantment to which 
 he had been subjected from the first moment of his meet- 
 ing with Alice ? He was amazed at his sudden change of 
 front. He suddenly became as resolved not to tell her 
 of his love as he had been, twenty-four hours before, that 
 she should know it. She noticed the change in his face, 
 and fancied that she had offended him.
 
 114 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " I hope you will not mind my silly comments on your 
 affairs," she said. " I presume I say just what I should 
 not say if I had had better opportunities for studying the 
 situation of your people." 
 
 " I fear I have done something wrong, Miss Harrelston," 
 said Pleasant. " Your little servant is looking at me with 
 very angry eyes. Have I been improper hi any way? 
 You must remember that I am a savage." 
 
 ' ' Bertine probably remembers mamma's command to 
 me to return in an hour. I have been much interested in 
 all that you have said, and much saddened by some of it. 
 Let us walk down the hill." 
 
 She looked up at him with a smile which made his 
 heart beat fast. For the moment he cursed his mission, 
 and felt like falling on his knees at her side and crying, 
 " I love you, I love you ! " But Alice continued in a low 
 voice 
 
 " Mr. Merriuott, you have told us told me, especially 
 
 so much about your wild life, and the dangers that are 
 in it, that you cannot blame me for taking an interest in it. 
 I want to ask you and I hope you will not be offended 
 
 to promise me before }'ou return to your home " 
 
 Alice blushed, and was more confused than she had 
 
 expected to be, because the gentle savage stopped short, 
 looked at her earnestly with his great coal-black eyes, 
 and said 
 
 "Go on, Miss Harrelstou : I will promise you anything ; 
 I can refuse you nothing." 
 
 "Before you return to your home, that whatever 
 happens, no matter how strange or disagreeable the cir- 
 cumstances may be, you will absolutely withdraw from 
 the feud with the the Bluclots 
 
 ' ' Miss Harrelston ! ' ' 
 
 The voice was loud and angry. Alice trembled a little, 
 but she went on.
 
 A PROMISE. 115 
 
 "But you gave me your promise, Mr. Merrinott. Will 
 you not keep it? That whatever may happen, you will 
 withdraw from the feud with the Bluelots, and that you 
 will never take a deadly weapon in your hands " 
 
 " Stop, Miss Harrelston, please," he said, hoarsely; 
 " I couldn't promise you that. I didn't dream that you 
 intended it would be impossible! Why, the Bluelots 
 killed my brother ! The Bluelots would sell their country 
 for a handful of money ! The Bluelots would call me a 
 coward, and kill me like a dog, and be glad to have me out 
 of the way, if they knew that I went about the Nation 
 unarmed! No, no, Miss Harrelston, don't ask me that! 
 There's nothing else that I will not do for you for you, 
 but don't ask me to promise that ! " 
 
 Alice was grieved, and Pleasant read her grief in her 
 face ! 
 
 "You don't know what one of those long feuds is," he 
 said. " It was wicked even to let you know that such 
 things exist. I have given you pain, and I am right 
 sorry." 
 
 " But, Mr. Merrinott, you have no privilege to take 
 vengeance into your own hands. You can use legal 
 means to punish the Bluelots ; but you ought not to fight 
 with them ; it is degrading. You are right to drive out 
 the invaders of your land if you can ; but to perpetuate a 
 personal, a family feud, seems to me " 
 
 "Contemptible! Perhaps you might have used a 
 harsher word, Miss Harrelston. But remember that this 
 feud is not of my creating. It is a legacy, as I said the 
 other day." 
 
 " Then promise me this, Mr. Merriuott," said the girl, 
 impetuously. " You are going back across the ocean to 
 do a grand and noble thing to do all that you can for the 
 protection of your race, and that is honourable and inspir- 
 ing. But don't sully it with murder don't condescend to
 
 116 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 personal vengeance. When I think that you might become 
 a a murderer, it fills me with horror! Promise me 
 that, whatever happens, you will do nothing to prolong the 
 feud with the Bluelots, and that if you are brought into 
 contact with them you will will never use a weapon, un- 
 less it is entirely in self-defence. Can you promise? " 
 
 Pleasant's pride was touched, although he admired and 
 loved the girl more and more at each moment. His black 
 look returned. 
 
 "Murder is a hard word," he said. " I don't think you 
 would have any right to call me a murderer if I shot every 
 Bluelot that is left in the world. Each of the scoundrels 
 has forfeited his life. Still, I reckon I will make the 
 promise like you worded it the last time. Yes, I reckon 
 you may count on me for that. I'm right sorry I couldn't 
 promise you the balance of what you asked. I did not 
 believe until you spoke that there was anything in the 
 world that I would not do for you. Why, Miss Harrelston 
 you don't know how much " 
 
 The girl had paused in her walk, but now she moved 
 on again, and so fast that Pleasant, in his hurry to keep 
 up, forgot exactly what he was going to say. He noticed 
 that his heart beat so loudly that he could hear it, and 
 fancied that she must be amused at his agitation. They 
 left the little patch of forest, and came into the road, 
 Bertine flitting on ahead, with her arms full and groaning 
 under her burden, but looking back distrustfully at the 
 earnest pair from time to time. Bertine was thoroughly 
 perplexed. The Indian startled and annoyed her. She was 
 jealous of the impression which he appeared to have pro- 
 duced upon her mistress, and had she been able to speak 
 English, would, perhaps, have found means to tell him so. 
 
 By-and-by they came to a turn in the road where they 
 could look down into the vale of Meiringen. Pleasant 
 stopped resolutely, and said
 
 A PROMISE. 117 
 
 "Good-bye, Miss Harrelston. I am going away to- 
 night ; but before I go I want to get into the mountains 
 alone and think over what I ought to do. You you have 
 given me a right smart deal to think about. You revolu- 
 tionize me. I I believe I shall be a better man for hav- 
 ing met you. You are the first person who ever really 
 sympathized with me." He stopped, confused at his own 
 frankness ; but, recovering himself , he added, " After all, 
 I cannot see why you should be so anxious to save my 
 life. It isn't worth saving." 
 
 O indiscreet Indian ! Had Alice Harrelston been more 
 worldly-minded, how would she have made you suffer for 
 that awkward remark ! But Alice said, softly 
 
 ' ' Did you not save my life the other day ? You 
 would not like to think that I am ungrateful would 
 you?" 
 
 "Angel!" thought Pleasant: "how quickly, if I 
 dared, would I go down on my knees before you and 
 confess all ! But I dare not." 
 
 "Ungrateful?" he stammered. "I I did nothing. 
 You had fainted and I hope you will forgive me ; 
 but I could not leave you there, and so I took you up and 
 brought you out into the daylight." 
 
 How lovely was the faint flush upon the girl's cheeks ! 
 It reminded him of the exquisite roseate glow which he 
 had noted on the snowy brow of the Jungfrau. Oh ! if he 
 might speak ! But his mission ! his duty ! his race ! his 
 country ! No ! he would not speak he would not see 
 her again ! 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 He held out his hand. She gave him hers frankly and 
 cordially. 
 
 " I am sure we shall hear good news of you some day, 
 Mr. Merrinott. Perhaps you will lead your people help 
 them save them who knows ? You will not leave
 
 118 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Meiringen without saying a word of parting to mamma 
 and the other friends at the hotel? " 
 
 " Certainly not. How stupid I am ! Then I shall see 
 you there again before I go." 
 
 " Perhaps. But if not, remember your promise. And 
 good-bye for the " 
 
 "Present," she intended to say, but Pleasant had 
 vanished from her side, and Bertine was gazing in round- 
 eyed amazement at the steep pathway up which he had 
 sprung with the ease and agility of a deer. 
 
 " You must not mention this to mamma, Bertine," said 
 Alice, as they hastened homeward. " That young man is 
 very strange. He is an Indian who has some vexatious 
 business with papa, and he has insisted on telling me all 
 about it. Perhaps he thinks I can persuade papa to help 
 him." 
 
 " Very well, miss, I understand, perfectly," said Ber- 
 tiue ; and she did at last understand, much better than 
 either Alice or Pleasant understood themselves. 
 
 Alice did not come down to dinner that evening. She 
 had a headache, and stayed in her room, retiring to rest 
 very early. At nine o'clock her mother came into her 
 room, and surprised her daughter with her beautiful head 
 buried in the pillows, and sobbing as if her heart would 
 break. 
 
 " Why, little Alice," she said, " what does this mean? 
 Are you very ill? " 
 
 " It's only my head. You know, petite maman, I must 
 have my cry out when my head aches. I shall be well 
 to-morrow. Don't worry. And please don't light the 
 lamps." 
 
 Mrs. Ilarrelston had come to tell her daughter that 
 " that eccentric Mr. Merrinott had suddenly decided to go 
 away, and had just ordered a carriage." But she reflected 
 for a minute, and concluded to say nothing about it. She
 
 A PROMISE. 119 
 
 knew that there was no remedy for Alice's headaches, so 
 she sat down by the bedside to watch with the girl until 
 she had sobbed herself to sleep. 
 
 Pleasant drove all the way to Interlaken that night, 
 and displayed so much bad temper on the way that the 
 mild-mannered coachman almost carried him over a bluff 
 in the heat of his unwonted efforts to comply with the 
 youth's exacting demands for speed. A full-blooded 
 Indian would have been more calm, but Pleasant, as he 
 daily remembered with bitterness, was not a " full-blood."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 
 
 THE young Indian did not stay long in Interlaken. He 
 looked once only at the Jungfrau, but his brief glance at 
 the majestic mountain brought with it a memory of Alice, 
 which he tried in vain to put away. This memory went 
 with him, awakening in his heart a strange mixture of 
 pleasure and pain, as he crossed the Lake of Thun, and 
 hastened on to the pleasant town of Berne. He had 
 telegraphed to Lucerne for any letters which might be 
 awaiting him there, and was pleased to receive one or 
 two fat envelopes, addressed, in a very scraggy hand- 
 writing, to u Mr. Pleasant Merrinott of the Cherokee 
 Nation," when he gave his name at the Hotel Bellevue. 
 A solemn waiter in black ushered him into a little room 
 overlooking a garden perched on a high terrace, and left 
 him alone. Pleasant broke open the largest of the letters 
 with feverish haste, and when he had read it dropped the 
 paper upon the floor, and sat looking into space for some 
 minutes without moving a muscle. If he had had the 
 strength to speak he would have said that his Fate had 
 once more taken charge of him, and was pushing lu'm 
 onward in most imperious fashion. 
 
 The letter which Pleasant had read was from one of 
 the Indians who resided in Washington as the delegate 
 of those C'herokees who were determined that the Indian 
 120
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 121 
 
 Territory should not be opened to white settlers. It con- 
 tained a circumstantial account of the " invasion," the 
 account of which had so aroused Pleasant's anger on the 
 day when he met Alice near Meiringen. But there was 
 a grain of comfort in the statement that the invaders were 
 few in number, and would soon be compelled to retreat. 
 The paragraph which most surprised the young Indian, 
 however, was the following : 
 
 " All things considered, we reckon that the best course 
 for you to pursue is to remain in Europe say a month or 
 two longer and, in case you do not hear to the contrary 
 from us, perhaps a year or two. We believe that you can 
 serve our cause better than any one else whom we can 
 find. You are educated ; you have some money ; and you 
 believe in yourself and in us. Keep up your protest, and 
 make opinion in our favour among the investors and 
 bankers in general. There is a right smart to do for us 
 in Europe, and you can do it. We felt that possibly you 
 would be inclined to come home at once when you heard 
 the news ; but be cool, and never mind these little inci- 
 dents over here. You are our delegate beyond the big 
 Pond, and the people in the Nation believe that you are 
 saving the situation. 
 
 "The Blnelots are powerful curious to know what you 
 are up to, and one of them said, the other day, at Vinita, 
 that if you came home he would find out what you had 
 been doing, and if it wasn't all straight, he would well- 
 he said he'd blow your head off. We know that you would 
 give a good account of yourself if you were in the Terri- 
 tory, but we feel as if we needed you over where you are. 
 I enclose you a lot of fresh data on the railroad matter. 
 Now, Pleasant, keep the ball a-rolling r and let us know 
 how you get along. You can draw on the fund when you 
 get tired of spending your own money. Don't disappoint 
 us ; and so no more at present from yours sincerely. ' '
 
 122 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 The writer, who was, like Pleasant, a half-breed 
 Cherokee, had signed his quaint name with a flourish, 
 and added in a postscript written across the body of the 
 epistle, " We are waiting anxiously for the result of your 
 interview with the banker. We know that you will not 
 weaken." 
 
 Pleasant remained absorbed in thought for more than 
 half an hour. Then he arose with unclouded brow, and 
 began unpacking his slender baggage. 
 
 " What a fool I was not to remain in Meiringen ! " he 
 said. "Let me see. The train for Paris leaves late in 
 the afternoon. Shall I go to Paris and continue my 
 campaign at once, or shall I remain here for a time? I 
 really don't know." 
 
 He ordered lunch in the garden, and while waiting for 
 it he loitered on the terrace. In the distance he saw the 
 noble white line of the Bernese Alps, and for an instant 
 he felt tempted to go back to them to return to Alice. 
 Alice! Why should he think of her? Why was the air 
 filled with faces like hers? Why did the very thought of 
 her name cause his heart to beat violently? He must 
 forget her, and attend to his work. 
 
 After lunch he wandered through the streets of the 
 ancient town, and found relief from his perplexity in 
 gating at the curious costumes of the peasants, the long 
 arcades, beneath which hundreds of tiny shops were 
 ranged, and the innumerous stone fountains into which 
 cool water ran and plashed musically. It seemed to him 
 that he had been mysteriously conveyed backward hun- 
 dreds of j'ears into the past, and that he was a knight, 
 with jingling spur and with sword buckled at side, who 
 had come riding in from his fortified castle in the neigh- 
 bourhood to idle away a few pleasant hours in Berne. He 
 went down the sunny side and up the shady side of street 
 after street ; peeped into dark and rather ill-smelling beer
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 123 
 
 houses, where solemn peasants sat with enormous glasses 
 of beer and crusts of black bread before them ; watched 
 the ugly old women seated on wooden benches in the 
 shadows of stone pillars, knitting as if their very lives de- 
 pended upon every stitch ; and went down huge stairways 
 and up long passages and over small bridges unweariedly. 
 
 It was a market day, and in the middle of each 
 principal street there was a throng of broad-hatted women 
 and girls, some squatted upon the cobble stones, others 
 leaning on benches, and all with heaps of vegetables, 
 fruits, or home-made articles of clothing before them. 
 Cattle were tied to posts, and protested with loud bel- 
 lowings against their comfortless sojourn in the sun ; 
 goats, on sale, perpetually climbed over imaginary hills 
 and butted at invisible enemies ; sheep patiently awaited 
 their new purchasers ; fowls gabbled, cocks crew, horses 
 neighed, and waggoners jested in loud, coarse voices. 
 Bottles of white wine were brought out to the thirsty 
 peasantry, and smoke from immense porcelain pipes arose 
 on the air. 
 
 When Pleasant was tired of the market and of the 
 importunities of the small shopkeepers, who were anxious 
 that he should buy wooden bears carrying umbrellas, 
 wooden bears wearing spectacles, wooden bears fighting 
 duels, and wooden bears proudly upholding the blazon of 
 the old city of Berne, he took refuge on the bank of the 
 River Aar, at a point where the burghers long ago built 
 a pretty square, and planted it with trees, and set in its 
 midst a fountain, surmounted by a terrible image of the 
 Child Eater, destined to terrify wilful children. 
 
 A group of white-haired girls aud boys was gravely 
 contemplating this mediaeval representation of the " old 
 man" concerning whom every one has heard so much in 
 childhood days. The ogre is depicted in the act. of crunch- 
 ing, with diabolical satisfaction, the head of the innocent
 
 124 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 babe, while a plentiful supply of the same delicate creatures 
 hangs at his back. The mites are expecting to be de- 
 voured, and their frantic gestures and woe-begone faces 
 are enough to strike terror into the heart of the most 
 refractory child. 
 
 Pleasant turned with a smile from this fabulous 
 monster, and presently went down into the deep, dark 
 cellar under the Corn Market, and in the gloom saw long 
 rows of gigantic casks, every <5ne of which was a worthy 
 rival of the mammoth tuns of Heidelberg. Here a deep- 
 voiced maiden came to take his order, and he abstractedly 
 drank the red wine which she set before him. When 
 his eyes were accustomed to the dimness, he saw that he 
 was surrounded by a goodly company. Grave-looking men 
 weighted with years, men with gray beards, but faces of 
 fiery red, men who were doubtless' the magistrates, the 
 counsellors, and the thinkers of Berne, sat quaffing fre- 
 quent cups with evident gusto. The prosaic garb of the 
 nineteenth century seemed to suit them poorly. Pleasant 
 fancied that they would appear to better advantage in 
 doublets and hose, in mantles and caps, in blue and 
 scarlet and green. 
 
 From the wine-cellar he went to the great plateau on 
 which the cathedral stands, and there in the comfortable 
 shade he sat down upon a bench. This walk among the 
 odd sights of Berne had refreshed his mind ; he forgot for 
 a few rniimtcs the perplexities of his mission,' and gave 
 himself up to the dreamy intoxication which the traveller 
 from new countries, where Nature is still supreme, feels in 
 old hinds, where Art has entered every corner and set its 
 foot upon each threshold. 
 
 Below the great stone platform, high on the bluff, were 
 banks rich with grasses, flowers, and ferns almost as 
 brilliant as those of Western America. Pretty villas occu- 
 pied the highest range of hills, sloping downward from
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 125 
 
 the pinnacle ; more modest dwellings filled up the second 
 terrace ; and near the river was a mass of dark, ancient 
 houses, huddling together as if imploring the protection of 
 the cathedral. These abodes of the populace were grimy 
 with the accumulated dust of centuries ; they were filled 
 with labyrinthine passages, mysterious flights of steps, 
 ridiculous little balconies, which looked out upon nothing 
 at all backyards which seemed to have been constructed 
 expressly to cheat the sun and claustral chambers,, with 
 iron-barred windows, through which babies innumerable 
 were continually thrusting their adventurous heads. 
 
 One house in particular, which Pleasant could see from 
 the place where he sat, was impressively full of the 
 mystery of age. It was a gloomy structure of many 
 storeys, standing in the midst of, yet somewhat isolated 
 from, a few smaller ones. Narrow footways between these 
 diminutive houses led up to the large one. Pleasant 
 wondered if life in such a venerable pile could be agreeable 
 if within he should find the babble of women's voices, 
 the laughter of children, the noise of a loom, or the purr 
 of a cat. "Was civilization a triumph, when it built such 
 grim and unwholesome structures for human life to dwell 
 in ? He did not reflect that the house dated from a time 
 when perpetual petty warfare compelled artisan and prince 
 alike to crowd together within the narrow bounds of high 
 and strong fortifications. The old building annoyed him ; 
 he would have liked to tear it down, and hav.e it replaced 
 by a more cheerful residence. The more he gazed at 
 it, the stronger grew his curiosity to know something 
 about its inmates. " Why should I not go there?" he 
 thought. " I have nothing else to do for the moment." 
 
 After he had looked out upon the river, which ran 
 foaming and dancing with hilarious swiftness around a 
 little island, and then impetuously past the tall houses, 
 and then under a high bridge, and so on through another
 
 126 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and more aristocratic quarter of the town, be left the 
 platform and the cathedral, and, with some difficulty, 
 found his way, by a long staircase, to the valley and the 
 neighbourhood of the mysterious house. 
 
 Good wives, engaged in the peaceful pursuit of washing 
 the garments of strangers visiting the hotels, and good 
 men sawing and splitting firewood, aided, in many cases, 
 by their stout daughters, stared at Pleasant's long hair, 
 and glanced at each other suspiciously as he penetrated 
 alley after alley in this domain of the poor. Diminutive 
 maidens tugging babies in their arms, and feeding them 
 with vast slices of bread, fled distrustfully into corners 
 at his approach. Queer dogs barked at him, parrots 
 sarcastically addressed him in corrupt German, and cats 
 leaped precipitately out of his path. An old crone, who 
 looked as aged as the Alps, and who, like them, had 
 snowy white upon her brows, was sitting on a low door- 
 step near the entrance to a narrow street leading to the 
 house which Pleasant especially desired to see. As he 
 passed she muttered something of which he understood 
 not a word, but which seemed to him more like a male- 
 diction than an entreaty or a blessing. 
 
 "Now, here," thought Pleasant, "is the place of all 
 places in the world to hide. In that small chamber, 
 opening into that infinitesimal balcony, a man might stay 
 for years, unknown, undiscovered, and certainly no one 
 would think of searching for him there." The fancy, 
 though trivial, pleased him,, and he continued to indulge 
 it as he neared the dingy walls of the house which had 
 fascinated him. 
 
 A black and frowning archway gave entrance to a 
 passage which ran through the structure from side to side, 
 and was crossed at right angles by another exactly similar 
 one. As Pleasant entered, a cold breeze, charged with the 
 acrid humours which had gathered upon the stones, and
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 127 
 
 with the odours from the tenements on either side, smote 
 his senses unpleasantly. He turned as if to retire, but 
 after a moment's reflection he went in. No one challenged 
 his right to enter. There were few signs of life in the 
 dark dens in which the poor of Berne hid their misery. 
 At the angle of the passages he turned, and was walking 
 slowly forward in a gloom which increased with each step, 
 when a door, at a point where he had not suspected that 
 there was an aperture, was thrown open ; he heard the 
 sound of voices, and standing against the wall in the 
 thickest of the shadow, he was the involuntary witness of 
 a singular scene. 
 
 Through the open doorway Pleasant looked in upon a 
 small, meanly-furnished room, filled with brass and iron 
 and copper instruments hanging on the whitewashed 
 stone walls, or arranged upon blackened counters, or lying 
 in confusion on the floor. In one corner stood a work- 
 bench fitted with vises, hammers, pincers, and a host of 
 tools both delicate and strong. Opposite the door was a 
 recess, into which a clear light came from a shaft worked 
 in the wall, probably fitted with a large window above ; 
 and standing where the light fell most fully was an old 
 man, upholding in his two withered hands a small machine, 
 beautifully finished, and glittering. This machine was not 
 much larger than the works of a small clock, and Pleas- 
 ant's first thought was that he had stumbled upon the den 
 of a maker of some of the ingenious timepieces for which 
 Switzerland is famous. 
 
 The old man was clad in a long greasy great-coat, the 
 edges of which had at some remote period probably been 
 lined with strips of fur, now fallen to the estate of rows of 
 mangy hide ; and his whole personal appearance indicated 
 extreme poverty. His features, which were seamed with 
 wriukles and scars, were of a pronounced Hebraic type, 
 and in front of each of his venerable ears a waving gray
 
 128 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 curl hung down. His face would have been sinister and 
 repulsive, had it not been at that moment lighted up with 
 a strange smile of triumph which made it almost heroic. 
 As the sordid old man held the brass mechanism to the 
 light, and gazed fondly on it, it was easy to see that he 
 was contemplating a marvel which he had himself con- 
 structed, and that his professional pride was thoroughly 
 aroused. 
 
 He spoke rapidly in a low voice, and in a language en- 
 tirely unfamiliar to Pleasant as if he were addressing 
 a vigorous apostrophe to some unseen person. As he 
 was in the midst of a veritable rhapsody there was the 
 rustle of a dress, and a woman stepped forward hastily, 
 and eagerly stretched out one hand as if she, also, were 
 desirous of caressing the cunning toy of which its maker 
 seemed so proud. The old man cast a disturbed glance at 
 the open door, as if he feared observation ; then he slowly 
 lowered the brass mechanism, and placed it in the lady's 
 hands. Just then a third figure, that of a young and 
 handsome man, came into the light, and bent its face 
 gravely above the machine. Pleasant stared, started, and 
 knocked one foot loudly against a projecting stone. 
 
 lie had recognized the musician Stanislas. 
 
 His first impulse was to step forward into the little 
 room and salute this new acquaintance, whom he had 
 found again in such an out-of-the-way corner. But a 
 second look at the group convinced him that he must do 
 nothing of the kind. At the sound which he had made by 
 his unwitting stumble the old man's face grew livid, and 
 his whole frame was tremulous with abject fear. He seized 
 the machine, unceremoniously snatching it from the lady's 
 hands, and thrust it beneath the folds of his coat, crossing 
 his lean arms over it, as if he were prepared to defend it 
 to the uttermost. The lady looked up in surprise, and 
 Pleasant saw that she was young, and, although not
 
 A MYSTERIOUS INSTRUMENT. 129 
 
 beautiful, possessed an attractive, magnetic face. As for 
 Stanislas, he gazed at the old man coldly for a moment or 
 two, then addressed him a remark which seemed intended 
 to quiet his fears ; but as Stanislas spoke in the same 
 language which the venerable trembler had employed, 
 Pleasant was no wiser. Presently the old man pointed 
 in the direction of the door, and grew more frantic with 
 terror than before. The woman herself was visibly 
 moved, and gazed so intently at the black mass of shadow 
 in which Pleasant was standing that he felt extremely un- 
 comfortable, and determined to steal away the moment 
 it was possible. He hoped that they would close the 
 door, thus allowing him to depart unobserved. 
 
 Who was this aged artisan, hidden in this obscure cel- 
 lar in the slums of Berne, and why should Stanislas visit 
 him ? And who was the lady ? Who could she be but 
 the Vera of the letter which Pleasant had found on the 
 stairs of the inn at Meiringen ? And why had Stanislas 
 said that he was going to London, when in reality he had 
 come to Berne to meet a Vera ? And what was the 
 mechanism which they were examining? ** Perhaps," 
 thought Pleasant, " Stanislas is perfecting some musical 
 invention, which he desires to keep a profound secret for 
 the present, and has employed this old man to work out 
 the principle. Yet no ; that cannot be for the instru- 
 ment-maker would show no such fear about the discovery 
 of a matter like that. What can it be? " 
 
 The lady spoke to Stanislas, and before Pleasant could 
 move away, the musician stepped quickly into the passage, 
 shading his eyes with his hand. Pleasant saw that retreat 
 would be useless, and came forward. The musician 
 looked sharply at him, as if he did not at first recognize 
 him. But finally a smile lighted up his face ; he took 
 Pleasant's proffered hand, and said, in English 
 
 ' ' Mr. Merrinott ! How in the name of the mar-
 
 130 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 vellous did you find your way here ? It must have 
 been I suppose by accident? " 
 
 There was an accent of suspicion which Pleasant did 
 not like in this last sentence. 
 
 " Evidently by accident," he answered, a trifle coldly. 
 " I could hardly have expected to find you here for you 
 told me you were going to London." 
 
 Stanislas coughed. "Tine true at Meiringen I 
 did tell you so. What a singular meeting. Come in, and 
 tell us how you happened to find your way to this den of 
 science. " Come in." 
 
 Without giving Pleasant time to voice the many ex- 
 cuses and objections which were rising to his lips, he 
 drew him, still holding his hand, into the room, and closed 
 the door behind him. The young Cherokee stood, a little 
 confused, in the presence of the lady, whose face was 
 white, but whose demeanour was calm. 
 
 " Fear nothing, Vera, for the excellent reason that 
 there is nothing to fear," said Stanislas to the j'oung 
 woman. He spoke in Polish, the language in which the 
 old man had also spoken. " This is the Indian, the 
 American, of whom I have spoken to you. He is an 
 enthusiast, a malcontent; he is safe. Do you hear me? 
 I say that he is safe. Can you not reassure that grimy 
 idiot yonder ?" He pointed with a contemptuous smile 
 to the instrument-maker, who appeared more frightened 
 than ever, and who still kept his arms folded tightly over 
 his breast. 
 
 The lady looked very carefully and intently at Pleas- 
 aut's face. He felt that he had never been so scrutinized 
 before. Then she held out her hand to him.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN. 
 
 " ALLOW me to apologize for my intrusion," said Pleasant 
 to the lady. " I really think that it would be well for me 
 to go away at once. Monsieur Stanislas will assure you 
 that my presence here is entirely accidental." He spoke 
 in English, rather hesitatingly, and glanced at Stanislas 
 as he concluded his remarks. A faint smile, which had a 
 certain cynicism in it, and which did not please the young 
 Indian, flitted over the musician's face. 
 
 "Sister Vera, speak for yourself," said Stanislas. 
 "Your judgment is rarely at fault. Shall the gentleman 
 retire or remain? We might almost fancy that Fate 
 has sent him here." 
 
 Pleasant was surprised to hear the lady respond in 
 English, and in a deep, musical voice, " Brother Stanislas, 
 after what you have told me of this gentleman I think we 
 are justified in asking him to remain. Do you know, 
 Monsieur," she continued, looking Pleasant in the face and 
 smiling, " that you have given us a fright? I confess that 
 my limbs tremble a little even now. Stanislas, will you 
 give me a chair? Ah! I forgot that there is none in 
 this dreadful den. That stool will do. Is it clean? 
 Thanks." She seated herself ; pushed back, with a pretty 
 movement of her thin, white hands, her simple hat from 
 her broad brow, and seemed inclined for conversation. 
 
 131
 
 132 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Pleasant was puzzled. For an instant he felt an 
 inclination to turn and escape from the place. He grew 
 dizzy in the close atmosphere, laden with the odours of hot 
 metals and acids. He was half persuaded that he had 
 fallen asleep, and that these figures around him were 
 visions. Who and what were these people? The lady 
 was young ; her features were thin and delicate, her lips 
 firm, her eyes blue and clear. Her wavy chestnut hair 
 had been cut short, and was parted at one side and combed 
 carelessly back. Her dress was plain and in excellent 
 taste. The only defect in her face was a masculine stern- 
 ness, which seemed born of a great purpose. This was a 
 woman who had a mission. 
 
 Stanislas stepped forward and touched Pleasant' s arm 
 lightly. " Mr. Merrinott," he said, " you seem surprised. 
 A few words will explain everything. "We all speak 
 English here and ' ' here he glanced suspiciously 
 around " perhaps it will be wise to say all that we have 
 to say in that language, for every wall has ears that 
 gape to hear us when we speak." 
 
 " Every wall has eyes, too," said the old man, inter- 
 rupting Stanislas. " Ears and eyes. See! we open the 
 door for one little minute, because the lady is ready to 
 faint in the bad air and there are eyes and ears in the 
 darkness outside." He pointed at Pleasant. "It is 
 terrible. We are safe nowhere unless unless we 
 make sure." 
 
 Pleasant looked sternl}' at the old man, whose last 
 words had sounded like a menace, and he was startled to 
 see a threatening expression in the unsteady 63*68. 
 
 " Ah ! rny lad," said the aged instrument-maker, " you 
 are surprised to hear me speak in English, are you not? 
 Why, I have spoken it for four-and-twenty years ! Aha ! 
 I learned it before you were born. Why, child, I lived in 
 London forty years ! Forty years not a day less. You
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN. 133 
 
 see that I was not born yesterday. Oh ! you may speak 
 your English here. But let me tell you something for 
 your instruction. You came here by accident. Good. 
 You are a friend of Stanislas. Good. You are a stranger 
 from beyond the sea. Good. But remember that what 
 you have seen here that all you hear in this room, must 
 be kept as secret as the grave. For, though walls have 
 ears to hear us we can make our way through all walls 
 and we have long arms to strike. And when one is not 
 as secret as the grave about us, we send him to the grave 
 with his secret. Ah ! ' ' 
 
 The man shrank back into his corner, for Pleasant had 
 raised his right hand impatiently. "Do you threaten 
 me?" he said. "Look at me! I am an Indian. Do 
 you think I am afraid of threats? What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 Stanislas was at the old man's side in an instant, and 
 caught him roughly by the shoulder and shook him. 
 "Are you losing your senses?" he said. "Have you 
 not heard me tell Vera that this gentleman is safe ? Must 
 you presume to threaten him ? ' ' 
 
 "He is warned," said the instrument- maker, sullenly. 
 " Tell him what you please, now." 
 
 "He is safe, I tell you," continued Stanislas. "He 
 will not betray us, because, like each of us, he is a victim 
 of the injustice of society and government. The first 
 time that I ever saw him I marked him for one of us." 
 
 " Explain, if you please," said Pleasant, in amazement. 
 ' ' Who and what are you ? ' ' 
 
 "Sister Vera will tell you that," said the musician; 
 "she has a wonderful talent for lucid explanation!" 
 Again his smile impressed the } T oung Indian disagreeably. 
 
 "I am sure I do not understand you," stammered 
 Pleasant. "I am not anxious to know your secrets; I 
 did not ask you to show me this room. I have no desire
 
 134 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and certainly have no interest to betray any confi- 
 dence that you bestow on me ; but why ' ' 
 
 "Do 3'ou remember saying to me at Meiringen, while 
 we were peacefully smoking our cigars in the garden of 
 the inn, that the world is all wrong ; that the whole 
 system of society ought to be destroyed, so that men 
 may begin over again and build better a second time ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, yes ; I reckon I have said that right often, and 
 especially within the last few days, when I have been 
 thinking of the wrongs which my race has suffered." 
 
 "That remark," said Stanislas, "convinced me that 
 you were one of us." 
 
 Pleasant was about to answer, but the lady spoke. 
 "In America," she said, "you theorize when you are 
 discontented ; but you do nothing else. In Europe we 
 act. Society has been tried on its merits, found wanting, 
 and condemned. It must be destroyed." 
 
 " You are conspirators ! " cried the young Indian. 
 
 "Not at all," answered the lady, coldly. "We are 
 executioners." 
 
 "That is it," said Stanislas, with his mocking smile. 
 " We arc weary of the established order of things, and we 
 propose to upset it. Are you greatly shocked, and do you 
 think we are horrible monsters ? ' ' He drew a package of 
 cigarettes from his pocket, offered it to Pleasant, who 
 declined, and to the lady, who took one, and finally to the 
 old man, who took three, and quietly stowed them away 
 in a pocket of his greasy coat, still clinging with one hand 
 to the machine, which he kept hidden in his bosom. 
 
 " I will not light it just now," said the lady, as Stanislas 
 offered her a match. "Yes in America you are satis- 
 fied to theorize. You put your social question aside, and 
 say that it can wait. But we meet ours face to face. We 
 grapple with it." 
 
 The young Cherokee began to feel strangely interested
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN. 135 
 
 in this energetic woman with the clear blue eyes and bold 
 firm voice. Her face reminded him curiously of one that 
 he had seen elsewhere, but whether in life or in a book he 
 could not remember. He said nothing, but encouraged 
 her by his attitude to continue. 
 
 "After centuries of oppression, of misgovernment, of 
 corruption, of tyranny, it is not strange that sensible and 
 logical persons should come to the conclusion that the old 
 order of things needs changing. Extremists like our- 
 selves believe that it should be annihilated." 
 
 Pleasant remembered now where he had seen a face 
 like that of the lady addressing him. It was the portrait 
 of a young Nihilist, a Russian woman, who had been 
 sentenced to exile in Siberia for conspiring against the 
 existing order of things. He had seen this portrait in an 
 English illustrated paper only a few weeks ago. And 
 now he understood clearly that he had stumbled upon a 
 Nihilist conspiracy. Was the musician, with his dreamy, 
 poetic temperament, a conspirator? Was this charming 
 young lady an apostle of destruction ? Was this hideous 
 old man a member of the secret band which had sworn 
 that the Russian autocracy should perish from the face of 
 the earth? 
 
 " You have seen a farmer burn over a patch of land so 
 that fresh and delicate herbage might spring up on it, 
 have you not?" said the lady, twisting her cigarette 
 daintily. "Well, that is precisely what we propose to 
 do. And it is that which you should be willing to help 
 us to do, since you, like us, are profoundly convinced that 
 society in its present condition is unfit to endure." 
 
 Pleasant made no answer. He felt that there was 
 none to be made. He was receiving a lecture ; the lady 
 was explaining an important subject to him, and he must 
 listen in silence. Something touched his arm. He looked 
 around. It was Stanislas, who called his attention to a
 
 136 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 stool placed near him. Pleasant sat down, and the lady 
 continued 
 
 "Brother Stanislas and I, though born hi Russia, 
 are partly of Polish stock ; there is perhaps a little 
 Semitic blood in our veins. Ignatius, here, is a Polish 
 Jew. The social question in Russia is more pressing, the 
 position is more intolerable there than elsewhere. We 
 are members of the company that is working for the 
 destruction of Russian society as it exists. On its ashes 
 and ruins we, or those who survive us, can and will 
 build something better. Why should you not do the 
 same in your own land? Why should you submit to 
 the extermination of your race ? As society is at present 
 constituted you can make no successful resistance within 
 its limits to the sort of injustice of which you complain. 
 You are caught in the machinery, and you will be crushed 
 unless the machinery is instantly stopped ! " 
 
 She arose with a light laugh, which had the ghost of 
 a cry of lamentation hidden in it. As she uttered the 
 last words she made an upward sweeping gesture with 
 both hands. Pleasant fancied that he could see the whole 
 fabric of society whirling in shattered fragments into air. 
 The lady took a light for her cigarette and began smok- 
 ing. The Indian could not take his eyes from her ; he 
 had never seen such a woman as this before. 
 
 "It suddenly occurs to me," said Stanislas, "that I 
 have not formally presented you to my sister. Mr. 
 Merrinott, of the how do you call your country ? the 
 Indian Nation, is it not? allow me to introduce you to 
 Mademoiselle Vera, lately student hi medicine at the 
 University of Zurich." 
 
 Pleasant arose, and found it necessary to say some- 
 thing. He stammered out a compliment as to the clear 
 manner in which Vera expressed her views, and added, 
 after some hesitation
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIX. 137 
 
 " We certainly agree as to the necessity for a complete 
 change in the social order of things ; but I am not quite 
 sure that we agree as to the means of accomplishing that 
 change. I have heard and read a right smart bit about 
 Nihilism, and I must confess that " 
 
 "My son," said the old man, shuffling forward, and 
 casting timorous glances behind him, as if the sound of 
 his own voice filled him with terror, "did you ever hear 
 of Michael Bakounin ?" 
 
 " I do not at this moment remember who he was." 
 
 "I knew him," said the old man with emotion. "I 
 knew him for many, many years. I have talked with him 
 for hours when he was a refugee in London. I have 
 talked with him here in Switzerland, here where he died. 
 He was a demi-god. The mould in which he was made 
 was broken when he was created." 
 
 " "Well," said Stanislas, peevishly, " why do you not 
 at once explain to Mr. Merrinott that Michael Bakounin 
 was the founder of that doctrine which the world calls 
 Nihilism?" 
 
 " Ah ! ha ! " said the old man. " Nihilism is a phrase, 
 which is often enough misused, and which allows of a 
 thousand misunderstandings. Michael Bakounin used 
 no such clumsy Latin. He was no phrase-monger ; but 
 he planted in the souls of certain men and women the 
 conviction that there must be a new world, founded upon 
 the ruins of the old one, and that those men and women 
 must be filled with the fury for destruction of the old forms 
 in order that they or their successors might have the 
 delight of creating new and be'tter ones. He impressed 
 it upon all that the destruction must come. His was no 
 narrow doctrine, applied to a corner of Europe ; it was 
 for the whole world, and is as good for you, my son, as for 
 me." The ancient Polish Jew spoke passionately, and his 
 eyes lighted up his face with the expression which Pleasant
 
 138 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 had observed when he had first seen him through the open 
 door. 
 
 "Yes," said Stanislas, catching some ashes from the 
 end of Ids cigarette in his left hand, and tossing them 
 lightly away, " I think that it was a mistake to call 
 Bakounin a Nihilist. The term did not define the nature 
 of the man. He was a magnificent optimist." 
 
 " Destruction, my son," continued the old man, without 
 noticing the remark by Stanislas, "Destruction was his 
 primary aim. First that, then the rebuilding. And that 
 is the doctrine which you ought to help to carry out if 
 you wish to see wrongs righted and the people triumphant. 
 It is of no use to dream of reforming society. Mow it 
 down it cumbers the ground ! " 
 
 Pleasant was astonished at the energy and earnestness 
 of the Jew. He recoiled a little from the forcible expres- 
 sion of sentiments which he had himself now and then 
 momentarily, but never very seriously, entertained. He 
 looked at each of the trio as if he expected three answers 
 to the questions which he finally asked 
 
 " And how and when is the great explosion which is to 
 destroy Russian society to take place? Will you not find 
 your programme difficult to carry out? " 
 
 The Jew smiled triumphantly, and took from its con- 
 cealment the small and shining mechanism of which he 
 seemed so proud. He held it up, so that the light rested 
 once more upon it for a moment ; then he moved away to 
 a corner with it, and placed it in a shadowed nook. 
 
 " You have seen the clock of destiny," he said. " When 
 you hear that it has struck the hour of the destruction, 
 remember that you once saw it in old Ignatius's hands. I 
 have spent a lifetime upon it. When it strikes the earth 
 will shake, and Russian society will relapse into the chaos 
 out of which it sprang. Let us say no more about it." 
 And he glanced around the miserable room again, as if
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN. 139 
 
 he expected to see a regiment of soldiers march through 
 the wall. 
 
 "You are more than usually nervous to-day, Ignatius," 
 said Vera. " Have you seen anything to justify all this 
 apprehension? " 
 
 "What is there to fear?" inquired Pleasant. "Are 
 you in any danger in Switzerland? Are you not at liberty 
 to talk as you please in this free country ? ' ' 
 
 "We are always in danger of expulsion," remarked 
 Vera. "The Russian Government has many agents in 
 Switzerland, and they are not idle. And I fear that if the 
 nature of Ignatius's mechanical labours were known, he 
 would not be long at liberty. He does not tremble for 
 himself, but quakes with terror when he thinks that the 
 precious machine may be confiscated before it has done its 
 work. As for Stanislas and myself, we dread discovery 
 chiefly because it would impair our usefulness. We are 
 not suspected of any connection with the revolutionary 
 movement in Russia, and we therefore communicate 
 readily with persons who are in that country and at work 
 for us. If we were discovered, they would be found out, 
 and you have perhaps heard how conspirators are punished 
 in Russia. Besides, it is our duty to cloak our move- 
 ments, for we do not know at what moment the revolu- 
 tionary committee may call us to enter the Russian 
 Empire for work there, and we should be mortified to be 
 arrested at the frontier, on the report of some police spy 
 domiciled in Switzerland." 
 
 " Yes, mortified first, and marched off to Siberia on 
 foot next, if not hanged outright," said Stanislas. " We 
 are wise to take precautions, you see ! " 
 
 "Precautions ! " said Pleasant. "Excuse me for saying 
 that you seem to me to have been extremely incautious, in 
 my case at least. You have told me your secret, and yet 
 you have no guarantee that I will not betray you."
 
 140 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Your face is your guarantee, Mr. Merrinott," said 
 the musician. " Your face and your race. Your interest 
 lies with us. Fate has brought you to our door. Fate 
 intends that we shall work together. You will not betray 
 us. See, even Ignatius, who distrusts his own knife and 
 fork, believes in you. We receive you as our friend. 
 Your sentiments are ours. The words which you spoke in 
 the garden at Meiringen were almost the exact formula of 
 our revolutionists. Come, Mr. Merrinott, we will not ask 
 you to own yourself a conspirator, but I think you must 
 confess that you are a good disciple of the lamented 
 Bakounin! " 
 
 "Perhaps I am," said Pleasant, who was watching 
 Vera, as she inhaled the smoke of her fragrant cigarette. 
 He was giddy and excited ; the air of the room seemed 
 poisoned ; he longed for a breath of the cool breeze from 
 the hills. He was greatly relieved when the lady arose 
 and said 
 
 " I will leave the house first, and by the passage to the 
 left. Perhaps Mr. Merrinott will do well to go about ten 
 minutes afterwards, taking the right; and you, Brother 
 Stanislas, can come along later. We shall meet again, 
 Mr. Merrinott; good day." 
 
 The Jew held the door open for her, and she vanished 
 airily into the shadows. 
 
 " And now, my dear Indian," said the musician, " we 
 will drop conspiracy for the present. Forget what we 
 
 have said for a time, and when you call upon us 
 
 You will not leave Berne to-day? " 
 
 " No, not for some days, perhaps." 
 
 "Then come and see us at that address" (he handed 
 him a card) " to-morrow afternoon, if you feel inclined. 
 We will have some music ; and should we chance to meet 
 an}' of our friends from Meiringen, remember that I am in 
 Berne to visit my sister, who is studying here for a day
 
 THE DISCIPLES OF BAKOUNIN. 141 
 
 or two only, and that my sudden decision not to go to 
 London was due to my desire to spend some time with 
 her. An artistic caprice, eh ! I think you can make my 
 excuses, in case we happen to meet the Harrelstons, or 
 Miss Caro and her mother, can you not ? ' ' 
 
 "You will be able to make your own explanations, I 
 am sure," said the Indian. He took the green paper which 
 he had found on the stairs of the hotel at Meiringen from 
 his pocket, and handed it to the musician. "I suppose 
 you have not missed this," he said. " Allow me to return 
 it to you." 
 
 Stanislas took the letter, and looked keenly into Pleas- 
 ant's frank open eyes. "Thank you," he said, with his 
 disagreeable smile. "I am glad it was one of us who 
 picked this up." 
 
 Pleasant was glad when he got away from Stanislas, 
 after he had promised to call upon him the next day, and 
 was once more under the open sky. He returned as fast 
 as he could to the high cathedral platform, and sat down 
 beneath the trees. The more he reflected upon the con- 
 duct of Stanislas and the lady called Vera, the more inex- 
 plicable it seemed to him. What could they have hoped 
 to gain by thrusting their confidence upon him? He 
 remained absorbed in reflection until the shadows began 
 to fall on the far-away mountains, and he was surprised 
 to find that the destructive theories of Bakounin were 
 constantly uppermost in his mind.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 WHEN Pleasant returned at last to the hotel, and ordered 
 his supper for the young Indian refused definitely to 
 adopt the civilized habit of dining at six o'clock the 
 waiter offered him a ticket for the evening organ concert 
 at the cathedral. Pleasant took the modest cardboard 
 abstractedly, paid for it without looking at it, put it in his 
 pocket, and forgot it entirely until, an hour later, he went 
 out to stroll in the town. The sky was not dull, and the 
 air was warm, but Pleasant, who was weather-wise, felt 
 that a storm was at hand. The mighty Alps had with- 
 drawn behind their curtain. Pleasant went through the 
 narrow streets and across the little squares to the cathe- 
 dral platform, hoping that he might catch one more 
 glimpse of the snow-clad peaks, and he was disappointed 
 when he found that the}' had vanished. He was about to 
 take his old place on the stone bench, and to fall into 
 reverie again, when he thought of the concert. 
 
 As soon as the darkness had fallen, he went into the 
 cathedral, and walking down the long aisle, found a seat 
 in a dark corner, where he could lean against one of the 
 huge reading-desks. A few tourists were scattered over 
 the wilderness of benches, and a suppressed twitter, like 
 that of birds in their nests at twilight, informed him that 
 
 142
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL. 143 
 
 there were women in the audience. Presently a Russian 
 family, consisting of a picturesque mamma, three daugh- 
 ters, representing as many different shades 'of complexion 
 and costume, and a tall, whiskered papa, came so near to 
 Pleasant that he could observe them. Then a heavy- 
 footed English squire, with a tall wife in yellow ulster and 
 a pea-green head-dress which was a species of compromise 
 between a turban and a night-cap, went past the Indian. 
 Two American boys, redolent of cigarettes, and "chaff- 
 ing" the solemnity of the cathedral in audible tones, wan- 
 dered hither and yon as freely as if they were in a railway 
 station. Lastly, and just as Pleasant had almost decided 
 to close his eyes and shut out these intruders from his vis- 
 ion, he heard a loud whisper on the other side of the desk. 
 
 "I tell you, Caro," said the voice, "I see Stanislas 
 com in' up the little hill from the river, not ten minutes 
 after we got to the hotel. I was lookin' out of the winder 
 in search of them mountains 't they say }*ou can see from 
 here, but that nobody most never does see, and my eyes 
 fell on to him. I don't believe he had any idee of goiii' 
 to London. There's somethin' queer about that young 
 man, Caro, and I think if he can't explain himself we 
 must manage to see less of him." 
 
 " Genius is always eccentric, mother." 
 
 " Genius don't need to tell lies, does it? I don't care 
 about this particular time, 'cause it ain't none of our 
 business whether he goes to London or not; but his 
 actions only make me cling on firmer 'n ever to the sus- 
 picions that I've had of him from the very first time that 
 I set eyes on him." 
 
 " It seems to me, mother, that you find pleasure in 
 suspecting every foreigner ' ' 
 
 " So I do, and they deserve it, especially the men. 
 An' I tell you, once for all, Caro Merlin, that when we 
 get back to Paris, I ain't goiii' to have any more of them
 
 144 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 black-moustached, bowin', and scrapin' fellers around. 
 Now remember that ! It's bad enough for my daughter 
 to have to associate with them that teaches music without 
 bavin' any of the useless sort about her. If you're begin- 
 nin' to think that American young men ain't good enough 
 for you, I think you'd better go home right now, before 
 you get your taste spiled ; that's what I think ! ' ' 
 
 u Dear me, ma," whispered Caro, "you needn't be so 
 emphatic. Perhaps if the American young men took a 
 little more trouble to present themselves, I should find 
 them agreeable enough. But you must admit that we 
 don't see much of them." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin made no answer to this, for it coincided 
 exactly with her own observation. But a moment after- 
 wards she said 
 
 " There's no men like American men. They don't bow 
 and scrape so much as foreigners, but they won't crowd 
 a woman off from the side-walk into the mud, and they 
 don't treat us as if we was inferiors. Then look at their 
 style! Now, there's the Injun Mr. Merrinott he's 
 what I call a man! What say?" 
 
 These last two words were whispered in a louder key 
 than the others, and in a defiant manner, as if Mrs. Mer- 
 lin were already anticipating dissent from her proposition, 
 and had determined to meet it half-way. 
 
 "Mr. Merrinott is manly enough, mother," observed 
 Caro, " but then he's provincial. You can see it in his 
 language, and his clothes, and his manners downright 
 provincial " 
 
 " Provincial granny ! " interrupted Mrs. Merlin. " So 
 are you, and so be I and I hope we always will be. I 
 declare, Caro, I have a good mind to take you right 
 straight " 
 
 " Ma ! don't you hear the music? Sh h ! " 
 
 Pleasant was amused at this conversation, which he
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL* 145 
 
 could not help overhearing. He was glad, too, that he 
 had heard Miss Caro's criticism. Provincial ! that meant 
 common and vulgar, probably ; at least, it was evident 
 that he did not compare favourably with the polished and 
 accomplished gentlemen whom Miss Merlin was accus- 
 tomed to meet, and for whom her mother appeared to 
 entertain much contempt. The Indian found himself 
 thinking of Alice, and wondering if she had made the 
 same remark. Alice ! Had she left Meiringen with Mrs. 
 Merlin and her daughter? Perhaps she was in the cathe- 
 dral at that moment, and he could see her be near her 
 once more. The thought filled him with delight, and he 
 listened to the organ's eloquence with a sense of content- 
 ment quite new to him. After the concert he would meet 
 the Merlins at the door, and from them would ask news of 
 Alice and her mother. Now he was glad that his Indian 
 frieuds had asked him to remain in Europe for the present. 
 
 Pleasant thought that the music which came drifting 
 down from the organ-loft seemed strangely familiar to 
 him. It was full of echoes from the mountains, the 
 torrents, the wind-swept valleys, the grassy plains, the 
 wooded and rocky glens. Caro but expressed his own 
 thought, when she whispered to her mother, just as a 
 thunderous burst of harmony was succeeded by a gently 
 melodious ripple 
 
 "That's Stanislas at the organ, and he's playing his 
 new Grimsel Symphony." 
 
 The Indian heard Caro's whisper, and his interest in 
 the music at once became intense. The new light which 
 had been cast upon the character of Stanislas by his unex- 
 pected interview with Pleasant that afternoon gave every- 
 thing which the musician did an added interest and 
 importance in the Indian's eyes. Had Stanislas two souls 
 one filled with tender love for nature and endowed with 
 almost infinite capacity for expressing her charm, her
 
 146 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 beauty, her mystery ; the other discontented, angry with 
 the world and its follies and meannesses, and hungry for 
 a vast social reform to be inaugurated only after the old 
 order of things had been swept back into the chaos whence 
 it sprang ? Into which had the man put all the terrible 
 sincerity of which he was capable his art, or his doctrine 
 of destruction? In his music he seemed to say that life 
 was sweet, that clouds, suns, stars, imperial mountains and 
 delicious vales, the odours of wild plants, and the colours 
 of stony crags were all parts of a grand harmony which 
 he enjoyed and adored. Would he bring into this har- 
 monious symphony any complaint, any protest against 
 man and men's injustice? Pleasant listened in vain for 
 the slightest hint of discontent. It was probable that 
 Stanislas established a broad distinction between the 
 physical and the social world ; that he adored the former 
 with a passionate fervour which was quite pagan, and that 
 he hated the latter, and sought refuge from the very 
 thought of it in the contemplation of the eternal hills and 
 the unapproachable dome of the sky. So thought Pleasant 
 as he listened, and, thinking thus, his respect for the 
 musician increased. 
 
 The symphony was too long for a concert intended 
 mainly for the display of a great organ's capacities to a 
 party of impatient tourists, and Stanislas who had stolen 
 into the organ-loft> and requested the favour of playing 
 one piece stopped short in the midst of the superb theme, 
 and yielded his place to the bewildered musician, who was 
 accustomed to play Mendelssohn's "Wedding March," 
 .and a "Storm in the Alps," with imitation of the Alp- 
 horn, but who had never, in his best moments, dreamed 
 of such grand and imaginative flights as those of Stanislas. 
 While the regular organist went tranquilly through his 
 accustomed task, Stanislas stood looking down upon the 
 scattered audience, and nervously straining his eyes at the
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL. 147 
 
 blackness below. The creative mood was upon him ; he 
 felt a regret that he had left the organ, and an almost 
 irresistible desire to ask permission to return to it. 
 
 Circumstances aided him. Just as a murmur of ad- 
 miration arose from the listeners at the close of the con- 
 ventional piece in which the Ranz des Vaches is introduced, 
 and the whistling of winds and fall of avalanches are 
 imitated, a real storm broke with fury over the city of 
 Berne, and raged about the old church and its lofty 
 " platform " and towers with startling vehemence. Pleas- 
 ant was delighted ; his soul rejoiced in this apparent pro- 
 test of Nature against the efforts of an ordinary man to 
 imitate her grand effects. Stanislas interpreted correctly 
 and with sufficient impressiveness ; but this feebler and 
 less learned man who had endeavoured to pourtray storm 
 and calm was rendered ridiculous by contrast with the real 
 excitement of the elements. The organist had the good 
 sense not to begin another selection while the wind and 
 the lightning and the echoes of the thunder were engross- 
 ing the attention of his audience. Now came a flash which 
 brought out in clear and forcible splendour, for an 
 instant, against .the background of darkness, the richly 
 coloured figures in the stained-glass windows in the choir ; 
 and now a great wind seemed to shake the walls of the 
 church. Then came the patter of rain, and then crackling 
 thunder which made the Russian mamma and her daughters 
 cross themselves, and which prompted Caro to whisper 
 nervously 
 
 "Isn't it magnificent, mother? It's like the day of 
 judgment ! See ! You might imagine that those figures 
 of the apostles and prophets in the stalls, over yonder, 
 when the lightning brings them out so vividly, are spring- 
 ing up to answer the signal for resurrection ! Oh ! if 
 Stanislas would only play again ! " 
 
 "It'll be dretful walkin' back to the hotel," remarked
 
 148 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin, who did not share her daughter's fancies, 
 and who was distressed because she had not brought her 
 umbrella. 
 
 "Don't be so prosaic, ma!" said the girl, speaking 
 aloud in her vexation. "If you dou't find this romantic, 
 I shall believe there is no poetry in your soul ! " 
 
 " There ain't, not the least leetle drop. I give it all to 
 you when you was born," responded the mother, meekly ; 
 " and all I hope is that you won't let your romantic notions 
 run away with your common sense. My goodness ! ain't 
 it never goin' to stop rainin' ? " 
 
 " Oh, I wish it would rain for ever, and that the wind 
 would roar on for a hundred }-ears, and that the lightning 
 would flash, flash, flash ! " whispered Caro, excitedly. " If 
 I were a genius like Stanislas, how I should love to sit up 
 there in the organ-loft and answer back thunder with 
 peal after peal from the grand old pipes and keys ! Ah ! 
 how glad I am ! How grand ! He is going to play again ! 
 It takes a storm to rouse the soul of Stanislas ! " 
 
 Caro arose, her face pale and her eyes dilated, and if 
 her mother had not plucked at her skirts, and peevishly 
 besought her not "to make a fool of herself," she might 
 perhaps have burst forth into song, for she was under the 
 influence of a strange excitement, which rendered her 
 insensible to mere proprieties. Mrs. Merlin trembled when 
 she saw Caro in otae of these exalted moods. At such 
 times her daughter seemed to pass beyond her control, and 
 to be insensible to reason. In these moments Mrs. Merlin 
 adored her daughter, but hampered the girl's spirit most 
 cruelly with cautious, wise sayings, and sharp remarks 
 intended to bring her down from the ideal realm into 
 which she had arisen to the plainer and less dangerous 
 regions of reality. 
 
 "Sit down, child," said Mrs. Merlin; "you make 
 my bones ache when you jump about so. I wish to
 
 IN THE CATHEDEAL. 149 
 
 goodness we hadn't come here. You'll be worn out to- 
 morrow ! " 
 
 She hushed the hoarse whisper in which she was 
 uttering these remarks, for Caro sat down, and with an 
 imperative gesture commanded silence. Her eyes had a 
 far-away look, like those of one who walks abroad in 
 a dream ; her lips were slightly parted ; her hands were 
 clenched. The rushing wind outside made one or two 
 violent sallies agaiust the walls of the old cathedral, and 
 then seemed to retire discomfited. The rain went on with 
 the wind, and their splendid heralds, the lightning and the 
 thunder, preceded them. The storm had passed beyond 
 the church and the high stone "platform," and swept 
 down upon the river valley. 
 
 Caro was right in supposing that Stanislas had taken 
 his seat at the organ once more. In the frenzy of his 
 desire for expression, this noble artist, whose imagination 
 ran riot whether he swept his lithe fingers over the keys 
 of a piano, or trod the pedals and handled the stops of an 
 organ, forgot the audience, the organist, who stood humbly 
 at his side, the time, the place, everything, except the voices 
 in his soul. With skill and emphasis he outlined in a few 
 broad preliminary phrases the subject which he wished to 
 create, and then, plunging madly into his work, he poured 
 forth for more than half an hour his new improvisation. 
 The listeners quickly perceived that it was no ordinary 
 man who, thus departing from the usual limits of the 
 concert, had entered upon a second grand morceau, for few 
 of them thought that it was to be anything else, and they 
 pricked up their ears. When they discovered that Stanis- 
 las was reproducing the glories of the storm which had 
 just passed over the church, they were amazed, and the 
 complete success with which he rendered the effects of 
 nature almost frightened the devout among the women, 
 who feared that a wizard was at the organ. Pleasant was
 
 150 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 deeply impressed ; he felt that Nature had challenged 
 Stanislas to a test of grandeur, and that the musician had 
 fearlessly accepted the challenge. As the player drew 
 near the close of his interpretation he interwove bits of 
 melody with the wandering voices of the wind and the 
 rain, and soothed the spirits of those whom he had so 
 strangely excited. But this was done in order to render 
 more imposing the surprise which he had prepared for the 
 final passage. It was massive, tremendous, filled with 
 thunderous bursts which seemed to Caro's heated imagina- 
 tion to shake the cathedral ; with discordant cries of 
 despairing spirits ; with melodious trumpet-blasts of an- 
 gelic hosts ; with majestic marches of supernatural bat- 
 talions ; with fugues fit to express the wailing of the lost 
 millions ; and with chants which seemed to drift down- 
 ward from the inner and unseen heavens. 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! " whispered Caro, grasping her 
 mother's hand. " It's the Day of Judgment that he's 
 describing. It couldn't be anything else." 
 
 "Mercy on us! the girl's mad!" cried Mrs. Merlin, 
 quite forgetting her caution. 
 
 But no one heard her, for Stanislas drowned every 
 other sound at that moment under the organ thunder 
 playing two or three more wild, short passages, which 
 might have been thought to indicate the final disruption of 
 the heavens and the earth, and their return to primal 
 chaos. Then, jumping down from the stool, he was half 
 way out of the organ-loft before his alarmed fellow- 
 musician had made up his mind whether this strange man 
 were angel or fiend. 
 
 The audience sat spell-bound for a minute or two, then 
 arose, and began to move slowly towards the door, as if 
 there could not possibly be anything more on the pro- 
 gramme after all that they had just heard. Pleasant, 
 from his shaded corner, was surprised to see Mrs. Merlin
 
 IN THE CATHEDKAL. 151 
 
 clinging to Caro's arm, and chiding her most ener- 
 getically. 
 
 The girl's face was white. "Let me go, mother," 
 she said, hoarsely. " Don't stop me now. You may scold 
 me later. I must go to him. I must tell him I must 
 praise him. Come ! can't you see that he is a demi-god, 
 a genius? Oh, mother, you haven't the slightest particle 
 of artistic sense ! " 
 
 Mrs. Merlin released her hold on her daughter's arm, 
 and sank back on the bench. She looked at Caro for a 
 moment, then, bursting into tears, she sobbed 
 
 " Dear me, Caro, you'll worry me to death ! You 
 think your poor old mother hasn't got no poetry, nor no 
 artistic sense, nor no no-o-othin', an' you leave her to 
 run away after a foolish foreign musician, just because 
 you think he's ben playin' the Judgment Day ! I'm 
 astonished that you you you should be so wicked ! 
 Caro ! Come h<;re to me ! " 
 
 Caro drew herself up to her full height, and gazed at 
 her lachrymose mamma with a curious expression of 
 mingled tenderness and scorn. 
 
 " This is the second time, mother," she said, " that you 
 have shown distrust of me. I hope it will be the last." 
 She was still greatly excited, and her eyes sparkled. 
 
 Pleasant, looking out from his shaded seclusion, thought 
 that she made a pretty picture. 
 
 " But, daughter, I don't like to see you give way to 
 your feelin's so so dretfully. It makes me all of a 
 tremble. Good gracious ! there's Stanislas now, comin' 
 down the aisle, with another man with a lantern, showin' 
 him around. I suppose now we shall have to speak to 
 him." 
 
 She rose and went to meet him. Caro stood looking 
 after her mother as the good soul greeted Stanislas. " It 
 ia strange," whispered the girl, "that mother should
 
 152 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 suddenly be so absurd about Stanislas ! Poor old ma ! 
 I wonder what she thought he made the organ say." 
 
 Stanislas came striding up to her a minute later, and 
 had taken her hand and held it gently for an instant 
 before Mrs. Merlin could overtake him. 
 
 "It was grand," said the girl. "It was wonderful. 
 I thought I saw the earth open, and the dead rise, and 
 the heavens unrolled. It was the Judgment that you 
 described at the close, wasn't it? " 
 
 The musician gave her a look of delighted surprise. 
 
 "Of course it was. The text of my symphony is 
 written in stone over the door of the cathedral. The 
 Day of Judgment in stone. I studied the quaint groups 
 for a whole hour yesterday ; and then that storm scene 
 to-night seemed to inspire me ! How kind, how sym- 
 pathetic you were to understand me ! Mrs. Merlin, your 
 daughter always comprehends me ! ' ' 
 
 Caro said nothing, but stood trembling a little, with 
 her eyes cast down. 
 
 Pleasant saw that it was not a convenient time to 
 introduce himself anew to the Merlins, so he stole quietly 
 away through the shadows. 
 
 " And, now tell us," said Mrs. Merlin, " how it hap- 
 pens that you are not givin' concerts in London, instead 
 of scarin' us half to death with Judgment Days in the 
 cathedral at Berne ? ' '
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 
 
 NEXT day the sun shone forth gloriously, and Pleasant 
 awoke from a dream in which Alice, the Cherokee Indians, 
 railway bonds, organ" music, the sensuous, passionate face 
 of Stanislas, and the shrewd, suspicious features of the old 
 Polish Jew, were strangely mingled. While he was dress- 
 ing, it suddenly occurred to him that he was not the same 
 man who had arrived at Interlaken, eager to make his 
 bitter protest against the wrongs inflicted on his race. 
 He looked rather critically at his clothes ; they were a 
 trifle worn, and perhaps " provincial " in cut. Miss Caro's 
 criticism burned in his mind. His hat, too, offended his 
 sense of propriety, and he resolved to exchange it that 
 very morning for a better one. He shook out his long 
 black locks, inspected himself carefully, and went down 
 into the garden. The waiter who came to serve him his 
 coffee was yawning, for it was very early. He gave 
 Pleasant a quizzical look, and said, in his variegated 
 English 
 
 " There was three lady to inquire after Monsieur last 
 night. They saw Monsieur's name on the register-board." 
 
 " Three ladies? Who were they? " 
 
 The servant mentioned the names of Mrs. aud Miss 
 Merlin, and Miss Harrelston. Pleasant started so violently 
 
 153
 
 154 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 on learning that Alice had arrived in Berne that the 
 waiter grinned, and added 
 
 ' ' The lady they inquire when Monsieur is going 
 away." 
 
 " I shall see them to-day," said the Indian, in such a 
 sharp tone that the grin faded from the waiter's face, 
 leaving a look of apprehension there instead. 
 
 Pleasant took his light breakfast hastily, then started 
 out for a walk, his cheeks tingling with excitement, and 
 his heart beating as if he had been engaged in a struggle. 
 It hurt his pride to think that he must meet Alice again 
 after he had bidden her good-bye at Meiringen, and after 
 she had fancied him hastening, like a bold and energetic 
 crusader, over land and sea, on his mission. 
 
 He walked rapidly through the town until he came to 
 a great gate, on either side of which were statues of 
 colossal bears which seemed to regard him with malicious 
 air as he passed near them. The cool morning breeze 
 dispelled the fever in his cheeks, and he began to feel 
 more at ease. He crossed the Aar on a bridge hung high 
 above the transparent water, and climbed a wooded hill, 
 which the good burghers of Berne call the " Schaenzli," 
 and which they long ago adopted as one of their principal 
 pleasure resorts. It rises abruptly from the chain of 
 bluffs on the bank opposite the main portion of the city, 
 and is crowned with a delightful wood, in the shadows of 
 which the Bernese young men and maidens like to wander 
 arm-in-arm in summer evenings, when the music of 
 Strauss and Gungl echoes from the terraces above, or 
 when the winds from the snow-clad mountains in the 
 distance bring a delicious coolness to the romantic knoll. 
 At the summit there is a rustic theatre and restaurant 
 fronting upon a high terrace, from which one can look 
 down on Berne and the river, the rows of ancient houses 
 huddled together, the long lines of poplar trees, and away
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 155 
 
 beyond the city the sweet sweep of green and yellow fields, 
 the comfortable broad- roofed farm houses, and the Alps, 
 white and glittering. Here in summer idlers of all 
 nations pass a few pleasant hours, lulled to reverie by 
 the breezes, and fascinated by the atmosphere of perfect 
 peace. The old town of Berne seems to doze beside its 
 beloved Aar ; there is no whirl of machinery, no hum of 
 traffic, no brawl of voices ; it rests the eyes of a world- 
 weary man to look upon the place. 
 
 Pleasant was too young and too inexperienced to be 
 world-weary, but he enjoyed the view from the terrace, 
 because all the parts of the picture were harmonious and 
 soft in colour. Many places in Europe offended his eye. 
 He thought although possibly he would have been puzzled 
 'to express his thought that the uncultivated and savage 
 nature of his own Indian Territory was infinitely superior 
 in beauty to the over-trimmed, subjugated valleys and 
 plains in some portions of Europe. The absence of wooded 
 hills and of the luxuriant forest growth of a new country, 
 annoyed him ; the land seemed naked and ashamed. So, 
 too, he thought that stone houses, with their cold fronts 
 abutting directly upon the streets, and with their windows 
 protected by iron bars and gratings, had an inhospitable 
 air ; he was much fonder of the wooden houses of America, 
 with their inviting porches and their many-windowed 
 sides, and their gardens, which needed no massive walls 
 garnished with broken glass and iron spikes. But Berne 
 did not impress him so grimly as other European towns, 
 and he leaned over the terrace railing, and looked down 
 with genuine satisfaction on the hill-sides dotted with 
 villas between patches of ferns and vineyards, and the 
 steep roads winding among rows of stout trees, and on 
 the reflections of the old houses in the water. There was 
 but one thing needed to make the scene perfect in 
 Pleasant' s view, and that was the figure of Alice Har-
 
 156 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 relston. If he could but see her as he saw her for a 
 moment on the slopes of the Brunig, when she raised her 
 eyes to meet his, and to ask him about his plans for the 
 future ! 
 
 He was half inclined to believe that his Fate had 
 answered his prayer, and had sent Alice to the Schaenzli, 
 for, in a corner of the terrace, with her back turned 
 toward him, sat a young lady busily sketching. Love is a 
 strange enchanter ; it persuades us that we see everywhere 
 the object of our adoration ; and the impulsive Indian had 
 walked half-way to where the lady sat before he could 
 convince himself that it was not Alice. He paused sud- 
 denly, for the feminine artist had a quick ear, and although 
 Pleasant had an Indian foot, and trod as lightly as a deer, 
 she heard his step and looked around. A shadow settled 
 over the young man's brow. He had recognized the 
 resolute young woman whom he had met with Stanislas 
 on the previous day the energetic and mysterious disciple 
 of Bakounin. 
 
 He felt that he would be glad to retreat, but it was 
 too late, for the lady smiled pleasantly, and gathering up 
 her sketching materials arose and held out her hand. 
 There was a* bit of colour in her cheeks, which had 
 been so colourless the day before ; and the stern face was 
 almost pretty as it welcomed Pleasant, with its clear blue 
 eyes, in which the light of laughter was, however, some- 
 thing like that delicate shimmer which hangs above the 
 crater of a volcano. Her simple straw hat had slipped 
 back from her head, and disclosed her open brow almost 
 too broad for that of a woman, and her thick hair, parted 
 in masculine fashion. She greeted Pleasant as unaffectedly 
 and with as little evidence of surprise as if he were an old 
 friend whom she had been expecting to meet at that par- 
 ticular time and place. He listened in vain for any trace 
 of foreign accent in the English which she spoke fluently.
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 157 
 
 The only peculiarity which would have betrayed her as a 
 foreigner was a slight drawl, not unpleasant in itself, but 
 natural neither to English nor Americans. It was not an 
 accent ; it was a manner. 
 
 They shook hands. Vera's palm was feverish, but her 
 grasp was hearty, like that of a man. This was not a 
 feminine, yielding, shrinking, receptive nature, but an ag- 
 gressive, bold, warm, self-asserting one. It was odd that 
 the moment the disciple of Bakounin touched his hand he 
 felt as if she had a certain power over him. It was as if 
 she had instantaneously re-established the sympathy which 
 had been manifested at their first meeting. He was a 
 little disturbed at this discovery. 
 
 " Early abroad, Mr. Merrinott, like myself," she said, 
 merrily. " I am glad to find that you do not, like most 
 tourists, spend the best part of your mornings in bed. 
 Among these Swiss hills these first hours of the day are 
 sublime. See! I have been trying but oh! with such 
 poor success ! to make a small transcript of that corner 
 down below, the houses and the trees and the reflection 
 see ! " And she held up a sketch rather prettily executed 
 in water colours. 
 
 " I am glad, Miss " 
 
 " Call me Vera now," she said ; "that is, if it does not 
 shock your Anglo-Saxon proprieties to do so. For you 
 remember we are comrades now." Her blue eyes grew 
 stern, and the smile faded out of them, but came back 
 timidly a moment afterwards. 
 
 "Well, Miss Vera," said Pleasant, "I think your 
 sketch is very good indeed." And he did think so, 
 although, truth to tell, it was but a sorry bit of art ; for 
 Vera's mind, while she sketched, had been absorbed with 
 thoughts quite foreign to the beauties of nature on the 
 banks of the Aar. 
 
 u You flatter me," she said. " Have you seen brother
 
 158 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Stanislas this morning? He gets out early, as we do. 
 He is in one of his poetic moods, with a craze for com- 
 position, and I have given up all hope of getting his 
 attention for anything practical to-day." 
 
 " No ; I heard him in the cathedral last night, driving 
 the listeners wild with his strange fancies." 
 
 " Yes, I saw you there," said Vera. " I was not far 
 from you, but so enveloped in darkness that you did not 
 suspect my presence. I think Stanislas was half crazy or 
 half inspired. His music was grand. Do you know " 
 she lowered her voice "that when he has been in a 
 creative mood for a day or two he acquires a distaste for 
 our work our life-work you understand what I mean 
 and sometimes I am inclined to be half jealous of his 
 music? " She hesitated a moment ; then, pulling her hat 
 forward on her head, and, tugging at its ribbons with one 
 hand, she added, " For, possibly, if he did not have music 
 as a means of expressing his tremendous passion, he would 
 put mere force into the work do you not think so ? Or 
 do I misjudge him? They say it is dangerous to be a 
 person of one idea, and perhaps I am wrong in concen- 
 trating all my attention upon }'ou understand! But 
 pshaw ! I can think of nothing else dream of nothing 
 else. Do get a chair and sit down, Mr. Merrinott." 
 
 Pleasant obeyed, mechanically. 
 
 " Do you suppose I have been thinking of that sketch 
 while I have^been making it? " she said, scornfully, hold- 
 ing it up, as she sat down again. " Not at all. And of 
 what was I thinking? Of a small village near the Polish 
 frontier of Russia a straggling village of one long 
 street, with but few houses worthy of the name of ' resi- 
 dence.' Cabins much dirt poverty sharply contrasted 
 with a rude kind of provincial magnificence. Snow on 
 the ground." 
 
 She stooped and laid her sketch upon the grass at his
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 159 
 
 feet, and Pleasant, looking at it, fancied that he could see 
 the picture which she was now describing gradually taking 
 the place of the houses, graceful trees, and sunlit water 
 which she had copied. She went on gravely. 
 
 " In front of one of the houses is a procession of men 
 and women, chained like criminals. And criminals they 
 are considered, because the Russian Government has 
 doomed them to exile. To exile and for what? For 
 supposed sympathy only half proven with an abortive 
 Polish insurrection along the border. But not for that 
 alone, oh no ! For a graver offence. For filling the heads 
 of the peasants round about with new ideas ; for telling 
 them some few things about representative government, 
 and a State in which even the humblest individual can 
 have some influence ; for preaching to them. Ah ! And for 
 these terrible offences a powerful government punishes 
 how ? It comes into the small village makes arbitrary 
 arrests imprisons honest people for months in loathsome 
 dens. It takes them from the prisons only to condemn 
 them to exile, and to start them in procession over the 
 frozen land to Siberia. Yes ; I can see that procession 
 now. And why do I see it why is it before my eyes 
 night and day ? Because my father and mother are in it, 
 and my mother is chained by the wrist to a woman who 
 is guilty of a vile crime of the murder of her babe ! ' ' 
 
 Vera's face was white. She had not raised her voice 
 above a low tone, but Pleasant heard every word dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 " That was many years ago," she said. " But the 
 colours of that picture are still fresh in my mind. The 
 monstrous injustice of that exile are always in my 
 thought. And that is but one of many instances. The 
 same policy is still pursued ; the same remorseless crush- 
 ing forces are at work. Do you wonder that we believe 
 in Bakounin? "'
 
 160 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " No," he answered, " it does not astonish me. I only 
 think that you will find his doctrines hard to carry out." 
 
 " And what would you do? " said Vera, with a certain 
 scorn in her voice, " if you had such an injustice as that 
 of which I have told you to complain of ? " 
 
 Pleasant looked at her steadfastly. " I can tell you of 
 a greater injustice than that," he answered. " I can tell 
 you of a procession of thousands of men, women, and 
 children, forcibly removed from lands in America that 
 belonged to them, and driven, in dreary procession, hun- 
 dreds on hundreds of miles from the homes which they 
 had learned to love, and packed like cattle on new 
 territory assigned to them. I can tell you of the people 
 of my race dispossessed of their own by greedy strangers, 
 who have never taken the trouble to improve or cultivate 
 one-half of the country from which they drove those 
 whom they were pleased to call savages. I can tell you 
 of the broken hearts of men who loved their mountains 
 and valleys as women love their children. I can tell of 
 the mothers who fainted and died on the way into exile. 
 I reckon my grief is as great as yours, for injustice and 
 exile are bitter in America, for Indians driven against their 
 will from the South, which they loved, to the Territories 
 west of the Mississippi River, just as they are bitter on 
 the Polish frontier of Russia, for men and women who 
 believe in national aspirations, in free speech, and in con- 
 stitutional government." 
 
 Vera listened earnestly, and Pleasant submitted to the 
 influence of her blue eyes, which looked candidly and 
 fearlessly into his own. The bond of sympathy was 
 stronger than ever now. He seemed to have gained an 
 ally, and a powerful one, who could counsel, who could 
 set him on the track of vengeance upon the oppressing 
 race. She spoke lower than before, but still with utmost 
 distinctness, as she said
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 161 
 
 " "Well, Mr. Merrinott, do you propose to let such a 
 wrong go unavenged ? Or do you mean to do all that in 
 your power lies to get justice justice? " 
 
 There was a sinister ring in her voice. Pleasant found 
 that this question awakened certain grave doubts in his 
 mind. What was it his duty to do? What could he do? 
 How could he hope to set things right? He did not 
 answer Vera's question, and, as if she had felt that he 
 would not, she continued 
 
 " You want vengeance ; you want justice ; you protest ; 
 you cry out ; your voice is stifled. It is all in vain, Mr. 
 Merrinott. You waste your time. You, Indian, victim 
 of society in America, I, victim of society in Russia, can 
 gain little by protesting. Can we fight society openly? 
 Evidently not. What, then, can we do?" She paused, 
 and raised one hand slowly ; then suddenly, with a sweep- 
 ing, upward gesture, "We can undermine it and blow it 
 into fragments such minute fragments that they can 
 never be found and put together again. We can sweep it 
 out of existence ; it must pay the penalty it has incurred 
 by establishing injustice in place of justice, corruption in 
 place of honesty, tyranny in place of liberty ! The old 
 order must perish from the earth, and then we can con- 
 struct our new world. On the chaos of the past we will 
 build the social temple of which Bakouniu has laid the 
 spiritual foundations in our hearts and souls." 
 
 Pleasant was greatly impressed. All these sentiments 
 seemed now but as echoes of the thoughts in his own 
 breast thoughts heretofore vaguely expressed. But a 
 sense of his individual helplessness seemed to overpower 
 him. He smiled bitterly, as he said 
 
 "I am afraid open war hopeless though it might 
 prove to be is the only course for my people against 
 the race which oppresses them, and which has hunted 
 them down so remorselessly. The mass of the people of
 
 162 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the United States are too well satisfied with their material 
 condition to believe that anything is to be gained by 
 destroying society and building over again from the 
 foundations." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," said Vera, with a confident 
 air, which excited Pleasant's curiosity. "There are 
 hidden forces at work in the United States, the power of 
 which you cannot calculate. There are movements K- 
 neath the surface there which will join in a monstrous up- 
 heaval the day that a social revolution succeeds in Ein-ope. 
 The field is the world, my friend ; it is not merely Russia 
 or Poland. Do not fancy that brother Stanislas or I 
 would have taken you into our confidence had it been 
 merely a question of the destruction of the present order 
 of society in Russia. Our victory in that country will be 
 followed by explosions in every other land where the con- 
 ditions demand them. And do they not demand them in 
 America as well as in Russia? You have got a new ex- 
 periment in government in America, but you still have the 
 old society. No, my friend ; have no doubt upon one 
 subject : it is in the countries where the civilization is 
 newest that the theories of Bakounin will first be success- 
 fully applied. It is in Russia and America that the ex- 
 plosion will first occur. It is the fresh 3'oung nations that 
 will furnish the pioneers in this experiment of establishing 
 a new social order. Do you understand me? " 
 
 " I do," said the Indian. He did understand, now ; he 
 could see that this rare enthusiast was toiling to draw him 
 into the meshes of a conspiracy which enveloped the whole 
 civilized world, and in which her soul was engaged with 
 a fervour which elicited his a.dmiration. Despite the 
 eUxjticnt manner in which she urged her cause there was, 
 however, something .slightly repulsive in it to Pleasaut's 
 thinking, nnd yet irresistible forces seemed momentarily 
 drawing him more and more closely to it. He was about
 
 ON THE SCHAENZLI. 163 
 
 to stammer forth some inquiries as to how so humble and 
 inexperienced a person as himself could help the cause of 
 the "social revolution" in Russia, when Vera leaned 
 forward, picked up her sketch before he could get it for 
 her, brushed it lightly with a blue handkerchief which she 
 took from the breast pocket of her morning sack, and 
 looking almost archly at him, said 
 
 "Thus endeth the first lesson!" 
 
 Pleasant was vexed, but he did not betray his vexation. 
 "You might call this the second lesson, I think," he 
 said; "seems to me I had the first one yesterday." 
 
 ' ' Oh no ! That was merely your introduction to the 
 schoolmistress. Now, Mr. Merrinott, let us dismiss 
 serious topics for the time being, and I suppose we may 
 admire Nature as much as we like, for we don't propose 
 to destroy that. We shall cut the old picture out of the 
 frame and put a new one in ; we shall never dream of 
 trying to discard the frame. Nature is Our friend ; it is 
 only society that is our enemy. What a lovely day it is ! 
 See how exquisite the green fields are, and the hills are 
 alive with birds ! Surely, Mr. Merrinott, as an Indian, 
 you must love Nature!" 
 
 " I adore birds, beasts, and the earth and air, I 
 reckon, as much as can be expected of the most romantic 
 savage," said Pleasant. " And I am glad that you don't 
 mean to pull down the universe among your other labours 
 of destruction. I don't think it can be improved upon." 
 
 "No; but the manner of enjoying it, and using its 
 benefits, certainly may be. Now, Mr. Merrinott, I posi- 
 tively refuse to seem serious any longer. Ah ! a question 
 a question, Mr. Merrinott, which you perhaps can an- 
 swer. There is a little American lady in whom my brother 
 Stanislas seems strangely interested : Miss Miss Mer- 
 lin. She was in the cathedral last evening. Can you tell 
 me about her? She is but a child, I believe. But Stanis-
 
 164 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 las ah ! his heart is very tender. Do you know that I 
 sometimes fear Miss Merlin may distract brother Stanislas 
 from his life-work ? You know her ; tell me about her. ' ' 
 She applied the blue handkerchief once more to brush- 
 ing some dust from the water-colour, and brushed so 
 furiously that the delicate fabric caught on a corner of 
 the sketch and fell on the grass. Pleasant jumped from 
 his chair and fell on his knees to recover it ; and he was 
 still kneeling, and handing it to Vera, when the sound of 
 voices caused him to look up, and he saw Caro and Alice 
 Harrelston, with their hands filled with wild flowers, 
 coming along the terrace. Mrs. Merlin, indulging in a 
 vehement tirade against the Swiss hills, and the fatigues 
 of climbing them, brought up the rear.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A WAGER. 
 
 MB. MERRINOTT arose from his knees without any visible 
 symptoms of discomfiture. It did not occur to him that 
 his attitude might be misinterpreted, and his delight at 
 meeting Alice once more was so genuine that it deadened 
 all other sensations. He came forward, and held out his 
 hand, saying 
 
 " I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you again so 
 soon." 
 
 " Wai ! if it ain't the Injun ! " said Mrs. Merlin, in a 
 stage whisper. "That beats the Dutch!" Meantime 
 she fixed her eyes sharply on Vera, who had arisen and 
 turned to scrutinize the new-comers haughtily and fear- 
 lessly. A slight tinge of colour crept into Vera's face as 
 she noticed Caro. 
 
 "Really, Mr. Merrinott, we were a little surprised 
 when we heard that you were still here," answered Alice. 
 " You seemed in such haste to return to America on your 
 mission ! " There was the faint suggestion of a laugh in 
 her voice. "My hands, as you see, are filled with flowers." 
 
 " The}' are right pretty," said the Indian, leaving Alice 
 in doubt whether he meant the adjective to apply to her 
 hands or the blossoms. " Yes, I have been delayed here. 
 Mrs. Merlin, Miss Caro, I saw you both in the church 
 
 165
 
 166 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 last evening. Were you not surprised to find Stanislas 
 here?" 
 
 "Oh, not much," said Mrs. Merlin; "them foreign 
 musicians " 
 
 " Excuse me," interrupted Pleasant, with a vague 
 consciousness that Mrs. Merlin might say something un- 
 pleasant, " this lady is the sister of Stanislas." And 
 he stretched out one hand with a gesture which might 
 be understood to serve as comprehending Vera in the 
 company. Alice and Caro glanced quickly at each other, 
 and Alice blushed. 
 
 " Indeed? " said Mrs. Merlin, walking leisurely towards 
 Vera, who had made an indefinable bow, by which she 
 seemed neither to encourage nor to refuse recognition, " I 
 want to know ! I never heard Stanislas say that he had 
 a sister." 
 
 " My brother, madame," said Vera, " is droll, like all 
 men of genius. No doubt he quite forgets, when in your 
 company, that I exist." Vera was looking at Caro as she 
 said this, and the young girl fancied that the words were 
 meant for her. 
 
 "Well, now 't I look square at you, I reckon mebbe 
 there is jest a leetle family resemblance," said the old 
 lady, with her usual frankness. 
 
 "That is not very strange, is it, madame?" Mrs. 
 Merlin did not disturb Vera's dignity at all. " Oh, my 
 brother has told me all about you, and I beg your pardon 
 is not the young lady your daughter a charming 
 singer, of whom I have heard Stanislas often speak?" 
 She looked at Caro again, this time smiling so winningly 
 that Miss Merlin came up beside her mother. 
 
 "How delightful to love music and to sing!" said 
 Vera. " Do you know that I am quite jealous of you 
 when I hear my brother raving about your voice ? Oh ! 
 but he docs rave ! I get no praise from him, because I
 
 A WAGER. 167 
 
 well, I am the pedant of the family. Stanislas says that 
 I could never be a musician. But I love study. I sup- 
 pose you will be horrified to learn that I have been study- 
 ing medicine and other things at Zurich? " 
 
 Mrs. Merlin opened her eyes widely. " Studyin' to be 
 a doctress, be you ? " she said. " Don't you find it rather 
 up-hill work ? ' ' 
 
 Vera did not exactly understand this English idiom, 
 but when Mrs. Merlin had explained it, she answered, 
 "Well! it is somewhat difficult. I left Zurich and 
 came here to rest for a time, and so Stanislas came to 
 visit me and to cheer me up, although I believe he has a 
 host of professional engagements, which he has taken the 
 liberty of suddenly postponing. But will you not sit 
 down?" Vera was as gracious and dignified as if the 
 terrace of the Sehaenzli were the lawn in front of her own 
 country house. " And the other lady? " 
 
 Mrs. Merlin turned to Alice, but the young Indian and 
 Miss Harrelston had retired to the middle of the terrace, 
 where stood a glass pavilion, and were busily engaged in 
 conversation. 
 
 "That's Miss Harrelston," said Mrs. Merlin. "Per- 
 haps you've heard your brother speak of her." 
 
 " I think not," answered Vera. " Is she an American 
 lady ? Ah ! I fear I am keeping you from her. I was 
 sketching here when the dark gentleman, Mr. Merrinott, 
 to whom my brother introduced me only yesterday, came 
 along, and we have been talking about your wonderful 
 country ! Ah ! what a blessing to have such a land to 
 claim as one's own ! " 
 
 "Why, yes," said Mrs. Merlin. "Now, if you're 
 reelly bent on doctorin' , the United States offers a much 
 better chance than ' ' 
 
 "Than Russia? Do you think so? Ah! there are a 
 great many ills to heal in Russia, and physicians of the
 
 168 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 right sort are much in demand." Vera gathered up her 
 sketching materials as she talked. 
 
 "Don't let us disturb you!" cried Caro. "Please 
 continue your work, and I will sit down and look on." 
 
 " Oh, that will be too much honour for my poor 
 sketch," said Vera; but she began unpacking again, and 
 sat down. 
 
 " Not so much honour as Mr. Merrinott was paying it 
 when we came np," said Caro, wickedly. " He seemed 
 to be on his knees before it." 
 
 " On his knees yes not to worship but to pick up 
 rny handkerchief. Do you know," she said, in a whisper, 
 "that he is very impressive that Mr. Merrinott ? He 
 looks like a young Tartar chieftain ! And he has a right 
 to look so, for I think there is no doubt that your North 
 American Indians are of Asiatic origin. They must have 
 gone over to America centuries and centuries ago, across 
 that narrow strip of water away in the North how do 
 you call it? Behring's Straits is it not?" 
 
 "Wai," said Mrs. Merlin, smoothing out the wrinkles 
 in her bonnet-strings, " that is an idee. It's kinder 
 consolin' to think that such dretful critturs as the Injuns 
 are not the natural producks of the North American 
 soil." 
 
 " Oh ! you must not be uncomplimentary to the Tartars 
 in my presence, even by implication," said Vera, with an 
 odd little smile ; " for do you not remember the proverb, 
 '-Scratch the Russian, and you find the Tartar? ' 
 
 ''But I thought," remarked Mrs. Merlin, looking a 
 'little blank, " that I had heard your brother say his 
 mother I think it was his mother was Polish, and so 
 you would be " 
 
 "The Russians, madame, would hardly be willing to 
 admit that there is any such country as Poland, or that 
 the Poles exist. But to come back to the Indian." She
 
 A WAGER. 169 
 
 glanced around to satisfy herself that Pleasant was out 
 of hearing range. " Is he not an enthusiast? " 
 
 " He is," said Caro. " He is the kind of man to lead 
 a forlorn hope in a battle, or to rebel against a great 
 injustice, even if there were not the slightest hope of 
 successful rebellion." 
 
 " Do you think so? " cried Vera, so joyously that Caro 
 and her mother looked quickly at her. 
 
 " Yes, he's determined," said Caro's mother, " but it's 
 no use. He might as well butt his head aginst a stone 
 wall as to work at settin' Indian affairs straight." 
 
 " That doesn't matter," said Vera. " He is enthusiastic, 
 and enthusiasm is never so beautiful as when it is bestowed 
 upon a hopeless cause." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin was puzzled by Vera, but she liked the 
 girl. She felt much relief of mind, alsa, now that she 
 could see a legitimate reason for the presence of Stanislas 
 in Berne. He had, of course, stopped to visit with his 
 sister ; nothing could be more natural or proper. The 
 very fact that he had a sister over whose career he 
 watched revived Mrs. Merlin's respect for him. So she 
 made herself as agreeable as possible to Vera, who 
 seemed the incarnation of frankness, giving picturesque 
 details of her student life in Zurich, and furnishing a 
 vivid impression of her ability to take care of herself. 
 Once or twice, when the girl looked up from her sketch, 
 and fixed her eyes full upon Mrs. Merlin's face, the good 
 woman was a bit disturbed. The imperious boldness of 
 the gaze seemed to reveal a phase of character which Vera 
 usually kept concealed. 
 
 While the mother gossiped and listened to gossip, the 
 daughter was studying Vera. She sought in vain in the 
 girl's face for the resemblance to Stanislas which Mrs. 
 Merlin had discovered, and she was dimly conscious of a 
 latent antagonism to Vera, slowly developing itself in 'her
 
 170 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 soul, as if in obedience to an eternal law of the origin or 
 purpose of which she knew nothing. She was willing to 
 like Vera, but a voice cried " Beware ! " She felt that she 
 was in presence of a will superior to her own ; that Vera 
 had hidden forces which might in emergency be called into 
 play and gain victories for her. In short, Vera was a woman 
 whom she was ready to admire, but not to trust or to love. 
 Deep in Caro's heart was a worship of the genius of 
 Stanislas, the artist, which was ready at a moment's call 
 to develop into love for Stanislas, the man ; and even his 
 faults were not without a certain savour in her eyes. The 
 sudden intrusion of this sister upon her attention was not 
 entirely pleasant to her ; she was vaguely jealous of her 
 already, before she had known of her existence for more 
 than half an hour. That Stanislas should never have men- 
 tioned Vera to her seemed to demand an explanation ; yet 
 she would have been puzzled to give a reason for this feeling. 
 She observed that Vera found time, despite her sketching 
 and her conversation with Mrs. Merlin, to look her over 
 most carefully, and she felt that the Russian girl would 
 take away with her a remembrance of every detail of her 
 dress, and each peculiarity of her manner. 
 
 Presently they heard a cheerful voice accosting Pleasant 
 and Alice, and Caro instantly recognized it for that of 
 Stanislas. In spite of a strong effort to control her 
 emotion, the tell-tale blood came into her cheeks, and she 
 was half inclined to turn away from the sharp gaze which 
 Veia fixed upon her at that moment. Evidently, thought 
 Caro, Mademoiselle Vera is of a most inquisitive turn of 
 mind. 
 
 Stanislas was in splendid humour, and he came up to 
 the ladies, bringing Alice and Pleasant in his train. He 
 seemed to consider it necessary to introduce his sister 
 formally to every one, and congratulated himself and the 
 company on their reunion.
 
 A WAGER. 171 
 
 ' ' But we are doomed to separate again almost imme- 
 diately," said Vera, "for Mrs. Merlin and her daughter 
 leave to-morrow, and " 
 
 "Of course Miss Harrelston goes with them," said 
 Stanislas. 
 
 " And shall we lose you, too? " said Vera to the young 
 Cherokee. 
 
 Alice Harrelston looked at Vera, and Vera looked at 
 her. The young American girl was displeased, and Vera 
 knew it. 
 
 " I shall go in a few days, I reckon," answered Pleasant. 
 
 " But not to America not to your Indians, Mr. Merri- 
 nott," said Alice. " Have you explained to our friends 
 that you have all at once lost interest in your mission? 
 Do you know, Mrs. Merlin, that Mr. Merrinott now talks 
 of a stay in Paris ? We shall count you among the lost 
 leaders, sir. We are disappointed ; we expected to read 
 exciting telegrams about you, and to hear of glorious 
 deeds done on the frontier." 
 
 Pleasant bit his lips. He realized that Alice, actuated 
 by a sudden feminine caprice, was deliberately striving to 
 make him seem ridiculous. This grieved rather than 
 offended him. He made no answer, but Vera said gently 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Merrinott thinks that he can serve his 
 people better abroad than at home for the present." 
 
 This remark heightened Alice's displeasure. Who was 
 this Vera, who came flitting like a shadow across their 
 path? this Vera, beside whom Pleasant had been found 
 kneeling the day after he had seen her for the first time, 
 and who now seemed to know about his plans, and to 
 apologize for him when he turned aside from the straight 
 path of self-appointed duty? A Russian girl, a student of 
 medicine, and the sister of Stanislas. But this was not 
 enough to entitle her to confidence. Suspicion of Vera 
 sprang into Alice's mind the moment that she saw her
 
 172 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 face. Instinct told her that that face was pure, virginal, 
 honest ; but there was the shadow of a mysterious design 
 upon it, and this it was which made it repugnant to Alice. 
 This, thought the girl, is the face of a woman who might 
 lead such a } T outh as Pleasant Merrinott very far astray. 
 Her natural charity entered a protest against this judg- 
 ment, which might prove to have been prejudiced and 
 harsh ; but she set her charity sternly aside, and refused 
 to accept Vera until she had made a more careful study 
 of her. 
 
 "Do you think that Paris will spoil our savage 
 friend ? ' ' said Stanislas, gaily. ' ' Not at all. The odours 
 of the boulevard will teach him to love the perfumes of 
 his forests all the more passionately. When he sees what 
 over-refinement and decaying civilization are worth, he 
 will be glad to return to the simplicity of his native 
 prairies." 
 
 " That is right prettily said, Mr. Stanislas ; but I'm not 
 entirely sure that I am going to Paris. I I don't know 
 what I am going to do." Pleasant held out his hands 
 helplessly, as if he were giving up his liberty to his Fate. 
 "I will remain here for the present until I hear more 
 from the Nation." 
 
 ' ' And then ah ! then you are certain to gravitate 
 to Paris," interrupted Vera. "It is the natural centre 
 for every one who has a cause, a mission, an idea. It is 
 a splendid rallying point. France has not been wrongly 
 called the second country of every man." 
 
 " Wai," said Mrs. Merlin, " I do think that the French 
 are a mighty sight more interested to reform other nations 
 than they are to improve themselves. It tickles their 
 vanity to think that other folks need scttin' to rights, and 
 kinder confirms "em in their notion that they personally 
 don't need no lixin' over. 
 
 " I don't think I should like Paris," Siiid Pleasant. " I
 
 A WAGER. 173 
 
 have an idea that I should find it heartless and insincere, 
 and and all surface. Miss Vera surprises me when 
 she calls it the right place for a man with a mission." 
 
 Alice was leaning against the terrace railing, and 
 looking down at some flowers, which she was deftly 
 arranging into a bouquet. Pleasant's criticism made her 
 look up, and he saw that her face wore a pained expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Merrinott ! how poorly you understand our 
 dear Paris !" she said. "Perhaps after you have been 
 there a few months you will deign to bestow a less severe 
 judgment on the city." 
 
 "A few months, Miss Harrelston ! Why, in a few 
 mouths I shall be back among the hills in the Indian 
 Nation, and you all will have forgotten that I or my 
 country are in the world." 
 
 " Voyez I'Americain ! See his impatience break through 
 the crust of European delay," laughed Stanislas. "Why, 
 Monsieur Savage, do you think that the wrongs of an 
 oppressed people can be redressed over night? If you 
 have arrived at any such mistaken conclusion, just give 
 yourself the trouble to call to mind the small nations that 
 have been asking for justice for three or four hundred 
 years and that still ask in vain." 
 
 ' ' And yet many of them are now trying to redress 
 those wrongs by sudden and violent means," said Pleasant, 
 looking sharply at Stanislas. 
 
 The musician started involuntarily, but he saw that no 
 one else, except Vera, had understood the allusion. 
 
 " I don't think it is right to accuse me of impatience," 
 continued the Indian ; " but I stand convicted of indigna- 
 tion ! " 
 
 "And enthusiasm," added Vera. "Did you not say," 
 addressing Caro, " that Mr. Merrinott is very enthusias- 
 tic?"
 
 174 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Well, is that cause for reproach?" inquired Pleasant. 
 " I reckon you would prefer to see me the conventional 
 Indian silent as the grave, undemonstrative as a 
 stone " 
 
 " No no, not so," said Vera, stepping into the middle 
 of the group, and addressing each member of it as 
 familiarly as if she had known them all for years. " But 
 there seems to be I think we must all admit it some 
 doubt as to your ability to maintain your enthusiasm at 
 its present height. Some of us think is it not so? 
 that the seductions of civilization may turn you aside 
 from your mission. Now, I do not think so, and I shall 
 be curious to see if my convictions in your favour are not 
 justified." 
 
 " Ah ! but he is forewarned now," said Caro. 
 
 "That will neither help nor hinder him," continued 
 Vera. " Brother Stanislas, don't reprove me now. You 
 know I must be allowed my little eccentricities. I am 
 going to how do you say it? to lay a wager." 
 
 " What ! to make a bet? Sister, that is not precisely 
 a feminine habit." 
 
 " Never mind ; my motive is excellent. I am going to 
 lay a wager of some trifling thing whatever you please 
 that six months hence Mr. Mcrrinott will be found 
 as enthusiastic as ever about his mission, and quite 
 uninjured by his contact with decaying civilization. Six 
 months hence ; that will be February I shall be in Paris 
 brother Stanislas will be there shall we not all be 
 there? Don't frown, Mr. Merriuott ; we are not impugn- 
 ing your patriotism or sincerity : we are merely speculat- 
 ing as to the influence of society upon you." 
 
 Pleasant did frown, but he made no other protest. He 
 was anxious to see what would come of this odd propo- 
 sition. 
 
 "Naturally, if Mr. Merrinott does not remain in Europe
 
 A WAGER. 175 
 
 six months, the wager falls to the ground. But if he does, 
 we shall see him, and pronounce upon his progress. Now, 
 who dares wager against me that he will lose this excellent 
 quality of enthusiasm, or that he will unconsciously falter 
 in his mission and all because of the undermining 
 influences of society? Dare you? " turning to Mrs. Mer- 
 lin ; " or you? " to Caro ; " or you? " to Stanislas ; " or 
 you?" to Alice, who held a violet which she was about to 
 place in the bouquet in her right hand. 
 
 "I dare," said Alice, lightly; "and I will wager a 
 bouquet of violets with you that if Mr. Merrinott remains 
 in Europe six months he will have lost his enthusiasm and 
 abated his interest in his mission." 
 
 Pleasant started as if some one had struck him, but he 
 instantly recovered his calmness, and said coolly 
 
 "Who is to decide, at. the end of this probationary 
 period, whether I have become worthless or not? " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Merrinott not worthless; I fear we have 
 offended you," said Vera. 
 
 " Not at all. Only I fail to see " 
 
 "If your enthusiasm for your mission has lessened, 
 you will be the first to admit it when the time for decision 
 comes. Shall we write down the wager? " 
 
 Vera smiled as she turned to Alice with this question 
 on her lips ; but the smile died away, and gave place to a 
 questioning look, as she saw that Miss Harrelston's face 
 was stern. 
 
 " I shall remember. February. Violets. Caro shall 
 be our intermediary," said Alice. 
 
 " Bon Dieu!" cried Stanislas. " You are as romantic 
 as two ladies of the seventeenth century. Now, Monsieur 
 Indian, you are on probation." 
 
 "It's uncomfortable," said the young Cherokee, tossing 
 his long black hair from his shoulders. "Oh, Miss 
 Harrelston," he said, in a low voice, and approaching Alice,
 
 176 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " how could you be so cruel you who professed to believe 
 in me and in rny mission? " 
 
 "Because you have already faltered by the way," 
 answered Alice, letting the violet fall from one hand, 
 grasping the bouquet tightly with the other, and raising 
 her eyes slowly to meet his.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE ALPINE FIRE. 
 
 FOR, the next five minutes Pleasant wished, more earnestly 
 than ever before, that he had been born a full-blooded 
 Indian. He was grievously offended, almost angry. His 
 hands were convulsively clenched, and his lips trembled. 
 He would have been glad to conceal his agitation, and the 
 stoical calm of the children of the forest seemed to him a 
 most precious quality. He felt doubly humiliated now ; 
 humbled by Alice's plain expression of her lack of con- 
 fidence in him, and abased because he could not conceal 
 from her the fact that her action annoyed and distressed 
 him. Had he been a man of the world he would have felt 
 flattered rather than angered by Alice's acceptance of 
 Vera's wager : but he was not a man of the world. 
 
 Miss Harrelston's eyes fascinated him. She looked at 
 him proudly, yet earnestly ; he was at a loss to decide 
 whether there was most of pride or pity in her gaze. 
 Never had she seemed so beautiful to him as now at the 
 moment when she had wounded him sorely. A mysterious 
 force drew him slowly toward her ; he was feeling in all its 
 power the enchantment of love that love which causes 
 such exquisite pain, so infinitely preferable to the most 
 refined pleasure. Pleasant felt that he must be alone with 
 Alice ; that a word might explain all ; that his heart would 
 burst unless there were complete explanation before they 
 separated. Then a blighting suspicion crossed his 
 
 177
 
 178 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 thoughts, bringing a chill, as a passing shadow brings a 
 shudder to the wanderer in a sunlit field. Perhaps Alice 
 would cast him aside as a useless acquaintance, a silly 
 adventurer. What claim had he upon her attention ? 
 
 Stanislas awoke him from this fit of abstraction by 
 inviting the company to go with him to see the bears, hi 
 their historic den on the river bank. " After seeing those 
 pleasant animals," said the musician, " we can stroll to 
 my lodgings, where sister Vera shall make you some tea, 
 with a lemon in it, in Northern style, and I will make 
 you some music, if you wish." 
 
 ' ' A composition describing the gambols of the bears 
 would not be a bad idea," said Vera gaily, as, aided by 
 Mrs. Merlin, she took up the sketching materials, and 
 led the way toward one of the exits from the Schaenzli 
 Garden. 
 
 Caro and Stanislas followed, merrily discussing the 
 possibilities of Vera's suggestion. 
 
 "You are coming, of course," said Stanislas to Alice 
 and the young Indian. 
 
 "With pleasure," said Alice. "Now, Mr. Merrinott, 
 if you will kindly pick up my violet, and consent to come 
 out of your reverie, we will visit the bears. You ought 
 to tell us some famous bear stories ; they are in your line, 
 you know." 
 
 "Here is the flower," said Pleasant, bending swiftly 
 and gracefully forward, and picking up the faded little 
 blossom. " It is half crushed and a bit soiled, but if you 
 have no objection, I would like to keep it. When I look 
 at it," he added, rather bitterly, " it will serve to remind 
 me of my probation." 
 
 " Very well," said Alice coldly, " if it will be of use to 
 yon for that purpose, you are quite welcome to it." The 
 faint flush in her checks, which Pleasant had learned to 
 consider so beautiful, was apparent now.
 
 THE ALPINE FIKE. 179 
 
 " I am not likely to forget the manner in which my 
 sincerity has been called in question, whatever else I for- 
 get," said the Indian, quite losing his self-control. 
 
 The flush faded out of Alice's face. " You are offended, 
 Mr. Merrinott," she said. " I am very sorry that I have 
 hurt your feelings. -But I am not entirely to blame. 
 Our new acquaintance seemed so anxious to find some 
 one " 
 
 " Ah ! but it need not have been you, Miss Harrelstbn," 
 interrupted the excited Cherokee. " When you did that, 
 I felt as badly as if you had struck me a blow. It was 
 hard ; you misjudged me so suddenly, and right cruelly ! 
 A word will explain everything. I have not faltered by 
 the way nor do I mean to falter. Since arriving here, I 
 have received letters despatches which delay my depar- 
 ture. It hurts me to have you think think me ridiculous. ' ' 
 
 " I am sure that nothing can ever make me think you 
 ridiculous, Mr. Merrinott," said Alice, moving on more 
 rapidly, for she saw that Pleasant was inclined to stop and 
 enter into a discussion. "That is," she added, with a 
 merry gleam in her eyes, "nothing unless I should 
 happen to win my wager. It is made, and I suppose that 
 it would be awkward to withdraw from it now. Still, I 
 own that I was hasty and inconsiderate. Will you for- 
 give me?" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Pleasant joyously. " I felt 
 proud of your confidence, and when you seemed to with- 
 draw it you have not wholly withdrawn it, have you? " 
 
 " By no means." 
 
 " I was profoundly discouraged. Ungallant as it is, I 
 shall do my best to make you lose your wager." 
 
 They were some distance behind the others, and as 
 they went along the high road on the hill, with the 
 delicious odour of the new-mown ha} T floating around 
 them, and as they wound down the steep path to the
 
 180 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 street which led beneath the grateful shade of ancient 
 trees to the pit in which the bears, those august guests of 
 the venerable city of Berne, disport themselves, Alice 
 talked of nothing but Stanislas and Vera. The young 
 Indian was compelled to keep a careful watch upon his 
 words, lest in an imprudent moment he should betray 
 the secret of the disciples of Bakounin, and when Alice 
 said 
 
 " But do you not think that the lady is decidedly 
 eccentric ? " he answered 
 
 " Highly so. It must be due to her studies, I reckon." 
 
 The visitors found the bears very diverting, and ex- 
 pended many pennies in the purchase of turnips and 
 cakes to toss into the maws of the clumsy and comical 
 creatures. Then they went up the hill to a cool cottage 
 where Stanislas and Vera were installed, and where, on a 
 pretty lawn under widespreading trees, after much con- 
 ^ersation and laughter, Stanislas ordered lunch to be 
 served. Stanislas disappeared mysteriously, to return 
 shortly in a carriage with Mrs. Harrelston, who had been 
 nursing a headache in her room at the Bellevue, but who 
 was easily persuaded to join the merry-makers. It was 
 no secret that the musician enjoyed a fine revenue from 
 his concerts, and Alice was not surprised to see two 
 smart servants, clad in decorous black, load a table with 
 all the delicacies of the season, with fruits from Italian 
 valleys beyond the Alps, and with white and red wines in 
 dainty long-necked bottles reposing on beds of snow 
 brought from the distant mountains. Mrs. Merlin's eyes 
 rested lovingly on a deep glass dish filled with luscious 
 strawberries, fit for the table of a sovereign. 
 
 " I declare," she said to Vera, "I'm glad I come ; them 
 berries remind me of home. You're dretful lucky to have 
 such a genius as Stanislas for your brother, Miss " 
 
 Call me Vera. Yes, I am very fond of him. Stains-
 
 THE ALPINE FIRE. 181 
 
 las is my only egotism, as Paul de Musset said of his 
 brother Alfred." Vera's eyes were almost dim with tears 
 as she spoke. " And he is very good to me. I do not 
 know what I should be without him." 
 
 Caro was studying Vera's face, but vainly. A faint 
 suspicion of the Russian girl was ever present in her 
 heart, yet she sought without success to define it. 
 
 " I tell him," continued Vera, " that I shall be very 
 jealous when he takes a wife. And he laughs, and says 
 he shall never marry ; that an artist should be wedded 
 only to his art. But I know that some day he will find 
 his heart ensnared, and then I suppose I shall have to 
 take refuge in my studies in my medicine and my 
 philosophies. I shall try to forgive him, and I presume 
 that I shall succeed." 
 
 Stanislas was directing the movements of the servants ; 
 Mrs. Harrelston, Alice, and Pleasant were enjoying a view 
 of the river from a corner of the lawn, and Caro and Mrs. 
 Merlin were the only listeners to Vera. The Russian girl 
 did not seem to be looking at anything in particular, but 
 she was studying every movement of Caro's face. 
 
 "Wai," said Mrs. Merlin, "I s'pose he don't want to 
 marry when he's travellin' up an' down the universe as 
 much as he is jest now. I don't approve of men's 
 marryin' women an' leavin' 'em to home to wear their 
 souls out waitin' an' an' imaginin'." 
 
 " It is a subject on which we do not often speak," said 
 Vera, continuing, with that idyllic frankness which seemed 
 inseparable from her nature. " But I heard once that my 
 brother lost his heart to a young girl in South America. 
 It was a story, you know, in those wicked newspapers 
 that meddle with everything ; and I have sometimes 
 thought that it may have been true." 
 
 She saw that Caro's face had grown white, and she 
 added carelessly, as she leaned against a gnarled trunk,
 
 182 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and plucked a spray of grass from a little turf at the 
 base of the tree 
 
 ' ' I do not know why I talk so freely of my brother 
 unless it is because you are old friends of his. I am afraid 
 you will think that I am what you call in English a 
 chatter-box." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Mrs. Merlin, and began a stream of 
 reminiscences about the musician, to which Vera listened 
 with marked attention, all the while slyly watching 
 Caro. 
 
 "I hold her secret now," thought Vera; " it was not 
 very hard to discover." 
 
 At lunch Vera proved herself a brilliant talker, and 
 she presided at the table with dignity and grace. Mrs. 
 Merlin looked approvingly at her, and telegraphed signals 
 of approbation to Mrs. Harrelston, who seemed of her 
 opinion. Pleasant found himself forgetting that Vera and 
 Stanislas were conspirators, and a grim smile fled over his 
 face as he reflected on the contrast between their sombre 
 doctrine and their present adherence to all the conven- 
 tional forms and usages of the society which they were 
 labouring to destroy. He would have liked to ask Stanis- 
 las, as he noted the refined joy of the musician when he 
 held a glass of golden Rhine wine up, that it might catch 
 the sunlight in its lustrous depths, whether the success of 
 Bakounin's theories would not do much to render the use 
 of costly luxuries a crime. 
 
 The afternoon passed swiftly away. The servants 
 placed the piano on a little wooden platform under the 
 trees, and Stanislas played, as Mrs. Merlin expressed it, 
 ' like an angel." Then Caro sang, and, inspired by some 
 sorrow which she could not analyze, she charmed the 
 small group of hearers. Vera sat among the long grasses 
 under a tree, listening intently, and watching Caro with 
 such earnestness that the girl felt it, and was occasionally
 
 THE ALPINE FIEE. 183 
 
 ill at ease. But Stanislas praised and flattered Caro, 
 corrected her here, pronounced her perfect there, and 
 entered with such joy into the smallest details of the 
 execution of an aria, that she was radiant with delight. 
 
 " When do you hope to make your debut in Paris, Miss 
 Caro ? " he asked, when they were both thoroughly fa- 
 tigued. "Because I think it would be safe to venture 
 upon it this winter." 
 
 ' ' My debut ! " said Caro, looking frightened. ' ' I should 
 have been less surprised if you had told me that I need a 
 couple of years at the Conservatoire ! " 
 
 " One does not need the Conservatoire when one has 
 had such excellent private instruction as you have received. 
 You will be ready for a very creditable first appearance in 
 the spring, if not this winter. But do not aim too high. 
 Don't expect to be engaged at the Paris Grand Opera after 
 you have sung five notes before the public. Think of the 
 dozens of silly little angels who persist every year in flying 
 into the footlights of the great theatres in Paris and 
 London and burning their wings. You must not be too 
 ambitious in your debut." 
 
 "You will give us the proper advice when the time 
 comes, won't you? " said Mrs. Merlin. 
 
 " I shall be only too happy to help in introducing such 
 a sweet singer to the world," said the musician, so gravely 
 and politely that Mrs. Merlin was quite overcome, and cast 
 a triumphant glance upon the group of listeners. 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston professed to have enjoyed the music 
 very much, but the truth was that she had been carefully 
 observing Mr. Pleasant Merrinott, and was not entirely 
 pleased with the manner in which the young Indian kept 
 his eyes fixed upon Alice. "When she arose to go, Stanislas 
 said 
 
 "My dear madam, allow me to offer a suggestion. 
 Hotels and hotel dinners are an invention of the arch
 
 184 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 enemy, who is in league with all cooks of German origin, 
 but especially with those in Swiss inns. Now would it not 
 be pleasant to dine together in the open air, on the great 
 terrace of the Casino, where we can see the mountains? 
 If you will but issue the edict, I will order the dinner at 
 seven, and " 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston could not plead her headache as an 
 excuse, for it had vanished, and after having been assured 
 that the proposed terrace was eminently a proper place, 
 she consented. So the little party assembled at the pretty 
 Casino as the sun was going down, and, seated in a 
 corner, looked out, as they dined, over the rushing Aar 
 and the high banks covered with quaint houses, and the 
 many coloured ferns and flowers among the vines. As the 
 coffee was served, Alice sprang up, her cheeks glowing 
 with excitement, and pointed in the direction of the Alps 
 without speaking a word. 
 
 " Is the girl mad? " said Mrs. Harrelston. " What do 
 you see, daughter?" 
 
 "The Alpgluhen!" cried Stanislas. "Ah! there is 
 something that music cannot express. Look ! Look ! " 
 
 All looked in the direction of the great snow-clad line 
 of the Alps, clearly and majestically defined against the 
 evening sky, in which still lingered a few gleams of the 
 departing sunset. The western horizon was lightly veiled, 
 and broad shadows were already descending upon the 
 valleys, and had covered with their veil the dark group of 
 houses below the cathedral platform. The sun's rays no 
 longer caressed the summits of the Jungfrau and the 
 Bliimlisalp, but in their stead a mysterious and exquisitely 
 beautiful rose-tint was creeping up the snowy sides of each 
 mountain, and increasing momentarily in intensity of 
 splendour. 
 
 * The Jungfrau has a heart of fire beneath her cold, 
 white bosom," cried the musician. " And see the others !
 
 THE ALPINE FIRE. 185 
 
 Now the Monch has caught the glow and now it over- 
 spreads the Eiger." 
 
 The mountains were transfigured. The wave of rose 
 colour swept over the Bliimlisalp, and then, quicker than 
 thought, the whole range glowed as if fires raging within 
 were striving to break through the icy barriers of the 
 glaciers. Who that has seen the Alpgliihen can forget it ? 
 It thrills the heart and inspires the soul ; the lonely and 
 majestic peaks, touched by the sacred fires of heaven, for 
 a moment before the darkness comes, seem to draw one 
 toward them, upward and out of the commonplace high- 
 ways and vulgar plains of the grovelling world. 
 
 When the Alpgliihen was over the shadows leaped 
 audaciously to the very summit of the Casino terrace, 
 and the sound of music came from a grove on a hill near 
 by. 
 
 "A concert! fitting end for such an ideal day," said 
 Stanislas. " Let us go and hear these rustics interpret 
 Strauss and Schubert. What ! no yes they have 
 even ventured to attack Beethoven. Who will go? " 
 
 " Not I," said Vera. " I begin to feel a chill. And as 
 Mrs. Harrelston has already complained of the night air, I 
 will accompany her, if she will allow me, to the hotel." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Mrs. Merlin-, in a low voice to Alice's 
 mother. " I will look after the girls and bring 'em home 
 early." 
 
 So Mrs. Harrelston and Vera went away together. 
 
 ****** 
 Mrs. Merlin was undoubtedly in earnest when she 
 promised to " look after the girls," but the good soul was 
 tired, and sat down on a bench as soon as she had been 
 once around the concert garden with the young couples. 
 The result was that Pleasant and Alice strayed in one 
 direction, and Stanislas and Caro in another, and even had 
 the old lady tried to discover them she would have found
 
 186 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 it difficult, for the little grove was filled with couples 
 promenading and laughing and talking in undertones, 
 while the music went dreamily on. 
 
 "Well." said the Indian to Alice, as they came to 
 the edge of a terrace higher than that of the Casino, and 
 overlooking the pleasant valley and the roaring river, 
 " to-morrow you will be on your way to Paris, and I shall 
 be quite alone." 
 
 "Alone!" said the girl. "Oh no! You will have 
 your Russian-Polish friends to comfort you." 
 
 "Friends!" exclaimed Pleasant impatiently. "What 
 are they to me ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Merrinott! And after we found you on 
 your knees before one of them this morning!" Alice 
 laughed merrily. 
 
 " Ah ! that must have looked right silly. But I was 
 only picking up a handkerchief. I hope you do not think 
 that I was adoring that young woman. She frightens me, 
 but she could never fascinate. By the way, what has 
 become of Colonel Cliff ? ' ' 
 
 " Poor man ! No one has given him a thought to-day. 
 Yet he is very gallant and and useful. He has gone 
 flying off to Spain, ,in obedience to a telegram, to look at 
 some mines in which he has chosen to interest himself, and 
 we shall not see him again for a month. He will come 
 back to Paris when he has finished his business. Look, 
 Mr. Merrinott, the mountains our dear old, snowy, 
 delightful friends ! There they are once more. They 
 have come out from behind their veil to say good-bye." 
 
 Tho moon was rising, and the Alps were dimly visible 
 a faint white line on the far-off horizon. 
 
 " I hate those words ' good-bye,' " said Pleasant. 
 
 " I suppose that is the reason that you gave me hardly 
 time to say them when you rushed away on the Brunig the 
 other day. Well, now we must say them again. Good-
 
 THE ALPINE FIRE. 187 
 
 bye, old friends," she said, stretching out one hand and 
 pointing to the mountains. " Perhaps some day we shall 
 see you once more. Perhaps I shall return to your 
 beautiful valley of Meiringen." 
 
 She stood gazing intently at the snow-clad chain for 
 some moments, then glanced up at the young Indian, but 
 she looked down again immediately, and her heart beat 
 loudly and fast. 
 
 Pleasant stood bareheaded beside her, with his lips 
 parted, and such adoration in his eyes that she could not 
 misinterpret his intention. She tried to speak and to 
 move away, but it was too late. 
 
 "Miss Ilarrelston Alice," he said, "I cannot let 
 you go without telling you what my sta} 7 among those 
 mountains has taught me. It has taught me that I love 
 you that I love you hopelessly perhaps, but for ever 
 forever." He leaned against the railing of the ter- 
 race ; for now that he had said his say, his courage and 
 his strength were ebbing away together. 
 
 Alice said nothing. 
 
 " Your silence frightens me, Miss Ilarrelston," he 
 stammered. " If I have done wrong if I have offended 
 you let us have the good-bye for ever now here at 
 the gate of this enchanted land where I have been so 
 happy." He held out his hand. 
 
 The Alpgliihen ! Beautiful as it had seemed when it 
 illuminated the virginal front of the Jungfrau, it was dull 
 and faint in Pleasant' s eyes by comparison with the rose- 
 ate glow which overspread Alice's cheeks and brow as he 
 took her unresisting hand in his, and with a sudden sense 
 of triumph drew her to his breast. No one was near the 
 youthful pair ; the promenaders were turned aside from 
 the terrace by that happy hazard which so often protects 
 the meetings of true lovers. Alice felt a burning kiss 
 upon her forehead, and strangely mingled with the mur-
 
 188 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 mur of the waters of the Aar, as it hurried past the 
 ancient town, she seemed to hear the words 
 
 "Forgive me, Alice, and love me ! Forgive me, Alice 
 and give me your love, as I give you mine ! " 
 
 When conscience-stricken Mrs. Merlin found them and 
 begged them to help her " hunt up Caro and Stanislas," 
 they were standing a little apart, and looking silently and 
 steadfastly out upon the dimly-defined line of the Alps 
 those mighty guardians of the sweet vale of Meiringen, 
 the vale where they had learned to love each other.
 
 CHAPTER XVH. 
 
 CARO'S CONFESSION. 
 
 CARO and Stanislas were not found without difficulty. At 
 last they were discovered, sitting on a bench under a tree, 
 and seemingly engaged in a vehement discussion. 
 
 "You naughty girl! " said Mrs. Merlin, "to give me 
 such a scare ! I thought you'd fell off from the high 
 wall and got all smashed to pieces. Stanislas, that child's 
 jest ketchin' her death o' cold ! Come ! We must all 
 go in!" 
 
 "You have but to command, and we obey," said the 
 musician gallantly ; but his brow was disfigured by an 
 ugly scowl, and he made an impatient gesture, which 
 might have been interpreted, by an acute observer, as 
 signifying a desire to throw the old lady from the terrace 
 wall of which she had spoken. 
 
 Caro's face was flushed, her lips were tightly com- 
 pressed, and her blue eyes were wide open, with a startled 
 look in them. She arose wearily, and, without making 
 any reply to her mother's remarks that "she was in a 
 gallopin' fever, and probably would be down sick as soon 
 as she got back to Paris," she left the garden leaning on 
 the musician's arm. The old lady cast a sharp look at 
 Miss Harrelston, who lingered behind with Pleasant, 
 evidently very much interested in what he was saying. 
 
 189
 
 190 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Suddenly he took her hand, and Mrs. Merlin observed 
 that he held it rather longer than was customary ; then 
 he bowed gravely and left her. Alice came running to 
 join the others. 
 
 ""What's the matter with the Injun?" inquired Mrs. 
 Merlin. " He popped off as if you had sent him to scalp 
 one of your enemies." 
 
 "More of his eccentricity," said Alice, averting her 
 pretty face so that the old lady should not see the rosy 
 colour which invaded it. " He has an insane notion that 
 he wishes to stay on the terrace until midnight, looking at 
 the Alps. So I told him that he must do that alone, and 
 he seemed the least bit offended at it. Then I explained 
 that it would not be proper for me to remain longer, and 
 bade him good night. I don't think he liked that, either." 
 
 "No; I '11 be bound he'd ruthcr have had company," 
 remarked the old lady. "And a mighty sight he would 
 have cared whether it was proper or not ! Proper's a 
 word that don't trouble his sleep much ! " 
 
 Stanislas was bidding Caro good-night in the garden 
 of the hotel, when Vera appeared beside them as if she 
 had sprung out of the ground. Caro gave a little scream, 
 and looked rather indignantly at the fair intruder. The 
 fact was that the musician had taken Caro's hand, and 
 was bending over it to touch it with his lips when the 
 Russian girl loomed up like a vindictive sprite. Caro 
 withdrew her hand so quickly that Stanislas was vexed, 
 and when he saw Vera his eyes flashed, and the sinister 
 expression which so transfigured his face came over it. 
 
 " Continue your devotions, Brother Stanislas," said 
 Vera; "you could not have a fairer goddess. I like to 
 see that the old-fashioned gallantry still survives." 
 
 " It is the future diva that I am saluting," said Stanis- 
 las. " The great singer whose hand we shall all esteem 
 it an honour to kiss."
 
 CARD'S CONFESSION. 191 
 
 t; Of course," said Vera faintly. Caro fancied that a 
 pained expression settled upon Vera's face. " I am glad 
 that Mademoiselle has a fine career before her. I shall 
 watch her progress with as much interest as you show, 
 brother." 
 
 Caro fancied that there was a hidden meaning in these 
 words. There was the ring of menace in Vera's tones. 
 Caro looked in the Russian girl's face, determined to 
 read the secret which she felt was lurking there, and 
 which perhaps concerned her own happiness. But she 
 shuddered and looked away again, out toward the broad 
 expanse of green hills dimly seen in the white moonlight. 
 For into Vera's eyes came a hard, cruel expression that 
 of a jealous enemy, determined to rid herself of the object 
 of her resentment. Caro felt as if she were in Vera's 
 power ; that Vera could, with a turn of her hand, annihilate 
 her when she was in that mood. Then the look vanished, 
 as if Vera had recalled it into the depths of her soul, out 
 of which it had come at her bidding, and she smiled so 
 sweetly and chatted so pleasantly for five minutes that she 
 almost dispelled the impression which she had made. Yet, 
 when she had said "good-night," and gone away with 
 Stanislas, Caro felt the meaning of the black looks rising 
 in her heart as a cloud comes to darken the brightness of 
 the sky. She stood quite still in the shade of a clump 
 of rose-bushes in the garden, as amazed and frightened as 
 she would have been had a serpent raised its head from 
 the dust at her feet and hissed at her. But her mother's 
 voice presently recalled her to her senses, and she went in, 
 glancing now and then behind her, as if afraid of some 
 unseen malignant influence. 
 
 Alice had stolen to her own room, which opened out of 
 a parlour, on the other side of which was Mrs. Harrelston's 
 bed-chamber. She would rather not have seen her moth- 
 er that night ; she was aaxious to be alone to think to
 
 192 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 question herself. It seemed to her as if the kiss which 
 had fallen upon her brow must be visible there, like a 
 diamond star in a diadem. She wished to see if she were 
 not transfigured by the touch. But she heard her mother 
 calling, and went to her, to receive a mild reproof for her 
 conduct in staying out so late. 
 
 " By the way, my dear," said Mrs. Harrelston, who was 
 reposing in an arm-chair, while Bertine carefully brushed 
 out her long hair, ' ' I meant to have spoken to you about 
 about Mr. Merrinott. Perhaps I ought to have spoken 
 sooner. I am not quite sure whether I ought to invite 
 him to call on us when he comes to Paris. Not that I 
 have any reason for distrusting the young man, or dis- 
 liking him, but I think I should like to ask your papa's 
 advice before I ask him to call. I must tell you that I 
 happened to mention in a letter to ycur father that the 
 young Indian was at Meiringen, and from a sentence or 
 two in his answer, which has just reached me, I don't think 
 he liked it. In fact, I am sure that he did not like it. So, 
 perhaps we will not ask him to call but we will see. 
 How hot and flushed your face is, daughter. You need 
 rest, and you may rise as late as you please to-morrow. 
 The porter has taken us a coupe in the afternoon train, 
 and I think we shall have a comfortable ride from Pontar- 
 lier. Remember about Mr. Merriuott." 
 
 " Very well, mamma. Good night." 
 
 Alice went to her own room, reflecting that Pleasant 
 Merrinott was the sort of person who would call without 
 invitation, if he felt a desire to see her, and who would 
 make short work of all obstacles in his way. 
 
 Bcrtinc came to her presently, and found her young 
 mistress much less exacting than usual. Her task was 
 over quickly, and she went away convinced that Mademoi- 
 selle Alice was nervous and abstracted. Miss Harrelston 
 was sleepless, and, arrayed in a long silk wrapper, she
 
 CAKO'S CONFESSION. 193 
 
 sat down in a cosy chair near the toilette-table. Her 
 luxuriant hair fell about her neck and shoulders, and, in 
 the dim light furnished by the two tall regulation candles, 
 which in Swiss hotels are supposed to do the duty of gas, 
 she looked like an old picture of some fair saint musing in 
 her cloister upon things divine. And what is there diviner 
 in the mystery of existence than a maiden musing over the 
 dream of love in her heart, over the inexplicable boldness, 
 the sudden confession of affection into which she has been 
 betrayed by overwhelming emotions of the very existence 
 of which she has hitherto had no suspicion? 
 
 It was a warm night ; the window of her room was open, 
 and the faint odour of the plants and shrubs in the garden 
 drifted in. A wandering beam of moonlight had strayed 
 through the half-closed shutters, and seemed stealing 
 timidly and reverently toward her, as if to kiss the hem of 
 her garments. The sound of the river's rapid current was 
 delicious in her ears, for mingled with it she still heard, 
 " Forgive me, Alice, and give me your love, as I give you 
 mine ! ' ' Was she to blame for having listened to this 
 passionate entreaty, which now seemed to follow her every- 
 where on the wings of the wind, in the murmur of the 
 stream, and in the hundred other mysterious voices of this 
 summer night among the Swiss mountains ? No ; she 
 would not reproach herself. Yet she felt a vague dread 
 that sorrow was in store for her ; that this strange being 
 who had now become so precious in her sight was doomed 
 to woes and disappointment and bitterness which would 
 rack her heart-strings as fiercely as his own. But nothing 
 could have induced her to give up his love, in which she 
 believed as in a religion, and which had become part and 
 parcel of herself. She was happy ; and even the shadowy 
 prospect of possible future unhappiness could not destroy 
 the charm which had fallen upon her. So she sat quite 
 still, staring at the intruding moonbeam with eyes which
 
 194 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 did not see it, and which saw only the form of the loved 
 one. 
 
 She was aroused from her reverie by a faint rustling 
 and a gentle tapping at a door which opened into the 
 corridor. She had locked the door communicating with 
 the drawing-room when Bertine retired, and her first 
 thought was that her mother had arisen, had discovered 
 that fact, and had stolen into the passage to see if her 
 daughter had gone to bed. Presently came another timid 
 knock. Alice sprang up, looking around her, and her 
 heart beat violently. A glance at the tiny clock on the 
 mantle-piece told her that it was almost one o'clock. 
 
 " Who is there? " she said, in a low voice. 
 
 "Are you asleep, Alice?" was the rather absurd 
 question, which came through the keyhole in a whisper. 
 
 ' ' Caro ! What can she want at this hour ? ' ' And 
 Alice opened the door to the girl, who hastened in as if 
 she were pursued, and sank down on the nearest chair. 
 Caro was quite pale, and there were traces of tears upon 
 her face. She had donned an old wrapper decorated with 
 ink-stains ; her hair was in disorder, and in one hand she 
 held a portfolio and a pen, which articles explained the 
 spots. Her blue eyes were so full of pain that Alice's 
 tender heart was touched. 
 
 " You frightened me, Caro," she said ; " but you seem 
 more alarmed and agitated than I am. Have you seen a 
 ghost, dear, or have you been seized with inspiration and 
 begun to write an opera? " 
 
 Caro sighed. " Mother's gone to bed and locked her 
 door, and I've been writing, and got so nervous I thought 
 I should fly. Mother gave me a scolding, too, before she 
 went to her room. It wasn't necessary ; I was miserable 
 enough without it. Oh ! Alice, I wish I were dead ! " 
 
 Alice took the pen and portfolio from the girl's feverish 
 hand and laid them on the toilette-table. Then yhe in-
 
 CAKO'S CONFESSION. 195 
 
 stalled her in the arm-chair, and sat down on a stool at 
 her feet. 
 
 " You are nervous and worried," she said kindly, 
 " and you hardly know what you are saying. The idea 
 of wishing yourself dead just as you are beginning to 
 live ! " 
 
 Caro looked doubtfully at her, with a strongly pro- 
 nounced desire to burst into tears anew ; but she re- 
 strained this, and said rather fiercely 
 
 " No, I don't wish I were dead, but I do wish I were 
 back in Illinoy ! I wish I had never seen Europe, never 
 heard of it. I wish it were buried under ten millions of 
 Swiss glaciers ! ' ' 
 
 " Why, Caro," said Alice, to whom the world at that 
 moment seemed a fair and goodly place, and the corner 
 of Europe where she then was especially dear, " how can 
 you be out of humour with Europe, when you are just on 
 the threshold of success here ? ' ' 
 
 " No, no, Alice," said the girl ruefully, " you are 
 mistaken; I shall fail I feel that I shall fail. It has 
 been a miserable dream, and now I wish with all my 
 heart that I had never stirred from the" spot where I was 
 born." 
 
 The tears glistened in the great blue eyes, and Alice 
 felt moved and sympathetic. Caro's Western frankness 
 might have offended her delicate sensibility at another 
 time, but now it seemed natural and somewhat reasonable. 
 There was a growing suspicion in her mind that this de- 
 spondent mood was due to something that Stanislas had 
 said, or had not said, but she did not feel as if she ought 
 to ask Caro if that were true. 
 
 " You will not fail, my dear, overworked, little singer." 
 she said. " You vrnist not fail. You would break all our 
 hearts. Think how much pride we take in your progress, 
 and in the thought of your coining success ! But you
 
 196 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 must not use your strength so lavishly. You have been 
 writing an hour after you should have been in bed. Now 
 was that wise ? ' ' 
 
 " I can't help it," said the girl. " That's my corre- 
 spondence." 
 
 " Your correspondence? But your friends can wait 
 when you are weary." 
 
 ' ' My friends ! I write three letters a mouth to a Chi- 
 cago newspaper, and one to a weekly in "Wisconsin. And 
 I can't write when mother is around, so I wait until she 
 is in bed. I'm lucky to get the work, for if I hadn't got 
 it we should have had to go home long ago. Neither 
 mother nor I had any idea of the expense out here when 
 we came, and so but let's not talk about that. It makes 
 my head ache to think of it. There's a two-column 
 account of the Giessbach Fall in that portfolio, and six 
 columns like that will buy me the dress which I must 
 have when I go back to Paris, and will help to pay our 
 rent. That's worth while. But I'm sick and tired of 
 everything, and I know this last letter is gloomy enough 
 for the obituary column." 
 
 " No," said Alice, determined to encourage her, " you 
 will not fail. The very fact that you have the energy to 
 write letters after midnight is a proof of that. I cannot 
 understand your new mood, dear. Has Monsieur Stanis- 
 las been saying something discouraging? " 
 
 " Don't speak of Stanislas ! I hate him ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " Alice looked up into the girl's face with a 
 quaint smile. Caro's lips trembled, and her eyes brimmed 
 over. " You must allow me to doubt that. I should 
 almost have thought the contrary." 
 
 Miss Merlin's face was a curious study. The girl tried 
 hard to return Alice's inquiring look, but she could not. 
 The tears were a torrent now, and Alice was surprised to 
 feel Caro's arms thrown impetuously around her neck,
 
 OARO'S CONFESSION. 197 
 
 Caro's head upon her shoulder, and Caro's whole frame 
 convulsed with sobs. 
 
 "What is it that has so grieved you, dear?" said 
 Alice. 
 
 ""Well, I don't care; I can't conceal it; I must have 
 some one to talk to, or I shall die. I do love him ; I wor- 
 ship him ; I adore his genius, and I love him as I did not 
 believe I could love anything on earth." 
 
 Alice was startled at the vehemence of Caro's emotions. 
 But she said softly 
 
 "Well, there is no sin in loving Stanislas. I am not 
 worldly-wise, as you know. It may not be prudent to 
 love such a wayward genius, but certainly there is no 
 reason why it should make you so melancholy. Cheer up, 
 Caro, and tell me everything." 
 
 Caro raised her head, and looked at Alice almost defi- 
 antly for an instant. " There is nothing more to tell," 
 she said, " unless unless I tell you that my love, which 
 a month ago made me happy made my whole life blessed 
 now causes my wretchedness. Oh, Alice, I believed in 
 Stanislas ; I thought him a demi-god. It never seemed 
 to me that he could be a creature made of common clay 
 like the rest of us. The very thought that he took an 
 interest in me in my welfare seemed to inspire me. 
 I don't believe you could understand what devotion I felt 
 for that man. To have had his love would have seemed 
 to me the best thing in the world. Oh, why did I ever 
 see him? Why did I ever come to this miserable Europe, 
 where everything that seems beautiful and sincere and 
 noble has a lie hidden behind it ? " 
 
 " Be calm, Caro. You will wake mamma. Remember 
 that it is very late. Can you not tell me why you have 
 lost faith in Stanislas ? ' ' 
 
 Caro did not directly answer the question. After a 
 minute's silence, she said
 
 198 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Did you observe that woman in the garden when we 
 came in to-night ? You should have seen her when she 
 went away with Stanislas ! ' ' 
 
 " His sister? Why? What new freak has that eccen- 
 tric young person been guilty of ? " 
 
 " The sister of Stanislas ! Alice, she is no more his 
 sister than I am than you are ! " 
 
 The two girls arose together, and stood looking at each 
 other. 
 
 " Surely," said Alice, " you would not have me believe 
 that Stanislas is not a gentleman." 
 
 " Oh, no ! I don't know what I think ! There is some 
 strange n^stery here, of which we have only seen one 
 thread. I accuse nobody. I suspect everybody. I am 
 wretched. I know that the woman is not the sister of 
 Stanislas, but let us not talk of that ! I will know who 
 and what she is ! But I feel a presentiment, Alice, that 
 she is stronger than I am, and that she has thrown a 
 shadow over my life. If I were superstitious I should 
 believe that she possesses the evil eye ! I tell you, Alice, 
 I have lost my faith and my courage all at once, and I am 
 miserable. I love Stanislas still, but I no longer believe 
 in him ; and that is torture. I am glad that we are going 
 back to Paris, away from him, to-morrow." 
 
 " To-day, you mean," said Alice. " Look at the clock, 
 and then run to bed. We will talk this over on the 
 journey."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BETWEEN SORROW AND DOUBT. 
 
 PLEASANT felt as if he had fallen from the clouds. He 
 was standing on the Pont du Mont Blanc at Geneva, 
 gazing idly into the waters of the Rhone, as they rushed 
 out of the lake and away, past the quaint, tall houses, 
 down the valley toward the sun-swept lands of the south. 
 The old town seemed asleep. Half an hour earlier a 
 steamer, laden with excursionists, had noisily left the 
 quay for Vevey ; now it had vanished in the blue distance. 
 Mont Blanc was hidden behind a white curtain. On the 
 small island between the Pont des Bergues and the bridge 
 where Pleasant stood, Jean Jacques Rousseau appeared to 
 nod upon his pedestal, whence he has for so many years 
 looked out on Lake Leman with grave, mournful air, as in 
 life he looked at it. The brawny washer- women, leaning 
 over the sides of the wash-houses securely moored in the 
 impetuous stream, lazily drew the garments which they 
 were cleaning through the cool water. They seemed at 
 play rather than at work. The sun was hot, and the 
 sailors from the small schooners which ply up and down 
 the lake with loads of stone and lumber were coiled on the 
 benches in the Public Garden, and were fast asleep. Down 
 the Rue du Mont Blanc a solitary pedestrian was making 
 his way, timidly, as if he felt qualms of conscience at being 
 abroad at that particular time. 
 
 199
 
 200 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Pleasant looked up from the water. His head was 
 beginning to turn, and he rested his eyes on the deep green 
 of the trees on Rousseau's island, and then on the tender 
 blue of the sky. The witchery of September in this 
 delightful mountain region was at its height ; air, water, 
 earth were lovely, and at peace. Even the austere dome 
 of the ancient church in which Calvin once preached was 
 tipped with sunbeams. How did John Calvin bend to bis 
 rigorous and terrible discipline a people born beneath such 
 Italian skies, beside such vine-clad hills and such enchanted 
 streams ? How mighty was the genius that could bring 
 harsh, stern, terrible doctrine into such a smiling region, 
 and plant it there, and make it grow and flourish ! Pleas- 
 ant had been reading about Calvin and his sojourn in 
 Geneva, and he wondered how the Genevese could ever 
 have allowed the sweet hill of Champel to be desecrated by 
 the burning of Michael Servetus, who had dared to express 
 mild doubts as to the dogma of the Trinity. But he forgot 
 that in winter the aspect of nature at Geneva is harsh and 
 forbidding enough to foster the most severe and melancholy 
 thoughts, and that perhaps the fierce heart of Calvin, which 
 had been nourished in its sternness by the winds, the snows, 
 and the mists of December and January in the mountains, 
 felt itself touched with charity and pity, and now and then 
 with thrills of passion, when the enchantment of September 
 was abroad in the land. 
 
 The 3'oung Indian did not think twice about the hill of 
 Champel, and the flames which consumed the audacious 
 Spaniard Servetus, for a far more engrossing image arose 
 before his mental vision. 
 
 It was the figure of Alice as he had seen her while she 
 stood watching the " Alp glow " from the Casino in Berne. 
 He sighed mournfully, and began walking slowly to and 
 fro. 
 
 It was ten days since he had told Alice of his love;
 
 BETWEEN SOKKOW AND DOUBT. 201 
 
 since that brief, tender, yet impassioned confession in the 
 moon-lit garden. And he had not seen her again ; he had 
 allowed her to go away to Paris without saying good-bye ; 
 without returning to renew his vow of love, to which she 
 had so unresistingly listened ; without asking the privilege 
 of being near her in Paris. How could he explain his 
 action to her to the gentlest, the best of women to 
 Alice who had treated him with such delicate and refined 
 consideration, and who seemed anxious to believe him a 
 hero? There was no explanation possible. His negli- 
 gence was an affront to Alice ; and now this child of Na- 
 ture began to see that it is dangerous to yield to one's 
 impulses when one is in the midst of civilization ; that 
 conduct, even in affairs of the heart, is a matter of cal- 
 culation ; and, in short, that he had been guilty of an 
 almost, if not quite, irreparable blunder. He groaned 
 aloud as he contemplated his own folly. 
 
 The truth was that Pleasant had no sooner yielded to 
 the desire of his soul to tell Alice of his love than he felt 
 anew that he had been false to his " mission." This gave 
 him inexpressible pain, and, with his heart torn with con- 
 tending emotions, he had left her, abruptly, after his 
 declaration, and had wandered about the streets of Berne 
 until dawn, battling with his pride. It was only when a 
 prying watchman manifested an inclination to arrest him 
 as a prowling vagabond that Pleasant made up his mind 
 to return to the Hotel Bellevue, and go to bed. He arose, 
 after two or three hours of feverish unrest, and went out 
 again into the fields. He took with him a bundle of let- 
 ters and papers which had arrived by the morning mail. 
 Sitting down by the waters of the singing Aar, he un- 
 folded one of the papers, a Western journal, with a 
 curious presentiment in his mind that he should find 
 something in it that would help him to decide upon his 
 course with Alice.
 
 202 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 He did find something, which caused him to spring to 
 his feet with an angry exclamation at his lips, and his 
 most savage frown on his brow. At that moment he put 
 his love resolutely behind him. 
 
 * ' I was a fool ! " he said ; " I was false to myself 
 false to all my people false to the course that I have 
 marked out. I must never see Alice Harrelston again, 
 nor must I ever think of loving her. Where is my pride 
 of race ? Where is my oath that I had taken ? lama 
 fool!" 
 
 The paragraph which had provoked this series of out- 
 cries was a simple statement that a large number of the 
 white invaders, whose daring and illegal attempts he had 
 described to Alice with so much warmth, had finally 
 succeeded in " squatting " upon lands in the Indian Ter- 
 ritory ; and that they had been enabled to do this b}* the 
 connivance of certain white men, who, a few years pre- 
 viously, had married Indian wives in the Cherokee Nation, 
 thus acquiring a dubious species of citizenship, which they 
 had now basely misused. 
 
 ;; The traitors ! " cried Pleasant. " This is what comes 
 of mixed marriages. A few more of them, and we shall no 
 longer be in existence!" An angry flush deepened the 
 bronze on his face as he thought of the commingling of 
 blood in his own veins. " Let it stop here and now ! " he 
 said, in a voice broken with passion. " We must bend back 
 our blood to the ancient strain ! I will not set the example 
 of another departure from the purity of the race ! The 
 dream is over. I must think of Alice no more. She will 
 forget me ; she will think that my words spoken in the 
 garden were the ravings of a silly young savage, whose 
 head was turned by the moonlight." 
 
 The result of that paragraph in the Western paper 
 was that Alice went back to Paris without seeing her lover 
 atniin. I'ntil an hour before the train left Berne she
 
 BETWEEN SORROW AND DOUBT. 203 
 
 refused to believe that he would not come to her. She 
 longed, yet dreaded to meet him once more ; and it was 
 not until she reached her home the next day, and was 
 alone in her little white room in her father's house, that 
 she realized the incomprehensible rudeness of the Indian's 
 conduct. She had taken good care to let Caro and the 
 two mothers know nothing about it ; but it made a deep 
 wound in her heart. For she loved him ; she loved his 
 very faults. 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston was glad that Pleasant had not 
 appeared on the day of their departure, and she did not 
 mention his name to her daughter during the journey. 
 
 And now Pleasant, on the bridge at Geneva, was sigh- 
 ing over his own acts. For although he was stoutly 
 resolved not to yield to his love, he felt that it was ripening 
 in his heart, and that he could not cast it out. A dozen 
 times he had been on the point of writing to Alice, and as 
 many times he had drawn back, frightened, before the 
 seemingly impossible task of repairing his rudeness. He 
 was curious to know what Alice thought of him ; whether 
 she were really offended and had banished him from her 
 life as a profitless intruder, and whether she would respect 
 him for the scruples which made him desperately faithful 
 to his race. Alone in the midst of unsympathetic strangers, 
 who stared and scowled at him as if they suspected him of 
 designs upon their property, and uncertain what to do, 
 Pleasant was wretched. He had faltered by the way, now. 
 His days were passed in idleness and his nights in wakeful, 
 bitter musings on his own irresolution. He had not even 
 bade the disciples of Bakounin good-bye on leaving Berne, 
 but had left a note for them saj-iug that he might possibly 
 return. 
 
 While he was in his brown study, and was pacing up 
 and down so nervously that one or two loungers on the 
 quay fancied him contemplating suicide, and were medi-
 
 204 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 tating how they could save him if he should suddenly 
 spring over the railings into the rapid stream, he felt a 
 gentle touch upon his shoulder, and looked up hurriedly. 
 He was not especially pleased to find Mademoiselle Vera 
 standing near him, with her blue eyes filled with the light 
 of a very graceful smile, and one well-gloved hand out- 
 stretched in token of greeting. 
 
 " How do you do?" she said, with that slight accent 
 upon the how which always marks the foreigner struggling 
 with the rather awkward English phrase. " Have you 
 been holding a consultation on the present condition of 
 society with Jean Jacques ? He seems to have been saying 
 something very dreadful, for you are as solemn as what 
 do the English say? as solemn as a church. And how 
 came you in Geneva? " 
 
 " I might ask you the same question, Mademoiselle, 
 with the same surprise," said Pleasant, shaking hands and 
 brightening a little, for conversation with a fellow creature 
 was likely to afford momentary relief from his sorrow. 
 ' ' And your brother, is he with you ? ' ' 
 
 " Stanislas has gone to London. The cottage is 
 deserted, the servants have departed, and I have come to 
 Geneva to pursue my studies." 
 
 " Under Professor Bakouniu? " said Pleasant. 
 
 ' ' The water may hear you. The bridge might report 
 your remarks. Be careful, if you please," said Vera. 
 " But your indiscretion shall be answered, for are you not 
 bound to us, are you not one of us, henceforth? " 
 
 Pleasant looked up quickly at Vera. He did not like 
 this cool manner of assuming possession of him as if he 
 were a person of no strength of character. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said. "I reckon there is a slight 
 misunderstanding. I am not one of yours in the sense 
 in which you mean it." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not exactly," said Vera, with a nervous
 
 BETWEEN SORROW AND DOUBT. 205 
 
 laugh, and glancing quickly all around her. " But you 
 are on the same road ; we are fellow travellers. How odd 
 that we should meet near the statue of Rousseau ! " 
 
 " Quite appropriate, is it not? He was an enemy of 
 society, and we ' ' 
 
 Pleasant stopped short. He felt as if a great struggle 
 were going on in his mind, and as if he could not ~at 
 that moment say, as he would have said frankly enough 
 not long before, that he was modern society's enem}-. 
 
 "We are its enemies also," said Vera, finishing his 
 sentence. ' ' Ah ! but Jean Jacques Rousseau was the most 
 useless and impracticable of beings. He spent his life in 
 endeavouring to form a new society in accordance with an 
 imaginary compact, and wasted his hours in proclaiming 
 absolute equality; but he suggested no means 1 of getting 
 rid of the old society. It is not difficult to be a foe in 
 theory, as he was. Bah ! he was only a dreamer ! Yet 
 perhaps I do him injustice," she added, approaching the 
 bridge's railing, and looking over at the statue of the 
 philosopher as if she were mentally taking his measure, 
 and correcting some of her hasty impressions concerning 
 him. " He was a pioneer, and that is a great deal. It 
 was no small thing to hint that society was so bad that 
 something ought to be substituted for it. If Jean Jacques 
 had not lived, Bakounin might never have appeared. Mr. 
 Merrinott, you are making me forget my prudence." 
 
 " I, Mademoiselle Vera, " stammered the Indian. 
 
 "You are tempting me to talk on a subject which 
 ought to be forgotten for the moment. I am afraid that I 
 have been watched for the last few days, and I came here 
 in the hope of averting suspicion. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 "Perfectly. Why talk Bakouuiu? There are plenty 
 of interesting topics suggested by this lovely scene. Now, 
 Geneva itself is what I call a right beautiful place. And
 
 206 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 there's Mont Blanc only you never can see him when 
 you wish." The youth made an effort to be cheerful, but 
 a sigh came to his lips ; yet he repeated with a semblance 
 of merriment, " Why talk Bakounin? " 
 
 " Ah ! why, indeed? " said Vera passionately, clenching 
 the railing with both her small hands. "Because the 
 world is wrong and must be righted ; because one is re- 
 minded of it at every turn, and suffers in consequence of 
 it at each instant. There are moments when I would 
 gladly get away from the straggle. Do not fancy that I 
 have not moments when I would prefer to be a shepherdess 
 even such a one as we see in Watteau's pictures 
 rather than a disciple of Bakounin, and an execu- 
 tioner ! " She raised her right hand and let it fall heavily 
 on the railing, as if she were thinking of a headsman aim- 
 ing a blow with his axe. "But I am glad to say that 
 such longings are only temporary," she said, looking at 
 Pleasant with a smile, which made her intense face almost 
 beautiful. " Shall we walk a little, or do you prefer to 
 remain here, pacing back and forth ? I assure you that 
 you look much more like a conspirator than I do. And 
 when do you go to Paris? " 
 
 "I I don't know. Perhaps not at all." 
 
 " Oh ! you are bound to go to Paris, for, you remember, 
 you are the subject of a wager, and your probation will not 
 properly begin until you have arrived there." 
 
 They walked on together across the Pont du Mont 
 Blanc, and into the Jardin du Lac. When they had found 
 a shady place and were seated, looking out upon the placid 
 water, dotted in the distance with white sails, Vera said 
 abruptly 
 
 " Have you had bad news from your Indians, Mr. Mer- 
 rinott? Your face is full of sadness. And why did you 
 leave Berne without saying adieu to any one? Do you 
 know that I think Ignatius is sharpening his knife for
 
 BETWEEN SORROW AND DOUBT. 207 
 
 3~ou? He seemed to fancy that your sudden departure 
 was suspicious." 
 
 " Ignatius ! Oh ! the old Jew ! Has he finished the 
 clock of destiny?" 
 
 Vera did not answer. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Pleasant. "I will be prudent. 
 We will ignore those matters, if we can, and then there 
 will be no danger." 
 
 " There is always danger," said the girl. " But I do 
 not fear for myself, as you know. It is for the cause. I 
 hope that failure may not come just yet not just yet. 
 And as for your question about Ignatius yes ; the clock 
 of destiny is quite finished." 
 
 She uttered these last words in a whisper which made 
 Pleasant shudder. He began to regret that he had ever 
 known this mysterious young woman. To-day she stirred 
 up a rebellion in his blood. He did not like this atmos- 
 phere of plots, counterplots, and this network of spies 
 and secret agencies. He was dissatisfied with society, 
 unmistakabl}' discontented and dangerously aroused by 
 the injustice of which he and his were victims ; but the 
 more he saw of the working of Bakounin's plan the more 
 distasteful and dreadful did it seem to him. 
 
 " Our friends, the young ladies especially, were sorry 
 that you did not come to see them off the next day, you 
 remember. I think they were a bit surprised." 
 
 "Oh ! they have quite forgotten me by this time," said 
 Pleasant, endeavouring to appear unconcerned ; but his 
 face would not obey his will. And Vera looked straight 
 at him, as she said 
 
 "I thought Miss Harrelston remarked your absence. 
 Indeed, she looked as if she fancied Stanislas and I were 
 in some way accountable for it." 
 
 Pleasant's scowl relaxed. He was glad to hear that 
 Alice appeared, at least, to regret that he had not seen her
 
 208 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 again. " Miss Harrelston is interested in my work, not 
 in me, Mademoiselle Vera," he said, vainly endeavouring 
 to dissemble. 
 
 "Do you think so?" The tone in which Vera said 
 this indicated plainly to Pleasant that he could not mislead 
 Vera. " How smooth the lake is this afternoon ! Who 
 would believe, seeing it in a wild storm, as I saw it once, 
 when the great masses of water crushed small boats as 
 if they were egg-shells, that it could ever be so tranquil 
 as this?" 
 
 " Is it not somewhat like the society, Mademoiselle Vera, 
 which you propose to destroy? Will not society settle 
 back into its accustomed placidity, after you have startled 
 it to its greatest depths with your explosion? " 
 
 Vera's eyes flashed. " You do not believe in us," she 
 said. "And yet you can you must. You will see 
 that what 3*011 desire as what we desire can be at- 
 tained only as we propose to attain it." 
 
 "I don't know," said Pleasant humbly, "what I do 
 think. I thought that my mind was made up, and now I 
 find it a sort of chaos. But I will say, in a general way, 
 that if I were commanding a great army on a march, and 
 I found that this lake lay in my path, and that I had not 
 time to go round it, it would be more sensible for me to 
 devise some plan of floating across upon its surface than 
 to spend time and energy in devising means for blowing 
 up its basin, in the hopes of producing a cataclysm which 
 would change the face of nature." 
 
 The Russian girl smiled contemptuously. " I am 
 afraid," she said, " that Rousseau has turned your head." 
 
 "No," said the Indian. "But, for the moment, I con- 
 fess that I feel more inclined to try the experiment of 
 floating with Rousseau than to run the risk of being sub- 
 merged with Bakounin."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IN THE EXILE- WORLD. 
 
 PLEASANT and Vera talked until the sun went down and 
 cool shadows began to creep along the shores of the lake. 
 The Russian girl quite forgot her own injunctions about 
 caution, and gossiped freely of her plans. Pleasant was 
 more distressed than flattered by this proof of Vera's con- 
 fidence in him. He could not refrain from admiring her, 
 but he dreaded her. When she arose and bade him good- 
 night, he felt as great a sense of relief as if a burden had 
 been lifted from his shoulders. Yet he offered to escort 
 her to her lodgings. 
 
 "No, thank you," she said, with a smile; " I repeat 
 that you look more like a conspirator than I do ; and you 
 would not like to compromise me, I am sure. I am very 
 comfortably installed in a modest pension, where I am 
 about to study diligently, for a short time, and then I 
 shall go to Paris." 
 
 The young Indian hoped that she would not hesitate 
 to call upon him, if he could be of any service to her. 
 She had turned to go, but she whirled around suddenly, 
 poised airily on one foot, and looked him saucily in the 
 face. It was the first time that he had ever seen her 
 attempt anything like coquetry. When the sinister look 
 went away, even for an instant, there was no doubt that 
 she was attractive. He felt the fascination of her presence. 
 
 209
 
 210 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "You mean what you say, Mr. Merrinott," she said, 
 slowly. " I can see that in your eyes. But if your offer 
 of service were accepted if your friendliness Were put to 
 the test you would be obliged to draw back from it. 
 For what can it mean to serve such a person as I am ? 
 Do you think you realize all that it means ? You know 
 that my life is concentrated on one object that all my 
 efforts tend in one direction. You think you are prepared 
 to help me. Think twice, Mr. Merrinott, think twice." 
 
 And she was gone before he could say anything. Now 
 he was more profoundly troubled than ever. This girl 
 arose in his path whichever way he turned, and seemed 
 to claim him for her service. He already felt a strange 
 sense of servility. He disliked her conspiracy, and yet it 
 was hourly assuming increased importance in his thought. 
 
 " I was not made for Europe," he muttered to himself, 
 as he wandered along the dusty road toward France, 
 gazing at the vineyards and the pretty gardens. " I am 
 as stupid and silly here as a city man would be in the 
 woods on the Grand River banks. I reckon I ought to 
 have stayed at home. What have I accomplished since 
 I came? Nothing. And I am turned round and round 
 by every wind that blows. Each new person that I meet 
 seems to work some change in my mind. No no this 
 will not do. I must shut my heart up against everything 
 except my poor Chcrokees." 
 
 A "vision arose before him of a green valley near 
 Tiihloquuh, and a humble yet comfortable farm-house 
 .nestling in a corner of the vale. Corn-fields spread away 
 r 1r> -right and left, and the long and aromatic sheaves rustled 
 musically in the breeze. Before the door of the house 
 stood a horse, gaily caparisoned, and prancing with im- 
 patience. A tall and graceful youth, with a rifle in one 
 hand and a Hght whip in the other, was approaching the 
 horse, and a little negro, bearing a belt filled with car-
 
 IN THE EXILE- WORLD. 211 
 
 tridges, ran after him. It was morning, and the old man, 
 Arch Sixkiller, was driving a herd of cows afield. A 
 gaunt woman, with coal-black hair and eyes, stood near 
 the horse, throwing crumbs to a timorous flock of newly- 
 fledged chickens. Seated in the shade of the wall of a log 
 granary two stalwart men were skinning a deer which had 
 been killed the night before. It was the vision of his 
 home in the Nation that Pleasant saw, and he groaned 
 aloud as he thought that the hated white man might, in a 
 few short months, invade the peaceful valley, parcel out 
 the lands which the Indians now held in common, and 
 begin anew the old crowding process which had proved so 
 deadly to the Indians. 
 
 " Can nothing stop them? " he said aloud, for he was 
 utterly absorbed in the contemplation of the injustice done 
 his race. " The years go round and bring only new en- 
 croachments, new exactions. Society will do nothing for 
 us ; it spurns us, laughs at us, derides us in cheap para- 
 graphs in its silly newspapers ! God of Justice ! is there 
 no way to bring this hard-hearted society to its senses ; 
 no way to take it by the throat and say, ' Before you go 
 another step you shall render us Justice ! We will not lie 
 down and be crushed ; nor will we be pushed into the 
 Pacific Ocean ! ' Is there no way, no sudden shock, no 
 sharp and certain means of getting attention? " 
 
 He bit his lips, and, pausing in his walk, leaned against 
 a stone wall, and -looked out over the gleaming surface 
 of the lake. He had thought that he was getting away 
 from Bakounin's theory ; but now he found that he was 
 coming slowly back to it. Was Vera's plan, horrible as it 
 was, the right one after all? Had the sombre and satur- 
 nine Bakoimin hit upon the truth? Must man trust to 
 himself rather than to God? Must he take vengeance 
 into his own hands? Could he do it? Was it within the 
 scope of possibility ? Pleasant thought not ; yet he was
 
 212 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 compelled to avow that whenever he meditated on tho 
 means of redressing the injustices which had been practised 
 upon his race for many generations, he could see no other 
 than violent means as clearly practicable. And how 
 even were it, under the exceptional circumstances, allow- 
 able could the theory of Bakounin be applied in a free 
 country like America? 
 
 He slept none that night. The demon of doubt was 
 with him and was all-powerful. The gentle vision of 
 Alice was vanished, and it was not love, but hate, that 
 reigned in Pleasant' s heart. 
 
 O happj 7 nations, moving resistlessly forward in the 
 paths which }'ou fancy chosen for you by the Supreme 
 Power, and crushing now and then feebler peoples that 
 stand in your way, well is it for your peace that you do 
 not realize the hatred and burning desire for vengeance 
 that your insolent progress arouses in the minds of the 
 oppressed and vanquished ! Well is it for your tranquillity 
 that you do not know of the justice that shall one day 
 bid you render account of the blood of the innocents whom 
 you have slain, of the wars that you have provoked, and 
 of the hopes that you have ruined ! Justice is omnipotent, 
 and will prevail ; let great and ambitious nations remember 
 this, and tremble when they are about to do wrong ! 
 
 The result of Pleasant's relapse into doubt was a 
 determination to see more of Vera, and to prolong his 
 stay in Geneva. His spirit was so shaken that he could 
 do no work. He neglected his correspondence with the 
 agents of his people in Washington, and sat in his room, 
 irresolute and desperately unhappy. 
 
 In the afternoon a little girl brought him a note from 
 Vera. lie turned the daintily scented document over 
 twice before he consented to open it. Had she written 
 to accept his offer of sen-ice? Was it his fate that he 
 should become part and parcel of a Nihilist conspiracy
 
 IN THE EXILE-WORLD. 213 
 
 that he should wear the collar of Bakounin? The girl 
 inquired if there were any answer, so Pleasant tore open 
 the envelope, and read 
 
 " Mademoiselle Vera presents her compliments to Mon- 
 sieur Merrinott, and begs to inform him that she has 
 obtained for him an invitation for this evening to a 
 ' reunion ' in the exile world, which she thinks may prove 
 vastly entertaining. Most of those present will be exiled 
 Communists impracticable people whom may Heaven 
 forgive but there will be a few Russians. Pray come, 
 and have no fear that anything very extraordinary will be 
 said or done openly, as the agents of the present Govern- 
 ments hi Paris and St. Petersburg will be among the 
 guests. Allans! my friend, amuse yourself for an idle 
 hour by contemplating the European revolution in epit- 
 ome. May I expect you? " 
 
 The address of an obscure street in the old quarter of 
 Geneva was written faintly in pencil below, and the young 
 Indian concluded that it indicated the place of meeting. 
 
 The small girl carried back an affirmative answer, and 
 at the appointed hour that evening Pleasant found himself 
 in a large, old-fashioned hall, over a cafe, in a small dark 
 street at some distance from the rushing river. At the 
 end of the hall opposite the entrance was a platform, and 
 a desk draped with a blood-red flag. A piano stood in a 
 corner. The windows of the room were open, as the 
 evening was very warm, and there was no appearance of 
 secrecy or alarm. The Cherokee was scowled at by two 
 or three young gentlemen with bushy black hair and 
 exceedingly white faces, who appeared to consider him 
 an interloper, but he returned the scowls with so much 
 interest that they were visibly disconcerted. Presently 
 Vera arrived, with two other young ladies, both of whom 
 were very pretty. They wore their hair cut short, and 
 brushed back in masculine fashion from their foreheads,
 
 214 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and their manner was a trifle aggressive, but Pleasant 
 found them agreeable. Vera introduced them as her 
 compatriots and fellow-students. Next arrived several 
 subdued-looking French women as plain as the Russians 
 were pretty, and bearing marks upon their faces of priva- 
 tion and toil. The) 7 did not appear to relish the presence 
 of the Russians, and looked askance at them. By-and-by 
 a tall, weather-beaten, soldierly old man, comfortably 
 dressed, came in, and was rapturously saluted by the 
 French women. 
 
 "That is a Communist," said Vera, " who managed to 
 escape from the May massacres in 1871, and who has 
 established a comfortable business here in Geneva. He 
 sells boots and shoes to the rich, and gives them away to 
 the poor. He has one peculiarity, which is not dangerous, 
 but which naturally makes him a marked man. He has 
 sworn never to wear hat or cap until the Commune is 
 re-established, and ever since he came into exile he has 
 kept his word." 
 
 " He reverences his own ideas so much that he is per- 
 petually standing uncovered before them," said one of 
 Vera's companions. " How very French ! " 
 
 The hatless boot and shoe seller was an important per- 
 sonage in the meeting, and took a seat on the platform. 
 And now pale and nervous men dropped in, one after 
 another, in the apologetic French way, making a great 
 many bows and greeting the same people over and over 
 again. There were men with glossy coats and new hats, 
 and men with greasy coats and old hats ; men with rough 
 manners and toil-stained hands, and men abounding in 
 grace and the elegance of the boulevard. Pleasant was 
 disappointed ; he had expected to see something tumultuous 
 and terror-stricken by turns something, perhaps, a little 
 like a meeting of masked conspirators under the arch of 
 an Italian bridge. But this was as unromantic as a
 
 IN THE EXILE-WOULD. 215 
 
 lecture in the Southern town where he had received his 
 education. 
 
 Vera introduced him to a middle-aged Russian with 
 a speckled beard, a red nose, and a pair of inflamed 
 eyes which peeped out suspiciously from behind cheap 
 spectacles ; and this worthy, who was really a disciple of 
 Bakounin, but who passed, in Geneva, a seemingly un- 
 eventful existence as a heavy literary man, pointed out 
 successively a j>erson who had been a general under 
 the Commune, and who had been obliged to run away 
 from his own soldiers ; a second person, who, being 
 criminated in the firing of the Hotel de Ville, had spent 
 six weeks of agonized suspense in the bedroom of an old 
 school friend, in the centre of Paris, who aided him 
 finally to escape in disguise across the frontier ; a third, 
 who had been left for dead among the slain at the 
 barricade in front of the Porte Saint Martin, and had 
 subsequently found his way to Geneva by the merest 
 chance ; and a fourth, who had spent months in prison, 
 had narrowly escaped execution., had been discharged at 
 the last moment for lack of evidence, and yet was really 
 one of the leaders of the great revolt. The Russian sneered 
 at all the French Communists whom he exhibited to 
 Pleasant, and for this Vera reproached him. Pleasant 
 asked him why his criticism of the unlucky Gauls was so 
 harsh. 
 
 " Pooh ! " said the Russian contemptuously, in his lazily 
 accented English, " how can one respect people who laugh 
 at the great Hegel, and say that his philosophy is obscure ? " 
 
 "Hegel? Hegel?" said Pleasant, dimly remembering 
 the name as that of a promontory at which he had touched 
 during his rapid circumnavigation of the world of knowl- 
 edge ; " will you kindly inform me What Hegel has to do 
 with Communism and the Communists? " 
 
 "Nothing, sir; nothing at all," replied the Russian.
 
 216 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Why, Monsieur, they do not even know that the great 
 Hegel wrote the 'Algebra of Revolution.' ' 
 
 As Pleasant had also been densely ignorant of this fact 
 until that particular instant, he did not feel inclined to 
 blame the Communists with much severity. The Russian 
 appeared to care but little what Pleasant's opinions were. 
 But he was anxious to air his own. As he was beginning 
 an impatient tirade in an undertone, Vera interrupted him 
 to say sharply 
 
 " You are such a cynic that I am afraid you will give 
 Mr. Merrinott a very poor idea of our cause. Long wait- 
 ing has somewhat soured your temper. I fear you find 
 nothing to your taste." 
 
 Pleasant looked inquiringly from one Russian to the 
 other. 
 
 " I shall not attempt to conceal from our friend," said 
 the cynic, " that the revolutionists in Geneva do not agree 
 among themselves, and that I often despair of seeing any 
 good come out of their efforts, because they are so divided. 
 We must all get back to Hegel, sir, back to Hegel ; there 
 is no safety elsewhere." 
 
 " You must tell me about Hegel," stammered Pleasant, 
 who was more in the dark than ever. 
 
 li Yes, the Socialists are too much divided," continued 
 the Russian, evidently against Vera's wish. " I have had 
 an excellent chance to study them, for I have now been 
 some years in exile. I have discovered that the English 
 Socialist is practical, utilitarian to a degree ; he is looking 
 for diminution of the number of hours of labour and an 
 increase of wages, and that is about all. The French 
 Socialists pah ! We have seen those peacocks at work 
 in the Commune time ; " and he waved his hand scornfully 
 in the direction of the group of French exiles. "Their 
 idea is to be puffed up with importance; to wear uniforms 
 covered with gold and silver lace ; to give orders, dis-
 
 IN THE EXILE-WORLD. 217 
 
 tribute patronage, drink champagne to the health of ' le 
 peuple,' and to caper around in pools of blood; that is 
 what they understand by revolution. Then the Germans 
 we have a few of them, and that few is too many 
 among us. The moment that they try to practise revolu- 
 tionary Socialism they give themselves heavy and pedantic 
 airs ; they pop into spectacles and write voluminous 
 treatises ; they are logicians, although they are not logical ; 
 they are infatuated with the absolute idea of Hegel, but 
 they do not begin to comprehend it. As for the Slav 
 the Russian as for ourselves " 
 
 u Ah ! " said Vera, her eyes flashing and the old sinister 
 look settling over her face, "I know what you are going 
 to tell Mr. Merrinott about us. I have heard you say it 
 often enough. You intend to tell him, that, in the 
 Russian mind, the ' Idea ' of Hegel develops a monstrous 
 Utopia. I am sure I don't know why you call it Utopia." 
 
 " That is when my despair takes possession of me, 
 Sister Vera," said the Russian, beginning to cringe before 
 the enthusiastic girl. 
 
 " It is no Utopia," continued Vera, in a fierce whisper, 
 which impressed Pleasant more powerfully than the most 
 resonant shouting could have done. "I grant you that 
 the Slav, when he welcomes Socialistic doctrines, is 
 plunged into a dream in which he sees a mighty vision of 
 the universal overturning ; of creation cracking and falling 
 to pieces ; of flames penetrating the heart of worm-eaten 
 civilization, and reducing it to ashes ; that he takes delight 
 in the thought of chaos and extermination ; for he knows 
 that beyond them is the golden age, and that the regenera- 
 tion cannot come until after the cataclysm for which he 
 earnestly hopes. But I would not insult him by telling 
 him that he is a Utopian." 
 
 "Ah, well, we must get back to Hegel back to 
 Hegel," said the Russian, looking rather condescendingly
 
 218 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 at Vera, whose cheeks were flushed, and whose eyes 
 sparkled like diamonds. " Our younger brethren consider 
 it proper to decry Hegel, and to say that he is old- 
 fashioned, forgetting that the whole system for social 
 renovation was drawn from his philosophy 
 
 " I should like .to understand this better," said Pleasant 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Forgetting that he is the father of the ' Idea.' Our 
 3 r oung collegians and the silly youthful workmen who get 
 locked up for conspiracy in Russia have been stuffing 
 their heads with natural science, whereas they should 
 have been feeding upon the Hegelian philosophy." 
 
 " Let us sit down. The exercises are about to begin," 
 said Vera. 
 
 From a corner Pleasant heard a smooth-faced orator 
 talk very glibly in French for twenty miuutes, at the end 
 of which time a pale young lady seated herself at the 
 piauo and struck up the Marseillaise, which many of the 
 company joined with the hatless boot and shoe dealer in 
 singing. The music revived the youth ; he was beginning 
 to languish in the overheated atmosphere of the Hegelian 
 philosophy. There was a rough menace, a strong con- 
 tempt for authority, in this Marseillaise, which was 
 gratifying. After the singing, a woman, poorl}' clad and 
 physically weak, arose, and leaning against the small 
 table covered with the blood-red flag, poured forth a 
 passionate invective aimed at the moderate Republicans 
 in power in France, and made ample threats of vengeance 
 when the good time should come. 
 
 " They will give us amnesty, brethren," she cried, " but 
 we must riot allow it to weaken our energies we must 
 not sink into slothfulness. Let us not forget the dead 
 who arc to be avenged." 
 
 She then read a fiery poem not devoid of talent 
 upon the "Religion of Humanity." Certain sentiments
 
 IN THE EXILE-WORLD. 219 
 
 expressed in her verse provoked a discussion between the 
 French and German Socialists. The Gaul talked in his 
 language ; the Teuton in his ; satire flew, irony fell in 
 showers ; repartee sparkled ; the partisans of each faction 
 applauded ; and the women looked on rapturously, their 
 hands folded, their mouths open, and comprehending but 
 little. An hour passed thus, and Pleasant found the heat 
 and the jargon quite intolerable. 
 
 "I think you must excuse me," he whispered to his 
 companions. " My head is turning round." 
 
 "We will accompany you to the balcony," said Vera, 
 beckoning to the young ladies seated near her. 
 
 They went out by a side door to a rustic porch over- 
 looking a court-yard, and sat down on a bench. 
 
 "I reckon they are not accomplishing anything very 
 practical in there this evening," remarked the Indian. 
 
 "Pooh! they are children!" said Vera's friend. 
 " Why, Monsieur, as I have already told you, they laugh 
 at the great Hegel." 
 
 Pleasant was silent for some minutes, and the Nihilists 
 did not seem inclined for conversation. At last, however, 
 Vera said 
 
 " I know what you are musing over, Mr. Merrinott. 
 You are wondering how the philosophy of Hegel can be of 
 use to your oppressed and threatened Indian brethren. Is 
 it not so ? " 
 
 " I am not thinking at all. My mind is as blank as 
 a piece of white paper freshly made. I have lost all my 
 old beliefs, if I ever had any, and none have yet come to 
 replace them," answered Pleasant mournfully. 
 
 " Then there never was a better moment in which to 
 tell you more about Bakounin," said the girl joyously. 
 
 Pleasant listened ; and as he listened he felt his old 
 repugnance to the name of the destroyer and to his 
 mystical doctrine entirely vanishing.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN*S WILL. 
 
 THE spectacled cynic began a brilliant strain of narration, 
 but a new idea seemed suddenly to occur to him. His 
 eyes twinkled behind his glasses, and he arose, saying 
 
 " My children, the night is very fine, and -the atmos- 
 phere in this court-yard is unpleasant. As we are to 
 have a long and important interview I foresee it let 
 us go out into the fields." 
 
 The young ladies seconded this proposition, and half an 
 hour afterwards the party found itself on the brow of a 
 broad hill on the shore of the lake opposite Geneva, 
 whither a wheezy horse, attached to a rickety public 
 carriage, had drawn them. Vera and her companions had 
 chatted gaily in Russian, English, and French alternately, 
 to beguile the way. As for Pleasant, he would have gone 
 with them to the Siberian wilderness had they asked him 
 to do so. lie no longer had a will of his own ; he followed 
 them blindly, regardless of consequences. 
 
 The cynic led the way into the garden of a small inn 
 on the hill-top, and there Vera and the girls seated them- 
 selves at a cosy table. The Russian bade Pleasant imitate 
 their example, and culling the servant, ordered some flasks 
 of wine. Then he took from his pocket a huge leathern 
 case which exhaled a strange Oriental aroma, and opening 
 
 220
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 221 
 
 it, showered down a score or two of cigarettes upon the 
 table. The Nihilist girls each took one, and lighting the 
 fragrant rolls at the lamp which the servant brought, began 
 gracefully and dreamily smoking, and watching the per- 
 fumed smoke as it drifted upward in little clouds. Pleasant 
 wondered if they were contemplating in these smoke wreaths 
 the apocalyptic vision of the crumbling back of society 
 into the chaotic ruins of which he had lately heard so much. 
 
 " Here is wine for those who wish it," said the cynic, 
 pouring himself a generous draught, and pushing the 
 bottle and glasses toward his companions. Then he sat 
 down, and began to talk in a monotonous, sing-song tone. 
 
 And while Pleasant listened he looked out over the vine- 
 laden terraces, and at the broad leaves on which the 
 moonbeams made merry, and at the tranquil silvered 
 expanse of the lake far below. He was conscious that 
 Vera narrowly observed him. 
 
 "I will venture to say," remarked the cynic, bringing 
 his hand heavily down on the table and making the glasses 
 jingle, "that these young ladies Miss Vera of course 
 excepted know as little, Monsieur, of Hegel and his 
 relations to Bakounin as you do. And they need more 
 blame than they get for this negligence. For how " he 
 looked uneasily around him " can they conspire unless 
 they know exactly to what end they are conspiring. There 
 are too many blind workers in our ranks." 
 
 Vera gave her assent heartily to this, and the short- 
 haired, blue-eyed young women looked a trifle confused. 
 
 "We have said a good bit about Hegel this evening. 
 It happens to have been Hegel who gave the main 
 impulse to the mind of Michael Bakounin. And who was 
 this Bakounin? He was a gentleman, as nearly all the 
 chiefs of Russian radicalism have been. He was born in 
 1814, and received a capital education from native and 
 French professors. Then he was placed in the Artillery
 
 222 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 School in St. Petersburg, and, oddly enough, his short stay 
 there developed the germ already planted in his spirit and 
 destined to burst forth into full flower under Hegelian 
 influence, Alexander the First of Russia had given many 
 dazzling promises of liberal reform in the early part of his 
 reign, but these were not fulfilled in the Emperor's closing 
 years, and shortly after his death came the famous revolt 
 of certain regiments of the guard against the Absolutist 
 Government. 
 
 "It is not necessary to dwell on the manner in which 
 that revolt was put down. It was stamped out with all 
 the implacable rigour which has become historical ; and 
 as a violent reaction against Liberalism had set in 
 throughout the Empire, the military schools, out of which 
 the revolt had come, were placed under an especially 
 unbending discipline. The youths in the schools were 
 constrained to absolute outward respect of the forms 
 against which the whole liberal part of the nation had once 
 hoped to rebel, but in their hearts they cherished secret 
 contempt for the established order of things ; their mental 
 negation of existing institutions was complete. They 
 adored the insurrectionists of December in secret ; and 
 when Michael Bakounin was in the Artillery School he 
 heard constantly whispered on every side the names and 
 the poetic and legendary history of those who had swung 
 upon the gallows, or been exiled to the snows of the North, 
 because they had revolted for liberty. 
 
 " The severe repression of all the generous and ardent 
 ideas of these young minds seems to have filled Bakounin 
 with a mortal sorrow. He lost all interest in the brilliant 
 career before him, and at the time when he might have 
 entered the Artillery of the Guard of the capital, and 
 become a person of rank and consequence, he was so list- 
 less and inactive that he was sent away to pass the best 
 years of his youth in an obscure garrison town in a corner
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 223 
 
 of the Empire. There he spent his days in dreaming of 
 the future, and the army authorities were so displeased 
 with him that they asked him to resign if he could not 
 reform. Bakounin smiled, resigned, and went to live in 
 Moscow. He was then two-and-twenty years old. Do the 
 young ladies follow me? I speak the English, because of 
 our young American friend." 
 
 "Perfectly," said the young ladies in chorus, twirling 
 their cigarettes. 
 
 " It was in Moscow, where society and the police for 
 that matter were reasonably tolerant under the reign of 
 Nicholas, that Bakouuin began to be familiar with Hegel's 
 philosophy. Hegel was the rage in those days toward 
 1836 in Moscow. There was a rich man named Stanke- 
 wics who had learned the German philosophy by heart, 
 and taught it to his friends. The disciples were very 
 zealous ; they worked upon Hegel night and day ; they 
 discussed paragraph after paragraph of his treatises for 
 hours, for weeks. The copies of the works passed from 
 hand to hand until they were almost worn out, quite 
 covered with notes, illegible. It was not at all uncommon 
 to see intimate friends no longer on speaking terms 
 because they could not agree upon the essence of the 
 absolute spirit." 
 
 Pleasant smiled. But he felt that Vera's eyes were 
 fixed reproachfully upon him. 
 
 ' ' Michael Bakounin was soon recognized as the master- 
 spirit of this Hegelian circle at Moscow. Stankcwics 
 bowed before him, and gave high praise to his speculative 
 faculties ; and in course of time Bakounin's reputation 
 was so great that it spread beyond Russian boundaries. 
 He left Moscow and went to Berlin in search of more 
 light. 
 
 " Europe has forgotten what a tremendous enthusiasm 
 there was over Hegel's monotonous and enigmatical style
 
 224 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ten years after the author's death. The enemies of our 
 philosophy say that one of the sources of Hegel's popu- 
 larity was that every one could find in the vagueness 
 and obscurity of his writings whatever he or she pleased. 
 But this was untrue. If Hegel is as difficult to decipher 
 as a cuneiform inscription, it is also certain that his text 
 has but one meaning, no matter how many imaginative and 
 presumptuous people may have given it. Bakounin and 
 the revolutionary school of the period found the right 
 and only meaning. They deciphered the ' Algebra of 
 Revolution.' Out of the dry phrases, the seemingly mean- 
 ingless sentences which the sublime old man had left 
 behind him, they got the promise of a future, glorious and 
 imposing, but of necessity lying beyond the destruction of 
 the actual order of things. I tell you, Monsieur, I tell you 
 ladies," cried the Russian, waxing enthusiastic, and 
 smiting the table, " when at last they had mastered Hegel, 
 and they looked up from his books, they saw a grandiose 
 vision of a blackened and empty heaven the traditions of 
 the Christian era in shapeless ruins, Deity dethroned, and, 
 seated upon the throne of the universe, that noble and 
 triumphant young queen the Absolute Idea ! Long had 
 she slept in the bosom of Nature, like the beauty in the 
 forest in the fairy tale, but now she had awakened in per- 
 fection and splendour, and wooed to her, as her spouse, 
 man, henceforth to be king, henceforth to be the only 
 living and legitimate Deity the divine biped, always 
 growing more and more divine, less and less human ! 
 These passionate students of Hegel believed that every- 
 thing else had failed except man's will, and that, when 
 that was exercised, regeneration would come. They denied 
 all else ; and when they reduced their belief to a formula 
 they found (lint instead of ' Let God's will be done ! ' they 
 were henceforth to say, ' Let man's will be done ! ' 
 
 Pleasant bowed his head and said nothing. The girls
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 225 
 
 smoked on, and the miniature clouds of perfumed smolce 
 drifted up like incense burned before an altar erected to 
 the profane and audacious Bakounin. 
 
 " Doubtless there was a certain amount of intoxication 
 in this new belief that man's will was infinite, that man 
 was no longer the creature of the circumstances in which 
 he had been placed, but that he could remould, refashion, 
 rebuild the world the universe. ' First! ' said Michael 
 Bakounin, ' let us sweep away the old rubbish ; let us upset 
 the ancient world utterly ; let us precipitate society into 
 chaos and bring it out anew ; let us form a terrestrial 
 paradise in which there shall be no sin and from which 
 there shall be no fall ; let us build a world in which every 
 one shall have a place in the sunshine, bread to .eat, and 
 wine to drink ! ' He instilled into his disciples the theory 
 that they must joy in destruction because it was the neces- 
 sary prelude to the joy of rebuilding. And although the 
 Nihilists of this generation have moved away from Hege- 
 lianism, they are still guided by that theorj* of Bakounin. 
 
 " There are some of them in Russia who profess to 
 follow the master's banner, but who have written the word 
 Constitution upon it. They do no harm ; they are all la- 
 bouring for the primary period of destruction which must 
 come. The mass of Bakounin 's disciples are resolved to 
 deny everything that exists in the order of traditional 
 ideas, to annihilate the present social fabric, and on the 
 ruins to found the hope of a better world a new world ! 
 Do not fancy that Russian Nihilism is a mere aspiration 
 toward annihilation, for the sake of entering upon obliv- 
 ion. We are not so East Indian as that. No ! We hope 
 that man will remain erect and mighty upon the ruins, 
 and will know how to found an honest, a sensible, a just 
 society. The safety of individuals and nations can be 
 accomplished only by a simple and rapid method of cleans- 
 ing that cave of iniquity called ' society ' to-day. If we
 
 226 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 are more radical than contemporary socialists of other 
 countries, it is because our aim is grander and our deter- 
 mination more complete." 
 
 The speaker had finished his first flask of red wine. 
 He rolled the bottle carelessly under the table, opened a 
 fresh flask, absorbed a mighty draught, blinked at Pleasant, 
 smiled complacently on the ladies, and resumed his sing- 
 song address. He had been used, during his residence in 
 London, to lecture to working-men's assemblies, and had 
 acquired a precise and explicit habit of delivery which 
 served the purpose well on this occasion. 
 
 " Michael Bakounin did not content himself with 
 dreaming and theorizing. Hegel had told him of the 
 right of force,, and he was not long in marrying his philos- 
 ophy to a militant policy. He went up to Paris in 1843, 
 when the socialistic effervescence was beginning. He had 
 conceived a vast plan of shattering social edifice after 
 social edifice. He was like a man placing charge after 
 charge of dynamite beneath crag after crag, in the hope 
 of reducing a whole line of cliffs to shapeless ruin. He 
 laboured to undermine monarchy in Russia ; he tried to 
 raise the standard of revolt in Bohemia ; and in Dresden, 
 in 1849, he was putting his principled into practice by 
 urging, during the insurrection, the burning of the public 
 buildings and the blowing up of the houses of certain 
 dignitaries. The riots were suppressed ; he was arrested 
 and condemned to death ; his sentence was commuted 
 .to imprisonment for life. He was at last handed over to 
 :the Russian authorities, and sent to Siberia. He escaped, 
 after ten years of almost incredible sufferings there. He 
 managed to get to London, and it was there that I first 
 saw and knew him. I suppose you have read his history 
 since that time? " 
 
 Pleasant confessed that he had not. 
 
 "Indeed! It ia a part of the history of the time,
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 227 
 
 which will not be forgotten until the new order of things 
 has rendered a history of the old order useless. Michael 
 Bakounin was in all revolutionary movements in England, 
 in the Congresses in Switzerland and Holland, everywhere 
 preaching to men that as everything is rotten, everything, 
 State, Church, Exchange, banks, police, courts, Acad- 
 emies, Universities must be blotted out. He urged 
 men to deliver themselves from the fear of the Deity, and 
 from their infantile respect for the fiction called law. 
 ' Let your own happiness be your supreme law,' he said. 
 He founded the secret society, of which I am sure, Mon- 
 sieur, that you have heard." 
 
 Pleasant nodded. He was thinking of old Ignatius 
 and the " clock of destiny." 
 
 " A society, the members of which are solemnly bound 
 to possess no other country than that of the universal 
 revolution, and to consider as reactionary every movement 
 which has not for its unique and direct end the triumph 
 of their principles." 
 
 Vera's face was pale, and the stern look of which 
 Pleasant was almost afraid was upon it. The young 
 Indian remembered that he had seen the same intense 
 expression upon the faces of mulatto women possessed by 
 hysterical religious excitement at meetings in the Southern 
 town where he was educated. 
 
 "And how did Bakounin die, and where?" asked 
 Pleasant. 
 
 "He died here in Switzerland, but a few years ago. 
 Some say that he died of a broken heart, hut I do not 
 think so. He went on planning and fighting to the last, 
 always adhering rigidly to his doctrines. The instruments 
 which he tried to use for the inauguration of his great 
 revolution were all too feeble. Extreme as society con- 
 siders most of the French and Italian and German 
 socialism, it is moderation compared with what Bakouuin
 
 228 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 aimed at. The master fell upon evil days toward the 
 close of his career. He was unsuccessful with the French 
 Communists ; his movement in Southern Spain was un- 
 fortunate ; Mazzini excommunicated him in the name of 
 Spiritualism, and Karl Marx in the name of orthodox 
 socialism. Yet he hoped to the very last that the great, 
 general, wide-sweeping revolution would come, and over- 
 whelm Europe beneath its ruins. He died, but he left 
 behind him those who will carry out his plan. His fol- 
 lowers are no longer contented to confine their effort to 
 a single country or a single hemisphere ; their field is the 
 world." 
 
 Again Pleasant felt that Vera's eyes were fixed upon 
 him with baleful force. 
 
 "On Russia, for the moment, the efforts of the party 
 are concentrated, because it is there that absolute govern- 
 ment has rendered the plan of Bakounin most dangerous 
 to fulfil. We wish to grapple with our worst enemy 
 first. The government has made some concessions in this 
 generation, in the direction of a constitutional regime; 
 and we lend our aid to those who are determined to have 
 a constitution in Russia, because we feel that with a lib- 
 eral Government replacing the old absolutism our progress 
 toward the accomplishment of the idea of Bakounin will 
 be much facilitated." 
 
 "The absolutism in Russia must and shall disappear," 
 said Vera. " We have sworn it." 
 
 "And when you have obtained free institutions, a 
 constitution, local liberties, and the rest, then you will 
 proceed with your work of tearing down the present social 
 fabric in Russia, and building the terrestrial paradise in 
 its place? " 
 
 "Certainly," said Vera. "The free institutions are 
 but the stepping-stones which we need and must have." 
 
 u It is a mighty scheme," said the young Indian, draw-
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 229 
 
 ing his breath hard. " Too mighty, too ambitious, I fear, 
 to be realized." 
 
 "By man's will it can be done," said the Russian cynic. 
 "To what else can you turn? Where else can you find 
 justice? How else, except by convulsing society to its 
 centre, can you bring it to a knowledge of its guilt? 
 No ; the world must be purged, and we must begin 
 again." 
 
 "How do you know," said Vera, folding her hands 
 and looking sharply at Pleasant, "that the principles of 
 Bakounin are not applicable in America, in your new land 
 with its old society ? Have you thought what a sublime 
 vengeance it would be if you could shock, to its very 
 foundations, the society which has so cruelly persecuted 
 and maltreated your race for generations? Why can it 
 not be done? Who says it cannot? Have you thought 
 of this?" 
 
 Had he thought of it? Had it not been lurking in his 
 mind like a shadow for days, for weeks, for months? 
 
 "I will think of it," he said. "But for the moment 
 I feel as if it would be a relief to talk of something 
 else. This idea of turning over society is a mighty lurid 
 one." 
 
 He tried to laugh, but he was oppressed. The cynic 
 came to his aid with some remarks on the beauty of the 
 evening, and an apology for having wearied him with the 
 history of the great revolutionist. The young women 
 engaged Vera and her spectacled friend in a discussion as 
 to the value of the study of the natural sciences ; and as 
 the wheezy old horse drew them back to Geneva, under 
 the bewitching light of the moon, Pleasant found that he 
 was receiving much instruction as to the difference between 
 old and new Nihilism, and their infinite variations. 
 
 He bade the party good night at the Pont clu Mont 
 Blanc, and hastened to his hotel. The porter put a
 
 230 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 telegram into his hands, and he went up to his room 
 before reading it, fancying that in it he should find only 
 fresh cause for hatred of the white invaders of the 
 country in which his poor Cherokees had made their final 
 stand. 
 
 The despatch was repeated to him by the manager of 
 the Bellevue Hotel at Berne, to whose care it was addressed, 
 and contained the following words : 
 
 " Mr. Pleasant Merrinott is urgently requested to come 
 at once to Paris to meet Eric Harrelston at his office, at 
 the bank, on important and immediate business. Prompt 
 attention is solicited. Please answer. HARRELSTON." 
 
 The youth allowed the telegram to slip from his hands, 
 and it fluttered down to the floor. He would have liked to 
 shout. He did not know what new disclosures lay behind 
 this message, but he believed that he was mysteriously 
 called once more toward Alice. For an instant he fancied 
 that he could see her standing before him, as she stood on 
 the .terrace at Berne, when she was gazing at the Alpine 
 fire on the far-off, snow-clad peaks. The sombre visions 
 aroused by the story of Bakounin now vanished, as 
 demons might flee away before the presence of an angel. 
 Hope came to banish despair and doubt. He went to the 
 open window and sat down where the moonlight could fall 
 upon his face. The sweet tranquillity of nature comforted 
 him. In the vast and tender embrace of night he felt a 
 rest, a protection, which were delicious. He was vaguely 
 conscious of a mighty directing power guiding all his 
 feeble movements. 
 
 " I feel," he whispered to himself, "as if I had been 
 saved out of the pit. That despatch has done it, I don't 
 know how. I am glad to get out from from under the 
 shadow of Bakounin ! " 
 
 He made his arrangements to take the morning train 
 for Paris; sent an answer conceived thus, "Coming at
 
 THE APOSTLE OF MAN'S WILL. 231 
 
 once ! " to Mr. Harrelston ; and mailed a brief note to 
 Vera, saying that he was summoned suddenly to Paris, 
 where he should be pleased to meet her again. Then he 
 went to bed, and slept soundly for the first time for ten 
 days.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 
 
 THE Paris home of Caro and her mother was in a small 
 and cosy house in the Rue de 1' Orient, high on that steep 
 and picturesque hill which the Parisians call ' ' Mont- 
 martre." Some say that it is called so because there stood 
 upon the breezy height in ancient times a temple to the 
 god Mars. Others affirm that Montmartre is the " Mount 
 of Martyrs," and that St. Denis of blessed memory was 
 beheaded there, and afterwards astonished his execu- 
 tioners by taking his head under his arm, v and walking 
 off, in most unconcerned fashion, across the plain, in 
 search of a delectable site for a burial-place. 
 
 The streets which seam the sides of the great hill are 
 the homes of thousands of literary and artistic celebrities ; 
 the tall gray houses, which iu the damp and dreary Paris 
 winter seem gloomy and forbidding, are filled with light, 
 and life, and poetry, and romance within. Artists, 
 musicians, actors, writers, flock about Montmartre's ribs 
 like swallows at the eaves of a huge country barn. The 
 summit is a bluff which has proved untameable by the 
 aediles, and is crowned by a venerable windmill, in 
 the centre of a pretty garden, owned by an innkeeper, 
 who serves dinners and wines to the people who clamber 
 up to his domain for the sake of seeing all Paris lying 
 
 23U
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 233 
 
 at their feet. In the long summer and autumn evenings 
 music and fireworks attract to this bluff hundreds of 
 couples of pale-faced, overworked artisans and seam- 
 stresses, who dance to the inspiring measures of the fiddle 
 and the horn, and drink lemonade and raspberry cordial 
 in the moonlight, while the old windmill solemnly extends 
 its scraggy arms above their heads. 
 
 The garden overlooks the neglected upland on which 
 were parked hundreds of cannon at the close of the siege 
 of 1870-71. At sight of this plot of ground, with its 
 waving grasses and weeds, its broken fences and dust- 
 heaps, the dreadful phantasmagoria of the Commune seem 
 once more to spring into view ; for the desire of the 
 people to possess the cannon stored there led to tragic 
 and bloody events on the historic hill. The Rue des 
 Hosiers, where the unhappy generals were sacrificed to 
 the fury of the insurrection, is not far away ; and if the 
 stones could speak, what tales of massacre they could tell ! 
 
 But the visitor to Moutmartre on a bright, sunlit 
 September afternoon, would think it one of the most 
 peaceful and attractive spots that he had ever visited. 
 So thought Caro and her mother when they first climbed 
 thither, escorted by two clever American artists, who 
 had long inhabited the quarter ; and Mrs. Merlin, who 
 abominated the "apartment system" so universal in 
 France, and who was determined to rent a whole house, 
 straightway fell a prey to the fascinations of the Rue de 
 1'Orient. For in this small avenue, not far below the 
 bluff, she found a tiny garden, and at its back a diminutive 
 two-story dwelling, from a balcony niche in the roof of 
 which one could look down over the whole vast capital, 
 extending miles away on either side of the Seine a 
 colossal wilderness of roofs, an imposing and beautiful 
 mass of infinitely varied architecture. 
 
 The upper story of the house was a large atelier^
 
 234 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 through which had passed in previous years a shadowy 
 procession of artists of all nationalities and every shade 
 of talent and success. This room had been furnished as 
 Caro's practice-chamber. A piano, hoisted up the narrow 
 and inconvenient staircase by a series of ingenious me- 
 chanical devices originated by Mrs. Merlin herself, after a 
 dozen French mechanics had declared the operation im- 
 possible, stood in the centre ; and floods of sunshine came 
 through the northern window to light up the inexpen- 
 sive draperies on the walls, the flowers from the garden, 
 the music-stand, and the few rather gaudy chairs which 
 Caro's mother had purchased as a bargain at the Hotel 
 Drouot. When Caro was at her studies, and the light 
 was too obtrusive, she drew a screen, managed by cords, 
 across the window, and then the studio was filled with 
 delicate and cool colour-tones, which harmonized com- 
 pletely with the notes of her voice. 
 
 Here the courageous girl had lived and worked for many 
 long mouths, mouths that hastened to swell to years, but 
 of which she took no note, so thoroughly engrossed was 
 she in the pursuit of her grand aim a successful dtbut 
 upon the European stage. Here she had now and then 
 received the visit of some foreign musician or composer 
 of note, attracted by the enthusiastic descriptions which 
 her principal instructor, Mlari, offered of her person and 
 her progress ; and here from time to time Mrs. Merlin 
 gave a reception, to which came many languid ladies from 
 the " upper circles "of that mysterious entity denominated 
 " The American Colony ; " young and ambitious, as well 
 as elderly and despairing, painters ; genteel-looking and 
 penniless Russians, Spaniards, Italians, and Frenchmen, 
 fond of an evening occasionally in the international 
 Bohemia, and willing to flutter, with moth-like adoration, 
 around the flame of American beauty ; and young ladies 
 who were aspirants for the same sort of success which
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 235 
 
 Caro sought, and who praised her to her face as freely 
 as they indulged in detraction of her when her back was 
 turned. 
 
 Here, too, in winter evenings, when the rain sobbed 
 outside, and the furious wind cried and threatened in the 
 garden, and Caro was weary with long striving, and 
 oppressed with the petty cares which her poverty engen- 
 dered, she often threw herself into a roomy, leathern- 
 covered arm-chair which stood near the piano, and sat for 
 hours, white-faced and wet-eyed, dreading the future and 
 almost doubting God ; the victim of that terrible, over- 
 whelming prostration which follows prolonged artistic 
 effort, as moonless, terror-black nights often follow the 
 most cheerful da}'s. Good Mrs. Merlin slept peacefully, 
 worn out with toil, in her small bedroom below ; but Caro 
 kept her vigil and nourished her silent soul-ache until it 
 left a mark upon her sweet face. 
 
 Oh, tender yet heroic young hearts of striving maidens 
 from the great Republic be3*ond the sea ! how -have you 
 bled and suffered in the watches of the night, and shrank 
 away from the cynical snarl and roar of the great foreign 
 capital ! And yet you have made no complaints ; and 
 we, who have known you at your toil, and with a certain 
 reverence have followed you in your careers, and rejoiced 
 with your successes, and respected you in your failures, 
 and been proud of your virtue and honour and noble per- 
 sistence, can never forget you ! "We are glad with you 
 in your gladness, and we sorrow with you when you are 
 in despair. 
 
 Poor Caro did not know how many sympathetic souls 
 were near her, how many would joyfully have helped her 
 to bear the burden of the dread discouragement, of the 
 supreme endeavour ; and she often rebelled against the 
 divine law of compensation which inexorably requires 
 that those who have walked upon the mountain-tops hand
 
 236 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 in hand with inspiration shall descend into the valleys of 
 humiliation, and be environed with the thick darkness of 
 distrust. Had she been able to realize that all about her 
 in the immense capital of art were thousands of hearts, 
 suffering, aspiring, dreading, toiling, as she suffered, 
 aspired, dreaded, and toiled, she might have felt more 
 willing to walk humbly beneath her load. 
 A fortnight after her return from Switzerland, Caro 
 sat nearly all night in the old arm-chair at the end of 
 an exhaustive day of successful study, at home and at 
 Melari's. The next morning she awoke from a broken 
 slumber into which she had fallen after she had crawled, 
 at dawn, to her small bed in the room next her mother's, 
 feeling feverish, petulant, and faint. Mrs. Merlin, who 
 kept a servant only for the sake of appearances for she 
 insisted upon doing the greater part of the housework 
 herself, and, as she phrased it, " cooked every morsel that 
 Caro put into her head ". came in with a fragrant cup 
 of coffee for her daughter, aud was alarmed at the girl's 
 flushed cheeks and haggard look. She placed the coffee 
 on a littlo table within reach of Caro's arm, and, sitting 
 down on the edge of the bed, began to pluck convulsively 
 at the corner of the right sleeve of her morning wrapper. 
 Caro knew that when her mother indulged in this gesture 
 a fit of tsars was close at hand ; and she felt a choking in 
 her own throat as she gazed at the simple, honest, worn 
 face, now visibly distressed by the workings of some 
 inward grief. She laid her thin white hand gently upon 
 her mother's roughened fingers. 
 
 "Don't worry, ma! " she said. "The money is cer- 
 tain to come. It is only a question of waiting, and we 
 must learn to put up with a little inconvenience." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin's tears began to flow. "It ain't the 
 money that worries me, Caro," she sobbed; "it's you. 
 Oh, daughter, what is it that makes you set up all night?
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 237 
 
 I know you did it ; you haven't slept a wink ! "What's 
 the good of tellin' me not to worry, when you are worry- 
 in' yourself to pieces. Heigh-ho ! I wish we were safe 
 back in Illinoy." 
 
 " Don't cry, unless you wish to unfit me for my day's 
 study," said Caro. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin made an effort to control her emotion, and 
 Caro, sitting up and taking the coffee in one hand, began 
 a trill with her clear, sweet voice, as if to make sure that 
 she could still sing. 
 
 " Come, cheer up, mother ! " she said. " Don't you see 
 how cheerful I am ! " Her lips quivered, and the shadow 
 of a mortal sadness fell on her face as she said these words. 
 
 " I feel," said Mrs. Merlin, musingly, "jest like I did 
 the night of the fire in Chicago. I feel like I didn't know 
 nothin'. Don't you remember, after we was burnt out, 
 they found me, separated from the rest of you, settin' in 
 a waggon and the Lord knows how I ever come in that 
 waggon ! and they says to me, says they, ' You must 
 get out of this ; the fire's spreadin'.' And I says, ' Well, 
 tell me where to go.' And they says, ' What's 3'our name, 
 and where did you live?' and I says, 'I don't know.' 
 And they says, ' What! don't know what your own name 
 is and where you lived?' I says, 'No, I don't,' and 
 I didn't. Then they asked me my husband's name, and 
 my children's names, and my friends' names, and I 
 couldn't tell 'em, for the (ire had clean drove everything 
 out of my head. And I didn't find out who I was until 
 more'n an hour afterward. Wai, I feel to-day like I did 
 then all of a daze ; an' I don't care what happens to 
 me." Mrs. Merlin lowered her voice as she said these 
 last words, and began to pluck at her sleeve once more. 
 
 " Well," said Caro, " we shall see what the day brings 
 forth. Our position is somewhat awkward, but we must 
 make the best of it."
 
 238 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 The two women had committed the feminine impru- 
 dence of nearly exhausting their slender stock of money 
 before they could count on any income from the several 
 rather unreliable sources on which they were nevertheless 
 compelled to rely. A "shrinkage" in the value of the 
 small property which the Merlins possessed in a prosper- 
 ous village not far from Chicago had proved most unlucky 
 for Caro and her mother ; it brought them, in a quarterly 
 payment, much less than they had been counting upon, 
 and at the same time one of Caro's newspaper engage- 
 ments failed her. Melari's lesson-bill was due, and so 
 were various annoying accounts at a dressmaker's ; and, 
 in addition to these disagreeable debts, Caro saw with 
 fear the day approaching when the "ready money," so 
 indispensable in Paris, would be gone. Her only hope of 
 bridging over a period of serious financial trouble now lay 
 in the arrival of certain moneys, the proceeds of a draft 
 which she had made on a Western editor who had pro- 
 fessed himself always willing to pay for her contributions 
 " in advance," to the extent of any reasonable sum. 
 
 Caro believed that this assurance was a never-failing 
 bank on which she could draw in the darkest moments ; 
 and she was in daily expectation of receiving a message 
 from a banking agent in the Rue de Provence, who had 
 taken the draft for collection, to call and receive its pro- 
 ceeds. With that sturdy independence which was part 
 of her character, she had put away from her all thought 
 of appealing to Alice Harrelston or other acquaintances 
 for temporary assistance. Her courage was firm, but her 
 mind was troubled. The thought that Melari's wonted play- 
 ful production of the monthly bill for lessons might soon 
 cause her a painful embarrassment filled her with horror. 
 
 She drank her coffee, sent her mother into the garden, 
 and sang as she dressed. The sadness which had crept 
 into her life since she had begun to distrust the Stanislas
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 239 
 
 whom she so fiercely loved in secret betrayed itself a little 
 in her voice. Her limbs were weary and her head was 
 dizzy as she came forth from her chamber to the duties 
 of the day. Her mother met her at the door opening into 
 the garden with a letter in her hand. 
 
 "Perhaps this is something about the money, Caro," 
 she said. "It's addressed to you." 
 
 Caro broke the seal eagerly. 
 
 It was a polite note from the banking firm which had 
 forwarded Caro's draft upon her Western friend, inclosing 
 notice that the unlucky document was protested, because, 
 said a scrawl in the blank spaces of a printed form, the 
 sight of which made Caro's brow hot, the person on w"hom 
 it was drawn " was absent, and had left no instructions." 
 In short, Caro's paper was protested for non-acceptance, 
 and she was charged with the expenses of the protest. 
 
 She let the papers flutter from her nerveless fingers to 
 the floor, and, turning slowly away from her mother, went 
 up to her study-room and sat down dejectedly in the arm- 
 chair in which she had passed the greater part of the 
 night. She did not know what to do or which way to 
 turn ; her lack of knowledge of the world hampered her 
 cruelly ; and imagination forthwith supplied her with a 
 hundred .horrors, consequent on this temporary lack of 
 money, from the contemplation of which she shrank back, 
 appalled and faint. It seemed to her that everything in 
 the universe was in conspiracy against her, to wreck her 
 happiness, and to ruin her chances for the future. Mrs. 
 Merlin did not come to comfort her ; for the good woman 
 knew that when Caro was in one of these moods she 
 would not accept consolation. So the girl sat, lonely and 
 forlorn, until, under the influence of a strange impulse 
 which she could not explain, she sprang from her seat and 
 fled up the narrow spiral staircase which led to the balcony 
 set in the edge of the house-top.
 
 240 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Great Paris lay below her, magnificent in the autumn 
 sunshine. Miles on miles away stretched the Babylonian 
 labyrinth of streets, of gleaming roofs, of squares, of 
 palaces, of lofty columns ; and a confused murmur drifted 
 vaguely through the air. Her gaze rested on the Trium- 
 phal Arch, superb upon its hill studded with princely 
 residences ; then on the glittering dome of the Invalides ; 
 and then was fixed upon the summit of the Opera House, 
 where she could descry the figure of Apollo, holding up 
 his gilded lyre, as if invoking inspiration from the heavens. 
 Beyond the Seine the serried ranks of the houses seemed 
 innumerable ; the twin towers of Notre Dame and the 
 majestic cupola of the Pantheon were the only landmarks 
 that she knew. 
 
 The immensity of the city at her feet oppressed, almost 
 alarmed her. For the first time in her life she realized 
 that she was but one timid, striving creature surrounded 
 by millions who were utterly indifferent to her life or death ; 
 who were ready to fawn at her feet if she could startle 
 them with the priceless treasures of a glorious voice, and 
 equally willing to laugh at and to scorn her if she failed. 
 A less delicate and less refined nature would have been 
 inflamed with ambition by this outlook over the famous 
 capital, with its tremendous accumulation of wealth, its 
 marvels of luxury and taste, and would have vowed itself 
 to greater efforts than before for the possession of many 
 of these things. But Caro, on her airy perch, felt for the 
 moment as a disembodied spirit might feel when rising 
 for ever above all the pomps and vanities of the world. 
 She saw life in epitome, and in all its romantic and terrify- 
 ing graduations ; the ducal mansion and the hospital, the 
 church and the dead-house, the prison and the palace, the 
 hostelry witli wide-open doors, and the cemetery with its 
 yawning ditches ; the insolence of ill-gotten wealth, and 
 the impotence of the grovelling, underfed artisan ; the
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 241 
 
 opulence of grand museums crowded with marbles and 
 renowned canvases, and the pinched and unpicturesque 
 poverty of the seamstress's garret in a sunless alley ; the 
 brilliant procession of carriages on the road to the Bois, 
 and the heartrending pathos of the cheap funeral, with 
 its unpaiuted coffin naked on the pine hearse, and its miser- 
 able accompaniment of maudlin professional mourners. 
 And as the sight of the city brought these visions before 
 her mind, she shuddered, and a weariness of life seized 
 upon her. This comes often enough to the young ; it is 
 only when we have learned how hard it is to live that we 
 cling to living, as the wretch buffeted by the angry seas 
 clings to his fragment of driftwood. 
 
 While she fancied that these mournful reflections were 
 forcing her into more profound depths of dejection than 
 any she had yet known, the kindly warmth of the sun was 
 doing her good. She leaned on the iron railing of the 
 balcony, and presently she closed her eyes. Then the 
 sombre train of images vanished. For one instant Caro 
 saw a picture of a young girl receiving the frantic applause 
 of an audience in a closely packed theatre, and she 
 fancied that she heard the sound of music, and scented 
 the perfume of flowers thrown upon the stage as offerings 
 to the fair singer. 
 
 "I believe I'm half asleep," said Caro. "I must go 
 in ; the sun is too hot." 
 
 "Who do you think is downstairs, daughter?" said 
 Mrs. Merlin's voice in Caro's ear. 
 
 Caro turned quickly. Her mother, breathing hard 
 after clambering up two flights of stairs, stood looking 
 gravely and compassionately at her. 
 
 " I'm sure I can't imagine. Why don't you tell me 
 who it is ? " 
 
 "It's Stanislas. He came bouncing in as merry as a 
 boy ten years old, and making excuses for his morning
 
 242 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 call. I thought he was not coming to Paris for months 
 yet." 
 
 " So did I," said Caro, looking a little paler than when 
 she was alone. She glanced sharply at her mother. 
 "Remember, not one word about our affairs ! " 
 
 "Wai, now," said Mrs. Merlin, "of course we don't 
 want to depend on strangers, but I have no doubt that 
 Stanislas would help us in a minute, and you know he is 
 rich as a Jew ! ' ' 
 
 "Mother!" said the girl, in a smothered voice. "I 
 am ashamed of you ! Ask help and of him ! " 
 
 "Very well, Mrs. Lofty," said the old lady. "I'm 
 sorry that you take your mother for a fool. Will 
 your royal majesty condescend to receive the gentle- 
 man?" 
 
 "Forgive me, mother," murmured Caro, stepping for- 
 ward and pressing her feverish lips against Mrs. Merlin's 
 wrinkled cheek. " I am cross this morning. Please ask 
 Stanislas to come up here. This beautiful view will 
 delight him." 
 
 Caro had done her mother injustice. Mrs. Merlin 
 would have starved before asking a foreigner for aid, but 
 she had a motive for her remark about Stanislas. 
 
 "I'm glad I said that," she muttered, mournfully, as 
 sho went down to the small parlour. " I know now, from 
 the way she started, that she loves him. Oh dear ! what 
 will come of it all? " 
 
 Stanislas stood for a moment, shading his eyes with his 
 hand, when he came out upon the balcony. Caro was 
 lovely in her simple morning dress, with a white rose at 
 her throat, and the sunshine on her chestnut hair. She 
 looked carefully at the musician, and found that his hand- 
 some face was a trifle fatigued. There were dark circles 
 beneath the blue-black eyes, and their fascinating glance 
 seemed somewhat dulled by anxiety and pain. But the
 
 ON THE HOTJSE-TOP. 243 
 
 charm, the nameless charm, was still there for her. She 
 felt it, she owned it. 
 
 "Why are you not in London, Monsieur the Un- 
 steady?" she said presently, holding out her hand, which 
 he hastened forward to take, and to relinquish only when 
 she tried to withdraw it. "We did not expect you for 
 weeks yet." 
 
 "How beautiful!" he cried, enthusiastically, with a 
 sweeping gesture which seemed to comprehend every thing 
 within his vision's range. " Beautiful the lady most of 
 all! and that splendid Paris bej-ond ! Ravishing!" He 
 lowered his voice, "And if I came here, away from my 
 concerts, because I desire to be near you, would you 
 reprove me ? " 
 
 Caro trembled, and leaned against the balcony rail for 
 support. 
 
 "Is that a Polish or a Russian compliment, Monsieur 
 Stanislas?" she said. 
 
 " It is the truth that I am no longer myself when I am 
 not near you. I have cancelled my engagements for the 
 present, and come back to Paris. Will you forgive me if 
 I say it is because I wish to breathe the same air with 
 you?" 
 
 " Given up your concerts ! " said Caro, in amazement. 
 Then she grew rosy red. Although she was determined 
 not to accept it, there was something inexpressibly 
 delightful to her in this homage from the man whom she 
 had reverenced until she began to distrust him. 
 
 " You are angry? " 
 
 ' ' No ; I am only sorry that you ' ' 
 
 " Ah, bah ! it does not matter a feather's weight ! What 
 are concerts to me? Have I not given them since I was 
 sixteen? They horrify me, those concerts! No; here I 
 am, and here in Paris I will remain, if you do not banish 
 me because I have spoken ' '
 
 244 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " And your sister? " said Caro. " Has she come with 
 you?" 
 
 Stanislas looked into Caro's eyes with a merry smile 
 on his lips. 
 
 " No, poor girl ! But she will soon be in Paris. She 
 is crazy, as you know, about the study of medicine." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Quite a maniac, I assure you ! She will not take my 
 advice. . But do you not fear to stand so in the hot sun ? 
 You are pale now, and you were quite fevered a moment 
 ago. Ah, Miss Caro, you have been overworking ! But I 
 shall not allow you to do so again. You must save your 
 strength. Melari says wonderful things about you ! Will 
 you not let me help to direct your education ? You know 
 how much your success is to me ! Do you know that since 
 that evening in the garden on the terrace at Berne, I see 
 you with new eyes I see you as you are I see only you ! 
 Caro, Je t'aime! I love }'ou, I live for you ! Do not hate 
 me or distrust me ! I must speak ! I am not like other 
 men, watchful of les convenances how do you call them, 
 the proprieties? I see you, I love you, and I tell you so ! 
 Caro, Je t'aime! " 
 
 A little abashed at his own swift and reckless vehe- 
 mence, he stood close beside her, his face filled with the 
 tender melancholy which Caro had so many times noted 
 and adored when he was improvising. His lips were 
 parted, and his whole attitude was one of intense expec- 
 tation of the girl's answer. 
 
 ik Glory, Caro!" cried Mrs. Merlin, struggling up 
 through the stairway door with a letter in her hand, and 
 flourishing the missive violently. k% Now we know why our 
 draft was pro why we got that letter this morning. It is 
 because Mr. Halmont was on his way to Europe doctors 
 scut him said he'd overworked. And he's here at the 
 Grand Hotel, aud has sent up his card to know when he
 
 ON THE HOUSE-TOP. 245 
 
 may call ; and when he comes he will surely arrange that 
 matter for us. So you needn't worry any more " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, with a startled cry. Poor Caro, 
 under the excitement caused by the passionate declaration 
 of Stanislas, and the news of this probable relief from her 
 financial vexations, felt as if she were borne gently upward 
 into the air ; but in reality she was fainting, and falling. 
 
 Stanislas stretched out his arms eagerly, but Mrs. 
 Merlin grimly interposed herself. 
 
 " You go first ahead of me downstairs so's 't I shan't 
 fall," she said, " and I'll bring her. She's all overworked, 
 and I'm afraid this sun's ben too much." 
 
 Stanislas was convinced that it was not the sun which 
 had troubled Caro, and the blood came and went strangely 
 in his cheeks, and his blue-black eyes gave out curious 
 gleams of light, as he obeyed Mrs. Merlin's injunction to 
 precede her.
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 
 
 STANISLAS sat down on the piano-stool, and let his hands 
 fall helplessly in his lap. There was a flash of indignation 
 in Mrs. Merlin's eyes, as she looked up at the young man, 
 after seating her pallid daughter in the old arm-chair, and 
 winning her back to consciousness by the use of restora- 
 tives hastily brought from below. The mother did not 
 like the manner in which the musician contemplated the 
 insensible Caro. It was certain that there was no compas- 
 sion in his look. His aesthetic sense was pleased, but his 
 sympathy was not aroused. On the house-top he had 
 stretched out his arms to catch the falling Caro because it 
 had seemed to him that it would be fine to fold the fair 
 young creature for a moment to his breast, not because 
 he was particularly anxious to save her from a fall. la 
 another mood it might have occurred to him that it was 
 -vastly flattering to see a young maiden swoon away and 
 drop at his feet because lie indulged in a mad declaration 
 of love for her, and he would have let her sink before 
 thim. Now, as he sat facing her, and watching the returning 
 life-current as it stole into her cheeks, and as it made her 
 lips tremble, he was trying to imagine what she would do 
 and say when she remembered his frenzied professions, 
 lie took a lazy pleasure in this such pleasure as he found 
 in daintily caressing the white keys of his piano with his 
 246
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 247 
 
 whiter fingers now and then not forcing them to give out 
 any sound, but silently improvising. Mrs. Merlin, with 
 her unerring mother's instinct, felt that Stanislas was, 
 in some inexplicable manner, wrong and insincere ; and 
 the phrase which came rushing to her lips, and which she 
 narrowly escaped saying aloud in her excitement, was, 
 "Why, he does not love her. He looks at her like a child 
 looks at a plaything ! " 
 
 Caro opened her eyes widely, and the first object that 
 she saw was the musician's handsome face. She looked 
 at him steadily, without any suggestion of timidity in her 
 gaze. Stanislas was himself abashed by this frank and 
 adoring contemplation of his features ; in his soul there, 
 was a momentary twinge of reproach ; and he could almost 
 fancy that he heard a voice saying reproachfully to him, 
 "What have you done? What have you done?" 
 Presently he turned his eyes uneasily away from Caro 
 and rose. 
 
 The girl was determined to be happy. She felt as if a 
 great burden had fallen from her back, and the vague 
 suspicion which she had cherished about Vera was gone 
 now. It had melted like morning dew in the sunshine of 
 the love of Stanislas, and life once more seemed worth 
 living. He had come drawn to her by irresistible forces 
 which he could not explain ; had brought her his love and 
 laid it at her feet. She felt a delicious thrill of triumph. 
 New visions of a sensuous artistic existence, full of glit- 
 tering lights, music, perfumes, flowers, plaudits of enrap- 
 tured throngs, and worship of adoring thousands, arose 
 before her. Now she could do anything and everything 
 necessary for success. All her old weariness was gone, and 
 she smiled as she thought of her bitter hours of doubt and 
 despair. A new world had dawned upon her, and she felt 
 a great thirst for its glories, its pleasures, and its sublime 
 sensations.
 
 248 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 By-and-by Stanislas recovered from his confusion and 
 looked at Caro again. Mrs. Merlin ran downstairs for a 
 minute or two, to get a fresh instalment of remedies for 
 dizziness. 
 
 Caro spoke first. "Did I float down through the 
 roof? " she said. " I am at a loss to know how I came 
 here." 
 
 The musician was at her side in an instant. 
 
 " You are angel enough to have wings," he answered 
 in a deep whisper. Then he bent downward, and said 
 nloud, " Oh, Caro, forgive me for my rudeness, my vulgar 
 haste. I swear to } T OU that I could not help it that I did 
 not know I was forced to speak." 
 
 She made no answer, but looked up at him with the 
 same earnest, loyal gaze which had so confused him a 
 moment before. Her firm lips were tremulous and her 
 blue eyes were filled with tears. Her silence was eloquent. 
 
 " Do you know," he went on, "I was going to speak to 
 you, about about to tell you all this in the garden at 
 Berne that night when when your worthy mother came 
 pouncing down upon us like like " 
 
 "Be careful, sir, to what you compare my mother," 
 said the girl, a faint gleam of fun stealing in among 
 the tears in her eyes. " But you can say like a hawk 
 on two innocent little chickens, if you wish. Ma was 
 startling." 
 
 " Yes," said the musician, dr)'ly, " she was. But now, 
 at last, I have told you. And it has startled you more 
 than she startled us. How can I atone? Do anything to 
 me except send me away." 
 
 Banish him from her sight ! She would as soon have 
 thought of banishing the sun from the sky. He had 
 become so firmly rooted in her life that she felt as if to lose 
 him would be death to her. 
 
 " Speak, Caro, c/ter/e, a word to tell me that I may
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 249 
 
 hope that I may stay at your side my beautiful singer 
 my treasure my saint my dream ! ' ' 
 
 Once more the honest calm of the American maiden's 
 look confused him. He felt that each word was registered 
 upon her heart ; that she was not now abashed and over- 
 come, but glad and proud, and that she was not ashamed 
 to confess her tender and steadfast affection for him. His 
 face was close to hers ; his nervous right hand was laid 
 boldly upon both of hers ; his lips touched hers O golden 
 moment ! He stood apart from her, humbly waiting, as he 
 had waited on the house-top, for his answer. 
 
 "Oh, Stanislas ! " she said, " stay, stay, for ever as you 
 are, young and noble and and loving. You have guessed 
 my secret, and I will trust it in your keeping. I will trust 
 you I will trust you. And oh ! do not say another 
 word to me now! " 
 
 He came back to her ; he covered her hands with kisses ; 
 he whispered passionate and endearing words in her ear. 
 Then, hearing footsteps below, he went hastily to the piano, 
 and, sitting down, began playing with magnificent em- 
 phasis and expression Mendelssohn's " Wedding March." 
 When Mrs. Merlin got back to Caro's arm-chair she found 
 the girl with her head thrown back, her face quite pale, and 
 a strange smile at her lips. There was the gleam of a new 
 hope on the young singer's brow. Life had a profound 
 meaning for her now. The old lady sighed, and turned 
 away her head. Her daughter's happiness frightened her. 
 
 "Colonel Cliff's downstairs, Caro," said Mrs. Merlin; 
 " shall I ask him to come up? It looks like everybody 
 thought that we hold receptions in the morning." 
 
 Stanislas was apparently absorbed in his music. Caro 
 would have preferred to be alone with him and the joyous 
 harmonies which he evoked from the piano, but she said 
 
 " Certainly. Mother don't say that I have been 
 dizzy. He won't wish to hear of our infirmities ; he will
 
 250 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 be entirely taken up with Alice's illness. He worships the 
 very ground that she walks on. Please ask him to come 
 at once." 
 
 Mrs. Merlin obediently summoned the Colonel from 
 below. He came up the stairs, two at a bound, in his 
 light graceful way, and pausing before Caro's chair, made 
 his bow with a refined and any mannerism which showed 
 that he had not yet laid aside his military training. 
 There was much of the stateliness of the soldier still visible 
 underneath the civil disguise of an English riding suit, 
 leathern gloves, and gaiters. Colonel Cliff had evidently 
 been on horseback, for he held a whip in one hand ; and 
 Caro, as she greeted him, inquired if he had been in pur- 
 suit of adventures, like Don Quixote, and if he had chanced 
 to have a tilt with the windmill on Montmartre's summit. 
 
 " Not so," he answered, laughing, although he looked 
 worried and vexed. "I have just arrived from Don 
 Quixote's country, but I am no Quixote myself. If there 
 is an}- distressed damsel to succour I offer my services, but 
 I see that you already have one defender." He went to 
 shake hands with Stanislas, who said he was delighted 
 to see him. 
 
 " ficoutez, Mr. Cliff," said Stanislas, after their saluta- 
 tions, " if Mademoiselle Merlin were in the category of 
 distressed damsels, do you know I do not think that she 
 would require us as defenders. American girls always 
 take care of themselves." 
 
 " Indeed they do," said Mrs. Merlin, with a slight ring 
 of defiance in her voice. 
 
 " And that," said Stanislas, languidly striking key after 
 key of the piano, u is the reason that I adore 
 them all." 
 
 " The old method, I see, Monsieur Stanislas," remarked 
 the Colonel, dryly. "Still adoring several millions of 
 goddesses at the same time ! What courage I " He
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 251 
 
 stopped short, for a look on the musician's face told him 
 that he was to go no farther. 
 
 " The attributes of all these millions must be combined 
 forme in one person, " said Stanislas, "and it is that 
 person that I shall adore." He looked up from the piano, 
 and Caro felt that his gaze rested for a moment on her, 
 then upon her mother, then on the Colonel as if he were 
 judging of the effect of his remark upon each of them. 
 
 " The idee of a musician adorin' anything but his 
 music ! " said Mrs. Merlin. " He lives in a fancy world, 
 and can't get down to realities not even long enough to 
 find out what happiness is like." 
 
 " Have you seen the Harrelstons, Colonel? " said Caro, 
 abruptly. 
 
 ' ' Not the ladies. I arrived yesterday, and this morning, 
 as I went for a gallop in the Bois, I met Mr. Harrelston 
 driving into town. He tells me that his daughter has 
 been seriously ill with a kind of fever since her return 
 from Switzerland ; that her mother is quite worn out with 
 watching her, and that at present they can receive no one. 
 How odd that Miss Harrelston should be ill ! She was the 
 picture of health when I left her. I I thought possibly 
 you could tell me more about it ; in fact, I may as well 
 tell you that I trotted over here both in search of news, 
 and to give myself the pleasure of seeing you once more." 
 
 He tapped his gaiters impatiently with his whip. Caro 
 smiled, but so faintly that the good Colonel did not per- 
 ceive it. 
 
 "We've ben right worried about Alice," said Mrs. 
 Merlin, looking up at the curtain drawn across the great 
 north window. " She's so emotional ! Her feelings weigh 
 on her terribly." 
 
 Colonel Cliff looked from Caro's mother to Caro, 
 mutely demanding an explanation of this last somewhat 
 enigmatical remark, but none was vouchsafed.
 
 252 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "At what time was she taken ill?" finally asked 
 Colonel Cliff. 
 
 " Two or three days after our return from Switzerland 
 she called here, in the afternoon, and was as charming as 
 usual," said Caro. " She seemed full of life and gaiety, 
 and two days after that came a note from her mother 
 saying that Alice was in a raging fever. We called, but 
 the servants said the house was closed to visitors, and we 
 only received a message from Mrs. Harrelston to say that 
 she was ' very much alarmed.' ' 
 
 Colonel Cliff pulled the glove off from his left hand, 
 but hastily put it on again, with a look of vexation at 
 having betrayed his uneasiness. 
 
 " I tell Caro," said Mrs. Merlin, who had never quite 
 learued prudence in speech, " that the Injun is at the 
 bottom of it all." 
 
 "The Indian!" cried the Colonel, sitting down and 
 looking a trifle frightened. " What do you mean? " 
 
 Colonel Cliff's tone showed the old lady that she had 
 made a mistake. 
 
 "Do you think that Mr. Merrinott has the evil eye, 
 Mrs. Merlin ? " said Stanislas, "and that he has bewitched 
 Miss Harrelston?" 
 
 The Colonel frowned, and looked at Stanislas as if he 
 would have liked to throw him downstairs. 
 
 "Wai," said Mrs. Merlin, slowly, "I think that if the 
 Injun had the force to bewitch Alice I say (/"he had that 
 she would, on her side, have strength enough to to " 
 
 "Overcome his witcheries," suggested Caro. 
 
 " Caro, don't take the words out of your ma's mouth. 
 Overcome his witchery if it most half killed her." 
 
 " Well, wonders will never cease. We are now intro- 
 duced to Pleasant Merrinott, the half-breed hero of the 
 border, as an enchanter," said Colonel Cliff, scornfully. 
 "What next? Why, I saw him this morning at eight
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 253 
 
 o'clock, in the Rue de la Paix, scowling at every cockney 
 that stared at him, and I went up and spoke to him. He 
 was not over glad to see me. You know that he doesn't 
 love me. He has just arrived from Geneva, and was very 
 much elated at the prospect of a forthcoming interview 
 with Mr. Harrelston on the same old worn-out topic, the 
 wrongs of the Nation. But as for Miss Harrelston, he 
 did not even inquire about her; and when I asked him 
 where he had parted with you all, he simply said, ' At 
 Berne,' and changed the subject." 
 
 " Parted with us? He did not even come to say good- 
 bye to us or to the Harrelstous," said Mrs. Merlin. 
 
 " Oh, he has no manners ; and you did not expect them 
 from him." 
 
 "Well, yes, I think we did rather expect them," said 
 Caro. 
 
 " And perhaps Miss Harrelston was a little surprised 
 at the absence of them," said Stanislas, dryly. 
 
 Colonel Cliff looked sharply again at the musician. 
 
 "By the way," he said to him, "Mr. Merrinott sur- 
 prised me by speaking, in most enthusiastic terms, of a 
 lady whom he had met in Berne and subsquently in 
 Geneva, and whom he called your sister. I was under the 
 impression that you told me one night at Meiringen 
 that you were quite alone in the world that you pos- 
 sessed neither kith nor kin." 
 
 There was a faint cry, and Caro sprang to her feet. 
 Her face was white. A tall pile of music-books stood 
 on the corner of the piano. The girl ran to it, managed 
 to give it an adroit push with her elbow, and sent it to the 
 floor. 
 
 " That has been toppling for some moments," she said, 
 "and I thought I could jump in time to save it." She 
 turned away from her mother's inquisitive look as Colonel 
 Cliff hastened to pick up the scattered books.
 
 254 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Sister Vera?" responded Stanislas, composedly. 
 "Did Mr. Merrinott see her in Geneva? Are you sure 
 that I did not mention her to you ? She is so eccentric, 
 poor girl ! " He sighed. " No ; I do not often speak of 
 her. She came from Zurich, where she has been study- 
 ing, to Berne, to see me, and it was there that our 
 friends met her." 
 
 "Oh, then the ladies have seen her, and I am sure 
 will echo Mr. Merrinott's compliments," said the Colonel, 
 whose face wore a puzzled look. 
 
 " Certainly," said Mrs. Merlin. " Though, as to study- 
 in' medicine, I did hint to her once that I thought she was 
 layin' up misery for herself by enteriii' into men's employ- 
 ments." 
 
 Caro had now recovered, and she turned and looked 
 at Stanislas. His eyes met hers. His gaze was calm, 
 sincere ; her doubt, which had sprung up anew with 
 savage force, settled slowly, almost reluctantly, back into 
 that recess of her soul, where it still lingered. Let it 
 linger ! She would fight it ! It would be too terribly 
 
 hard and bitter to find that Stanislas No ; she put 
 
 the thought away as unworthy of her. And could she 
 not unravel the mystery, if any mystery there were, in 
 Vera's existence? 
 
 The conversation turned upon music, and the vicissi- 
 tudes of young ladies engaged in obtaining a musical 
 education in Continental cities. Colonel Cliff told some 
 horrifying stories of heart-breaking failures, and Stanislas 
 gave a picturesque sketch of the brilliant success of two 
 or three American girls whom he had known. Presently 
 the servant arrived to say that the man holding the 
 Colonel's horse would hold him no longer, and they all 
 went down into the garden together. 
 
 "Do not stand in the sun," whispered Stanislas to 
 Caro, with a lover-like solicitude. " And do not work
 
 GOLDEN MOMENTS. 255 
 
 to-day. Rest, think, try to forgive me. To-morrow, 
 when Melari comes to give his lesson I shall come with 
 him, may I not? And I shall remain a moment after he 
 has gone, to tell you that I love you." 
 
 A russet leaf fluttered down from one of the gnarled 
 trees above their heads, and rested for an instant on 
 Caro's bosom. Then it flew airily away again, and would 
 have fallen had not the musician caught it deftly and 
 carried it to his lips. 
 
 ' ' A souvenir ! A memorial of the happiest day of my 
 life," he whispered. 
 
 ' ' To-morrow we shall meet ! ' ' said Caro, and 
 then her mother called to her from the gate to come and 
 see the Colonel's horse. 
 
 " Bring us news of Alice, if you have any, to-morrow, 
 Colonel," said the girl. 
 
 " Thanks. I will. I will get news from the Indian, 
 if I can have it from no one else," answered Colonel 
 Cliff, with a curious smile. 
 
 Stanislas walked beside the horseman to the end of the 
 Rue de 1'Orient. He stopped there, and laying his hand 
 on the saddle, looked up at the Colonel. 
 
 ' ' I have made a little discovery about the Indian 
 about Mr. Merriuott," he said, flinching a bit before 
 Colonel Cliff's keen gaze, "and I think you ought to 
 know what it is. If you feel inclined to promise me 
 to keep it entirely to yourself confidential in the very 
 strictest sense I will tell you what it is." 
 
 "Why, yes," said the Colonel, scratching the horse's 
 ear with his whip, and speaking thoughtfully, "if it is 
 anything that I ought to know you may tell it, and count 
 on my discretion." 
 
 "Well," said the musician, gravely, "I tell you that 
 Pleasant Merriuott who seems so innocent of the world 
 and all its tricks is tainted with Socialistic notions, is
 
 256 THE GENTLE SAVAGE, 
 
 in relation with some of the leading Socialists of the time, 
 and is at this moment entangled in a Nihilist web of con- 
 spiracy." 
 
 44 Indeed ! And how did you find this out, may I ask? " 
 44 Accidentally. And I tell you because it may guide 
 you in your relations with him." 
 
 44 How can his opinions affect me, Monsieur Stanislas? " 
 The musician removed his hand from the saddle, 
 stepped back, and saluted the Colonel courteously. 44 Au 
 revoir," he said. 44 1 only mentioned it because it might 
 be embarrassing for you or for for your friends to 
 be connected with Mr. Pleasant Merrinott, in case any 
 scandal should arise from his taste for conspiracy." 
 
 44 Thanks. I will bear it in mind. Good morning." 
 And the Colonel gallopped off to the outer boulevards, 
 where he gave his horse a tremendous run. As he drew 
 rein not far from the Triumphal Arch, he fell to musing 
 on what Stanislas had told him. He had heard much 
 about the musician's career, from some friends in Spain, 
 during his journey, and had formed a new estimate of the 
 character of Stanislas. 
 
 44 1 will observe Mr. Merrinott closely, Monsieur the 
 pianist," he said to himself; 44 but I will keep a sharp 
 eye on you also, for the next few weeks."
 
 CHAPTER XXHL 
 
 A LOVING STRATAGEM. 
 
 "WELL, Mr. Harrelston," said Pleasant, stalking into 
 the banker's private office, and coming straight up to the 
 desk over which the gentleman was bent in an attitude of 
 the deepest attention, "you see that I have lost no time 
 in obeying your summons. I hope that nothing extraor- 
 dinary has happened in the Nation. I haven't heard for 
 a right smart ' ' 
 
 The banker looked up hastily, and the Indian was a 
 trifle startled to see a deep flush either of anger or 
 vexation settle upon Mr. Harrelston's fine frank face. 
 But it passed away almost as speedily as it had come, and 
 Pleasant was relieved to see Mr. Harrelston arise and 
 give him his hand, and to hear him say 
 
 " I am glad you are here, Mr. Merrinott. Excuse me 
 for five minutes ; I have a few signatures to attend to, 
 and then I shall be at liberty. Please sit down." He 
 called his secretaries one by one to his desk, gave each a 
 few instructions, and told them to remove their work to 
 another room. Then he rang a bell and his cashier ap- 
 peared. " If any one asks for me, say that I am not to 
 be seen until after four. Let it be especially understood 
 that I am on no account to be disturbed." 
 
 Pleasant sat down, and soon found himself alone with 
 the banker, who was signing cheques, documents, and 
 
 257
 
 258 THE GEXTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 letters with the cool and careful precision of the methodical 
 business man. A window was open, affording an outlook 
 upon a pretty square, where tall sycamores stood ranged 
 in regular rows ; where nursemaids in white caps and blue 
 ribbons were lazily promenading with small children ; and 
 where there was a perennial caucus of red-faced and shiny- 
 hatted coachmen, who were regulating affairs of State in 
 a noisy conversation, while they polished their whip- 
 handles, or fed their horses on small wisps of hay. 
 
 The bright afternoon sun on the dark green leaves, the 
 aroma of the flowering plants on the window-ledge, and 
 the bronze figure of Charlemagne, in his warrior's garb, 
 on the marble mantelpiece, pleased the young man. He 
 studied the scene bit by bit, and was quite absorbed in 
 his study when Mr. Harrelston arose and carried out an 
 oblong wicker tray piled high with papers. Returning, 
 the banker closed the door, dropped a heavy Algerian 
 curtain in front of it, looked around as if to assure him- 
 self that no one had managed to conceal himself under 
 the tables, and then settled down into his chair with the 
 air of a man who has something very serious to say. He 
 was evidently embarrassed as to making a beginning, and 
 so Pleasant said 
 
 " I received your despatch just as I was " 
 
 "Mr. Merrinott," said the banker, who did not seem 
 to have hear.d Pleasant's words, " you are a very young 
 man, and I am old enough to be your father." 
 
 It would have been impossible to dispute this proposi- 
 tion, and Pleasant had no desire to try, so he sat waiting 
 for what was to follow. 
 
 " And so I want to take the liberty of speaking to you 
 very freely, and to ask you not to be offended or dis- 
 turbed. Oli ! I know that you are quite susceptible, and 
 I ask you not to judge hastily anything I may say, and 
 not suddenly to reject anything I may propose."
 
 A LOVING STRATAGEM. 259 
 
 A gleam of suspicion shot into Pleasant' s great black 
 eyes. "Have our opponents in the land matter sent a 
 delegation here, Mr. Harrelston ? Because it is my duty 
 to tell you at once, sir, that we cannot enter into any com- 
 promises, any arrangements of any kind whatsoever, with 
 those people. That is entirely out of the question." 
 
 Mr. Harrelston took up a rosewood ruler lying before 
 him, went through the motions of executing an imaginary 
 vengeance upon an imaginary fly, laid down the ruler, then 
 took it up anew, and at last said, frankly, and with a per- 
 ceptible tremor in his tones 
 
 k ' It is not about business that I wish to talk with you 
 just now. It is something much more grave, much more 
 important and interesting. It is about saving the life of 
 a young girl." 
 
 Pleasant arose, tossing back his long black hair, and 
 breathing quickly. He was a noble figure, as he stood 
 erect before the banker, instinct with pulsating life, his 
 deep chest heaving with emotion, his dark eyes gleaming, 
 his arms slightly raised as if ready to grasp a weapon with 
 which to defend every one committed to his care. The 
 banker looked at him approvingly, yet it cost him an effort 
 greater than any except himself could understand to 
 approve the young man. Before he had sent the despatch 
 to Pleasant in Geneva he had gone through a mental 
 struggle which had revealed to him depths of pride never 
 heretofore fathomed in his soul. But love and duty had 
 conquered. He was all frankness now. 
 
 " The life of a young girl ! " repeated Pleasant, with a 
 vague premonition of coming sorrow. 
 
 " Of one who is very dear to me," said Mr. Harrelston ; 
 " dear to us both, I think." 
 
 Pleasant could not believe that he heard aright. He 
 looked earnestly, almost piteously, at the banker, mutely 
 imploring him to explain. But the banker's eyes were
 
 260 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 dim with tears, and he was turning his face away to hide 
 his honest emotion. At last the Indian's amazement and 
 suspense and fear all found utterance in one word, and 
 that was "Alice! " 
 
 The banker arose and laid his hand on Pleasant's 
 shoulder. " Yes, my boy," he said, brokenly, "Alice, my 
 daughter, is dangerously ill ; a fever seized upon her 
 shortly after her return from Switzerland, and for a while 
 it seemed as if it would burn her young life out. Stop 
 listen remember Mr. Merrinott that you owe me 
 attention ' ' 
 
 "Alice ill, in danger where is she? Let me go to 
 her at once ! " said the Indian. 
 
 " But listen ! " Mr. Harrelston felt as helpless as if he 
 were trying to control a volcano ; for Pleasant, wild with 
 anxiety, was likely to burst through all restraint. " My 
 daughter, in her illness, has been delirious ; and it was in 
 watching with my poor wife by her bedside that I dis- 
 covered something which I need not tell you surprised me 
 very much. My wife had told me of your appearance at 
 Meiringen, of your visit and acquaintance with Alice there, 
 but she said nothing apparently knew nothing to indi- 
 cate that you in short, that you had completely .won my 
 daughter's affection and confidence had even told her of 
 your professed love for her, and then had unaccountably 
 and hurriedly left her, nor spoken nor written a word to 
 her since ! Confound it, sir ! it makes my blood boil to 
 think what pain you have given. There, I don't mean that. 
 I don't know what I mean or yes, I do know only too 
 well ; I know that whatever you have done, whatever you 
 have not done, your presence here, and near my poor child, 
 is indispensable now, and so I have sent for you. I have 
 told you enough to enable you to explain yourself ; I have 
 humbled myself because because I believed that by so 
 doing I could save my daughter's life and prevent her
 
 A LOVING STRATAGEM. 261 
 
 happiness from being wrecked. And now, sir, come, 
 sir speak out explain. What have you done? what 
 have you failed to do? what sent you to Meiringen? what 
 do you mean to do ? " 
 
 Pleasant sat down, looking the banker squarely in the 
 face. He saw that Mr. Harrelston was far from pleased 
 with the discovery which he had made ; but he was so 
 overjoyed at the revelation that Alice loved him that she 
 had expected him to come to her to tell her again of his 
 love that he could scarcely contain his exultation. Where 
 was now his firm resolve to perish under the weight of 
 self-inflicted woe rather than to swerve from his deter- 
 mination to be faithful to his race ? Where were all the 
 impassioned resolutions made beside the racing waters of 
 the Aar, at Berne, on the morning after those delicious 
 moments with Alice in the garden ? They had vanished ; 
 and he was aghast at the wrong which he had done to the 
 sweet girl who had accepted his adoration and his love, 
 and had unhesitatingly given her own in return. 
 
 " Promise me that you will let me see her be near her 
 once more," he said, in entreating tones. 
 
 " I believe it is my duty to do so," said Mr. Harrelston, 
 who was now a little calmer. "Why, Mr. Merrinott, I 
 almost believe that her life depends on it ! Perhaps 
 I have done wrong, but for the moment it seems to me 
 that I have done the only thing that was possible." 
 
 "Mr. Harrelston," said the young man, bending his 
 head a little forward, and casting down his eyes, " I have 
 been a fool." 
 
 The banker looked relieved, after Pleasant had made 
 this confession. It soothed his wounded pride a bit to 
 believe that this strange, impulsive youth* had, in his in- 
 experience, and influenced by brooding over the wrongs of 
 his race, done or said something foolish, to which Alice's 
 distress of mind mi;ht be attributed. It was because he
 
 262 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 had recognized in Pleasant, the first times that he had ever 
 seen him, one so original, so removed from the ordinary 
 methods of thought and habits of men of his age, that 
 he had now decided to call upon him for an explanation. 
 The banker had not told his wife of this decision ; on 
 the contrary, he had roundly scolded her for allowing the 
 romantic young Indian to come across the path of the 
 unworldly and generous Alice, and had hinted that he 
 considered Pleasant little better than an adventurer. Then 
 he had undertaken the experiment of summoning Pleasant 
 to Paris, and was about to appeal to the youth to do all 
 that he could to save Alice from the illness which was 
 evidently the fruit of a sudden secret sorrow, when 
 Pleasant met him more than half-way by volunteering his 
 confession, and prefacing it by the frank statement that 
 he had been a fool. 
 
 " When I came to your hotel in Interlaken, for the 
 first time, on business," continued Pleasant, " I saw your 
 daughter. She was standing in a corner, with her hands 
 filled with flowers, and I thought she was the most 
 beautiful creature that I had ever seen. But it was not 
 
 her beauty that impressed me. It was it was as if ' ' 
 
 said the young man, struggling tim'dly for the choice 
 of an expression, " as if her face had been printed on my 
 heart. Well, Mr. Ilarrelston, I reckon I'm not exactly 
 like other folks I couldn't rest until I had seen her again ; 
 and I think you have found out by this time that, as soon 
 as I could, I went to Meiringen because she was there, 
 and because I wished to be near her. Well, sir, I stayed 
 there until I got news which I thought made it necessary 
 for me to return to the Nation as fast as I could go. 
 I told her of th& unjust and cruel way in which our people 
 were treated, and she well, sir, I think she approved of 
 my resolutions, and she gave me plenty of advice. Why, 
 Mr. Harrelston. your daughter was the first person that
 
 A LOVING STRATAGEM. 263 
 
 ever sympathized with me ! It was like she knew my 
 thoughts before I could put them into words." 
 
 " O mischievous Sympathy ! " thought Mr. Harrelston, 
 " are you not always the forerunner of Love? " 
 
 "And then, sir, then I went away, and I might as well 
 tell you that I had a big fight with myself not to tell her 
 that I loved her. Oh ! it was all so sudden and mysterious 
 like, that I think, sir, if you had been in my place you 
 would yourself have been puzzled to know what to do. 
 But it happened that I was delayed in Berne, sir, and 
 that she came there, on her way to Paris. There I told 
 her of my love, and, sir she well, sir, I believe she 
 listened." 
 
 Mr. Harrelston was very uneasy, but he had courted 
 this ordeal, and must now go through it. 
 
 ' ' And now we come to the time when I was a fool. I 
 had no sooner told her that I loved her than I decided 
 that it was my duty to live for my people my poor, 
 despised, down-trodden Indians to be of them, to live 
 with them, and neither to love nor to marry outside my 
 own race. This conviction preyed on me so that I gave 
 everything up to it, surrendered my heart my soul 
 my love my future ! ' ' 
 
 Xk Dreamer ! enthusiast ! " murmured Mr. Harrelston in 
 his native German, which he always used when strongly 
 excited. But his voice was so low that Pleasant did not 
 hear him. 
 
 " I was a brute a fool ! I did not know as I know 
 now that love is worth more than everything else in the 
 world ; worth more than race, or country, or home, or 
 friends ; often stronger than duty. I did not know how I 
 should suffer in the next miserable ten days after I had 
 made my resolve ; nor what trouble I was bringing on 
 on Alice. Oh, tell me what I can do ! what punishment I 
 can bring to bear on myself ! what when I can see her? "
 
 264 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 He sprang up, and began pacing the floor. Mr. Harrel- 
 ston sank down into his chair, and mopped his flushed 
 brow vigorously with his handkerchief. 
 
 " Not a word more, my boy not now, while you are 
 so so excitable. I have heard enough to convince me 
 that I have not much with which to reproach you. I hope 
 you don't think it is without misgivings that I have have 
 spoken to you about these delirious confessions of my poor 
 child or that I would have summoned you here unless I 
 had felt it absolutely necessary. You say you have been 
 a fool. Mr. Merrinott, that is a harsh word and after 
 you have really been a fool two or three times you will not 
 be so anxious to acknowledge it. But you have acted in 
 
 a most most ' ' Mr. Harrelston indulged in another 
 
 imaginary immolation of another imaginary fly with his 
 ruler. " Well, never mind that. This is what I propose. 
 I appeal to you, without making any promises for the 
 future, or any criticisms on the past, to help me save my 
 child. She was a little better to-day ; it is only at night 
 that the delirium sets in. The fever is soon to turn. Now, 
 I have reason to think that if Alice knows that you have 
 come to Paris, have been at our house, have have ceased 
 being as you call yourself a fool, it will save her from 
 further danger ; and if she is to recover will greatly aid 
 her recovery. I am sure I cannot say more." 
 
 " I will do anything everything that you wish," cried 
 Pleasant, so loudly that the banker placed his finger on his 
 lips, and pointed in the direction of the next room. ' ' Only 
 let me see her once more, and beg her pardon, and tell her 
 how I regret my folly, and how I will try to atone for it ! " 
 
 " Let the future take care of itself," said Mr. Harrel- 
 ston. lie did not like to think too much of it, and of 
 Pleasant's new relations to Alice. His whole attention 
 was concentrated on saving his child ; after that was done 
 the rest could be thought of.
 
 A LOVING STEATAGEM. 265 
 
 "I shall not sleep until I have seen Alice," said the 
 Indian. 
 
 "We shall see what to-morrow can do for her," said 
 the banker. " When she is quiet and in her perfect mind 
 in the morning, I mean to tell her that you have come ; 
 that you have been unavoidably kept in Switzerland. I 
 mean to explain away the fact ' ' 
 
 " That I have been a fool." 
 
 "And then why, then, let love and nature do the 
 rest. Come back here at five, Mr. Merrinott ; my carriage 
 will be here, and we will drive to my house and dine 
 together. It will be better so. I will not disguise from 
 you the fact that Mrs. Harrelston is inclined to be angry 
 with you, and so I must take you home with me this first 
 time and explain what I mean to do. As for seeing 
 Alice, that will be out of the question for you until she is 
 much better." 
 
 Pleasant wrung Mr. Harrelston's hand and went away, 
 promising to return exactly at the appointed hour. After 
 Mr. Harrelston had seen him out of the office he sat alone 
 for a few minutes before he called his secretaries back. 
 
 " They say the course of true love never does run 
 smooth," mused the banker, " but it runs with swiftness. 
 Why, all these things have happened in a few weeks. 
 
 Well, the Indian is honest and and ' He rang 
 
 the bell for his men, and they came back to be so pressed 
 by him for an hour that letters lay scattered around them 
 like leaves about a tree over which an autumn wind had 
 passed.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 
 
 " IT'S thoroughly vexatious, Miss Merlin, that's what it 
 is ! " said Colonel Cliff, bringing his gloved hand down 
 with considerable force upon the pile of music sheets 
 before which he was standing. " It annoys me more 
 than I can tell you, and I know there is not the slightest 
 use in trying to conceal my annoyance." 
 
 u Souvent femme varie," sang Caro, sweetly, looking 
 at the piano keys. She knew that the Colonel would in- 
 stantly cease the confession of his feelings if she offered 
 him any advice just then. 
 
 " The servants are as mysterious, and the house is as 
 inaccessible to me as if I were a complete stranger to the 
 Harrelstons. All I can learn is that Alice is somewhat 
 better, but the old dragon that guards the hall door 
 always finds some excuse for not letting me in, and I am 
 sure that she has carefully concealed my cards and 
 and the flowers that I have sent." The Colonel bit 
 his moustache, coloured a little, drummed on the music 
 sheets, and continued, " Yet the Indian goes there every 
 day; he is received, and makes himself very much at 
 home, I suppose." 
 
 Caro looked up with real surprise on her face. " Mr. 
 Merrinott goes there? Are you sure?"
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 267 
 
 "I wish I were not," said the Colonel, ruefully. "I 
 can't imagine what I have done that I should be excluded 
 when he is received. It cannot be possible that I have 
 unwittingly offended Mrs. Harrelstou. Can it? Can you 
 tell me ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh no ! I think that is quite out of the question." 
 
 Well, I don't know what to think. I went to the 
 hotel where the Indian was supposed to be staying, but 
 he had gone from there without leaving his address. I 
 went to the bank half a dozen times, but Mr. Harrelstou 
 was never in. And so, do you know, Miss Merlin, I 
 came to see if I can get you to find out for me what it 
 all means. Will you not see them see Alice and her 
 mother and discover why I am forbidden the gates ? I 
 am tired of feeling as as Adam did after he was turned 
 out of Paradise. I want to get back as soon as I can." 
 
 Caro left the piano and sat down in the old arm-chair. 
 She was thinking how odd it was that the Colonel should 
 have come to ask her a favour just at the time when she 
 needed his service. 
 
 "Do sit down, Colonel Cliff," she said, with a smile. 
 "You look nervous, standing there as if you were on 
 guard." 
 
 " I feel nervous." 
 
 "And I am sure that you are worrying yourself in 
 vain. There can be no reason why you should not be 
 received by the Harrelstons, if they were receiving any 
 one. Do you not think that you are mistaken about the 
 Indian?" 
 
 " Not at all. His coppery face is seen at the Harrel- 
 stons' every day." 
 
 " But how do you know that? " 
 
 "Well," said the Colonel, after a moment's pause, 
 "if you must know, I watched, and I found it out for 
 myself ! ' '
 
 268 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Caro laughed merrily. "Oh, Colonel, Colonel! It is 
 time 3'ou had a feminine ally. Your case is indeed des- 
 perate ! And what shall I say to our gentle Alice, if I 
 succeed in seeing her ? I will venture to assert one thing, 
 and that is that she has not seen Mr. Merrinott's coppery 
 face yet. I think Mrs. Harrelston would take good care 
 of that." 
 
 " Oh yes, she has seen him ; I am sure she has ! " said 
 the Colonel, uneasily. " And what she finds to admire 
 in that unkempt son of the forest I cannot see. His little 
 peep at civilized society does not seem to have communi- 
 cated the smallest polish to his manners. But you will see 
 them? You will find out all about it, will you not? " 
 
 " I will tell you my impressions after I have seen Alice 
 and her mother," said Caro. "What shall I say to 
 Alice?" 
 
 " Say say how distressed I have been at the thought 
 of her illness, and and you needn't tell her, Miss 
 Caro, that I adore her, for I suspect she has found that 
 out by this time. And that must be the reason why she 
 so carefully avoids seeing me." 
 
 " I think you misjudge Alice. She is too frank too 
 kind to to avoid any one or to allow auy misunderstand- 
 ing. And I believe, Colonel," she added, with a faint 
 gleam of mischief in her great blue eyes, " that you 
 exaggerate the importance of Mr. Pleasant Merriuott's 
 visits to the garden of Eden from which you are just now 
 shut out. Ma has chosen this afternoon for a calling 
 expedition, and we will manage to see the Harrelstons be- 
 fore we come home. So to-morrow morning I shall have 
 something to tell you. Come early, for Melari and and 
 Stanislas arc both coming at eleven, aud you know I must 
 not lose a moment of their training and advice. And now, 
 Colonel, I want to ask you to promise me something." 
 
 The gallaut Colonel held up his right hand. " I
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 269 
 
 promise," he said, looking down with a kindly smile at 
 the slight, pale girl shrinking into the depths of the arm- 
 chair. " What is it? Shall I cut off my head? Shall I 
 beard Mapleson or Gye for you? Shall I ask Gounod to 
 write you a new opera? Command me." 
 
 "Colonel," said Caro, in a husky voice, and looking 
 away from him, and up at the great curtain drawn across 
 the capacious window, " do you remember speaking, 
 when you were here some eight or nine days ago, just 
 after your return from Spain, about the sister of Mr. 
 Stanislas? You do. Now, what did you mean? No; 
 that is not what I wish to ask. Did you ever hear any- 
 thing to prove that the lady is not his sister? And if 
 you know, no matter what, to prove that she is not his 
 sister, I want you to tell me, because I have very 
 grave reasons for wishing to know." 
 
 The Colonel was troubled. He retreated from his en- 
 trenchments behind the pile of music, and sat down. 
 
 " I don't know exactly how to answer that, Miss Mer- 
 lin," he said. 
 
 " Ah ! then there is a doubt," said the girl, fiercely. 
 
 There was a revelation in her tone. Colonel Cliff un- 
 derstood the situation at once, and deeply regretted that 
 the subject had been introduced. 
 
 "The lady has arrived in town, I believe," he said. 
 
 "Yes, she has," said Caro. "And she called here 
 yesterday. Oh, we had quite a visit. She is very enthu- 
 siastic. Are all women of her race as much in earnest as 
 she seems to be ? " 
 
 " In earnest? " queried the Colonel; " what was she 
 earnest about? " 
 
 "Oh, grand human ideas and and things. She 
 doesn't seem to care at all for art and music. I suppose 
 they are not earnest enough for her. Ma says she thinks 
 she'd make a good revolutionist ! "
 
 270 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Ah! " cried the Colonel, jumping up and beginning 
 to pace to and fro; "} r our mother has hit it, as usual. 
 Trust her to get at the truth, every time." 
 
 " What do you mean, Colonel? " said Caro, over whose 
 face an expression of fear and doubt was slowly stealing. 
 Finding that he did not answer at once, she arose and 
 came toward him. "Colonel Cliff!" she cried, "you 
 know something about that woman that you are not 
 willing to tell me ! Now, listen ! I must know it ! No 
 matter how dreadful it may be, you may tell me. I have 
 a right to know whether ' ' 
 
 " My dear Miss Merlin ! " said the Colonel, " I assure 
 3'ou that all that I know about the lady is not so very 
 alarming as J T OU imagine." 
 
 44 Well, what is it ! Why don't you tell me? " 
 
 Caro stamped one foot, although she was determined to 
 be calm. The Colonel began to believe that if he desired 
 to retain the influential co-operation of Miss Caro, in his 
 endeavours to find his way back to the Harrelstons', he 
 must forthwith tell what he knew about Vera. 
 
 "It is simply this : I have found out, but I cannot tell 
 you, and you must not ask me how that this interesting 
 young Vera is one of the leading spirits in the great 
 Nihilist conspiracy." 
 
 " Nihilist ! What's that? How strange ! " said Caro, 
 all in one breath. 
 
 41 Nihilists are eccentric people who wish to destroy 
 society and governments because they think them hope- 
 lessly corrupt, and who take very radical means to accom- 
 plish their wishes," said the Colonel. 
 
 Caro felt as if a load had been lifted from her heart. 
 Her first thought full of charity for the beloved Stanislas 
 was that he was annoyed and embarrassed by the 
 eccentricities of his sister, and that for that reason he 
 had not mentioned her relationship to him until he was
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 271 
 
 compelled to do so. She retired into the armchair once 
 more. 
 
 ' ' Oh ! is that all ? " she said , toying with the ribbon 
 at her neck. " And if I see Alice to-day am I at liberty 
 to tell her this about about Mademoiselle Vera ? Because 
 
 I I am afraid that we were in some doubt . She 
 
 must be the sister of the musician, must she not? " 
 
 "Well," answered the Colonel, " speaking frankly, I 
 am bound to say that I do not think she is that, in fact, 
 I am convinced that she is not." 
 
 ' ' And who has led you to form this opinion ? ' ' 
 
 The Colonel was on the point of replying to this so 
 Caro thought with a person's name; but he reflected, 
 and presently he said 
 
 " I must ask you to excuse me fi-om telling you that." 
 
 " What mystery ! Colonel, do you think Mademoiselle 
 Vera is an improper person for me for us to know? " 
 
 " No, I do not. I think that, aside from her political 
 vagaries, she is a very worthy young woman." 
 
 " But what can Mr. Stanislas what interest Is 
 
 he a conspirator too ? ' ' 
 
 " Now we have come to the point where I am entirely 
 puzzled," said the Colonel, and he told the exact truth. 
 His sudden discovery of Caro's adoration for the musician 
 had sealed his lips for many things which he had at first 
 thought of mentioning to her. ' k Perhaps," he added, " it 
 will be well not to speak to any one else of this conversa- 
 tion for a day or two. I suppose it would interest you to 
 know exactly who and what Mademoiselle Vera is if I 
 should happen to find out." 
 
 " I should be glad to know all that is proper for me to 
 know," said the girl ; but the Colonel remarked that the 
 keenness of her interest appeared to have vanished. 
 
 Caro had jumped at a conclusion which set her mind 
 at rest, and which substituted a kind of compassion for
 
 272 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Vera for the fierce jealousy which she had at first felt. 
 Vera was a conspirator, and Stanislas, her countryman, and 
 perhaps secretly a sympathizer, was shielding the woman's 
 plans beneath the goodly aegis of his renowned name. But 
 was he not in danger in so doing? Why need he mar his 
 brilliant future by meddling with conspiracy ? Or no it 
 was delicious to be beloved by one who was bold enough 
 to conspire humane enough to aid those who conspired. 
 She would not doubt him. 
 
 "Yes, Colonel, you are right:" she said, "we must 
 not speak of these things to any one else. Above all, not 
 to ma. Ma wouldn't understand them, and you know that 
 she is imprudent as ' ' 
 
 Caro's voice sank into a whisper, for at that moment 
 Mrs. Merlin's worn face appeared at the top of the winding 
 stairs, and her thin, sharp voice said 
 
 " What is it that your ma wouldn't understand, 
 daughter? Colonel, I'm always glad to see you here, for 
 I know you can give Caro some good advice. She needs 
 it, I can tell you." 
 
 " She needs it less, Mrs. Merlin, than most young ladies 
 whom I have the honour of knowing." 
 
 " Wai, I dunno," said the old lady, settling back into 
 a chair and untying her bonnet-strings ; " I dunno. Sence 
 she's undertook to make her debew this fall, seems to me 
 she don't think any one can tell her anything." 
 
 " So you have found an occasion for making your dtbut, 
 Miss Merlin? And so soon ! Allow me to congratulate 
 you most heartily. And how and when is it to be? In 
 an opera, a concert, a church festival, or " 
 
 He held out both hands to Caro, who smiled and took 
 them for a moment, then dropped them, and turned away 
 with :i sigh so doleful that her mother looked at her with 
 a pained expression, and the Colonel could scarcely conceal 
 his surprise.
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 273 
 
 " Are you not glad that the moment of triumph is 
 approaching?" he said. "I am sure it will be a great 
 success. Melari says so ; Stanislas says so ; and even 
 j'our rivals say so. We will all do our best to make the 
 occasion as brilliant as possible. I pledge myself to make 
 every young woman who is envious of you take tickets." 
 
 " In that case," said Mrs. Merlin, " the hull house '11 
 be full. There 's about seventeen dozen young creatures 
 from all parts of America jest literally burstin' with envy 
 sence Stanislas prophesied that Caro would make her for- 
 tune on the stage. I should feel perfectly comfortable 
 about her chances, Colonel, if she didn't give way to 
 such clretful fits of discouragement." And the good soul, 
 hearing the servant below discussing in an angry tone of 
 voice with some intruder in the garden, went down to 
 impose her authority. 
 
 "Oh, Colonel Cliff," said Caro, "it would cut me to 
 the heart to disappoint you all ; but I have a presentiment 
 of failure. I cannot describe it to you ; it is terrible. I 
 accepted this opportunity for a ddbut that has been offered 
 through the kindness of Mclari and and Mr. Stanislas, 
 just out of sheer determination not to be frightened by 
 these dismal forebodings. It is a concert to be given at 
 the Italiens, on the first of November. La Vange has 
 consented to reappear on that occasion, after an absence 
 of fifteen years from the stage, and she will be greeted, 
 out of respect for her career, by the most refined and 
 critical audience that can be assembled in Paris. Melari 
 says that the success of a debutante before such an 
 audience would be a passport to immediate celebrity 
 those were his words. Well, that is not the best of it. 
 Maplesou has, it seems, promised to attend this concert, 
 and when he heard that I was to sing there, he said to 
 Stanislas, ' If she is a success there, I will, after all that 
 you and others have said of her, give her an engagement,
 
 274 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and she shall make her first appearance in opera in Lon- 
 don in the first week of the spring season.' Oh, Colonel, 
 when I think what joy it would be for me to sing Mar- 
 gherita in ' Faust ' at the Grand Opera in London, my 
 head turns around, and I say, ' I will not fail at this 
 coming concert ! I will make the Parisians like me ! ' 
 But then the terrible presentiment returns a kind of 
 feeling that my failure will be due to some cause beyond 
 my control and I tremble." 
 
 "No; you will not fail," said the Colonel, looking 
 down admiringly at Caro's enthusiastic face, lit up by 
 the brilliant blue eyes. " Beware of the demon of over- 
 work, Miss Caro ; he is inflicting all this misery on you 
 just now. Beware of worries, even" he lowered his 
 voice ' ' even about the mysterious Mademoiselle Vera 
 and 3'ou will come out of your trial triumphantly." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Caro, with another sigh ; " but still 
 I tremble." 
 
 " You .have the vocation, Miss Merlin. You will win. 
 But I must confess that it is a strange lottery in which 
 our American girls risk their chances for a prize, aud that 
 the blanks are wonderfully numerous." 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, mournfully, " I know of a dozen 
 failures within the range of our acquaintance in the last 
 eighteen months. Trust me for one thing, Colonel Cliff ! 
 If I fail, you will sec me take the road for seclusion in 
 Illinois at once. I shall shudder at the thought of going 
 through a series of failures in Paris and London, and then 
 rushing off to appear in some cheap theatre in a provin- 
 cial tov.ii in Italy, and to pay the local papers to publish 
 long bombastic accounts of my 'splendid promise,' and 
 my k p"rif(t accent,' and my 'impassioned acting,' as 
 Lottie Kldivdgc did a year ago." 
 
 '' Poor things ! " said the Colonel, with a smile. " When 
 they do get the craze it seems impossible for them to
 
 AN ALLIANCE FOR INFORMATION. 275 
 
 recover. I knew a case not long ago of a young American 
 lady who was announced as about to make her debut for 
 a third time, under a new trademark I beg your pardon, 
 I mean under a new name. Her real name was Scolley 
 when ehe reached Paris from the United States. When 
 she hoped to make her success here she became Made- 
 moiselle Scolet. When she failed here she went to Milan, 
 and, thanks to her father's ducats, had a chance to fail 
 there under the name of Signora Scollini. And now she 
 is announced as Signorina Scolletini, from the theatre in 
 Bari, with an immense voice and a still greater reputation, 
 and she is soon going home to rob the world of rest ! " 
 
 "Colonel, you set my teeth on edge," said the girl. 
 "Tell me no more, or I will give up my prospect of an 
 appearance at La Vauge's concert." 
 
 "The failures are absurd enough," said the Colonel, 
 " and certainly they make the judicious grieve. But then 
 look at the successes ! Look at that conscientious, hard- 
 working g'ul, almost superhuman in her powers of 
 concentration upon her coveted object Miss Griswold, 
 who has just come off with the first honours ?.t the 
 Conservatoire here, and who will certainly be engaged 
 at the Grand Opera. There is national glory enough 
 for us in her triumph to make us forget the multitudes 
 of ridiculous failures made by American girls every year. 
 She had the vocation ; you have it ; and you will succeed 
 as she did because you deserve success. Personally, 
 you know," and here the good Colonel took on what 
 his friends called ' ' his English air ' ' that boinp; an 
 affectation of a certain dense indifference to thinrja in 
 general " personally, I consider music as a trivial I; ranch 
 of the art of expression." 
 
 Caro's eyes blazed now with fires of contradiction. 
 The Colonel had effected his object. He wished to stir 
 her pride, besides which he well knew that at that
 
 276 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 particular moment those two lovely twin qualities her 
 courage and her enthusiasm were slumbering. " When 
 those are well aroused, she will not fail ! " reasoned the 
 good Colonel, and he went on 
 
 " As a trivial branch of the art of expression." This 
 was highly vague ; yet he thought it would do. " But 
 when I look about me and see that Saint Cecilia's chief 
 ministrants before the most renowned of her European 
 shrines are American women, it wakes up my pride. 
 Think of Griswold at the Academic Nationale de Musique, 
 and delightful Mignon Van Landt at the Opera Comique 
 in Paris, and the polished Kellogg ah ! a great singer, 
 and good as great ! throwing the Russians into ecstasies 
 with her delicious voice at the Petersburg Opera ? And 
 then think of Miss Thursby, who has got laurel wreaths 
 from every European capital, and whose voice makes 
 Mozart rustle in his tomb with joy ; and Mrs. Osgood 
 in London, who chants a madrigal so that it makes your 
 heart ache with bliss ; and and I might name many 
 others. Those, Miss Merlin those are the successes! 
 Think of them, and say to yourself I shall be among 
 them, and you cannot fail." 
 
 "If you say another word about all those fortunate 
 women," said Caro, " I shall be envious. How grand it 
 would be to succeed to live like them, to be like them ! " 
 
 "You can you will. And now I must go. Do not 
 forget my cause this afternoon, Miss Merlin, and tell me 
 good news to-morrow, or I shall despair. Good-bye until 
 morning ! " And he seemed to melt out of the room ; at 
 least, Caro thought he did, because before he went down- 
 stairs she had fallen into a reverie which completely shut 
 her out from the surrounding world. 
 
 The presentiment, meantime, lay heavily on her heart.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 
 
 ALICE awoke one morning at dawn, and seeing her mother 
 standing patiently at her bedside, stretched out one thin 
 white hand and laid it gently on the good lady's arm. 
 Mrs. Harrelston started and looked at her daughter 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I feel, petite maman," said the girl, faintly, " as if I 
 were beginning to live again." 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston's tears testified to the joy which this 
 assurance brought her. She knelt down beside Alice. 
 
 " You must be quiet, daughter," she said. " You have 
 been very ill ; and now that you are beginning to recover, 
 any excitement might be dangerous. Sleep some more ; 
 it is only six o'clock." 
 
 " Six o'clock morning, or evening, mamma? " 
 
 "Morning, child," answered Mrs. Harrelston, with 
 a tremor in her voice. " Oh dear, she is wandering 
 again." 
 
 " No, mamma," said Alice ; " I know what I am saying, 
 but I seem to have lost some days out of my life. Do you 
 know I woke up in the middle of the night, and it seemed 
 to me as if I had come back from a long journey. Every- 
 thing is new, and strange, and and delicious. Only my 
 
 head is so heavy " And she sighed. Presently 
 
 277
 
 278 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 she added, " I am glad it is morning. Is it a fine day? 
 I thought I heard the sparrows chirp a little while ago." 
 
 "Chirp, dear! They chatter! Do they make your 
 poor head ache? Shall I draw the bed-curtains? " 
 
 " Oh no, mamma, please don't do that. I feel as if I 
 
 wanted light, and air, and flowers, and " She tried 
 
 to raise her head, but in vain. 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston, with many gentle reproaches, re- 
 arranged the pillows, and remained kneeling, so that she 
 could comfort herself with the spectacle of her child's 
 slow but certain return to perfect consciousness and sanity. 
 She was obliged, somewhat against her will, to admit that 
 her husband's experiment, odd and improper as it had 
 seemed to her maternal mind when he had undertaken it, 
 more than a week ago, was a success. From the moment 
 that Alice had been told of the arrival in Paris of Pleasant 
 Merrinott, and that he had called and inquired for her, 
 the fits of feverish delirium had become less frequent, and 
 had finally ceased altogether. But they were succeeded 
 by a deep and overwhelming prostration, at which the 
 girl's parents had been almost as gravely alarmed as by 
 the delirious symptoms, until the family physician had 
 informed them that the fever had run its course, and the 
 girl was certain to rally. The banker was radiant with 
 delight as he observed the improvement in Alice's con- 
 dition. Every morning, before he got into his coupe to 
 drive down to the bank, he came timidly to the door of 
 the sick-room, and, being led by his wife into his daughter's 
 presence, kissed her pale brow tenderly, and talked in a 
 low voice for a few moments. Mrs. Ilarrelston observed 
 that he never failed to mention the young Indian's name. 
 The shrewd father knew the cordial that gave the girl 
 life, and was an excellent judge of the doses in which it 
 was to be administered. 
 
 "You are laying up trouble for us in future Eric,"
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 279 
 
 said his wife one morning, as she accompanied him to the 
 garden gate. " Would you like to have our daughter Alice 
 marry an Indian? " 
 
 " I want m} r daughter Alice to live," he had answered 
 gently, whisking into the carriage, and telling the coach- 
 man to drive on, as if he were anxious to avoid discussion 
 on the subject. 
 
 The truth was that he was trying to invent some plan 
 by which he could turn Alice's attention awa}- from the 
 youthful Cherokee, but thus far he had cudgelled his 
 brains in vain. 
 
 Pleasant came and went with a penitent, stricken air, 
 which was very impressive ; it was not difficult to see that 
 his self-surrender to Alice was now complete, and that he 
 was torn with remorse for the heedless and selfish manner 
 in which he had separated himself from her after his 
 declaration to her of his love. When Mr. Harrelston 
 looked at the dark face, with its proud and fierce expres- 
 sion, he was no little perplexed to know how he should 
 deal with this youth who had pushed his way into the 
 family as if he meant to claim a permanent connection 
 there, and whose excessive frankness disarmed all an- 
 tagonism to his wishes. 
 
 "If there were anything mean in his composition," 
 thought Mr. Harrelston, " I should know how to send him 
 to the right-about in a minute ; but, confound him, there 
 isn't! " 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston had her own peculiar plan most 
 mothers have one and she carefully refrained from telling 
 her husband what it was, because she feared that he might 
 spoil it. She did not intend that Mr. Pleasant Merrinott 
 should marry her daughter until she had exhausted every 
 means for preventing an alliance upon which she thought 
 she could look only with distaste and repugnance. Yet 
 when she reflected, from time to time, on the singular
 
 280 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 intensity and passionate earnestness of her daughter's 
 nature, she felt that to undertake the direct thwarting of 
 Alice's wishes the fulfilment of her affections would be 
 a responsibility from which she would be inclined to 
 shrink, even were it at the expense of humbling her pride. 
 
 "Morning you said, mamma, did you not?" said 
 Alice, who seemed determined to talk. "Oh! how I 
 long to be well enough to be out of doors ! The Bois must 
 be lovely, now. Jt is almost October, isn't it? Have the 
 leaves turned yet ? When can I sit up ? Can I not look 
 out of the window ? ' ' 
 
 "It is quite October, dear the third day, even, and 
 the leaves are all russet, and the nights and mornings 
 are very cold. I am afraid you cannot go out, dear child, 
 for a long time to come." 
 
 " I shall ask the doctor to-day." 
 
 " Alice, you frighten me ! You must not talk now, but 
 try to sleep." 
 
 "No, mamma; I have slept too much. Last night I 
 dreamed that I was back in Meiriugen, and it seemed so 
 real that when I awoke just now I looked for the old blue 
 bed-curtains of the Reicheubach Hotel. I thought I was 
 still there. Isn't it absurd? And do you know that most 
 of the time since I have been ill I have fancied that I was 
 in Meiringeu ? I could have insisted on it. The two walls 
 of the room were like two great mountain ranges, and I 
 could see the drifting of the clouds, and the shadows on 
 the rocks, and I could feel the spray on my brow from the 
 brook. And oh, mamma, one night I dreamed that the 
 Alpbach swelled to a terrible torrent while I was crossing it, 
 and that I should have been washed away and drowned if 
 I had not been saved by Mr. Meninott. lie dashed into 
 the water after me, and and then I could remember 
 nothing else. Wasn't it a strange dream? And it was 
 so frightfullv lifelike "
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 281 
 
 " Oh ! daughter, daughter Alice," said Mrs. Harrelstou, 
 rising from her knees, " you must lie still and try to sleep. 
 The doctor will scold me when he finds you wide awake 
 and excited." 
 
 " I am not excited now, dear," said the girl. " I feel 
 very calm ; I shall be all right in a few days." She looked 
 up at her mother with a faint smile which seemed like a 
 promise of recovery. Some of Alice's old vivacity was 
 evidently struggling to find its way back into her white 
 and wearied face. The mother bent down to kiss the girl, 
 and found Alice's hands clasped tightly over her own. 
 "And then I dreamed mamma, you know how foolish 
 dreams are ; they never seem to have any common sense 
 or coherence that it was not I, but Mr. Merrinott, who 
 was in danger of being carried off by the flood. I saw him 
 washed down into a dreadful boiling sea, and then he 
 vanished. But, as he disappeared, he cried out, ' I shall 
 come back again.' Was that not strange ? What do you 
 think it means? " 
 
 " It means, my lady," said Mrs. Harrelston, " that you 
 have had a narrow escape from being swept away on a 
 flood much like that which you dreamed of, but that God 
 has kept you for us, and that unless you wish to break 
 our hearts, you will not keep on talking, and so run the 
 risk of falling ill again. Alice, will you not listen to me? 
 Alice ! What will the doctor say ? ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston spoke almost sharply, for the girl had 
 thrown her arms about her mother's neck with a quick, 
 feverish movement quite unexpected from one in the early 
 stages of recovery from an exhausting fever, and so had 
 raised herself into a sitting posture. 
 
 "Prop me up with the pillows, mamma," she said. 
 " I want to sit so for a little while. I am sure that get- 
 ting well requires nothing now but an effort of the will, 
 and I am going to make it."
 
 282 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Mrs. Harrelston slowly extricated herself from the 
 girl's embrace, and arranged the pillows. " If you will 
 not obey ?ne, Alice," she said, " I suppose I must obey 
 you." 
 
 " Tell me one thing, mamma," said the girl with sudden 
 earnestness, and with a pained expression, as if at the 
 revival of a sad memory or an anxiety; "tell me one 
 thing, and I will do as you wish at once." 
 
 "What is it, Alice?" 
 
 "You know that papa told me the other day that 
 Mr. Merrinott had been here that he is in Paris. Was 
 that have you seen him, mamma? Or was papa trying 
 
 to She paused with a perplexed look on her face. 
 
 A moment afterwards she said, " I thought perhaps papa 
 was trying to make me think that he had come back and 
 was staying here, when he was elsewhere for you know 
 he is such a wild and strange 3'oung man ; and when he 
 disappeared in Switzerland I mean when he did not 
 come here 
 
 " Did you expect him to come to Paris, then?" queried 
 Mrs. Harrelston, almost forgetting her daughter's illness 
 in her eagerness to learn anj-thing new concerning Alice's 
 relations to the Indian. 
 
 "Yes, mamma, I think I did," answered the girl, 
 lowering her eyes, and sinking back upon the pillows. 
 " Don't you know, you said in Switzerland that it was 
 not necessary to invite him to call on us in Paris 
 but- 
 
 "And it proved entirely unnecessary, for he certainly 
 called without my invitation." 
 
 "Then pupa told me the truth?" said Alice, almost 
 joyously. " How could I have fancied that he did not? 
 I must have mixed my dream and the reality " 
 
 " Alice, you are feverish again. You must lie down at 
 once."
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 283 
 
 " Very well, mamma." And she obeyed, hiding her 
 sweet face, into which new health and life seemed every 
 moment stealing, among the pillows. But she did not go 
 to sleep. She closed her eyes, and thought about Pleas- 
 ant Merrinott. And by-aud-by, when watchful Mrs. 
 Harrelston, deceived by her regular breathing, fancied 
 that she was slumbering, and left the room for a few 
 
 minutes, she murmured Pleasaut's name. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Had Alice realized how near she had gone to the gates 
 of death, she might have come back from them with more 
 difficulty. But j^outh and love escorted her on the upward 
 journey, and she was soon well enough to receive the 
 doctor's permission to leave her chamber. She passed 
 from stage to stage of convalescence with eagerness ; and 
 one lovely October morning, ten days after the banker 
 had begun his experiment by telling her that Pleasant 
 Merriuott was in Paris and had asked to see her, she was 
 escorted by her father and mother into the libra^ on the 
 ground floor of the villa, and was informed that she 
 might sit for half an hour at the window opening upon the 
 porch. It was ten o'clock ; the warm sunshine seemed 
 coining gold out of the tawny leaves on the trees in the 
 garden ; and a faint aroma of resinous woods came from 
 the alleys of the Bois de Boulogne, along the skirt of 
 which ran the avenue on which the Harrelstons lived. 
 The banker bade his daughter good-bye, and trundled 
 away to his daily slavery ; and Alice, warmly wrapped 
 up. reclining in a cosy arm-chair, was keenly enjoying the 
 communion with out-of-doors nature which her illness had 
 so long interrupted, when her eyes fell on a huge bouquet, 
 placed in a Japanese vase on a pedestal among the bronzes 
 near a writing-desk. Bertine, the maid, who stood near 
 Alice, at once understood the question indicated by the 
 delicate arching of Miss Harrelston' s eyebrows.
 
 284 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " It is the seventh one , Mademoiselle , ' ' she said . ' ' Poor, 
 dear man ! What pains he has given himself to inquire 
 after Mademoiselle ! And a new bouquet every day or 
 two ! We were obliged to hide them, and to let him think 
 that they were in Mademoiselle's chamber, although 
 Madame your mother would not allow any flowers in 
 the upper rooms while Mademoiselle had the fever." 
 
 Alice laughed merrily. " Seven bouquets, Bertiue ! " she 
 said. " Did the savage really bring as many as that? " 
 
 "The savage, Mademoiselle? Oh no! It was of 
 Colonel Cliff that I was speaking." 
 
 Alice grew grave. 
 
 " Colonel Cliff? Has he returned from Spain? Then 
 the bouquets are all from him." 
 
 " All but three or four, which came from friends when 
 Mademoiselle was first taken ill. And except one an 
 odd little one from the Russian lady whom we saw in 
 Berne." 
 
 " Indeed ! Has she been here? " 
 
 " No, Mademoiselle. It was brought by a very old 
 man, a Jew with a long coat on ah ! a dirty and greasy 
 coat ! an old man with a face all covered with scars, and 
 with a gray curl in front of each ear. The flowers were 
 cheap, but they were pretty. As they withered quickly, 
 Madame your mother made me throw them away." 
 
 "And the savage brought no flowers, Bertine? Are 
 you quite sure? " 
 
 "I do not think he brought any, Mademoiselle, but I 
 will inquire," said the maid, respectfully, turning away 
 to hide the smile at her lips. As she was opening the 
 door lending into the hall, she caught a glimpse of a tall 
 figure at the garden gate. " There he is now, Mademoi- 
 selle," she said, and disappeared. 
 
 Now the garden gate happened to be ajar, and the 
 result was that before Alice had found courage to take a
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 285 
 
 good look at the visitor announced by Bertine, that visitor 
 stood on the porch before her, at the open window. Al- 
 though he thought she looked down, she saw him. He 
 had been walking rapidly, and his eyes were sparkling 
 with excitement. He took off his hat and threw his long 
 black hair back from his brow nervously. Alice instinc- 
 tively felt that he had been brave enough to say whatever 
 he pleased until he had reached the window, and that 
 there and then his courage had ebbed away. The faint 
 flush came into her cheeks as she raised her head, and said 
 
 " Oh, it is Mr. Merrinott ! I thought you were already 
 on your way to the Indian Nation, for we have heard 
 nothing of you." Then the vision of the snow-clad Al- 
 pine range arose before her, and she seemed to hear the 
 roaring of the river Aar, and the sound of the young Cher- 
 okee's voice saying, over and over again, "Forgive me, 
 Alice, and love me ! " She lost her momentary self-pos- 
 session, and gazed at the embroidered ottoman at her feet. 
 
 " Miss Harrelston," said Pleasant, in a tremulous but 
 clear voice, " I have been a fool a reckless, inconsider- 
 ate, headstrong fellow. I was guilty of a great discour- 
 tesy in rushing away from you like I did that that night 
 at Berne. But I have tried to atone for my folly ever 
 since I became convinced of it. And I have come to ask 
 you to forgive me. Oh ! Miss Harrelston if you could 
 know how I have suffered ! " 
 
 Despite the incoherence of the explanation, Alice un- 
 derstood it perfectly. " If there is anything to forgive, 
 please consider it forgiven, Mr. Merrinott," she said, 
 very sweetly, yet with a certain dignity which seemed to 
 establish an unpleasantly wide distance between them. 
 Pleasant felt as if he had failed in his effort to re-enter 
 Paradise, and he was cold at the heart for a minute. " I 
 think we rather expect you to be original," the girl added, 
 readily perceiving that he was abashed, and not sorry to
 
 286 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 find him a bit humble. " Will you walk in by the front 
 door, or will you sit down on that little seat in the warm 
 sunshine? I suppose you know that I have been very 
 ill? And what have you been doing in Paris since 
 your arrival? " 
 
 " I have been waiting for you to recover, and trembling 
 at the thought that I might never see you again," an- 
 swered the young Indian, drawing a rustic bench toward 
 the French window, and sitting down so that he was 
 directly opposite Alice. 
 
 "And have you been at work on your mission? Or 
 have you forgotten about the poor Cherokees, and am I 
 to win my wager, after all ? " 
 
 "The Cherokees, Miss Harrelston, have been giving a 
 good account of themselves. I am glad to say that they 
 have driven out some of the white intruders, and that 
 they well, I reckon they punished them right severely. 
 But why talk of them? Oh, Miss Harrelston, tell me that 
 you have forgiven me and that you have not forgotten 
 that you are not angry with me." 
 
 Alice was puzzled. As she was, of course, quite un- 
 conscious that. in her delirium she had betrayed the secret 
 of her heart to her parents, and that her father had in his 
 anxiety communicated it to Pleasant, she could scarcely 
 understand why he was so penitent. She thought it might 
 be well not to be profuse iu her expressions of forgiveness. 
 
 " I have been here every day," continued Pleasant, rue- 
 fully. " Your father has been good to me, and has told 
 me ever}- morning how you were getting on." 
 
 He did not tell her that he had stood all one night in 
 the shadow of the garden wall, suffering incalculable an- 
 guish because Mr. Harrelston, in a moment of dread, had 
 told him that he was " afraid Alice would not live to see 
 another dawn." 
 
 "You were very kind to think of me," she said, and
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 287 
 
 the eloquence of love stole into her tones although she 
 strove hard to conceal it. 
 
 " Think of you ! How could I help it ! " said Pleasant, 
 simply. He looked carefully around the handsome library, 
 with its rich carpets, its fragment of ancient tapestry 
 behind a carven bookcase, its ivory images ranged on 
 glittering shelves, and its costly bronzes ; and presently 
 his eyes fell on the flowers. " That is a beautiful bouquet 
 yonder," he said. 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, glancing swiftly at him, while a 
 dimple of mischief appeared in her cheeks, and hor eyes 
 sparkled. " It is from Colonel Cliff. May I ask you to 
 step in and hand it to me? I have not }'et had the 
 pleasure of examining it." 
 
 Pleasant put on his most ugly frown, arose and went 
 around to the hall door, and entering the library, caught 
 up the mass of flowers, regardless of the water that dripped 
 on the carpet. 
 
 "Oh no, no! You must bring the vase also!" cried 
 Alice ; and while he was doing this, rather clumsily, Alice 
 examined him critically. He was smarter in his dress ; 
 it was evident that Paris had already begun her work of 
 polishing him. But there was a look of perplexity and 
 annoyance on his handsome face which displeased her. 
 It seemed to detract from his nobility of expression. 
 
 When Colonel Cliff arrived ten minutes later, and was 
 ushered into the library by Mrs. Harrelston, who had met 
 him in the hall, he was disagreeably surprised to find 
 Pleasant seated almost at the feet of Alice, and picking to 
 pieces the Colonel's latest bouquet. Mrs. Harrelston was 
 shocked, and expected to see Pleasant at once retire to a 
 corner ; but he did not. He rose, made his formal South- 
 ern Academy bow, and sat down again without retreating 
 an inch.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE WAKNTNG. 
 
 IT did not take Miss Harrclston long to discover that 
 Colonel Cliff was profoundly annoyed at finding Pleasant 
 sitting at her feet, and that the gallant gentleman en- 
 deavoured to conceal his annoyance by talking like an 
 angel. In conversation Colonel Cliff clearly had Pleasant 
 at a disadvantage. The Cherokee was especially infelici- 
 tous in that small talk which passes current in society for 
 so much more than it is worth ; and his quaintness and 
 originality were frequently mistaken by ladies who were 
 accustomed to more ceremonious and cautious address for 
 downright rudeness or ignorance. Pleasant had, however, 
 a singularly fascinating way of redeeming himself, after 
 an apparently careless lapse, by a flash of wit, or an odd 
 reminiscence of his life in the Nation, which even the 
 most exacting dames accepted as adequate compensation 
 for his minor defects. 
 
 Colonel Cliff, "brought up" in the best of society, 
 and in a punctilious family where etiquette was con- 
 sidered as necessary as probity, never made mistakes, 
 was always at case, and readily saw that Pleasant would 
 have given his eyes to possess the same repose and polish 
 of manner. On a prairie, or in a forest, Pleasant would 
 have appeared infinite!}- superior to the ex-officer, but 
 in a drawing-room Colonel Cliff, in his faultless morn- 
 
 288
 
 THE WARNING. 289 
 
 ing costume, his stainless gloves, and creaseless shoes, and 
 with his slightly formal and military carriage, was the 
 more correct of the two. He held Pleasant at a distance. 
 Disdaining to allude to his unlucky bouquet, which the 
 Cherokee coolly went on dissecting, he talked to the ladies 
 of Spain, of Caro and her new enterprise (adroitly mana- 
 ging to discover that Caro's mission to the Harrelston man- 
 sion in his behalf had not been in vain) , of the best means 
 of encouraging convalescence, of the glories of the autumn 
 weather, of the sojourn in Switzerland, and all in such 
 agreeable vein, and with such art in flying from one 
 subject to another, that Pleasant could not put in a word. 
 
 The Indian began to feel discomfited, and the scowl on 
 his brow deepened as he observed that Mrs. Harrelston was 
 enjoying his discomfiture. Just as he had decided to break 
 into the conversation, at all hazards, the Colonel turned to 
 him, in the most natural manner in the world, and with a 
 winning smile, said 
 
 "And what news from the Nation, Mr. Merrinott? 
 When does the extermination of the wicked Bluelots 
 begin?" 
 
 Alice started, and looked reproachfully at Pleasant, as 
 if she half suspected him of an inclination to break the 
 promise which he had made to her on the hill in the 
 Brunig Pass. Pleasant arose so abruptly that Colonel 
 Cliff started back ; then brushing some leaves and the 
 petals of some massacred roses from his garments, he 
 answered, slowly 
 
 " The Cherokees, sir, are making right smart progress. 
 They have undertaken to do the work that the United 
 States soldiers were not enterprising enough to accomplish ; 
 they have attacked the white invaders and driven them 
 back; not, I reckon, sir," he added, a little proudly, 
 u without doing them some damage." 
 
 " Now you must not speak ill of the soldiers, Mr.
 
 200 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Merrinott," said the Colonel, rising in his turn, as if he 
 disliked to sit under the shadow of the Indian. "Re- 
 member, if you please, that they have done many a good 
 deed for your race." 
 
 "My memory, sir, is excellent," said Pleasant, whose 
 voice was getting deeper. 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mrs. Harrelston ; "there go the 
 gentlemen into politics. I must remind you not to talk 
 of exciting topics before Alice, or I shall carry her off to 
 her chamber, and you will see her no more until she is 
 quite well." 
 
 " I like it, mamma," said Alice, with a gleam of fun in 
 her eyes. " Mr. Merrinott is so terribly in earnest when 
 he talks about his Nation ! " 
 
 "I must beg your pardon, ladies," said the Colonel, 
 " but my interest in Mr. Merrinott's Nation is quite as 
 sincere as his own " 
 
 Pleasant looked up at Colonel Cliff with a scornful flash 
 out of his great lustrous eyes. 
 
 " And some of the happiest days of my life were passed 
 in that enchanted Territory. I often see dancing before 
 my eyes vivid pictures of its flower-spangled fields, and its 
 forests filled with thousands of chattering birds, and its 
 great natural parks, and its delicious twilights. And I 
 always feel a genuine interest in learning how the Indians 
 are succeeding in keeping it in their possession." 
 
 "Is it so lovely, then? " said Alice. 
 
 "It is one of the garden spots of the world; a kind 
 of earthly paradise, not yet marred by the ugly practical 
 improvements of the civilization of the United States. 
 Personally, I hope the Indians will keep all intruders out 
 of it, but I am afraid I must admit that I don't believe 
 they will." 
 
 " Oh, they must," said Alice ; " they cannot do other- 
 wise, if thev are all as enthusiastic as Mr. Merriuott."
 
 THE WARNING. 291 
 
 " Enthusiasm is a fine quality," remarked the Colonel, 
 thoughtfully ; ' ' but I cannot see that it does much toward 
 freeing nations or keeping them from invasion and de- 
 struction. No class of people, I should think, is more 
 enthusiastic than revolutionists ; but see how little they 
 effect in these latter days. Take the case of Russia, for 
 instance. There are the Russian conspirators ' ' 
 
 " Really, Colonel Cliff," said Mrs. Harrelston, " I must 
 exercise my authority rather more sternly. You may 
 talk about flowers and music and sunshine while Alice is 
 here, but not of politics and conspiracies." 
 
 The Colonel had given Pleasant a most significant look 
 when he spoke of Russian conspiracies, and it had not been 
 lost upon the Indian. 
 
 " Madam, I deserve to be banished," said the Colonel. 
 " I don't know what brought the topic of revolution into 
 my head, unless it was that I had heard from a diplomatic 
 friend, the other evening at a party, that the French 
 Government has been requested to keep its eyes closely on 
 the movements of a party of Russian conspirators recently 
 arrived here. Romantic, isn't it, to think that we jostle a 
 Nihilist in our morning walk, and sit opposite a possible 
 political assassin at a table d'hdte?" 
 
 Again Colonel Cliff looked so steadily at Pleasant that 
 the Indian felt almost tempted openly to resent it. It 
 happened that Alice noticed this steadfast and meaning 
 look, and the trouble which it seemed to cause Pleasant, 
 and she wondered at it. 
 
 " Nihilists, indeed ! " said Mrs. Harrelston. " A pretty 
 subject of conversation ! All such people ought to be 
 burned at the stake they and those who sympathize with 
 them! " 
 
 "The worst of it is that they make dupes, and carry 
 ruin and dishonour in their train," said the Colonel. 
 
 Pleasant was so puzzled by the Colonel's remarks that
 
 292 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 he then and there fell into a brown study. Of all men in 
 the world, Colonel Cliff was the last man whom he would 
 have suspected of knowledge of the conspiracy of Stanislas 
 and Vera, and of his own innocent and accidental con- 
 nection with it. While he was standing like one in a 
 trance he heard Alice saying to the Colonel, in a low 
 voice 
 
 "Alas! yes; they are the flowers which you kindly 
 sent me. I could not keep them from Mr. Merrinott's 
 destroying fingers. He has been strewing them before 
 me " 
 
 "As a tardy floral offering to propitiate you for his 
 neglect in not sending you any himself, I suppose," said 
 the Colonel, with a cj'nical little laugh, which brought 
 Pleasant out of his reverie. 
 
 Then Bertine came in with some cards left for Alice 
 and Mrs. Harrelston, and the conversation drifted into 
 social channels. Mrs. Harrelston took Colonel Cliff to a 
 niche in the library to show him a menu printed on satin 
 in gorgeous polychromic text, and Pleasant got back at 
 once to his post beside Alice. 
 
 " You ma}' look over the cards with me," she said, " if 
 you will promise not to tear them in pieces, as you did 
 the flowers. Will you be good enough to hold the card- 
 basket?" 
 
 He took the dainty silken-lined panier, and Alice tossed 
 card after card into it, the Indian glancing eagerly at the 
 name on each one, searching for the announcement among 
 all these remembrancers of a possible rival. Suddenly he 
 bethought himself once more of the object of his visit 
 the renewed declaration of his love for Alice. The Colonel 
 was talking in loud and merry strain to Mrs. Harrelston 
 about dinners and dinner bills. Pleasant seized his op- 
 portunity, and leaning forward, said, almost in a whisper 
 
 " When may I come again? "
 
 THE WARNING. 293 
 
 A presumptuous and unsuitable suitor would have 
 received a sharp answer, for Alice's wit was keen, and 
 she had the Parisian talent of saying the word that cuts 
 like the blade that stabs you before you see its flash. But 
 there was so much of longing reverence in Pleasant' s tone 
 the whisper sent such a thrill to her heart and in the 
 bending of his proud neck there was such an unwilling 
 confession of repentance and self-surrender, that a cutting 
 response did not come. So she answered, simply 
 
 " Come whenever you think that you will find us 
 entertaining." She went on inspecting the cards and 
 speculating on the answer that her mother would have 
 expected her to give to Pleasant's question. For the first 
 time in her life she felt a kind of guilty joy in the knowl- 
 edge that she was acting somewhat against her mother's 
 wish. But she consoled herself with the reflection that 
 in process of time she could probably bring her mamma to 
 her own way of thinking. " Mrs. Brown-Wylde, Mrs. 
 Euston, Mr. Marlow, M. le Comte Ponitzi, Mr. Van 
 Rosslyn Oh ! here are the cards of our Russian ac- 
 quaintances ! v She raised her voice a bit, and looked 
 somewhat inquisitively at Pleasant as she handed him two 
 pieces of pasteboard. "The musician and his sister! 
 By the way, Mademoiselle Yera appears to have made her 
 way to Paris, for Bertine tells me that she left a bouquet 
 for me while I was shut up in my sick chamber." 
 
 " Oh yes ! she has been here for some little time," said 
 Pleasant, without any surprise in his voice. " I see her 
 quite often. She is studying medicine as I reckon you 
 remember that she intended to do." 
 
 Alice opened her eyes widely. This girl, this woman, 
 concerning whom Caro had such grave doubts this 
 strange personage who had crossed their path only to cast 
 a shadow on it en joyed the acquaintance and confidence 
 of Pleasant- Merrinott? And all the time that Alice had
 
 294 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 been tossing feverishly on her couch of pain because she had 
 suspected Pleasant of insinceritj-, he had been seeing this 
 woman often. Alice veiled her distress, but it tugged 
 sorely at her heart. 
 
 " 1 suppose," said the girl, softly, " that Mademoiselle 
 Vera still believes in your enthusiasm?" Then, without 
 giving him time to reply, she repeated the name which 
 she had read on the card. " Vera Labonoff . Is it noff or 
 now? Do you not think that the name has a kind of 
 mysterious flavour ? ' ' 
 
 " "Well, no, Miss Harrelston," answered Pleasant, 
 cautiously; "I cannot say that I think so. Indeed, I 
 had not thought about it. The lady seems strong-minded, 
 but " 
 
 "Vera Labonoff," said Colonel Cliff, whose sharp ear 
 had caught the sound of the name, and who came back 
 to Pleasant and Alice ; " why, that is one of the persons 
 said to be Beg your pardon, did you speak, Mrs. 
 Harrelston?" 
 
 " No, no. Do you know this Mademoiselle Vera, then, 
 Colonel?" 
 
 " I have not that honour. Excuse me ; I have probably 
 confounded the lady with some one else. But the name is 
 almost exactly identical with that of a person mentioned 
 to me as connected with the Nihilist conspiracy, and lately 
 arrived in Paris. It's an odd coincidence." 
 
 Pleasant started perceptibly, and looked at Colonel 
 Cliff as if he would like to read his thoughts. What did 
 this mean ? 
 
 " Oh, I can't think this lad}* conspires," said Alice, but 
 with a tremor of doubt in her voice. " She is the sister of 
 Monsieur Stanislas and he never struck me as a con- 
 spirator. He is devoted to nothing but his profession." 
 
 " Well. I don't know," said Mrs. Harrelston. " There 
 is something uncanny about her. She was so frank and
 
 THE WARNING. 295 
 
 engaging in Switzerland that we could not well avoid her. 
 especially because of our acquaintance with her brother. 
 But I think the brother would better advise her to be 
 more retiring. I should be horrified at the thought that 
 we had adopted a conspirator as a friend. I would not 
 encourage her visits, daughter." 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Merrinott can tell us about her political 
 sentiments," said Alice, suddenly. "He sees her quite 
 often." 
 
 " Beware, Mr. Merrinott, or you will get tangled in the 
 web of a conspiracy," said Colonel Cliff, shaking his fin- 
 ger at the Indian and laughing. 
 
 " I am no conspirator, sir," said Pleasant, rather hotly. 
 But he was anxious to avoid further conversation on the 
 topic for the moment. " The lady seems to me more in- 
 terested in the study of medicine than in anything else." 
 
 "Ah! Very likely she is not the Nihilist," said the 
 Colonel. " The name seemed identical. It would be hard, 
 however, to imagine Stanislas as having a sister who con- 
 spires, for I happen to know that he is anything but a 
 conspirator rather strongly in favour of the established 
 government in Russia, I should say." 
 
 " Do find out, Mr. Merrinott, please," said Mrs. Har- 
 relston ; " and if she proves to be Nihilistic in her notions, 
 I am certain that you would be as much horrified as we 
 could be." 
 
 " I am sure she is a right honest and deserving young 
 woman, whatever her ideas on government may be," said 
 the Cherokee, doggedly. 
 
 This answer did not please Mrs. Harrelston, and she 
 filed it away for future use against Pleasant. 
 
 '> One is compelled to exercise great care in the choice 
 of acquaintances in these large capitals," she remarked 
 coldly ; but the observation seemed entirely lost on Pleas- 
 ant. She determined to revenge herself for his iudiffer-
 
 296 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ence by advising Alice to retire to her room, under the 
 pretext that she was becoming fatigued ; but just as she 
 was about to do so she saw that the Indian was bringing 
 his visit to a close. 
 
 While Colonel Cliff was moving the bouquet-stand back 
 to its original position, and was contemplating the ruin 
 which Pleasant had wrought among his flowers, the young 
 Cherokee took the hand which Alice extended to him, and 
 became gently engrossed in something he saw in her eyes. 
 He would not have released the soft virginal palm for 
 an indefinite period had not Alice confusedly and hastily 
 signified her desire that he should return to his senses. 
 When he did remember where he was, he said 
 
 " You are very tired now, and I am afraid that I have 
 wearied you." His voice fell, but Alice heard all that he 
 said. " If you could know what joy it gives me to see that 
 you are recovering ! And I may come to-morrow, or the 
 day after ? ' ' 
 
 " We shall always be glad to see you, Mr. Merrinott," 
 said Alice, looking at her mother as if to indicate that she 
 desired Mrs. Ilarrelston's confirmation of this statement. 
 But that lady contented herself with bidding the Indian 
 good morning, and after he had gone, bowing formally, 
 through the hall door, she said 
 
 " Mr. Merrinott is a singular person." 
 
 "He is a good fellow," said the Colonel, warmly. 
 " Innocent of the world, and confiding. Do you know, I 
 really hope he will not get into the hands of any of these 
 clever Russian conspirators. They might turn his head." 
 
 "Do you think there is any danger for him?" said 
 Alice. 
 
 " Hum ! I don't know. Paris is full of snares for those 
 who arc not wary," answered the Colonel, with an air of 
 fatherly wisdom. And presently he took his leave with a 
 certain wistful tenderness in his manner, which did not
 
 THE WARNING. 297 
 
 escape Alice's notice, although she affected not to per- 
 ceive it. 
 
 When he had gone Mrs. Harrelston left Alice alone for 
 a few minutes, warning her that she would soon be sum- 
 moned to retire. The girl leaned back in her chair and 
 looked out over the pretty garden, at that moment radiant 
 with sunshine. Suddenly a figure appeared at the gate 
 the figure of an old man, clad in a shabb}' great-coat, 
 and with a battered hat shading his face. Alice was sur- 
 prised to see him pause, remove his hat, showing vener- 
 able features, seamed with scars and wrinkles, and make a 
 low bow, evidently intended for her. She at once remem- 
 bered Bertine's description of the old man who had brought 
 Vera's bouquet, and murmured to herself, " It must be 
 the same man ! What can he want with me ! ' ' 
 
 The patriarch clapped his hat on again, and glanced 
 behind him as if he were afraid of being followed. Then 
 he plunged one hand into a pocket of his ancient coat, 
 drew forth a little white parcel tied with a red string, 
 pointed at Alice, nodded his head as if to indicate that the 
 bundle was for her, and threw it into the garden, where it 
 lodged near the half-unearthed roots of a lilac-bush. Alice 
 followed its flight from his hand to the ground with her 
 gaze, and then glanced up at the gateway again. The old 
 man was gone. 
 
 Bertine came in at that moment to take her young mis- 
 tress's orders. 
 
 " Step down into the garden, Bertine,". said Alice, 
 " and bring me that odd-looking piece of paper near the 
 lilac tree." 
 
 She pointed out the place, and spoke imperiously, so 
 that Bertine understood she was not expected to display 
 any curiosity. In another minute Alice held the missive 
 in her hand. 
 
 " Now ask mamma if I may have some tea," she said ;
 
 298 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " I feel faint." And when she was alone again she tore 
 open the letter. For it was merely a letter, written on a 
 large piece of coarse white paper, and tied instead of 
 sealed. It contained these words in English, in a cramped, 
 old-fashioned script 
 
 " Beautiful lady, do not set your heart upon the young 
 Indian. His duty and his inclination will lead him away 
 from you. It is to spare you pain that I give you this 
 warning. Accept it as from a friend, and do not trifle 
 with the course of destiny. If it becomes necessar}* for 
 me to send you a second message, I will use means to 
 convince you of the wisdom of my advice." 
 
 There was no signature. The English spelling was 
 correct, but the handwriting was evidently that of a for- 
 eigner. Alice could hear her heart beating loudly and 
 with unwonted rapidity as she folded the paper and placed 
 it carefully in her pocket. The mystery and the impudence 
 of the warning, and the anxiety which this sudden inter- 
 ference of a stranger in her as yet unexpressed preferences 
 aroused, brought with them new strength. Alice felt a 
 keener desire than ever to recover her health that she 
 might ferret out this secret adviser and get at the motive 
 of the advice so strangely proffered. She shut her eyes 
 and tried to think carefully, but she was surprised to find 
 that the image of Mademoiselle Vera constantly obtruded 
 itself upon her mental vision.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 SAVE ME ! 
 
 ALICE grew better so fast that Mr. Harrelston daily 
 congratulated himself upon the success of his experiment, 
 of the need for which even Mrs. Harrelston no longer 
 ventured to express many doubts. The anxious mother was 
 somewhat reconciled to her husband's radical method of 
 treating the daughter's malady, because she fancied that 
 she could detect in the demeanour of Alice a growing cold- 
 ness with regard to Pleasant Merriuott. " I hope she is 
 recovering her senses," was the mother's thought. And 
 she fell to studying, more earnestly than ever, means by 
 which she might render what she was pleased to consider 
 Mr. Merrinott's plot against her peace of mind of no avail. 
 There was but one thing which caused her to hesitate 
 in her counterplots, and this was a mysterious sadness which 
 seemed to have fastened upon Alice's usually merry and 
 kindly temperament. In company the girl appeared to 
 have recovered her old spirits, but when she fancied her- 
 self alone she gave way to profound melancholy. Her 
 mother took measures to observe her, and was once or 
 twice on the point of asking for an explanation of these 
 moods, vaguely fearing that they might proceed from some 
 hidden disastrous cause of which she knew nothing. Yet 
 each time that she had fully decided to bring Alice to con- 
 
 299
 
 300 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 fessiou, she remembered that her daughter had always 
 merited, as she had ever enjoyed, her fullest confidence, 
 and she felt as if to question her were wrong. So she 
 watched and waited. But she discovered nothing. 
 
 The truth was that Alice was fighting a great battle in 
 her soul. She could not fully make up her miud to doubt 
 the truth, the loyalty of' Pleasant's devotion, and she felt 
 that she loved him more than tongue could tell. Now that 
 she had become familiar with his originalities she liked 
 them better than the polished conventional ways of the 
 city-bred young and old men who came to her father's 
 house. There had been moments when Pleasant' s pro- 
 vincialism, his rusticity, had offended her delicate taste. 
 At times she had ventured to think that she might find his 
 origin and his peculiar complexion unpleasant, and a trifle 
 ridiculous, when she saw them in the clear and refined 
 atmosphere of Paris, but she had finally laid aside all 
 fears on that score. The youthful Cherokee was as 
 romantic and impressive in the capital as he had appeared 
 when she first beheld him in Interlaken. The nameless 
 charm which had then enthralled her heart, and held it a 
 willing captive when they were together in the valley of 
 Meiringen, was as powerful as as first. She loved the 
 strange contrasts in Pleasant's nature, the almost feminine 
 weakness which he manifested at times, and the savage 
 lack of restraint, the primitive fearlessness of opinion and 
 consequences, which came swiftly in defiance of the 
 gentler and feebler traits in his complex nature. 
 
 But yet she was beginning to doubt, and she suffered 
 as only noble natures can suffer. She did not distrust his 
 fidelity to herself ; and it was not merely the dread of losing 
 the affection which he surely felt for her that wounded 
 her spirit. It was a growing fear that he was in danger 
 of proving untrue to himself, of falling into some snare, 
 or of being led astray and made the instrument of design-
 
 SAVE ME ! 301 
 
 ing persons. Of course she was ready to rise against the 
 influence which was likely to destroy her happiness the 
 moment she could see it through the thick darkness which 
 surrounded her. In the midst of this darkness there was 
 one figure which constantly stood out in luminous relief 
 and that was the form of Vera. "With the unerring 
 feminine instinct, Alice discerned that that woman could, 
 if she willed to do so, wield influence over Pleasant Merri- 
 uott, and she trembled as she thought that this intruding 
 stranger could blast her happiness with a breath. 
 
 It happened that Pleasant, who had become a privileged 
 visitor at the Harrelstons' house, found Alice alone one 
 afternoon, although Mrs. Harrelston generally took ample 
 precautions against such a contingency. Alice was in the 
 library, dressed for a ride in the Bois, and trying to dis- 
 tract her attention from her doubts by reading one of the 
 Paris morning papers while waiting for her mother. Her 
 eyes fell upon a little article headed " The Science of 
 Conspiracy,'' and, without knowing exactly why, she began 
 to read it. The author alluded to the Nihilist refugees 
 from Russia then supposed to be at work in Switzerland 
 and in Paris, perfecting their plans, and he indulged in 
 a classification of these determined conspirators into three 
 classes. Alice slowly conned the details. Nihilists in class 
 the first, it appeared, were in favour of a purely political 
 revolution ; Nihilists in class the second, of a political 
 revolution followed by a social and economical one ; but 
 Nihilists in class the third and these, said the author, 
 were most formidable and dangerous desired the total 
 overturning of the present order of things and an absolute 
 levelling down. "This last-named section," continued 
 the writer, " detests the past, abhors what it calls archaic 
 studies, wishes to abolish science, demands the destruction 
 of monuments and libraries, and would preserve only the 
 useful trades, and perhaps not all of those."
 
 302 THE GENTLE SAVA.GE. 
 
 N 
 
 "Dreamers! they are mad!" said the girl, laying 
 down the paper, and starting violentl}' as she heard a ring 
 at the garden gate, and looking up saw the young Indian 
 with his impatient hand on the latch. 
 
 Pleasant glanced out at the window as he came into the 
 library. " I am so glad to find you alone," he said has- 
 tily, coming up to her with his swift noble gait, and look- 
 ing down into her tender face. "Oh, Alice ! tell me 
 quickly, before anyone comes to interrupt us, what I have 
 done to wound you. Have I hoped in vain ? I feel that 
 you are right angry with me." 
 
 It was one of the few times that he had called her 
 ' ' Alice ' ' since the memorable night on the terrace at 
 Berne, and the sudden endearing familiarity, which he 
 took with the proud unconsciousness of one who assume* 
 his right, pleased her more than she was willing to admit. 
 
 "Answer me ! " he said, passionately. " I cannot sleep 
 until you do. If I should lose your love your confi- 
 dence I may say your love, may I not, Alice ? it 
 would drive me to despair." 
 
 She had been looking at the huge bronze on her father's 
 writing-desk, but now she looked up at him, with a 
 startled expression, and Pleasant' s heart bounded joy- 
 ously as he saw that there were teal's in her eyes. Her 
 silence was more eloquent than words. 
 
 " Speak, Alice ! " said Pleasant, throwing his hat upon 
 a chair, as she had seen him throw it many times, with a 
 gesture as if he were preparing for a struggle, and meant 
 to cast aside everything that annoyed him. " Speak, and 
 set my mind at rest. I need your love to-day more than 
 I ever needed it before. Without it I should be so weary 
 of the world that I ' 
 
 " What would you do? " said the girl, breathlessly. 
 
 " I don't know ; something desperate, I reckon. Every- 
 thing goes wrong in this wretched world ; everything here
 
 SAVE ME ! 303 
 
 is tainted by injustice and oppression and guilt ; every- 
 thing seems lost, unfit to endure everything except you. 
 If there was ever an angel on earth, it is you. If there 
 was ever one who could save men, it is you ! Oh, Alice ! 
 save me ! ' ' 
 
 This plea conquered her. She was in his arms, on his 
 breast ; his kisses were on her brow, her eyes, her hair. 
 She was glad she had yielded. She was proud that he 
 could draw her resistlessly to himself, and fold her in 
 those strong arms, which held her so gently yet so 
 firmly. 
 
 And he had asked her to save him ! He was in danger ; 
 some secret grief weighed upon his spirit. In his inco- 
 herent passion he had spoken the very prayer of his soul, 
 and she had flown to answer it. Save him ! Save him ! 
 Joy ! By that sign she would conquer any and every 
 invisible enemy that threatened to take him from her and 
 to do him deadly harm ! 
 
 What she said to him she knew not. What he mur- 
 mured as he held her in his embrace she heard not. Her 
 whole being was engrossed in the mighty joy of loving, 
 of being loved. In those consummate moments of pure 
 passion when two virgin hearts are made one, language 
 gives way to the inarticulate ; grammar is too weak to 
 contain the emotions which burst its bonds as swollen 
 torrents break down barriers. Their lips met in one long- 
 entrancing final kiss, full of the intoxication of youth and 
 love and joy, and then Alice released herself, not without 
 difficult}', from her lover's arms. 
 
 As she turned, with paling face, to the window, with the 
 thought that some one might have seen Master Pleasant' s 
 frenzy and her own weakness, the memory of the mys- 
 terious letter which the old messenger had thrown down 
 beside the roots of the lilac tree came to give her a sharp 
 pain. Her first impulse was to turn to Pleasant, to take
 
 304 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the letter from its concealment in her bosom, to hand it 
 to him. and to ask him what it meant. Who was it that 
 dared to warn her not to accept the love of this youth who 
 adored her, and to whom her heart yearned? She must 
 know ! Her hand strayed to the letter's hiding place. 
 In another moment she might know all. 
 
 But ere that moment had ended there was a light foot- 
 step in the hall, a timid knock at the library door. Pleas- 
 ant turned quick!}' away to contemplate the garden walk, 
 and Alice was arranging her bonnet-strings before a tiny 
 mirror set in a silver frame in a corner of the mantel- 
 piece, when Miss Caro Merlin entered. She understood 
 the situation as soon as Alice turned to greet her. There 
 was a radiance upon Miss Harrelston's lovely face which 
 could be due to only one cause. 
 
 " Excuse me, Alice dear, for popping in unannounced," 
 said Caro, "but no one came to answer the bell, and, 
 finding the garden gate ajar, I strayed in." 
 
 "Just in time to join me in a ride in the Bois," said 
 Alice, recovering her self-possession, and hastening to 
 greet Caro. "The garden gate ajar! Mr. Merrinott, I 
 fear that is your fault. However, as it has spared Miss 
 Merlin some trouble, you are forgiven. But where are 
 the servants? " And she stepped into the hall. 
 
 She came back presently, and stood looking at Caro 
 and Pleasant, who were chatting together, for a full minute 
 before she spoke. It was as if she were making up her 
 mind whether she ought to speak or not. At last she said, 
 with a forced smile 
 
 "An adventure! The reason that j'ou were obliged 
 to wait, Caro, is an odd one. All the servants are in the 
 back garden, among the shrubbery, hunting for a strange 
 man who has strayed in, and whom the coachman thinks 
 is burglariously inclined. Mamma is watching the search 
 from an upper window with indignation and enthusiasm.
 
 SAVE ME ! 305 
 
 And the maid-servants are so frightened that I suppose 
 they did not hear the bell." 
 
 "A burglar !" said Caro. "Mr. Merrinott ! Do go 
 and scalp him ! Be romantic ! " 
 
 " I was thinking," said Pleasant, speaking slowly, and 
 in a troubled way, " that once or twice on my road here 
 this afternoon it seemed to me that I was followed by a 
 man I had never seen before. His movements were so 
 curious that if we had been on the prairie I should have 
 made him pass and keep ahead of me ; but I was not 
 certain that that sort of thing would work here. I lost 
 sight of him just as I entered this avenue." 
 
 Alice looked puzzled. The conversation turned upon 
 another fruitful topic Mr. Merrinott's culpable negli- 
 gence in not having visited the Merlins more than once 
 since his return from Switzerland. 
 
 " There's no man in the garden after all," said Mrs. 
 Harrelston, bustling in, equipped for the drive. " Miss 
 Caro, I am glad to see you. Alice, we shall take her 
 with us. Ah ! Mr. Merrinott ! You are unlucky to-day ; 
 you arrive just as we are going for a drive. The carriage 
 is at the gate. Will you forgive us ? It is such a rare 
 afternoon ! Now, Alice dear, are you well wrapped up?" 
 And Alice's mother had the young ladies on the way to 
 the carriage before the Indian had finished his rather con- 
 fused apologies, had signalled an eloquent good-bye to 
 Alice, and had got twenty yards down the street. 
 
 Alice found herself looking carefully at the lilac tree as 
 she passed it, for she could not help believing that the re- 
 ported apparition in the garden had some connection with 
 another anonymous message for her. But no paper was 
 there. She talked with a merriment that she did not feel as 
 she reclined on the soft cushions of the roomy open carriage, 
 and felt the gentle October breeze fanning her temples. 
 
 Caro, seated opposite her, was curiously silent, for she
 
 306 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 knew not what to say. She had come to the Harrelston'a 
 that afternoon determined to confer with Alice on the sub- 
 ject of Mademoiselle Vera. Caro had become convinced 
 that that extraordinary young woman had been the object 
 of minute investigation on the part of Colonel Cliff since 
 she had talked with him about her, and that some odd 
 reason prevented him from telling her the result of his in- 
 quiries. " Perhaps he has told Alice," thought the girl; 
 " or if he has not, perhaps Pleasant Merrinott, who sees 
 so much of Mademoiselle Vera, has done so. I must ask 
 her." So she had forthwith deserted her studies, taken a 
 cab, and hastened to Alice, to find her alone with the 
 young Indian. Caro felt that it would not be delicate or 
 proper to bring up the subject of Pleasant's relations to 
 Vera on that particular afternoon, so she contented herself 
 with answering Mi's. Harrelstou's questions about her 
 debut at La Vange's concert, which was to occur ten days 
 sooner than originally intended. 
 
 ' ' I tremble when I think of the twenty-first of October 
 
 that is the date now," said Miss Merlin ; " and as for 
 ma, I'm afraid she will have hysterics before all the prep- 
 arations are finished. You see so much depends on it, for 
 if I succeed I am sure to be engaged to make my d&but in 
 the London spring season. In London. Think of it ! Oh 
 dear ! I am afraid it is a magnificent dream." 
 
 "Not at all, my dear," said Mrs. Harrelston, kindly. 
 "Let us hope, on the contrary, that it will be a superb 
 reality. Eric shall send for a box for us to-morrow. And 
 does Monsieur Stanislas continue to prophesy good things 
 for you ? ' ' 
 
 " He does, indeed," said Caro, blushing; "and Melari 
 says that Stanislas, in spite of his youth and his enthusiasm 
 
 because you know he is famous for the latter quality is 
 one of the best judges in Europe. But I don't know " 
 
 She sighed and looked down. They came into the
 
 SAVE., ME ! 307 
 
 throng and were soon moving slowly around the lake in 
 company with the thousands of good, bad, and indifferent 
 folk who go out to the famous wood to see and to be 
 seen. Mrs. Harrelston watched the movements of an 
 elderly English woman who that day made herself the ob- 
 served of all observers by driving a pair of high-stepping 
 bay horses, and handling the reins as if she had been; 
 bred to the art. Caro languidly gazed at the flocks of 
 gabbling ducks, engaged in their eternal dispute with the 
 white swans on the sward by the lake ; and Alice was 
 scanning the quadruple rank of luxurious vehicles and 
 the variegated assemblage of ladies of every rank in the 
 social scale when, standing on the walk next the outer 
 rank, in which the Harrelston carriage was slowly trun- 
 dling along, and so near that he could, if he chose, place 
 his hand upon her arm when she came up to him, the 
 girl saw the old man with the scarred and wrinkled face 
 
 the aged messenger who had left her- the anonymous 
 note of warning. His recognition was-, as instant as her 
 own ; he had evidently learned of her intention to ride 
 in the Bois, and awaited her there. Her curiosity to see 
 what he would do was so great that it quite vanquished 
 her sense of repulsion and fright, and she leaned forward, 
 observing his movements. The old man quickly took 
 from one of the pockets of his greasy coat a bundle of 
 printed papers, which he began coolly to distribute to the 
 occupants of the carriages directly preceding that of the 
 Harrelstons. Alice held her breath as she came face to< 
 face with the old man. He raised his eyes to hers with 
 a gentle expression, in which there was something of 
 entreaty, and laid a paper upon her lap. 
 
 "What is that, daughter?" said Mrs. Harrelstom. 
 " Some advertisement, I suppose. Do throw it away. I 
 thought it was forbidden to annoy people with circulars 
 
 and things in the Bois."
 
 308 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said Alice, whose hand had closed 
 tightly upon a note tied with red cord, like the first one 
 that she had received, and artfully concealed under the 
 other paper, " it is a circular. Annexe de la Banqne des 
 Indes. What impudence ! " And she cast it out to flutter 
 down to the sand in the road. A moment afterward she 
 managed to transfer the small note to her pocket without 
 attracting attention. 
 
 That ride seemed interminable to Alice. When they 
 were once more at home, and while Mrs. Harrelston was 
 urging Caro to stay to dinner, the girl managed to escape 
 to her own room for a few minutes. She tore open the 
 missive and read it through two or three times. It was 
 written in the same foreign chirography as the other, and 
 contained these words : 
 
 " Beautiful lady, as you did not take notice of my first 
 warning, forgive me for sending you another. I told you 
 that I would convince you of the wisdom of my advice 
 that you should not set your heart upon the young Ameri- 
 can. If you will come to the address written below, to- 
 night or to-morrow night, between ten and eleven o'clock, 
 I will show you something that will teach you how useless 
 it is to interfere with the course of destiny. You need 
 not be afraid to come alone ; or you can bring your maid 
 with you if you like ; you will be in no danger from an 
 old man who is earnest in his wish to spare you pain, and 
 to show you why your choice is not wise." 
 
 At the bottom of the sheet was the name of a street, 
 of which Alice had never heard, and the number " 41." 
 
 The girl sat down in a fauteuil and tried to consider 
 calmly what it was best to do. Thes* anonymous letters 
 did not come from Mademoiselle Vera, then? Of this 
 there no longer seemed any doubt. Alice felt as if this 
 conviction afforded her great relief. What could she do? 
 
 The fire of resolution shone in her dark eyes, and she
 
 SAVE ME! 309 
 
 rose up with the air of one thoroughly resolved upon a 
 great effort for success. 
 
 " He asked me to save him, and I will save him ! " she 
 whispered, as she rang the bell for Bertine, and began to 
 prepare for dinner. " I will go to the old man's rendez- 
 vous this very night, and I will know all ! " 
 
 Had that venerable apostle of destruction, Ignatius, 
 the Jewish instrument maker, whom Pleasant had seen 
 with Stanislas and Vera in Berne, and who had been 
 watching Pleasant's movements ever since, realized that 
 instead of frightening Alice into relinquishing her attach- 
 ment to the young Indian, he had, by his anonymous 
 appeals to her, made her a thousand times more resolved 
 than ever to cling to Pleasant, and to rescue him from any 
 peril that threatened, he would have admitted that for 
 once he had not shown that knowledge of human nature 
 which is reasonably to be expected of an arch-conspirator.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 TRIAJL AND PARTING. 
 
 WHEN Alice came downstairs, and learned that Caro had 
 decided to stay to dinner, and that her father and mother 
 were going to the opera, her eyes shone more brightly than 
 ever. Her plan was instantly formed. The early dinner 
 was unceremonious, and quickly served, as Mr. and Mrs. 
 Harrelston wished to be in their Idge for the first act of La 
 Juive. Alice talked but little, and Caro attributed her 
 reticence to her preoccupation with her love. Poor little 
 Miss Merlin would have given the world to have thrown 
 her arms around Alice's neck, and to have passed an hour 
 in confessing and hearing confession of the joys and pains 
 which love awakens in maidens' hearts, but something told 
 her that Alice was in no mood to confess Just yet. u She 
 will tell me by-aud-by," thought Misa Merlin ; " she can't 
 keep it to herself." 
 
 Over dessert Alice talked a bit about her health, 
 announced that her recovery was complete, that she felt 
 stronger than ever, and believed the fever had been a 
 beneficent visitor. Mr, and Mrs. Harrelston exchanged 
 glances, and it was easy to see that they were delighted 
 at what Alice had said. 
 
 " But you must not be prodigal of your new strength, 
 daughter," Haid the banker. "And, above all, be careful 
 not to venture into the night air," 
 310
 
 TEIAL AND PASTING. 311 
 
 " Qh, you are too careful of me, papa," said Alice, who 
 felt very guilty, but went ou forming her plan with great 
 determination. 
 
 " Let Caro have the coupe, and let Bertine accompany 
 her home, when her visit is ended," said Mrs. Harrelston 
 to Alice, as she rang for her own carnage. " And now, 
 young ladies, don't prolong your gossip until a late hour. 
 Miss Caro, keep up courage about your debut. Alice, if 
 you are not asleep when I return, I shall have to scold 
 you. Good night." 
 
 Before the sound of the carriage-wheels had died away 
 in the distance, Alice had summoned Bertine to her rooms, 
 leaving Caro idly turning over music-books at the piano 
 in a little parlour. Alice closed the door, and laid her 
 hand lightly on her maid's shoulder. 
 
 "Bertine," she said, impulsively, "tu m'aimes, n'est 
 ce pas ? ' ' 
 
 Bertine stared at her young mistress for a moment, 
 and then, in her quaint German-French, at once asseverated 
 that she would cut off her right hand, or walk a thousand 
 leagues, to please Mademoiselle Alice. Furthermore, she 
 did not know what she could have done to displease 
 Mademoiselle ; and she began to wring her apron, to twist 
 her shoulders, and to cry. 
 
 " Dry j-our eyes, you foolish girl," said Alice. " Bertine, 
 I am going to do something to-night which may seem 
 strange, imprudent, wrong, to you, or to any one else who 
 hears of it. I wish you to accompany me, to help me, 
 and to say nothing about it to any living soul, except 
 Guillaume, the coachman. Do you hear? " 
 
 " Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle! What are you going to 
 do?" stammered Bertine, before whose eyes flashed a 
 terrifying vision of the dark-faced Indian eloping with 
 her mistress in hasty and melodramatic fashion. Then, 
 without waiting for an answer, and wiping her eyes, she
 
 312 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 added, stoutly, "But whatever Mademoiselle does, and 
 wherever she goes, she can count on me." 
 
 " Thank you, Bertine. We shall do nothing of which 
 we need be ashamed, but it may look a little odd. Now 
 listen. When Miss Merlin goes home, you and I will 
 accompany her in the carriage. We will not get out at 
 her house, but as soon as we have bidden her good night, 
 Guillaume must drive rapidly away. Only instead of 
 coming back here, he must hurry as fast as he can to 
 to She took the anonymous letter from her pocket 
 
 and glanced at the address of old Ignatius. " To the Rue 
 I will copy it for you ; it's such an odd name No. 41 ; 
 and he must wait for us at the corner of the street until 
 we return. It is in the neighbourhood of the Luxembourg. 
 We shall be at the No. 41 only a few minutes, and then 
 he must drive us back as quickly as he possibly can, so 
 that we can be at home long before mother and father 
 return from the opera. Do you understand? Don't stand 
 staring at me like that ! It is an errand of charity that 
 we are going on only it must be kept a profound 
 secret. Go and tell Guillaume, and mind that he says 
 not a word to any of the other servauts." 
 
 "Yes, Mademoiselle," said Bertine, taking a slip of 
 written paper which her mistress handed her, and staring 
 rather wildly. "Is Mademoiselle not afraid to go away 
 over the river a 
 
 "Bertine! Go and give the instructions, and that 
 paper to Guillaume, and be ready to start." 
 
 Alice returned to Caro, and was so bright and enter- 
 taining for an hour, that Miss Merlin was loth to depart. 
 But when the clock struck nine she arose. 
 
 " I must go, dear," she said. " At ten ma would have 
 a fit. She has an idea that Paris is a place in which a 
 young woman is in constant danger of abduction." 
 
 " Must you go?" said Miss Harrclston. "Well, the
 
 TRIAL AND PAETING. 313 
 
 carriage will be at the door in a few minutes, and I will 
 drive with you to your door. I shall have Bertine for my 
 escort back, and the sight of the streets will do me good." 
 
 "Oh, Alice, I shall not hear of such a thing," said 
 Caro, looking quite terrified. "What would your mother 
 sa}' ? And the night air ! ' ' 
 
 " Fudge ! " said Alice. " Not a breath of air can get 
 into that coup6 of ours it's a dreadfully ill- ventilated old 
 thing. And I want to ride after Alzor, the new horse 
 who goes like the wind. Papa drives to the bank with 
 him in fifteen minutes." 
 
 The carriage was called ; Bertine appeared bearing 
 various dark-coloured wraps, and a black lace shawl, and 
 Alice and Caro, comfortably installed in the richly fur- 
 nished coupe, with the little maid nestling on a stool in 
 front of them, were soon whirling across the city in the 
 direction of Caro's residence. The new horse Alzor was 
 certainly a treasure ; his twinkling hoofs made mock of 
 space ; the carriage flew down the long wooded avenue in 
 the Bois, past the mansions around the Triumphal Arch, 
 down the Avenue de la Reine Hortense, and had turned 
 the corners of the Pare Monceau, and was n earing Mont- 
 martre before Alice could collect her thoughts. Caro 
 looked sharply at her companion once or twice. She 
 fancied that she could hear Alice's heart beating loudly, 
 and she began to imagine that there was something wrong ; 
 but just as she was about to ask, impulsively, a leading 
 question, Alice clapped her hands, praised Alzor's speed 
 so merrily, and seemed so natural once more, that Miss 
 Merlin's suspicions were disarmed. 
 
 Alzor's ardour was a trifle calmed by the extremely 
 steep hill up which he had to draw the carriage before 
 reaching the Rue de 1'Orieut, and when he stopped at 
 Mrs. Merlin's gate he blew a blast from his nostrils which 
 was loud enough to have alarmed all the neighbourhood,
 
 314 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 and which brought Caro's mother out of the shadow of 
 a tree where she had been nervously waiting the girl's 
 return. 
 
 "Mercy! what's that?" said Mrs. Merlin, coming to 
 the carriage window. "Is that boss possessed of a demon ? 
 Caro ! Oh ! it's reel good of them to send you home in 
 a kerridge. What, Alice ! Well enough to be out o' 
 nights. Come right in. Caro," she said, lowering her 
 voice, " Stanislas is up in your study-room, a playin' fit 
 to draw tears out of the walls. He's mortal distracted 
 and worried about something. I give him a right broad 
 hint to go, but he said he would stay until you come in." 
 
 Alice found it hard to decline Mrs. Merlin's pressing 
 invitation to " come in and stay long enough to take a cup 
 of tea. Afraid your mother'll come back and find you 
 out? Well, she won't scold you any more for an hour 'n 
 she will for half an hour, will she? I'm sure you're very 
 kind to bring ' ' 
 
 Guillaume reiued the demon-horse Alzor round about, 
 the creature's hoofs clattered on the stones, and the 
 carriage was whirling away before Mrs. Merlin had 
 finished her sentence. 
 
 " I wonder if Alice ain't jest a leetle stuck up now and 
 then ? ' ' was her reflection as she followed her daughter in. 
 
 Alice's heart beat more loudly than ever as the carriage 
 flashed along the precipitous descent of the Rue Lepic, 
 awakening angry comments from the bare-headed work- 
 women, who narrowly escaped immolation by Alzor as 
 they wearily climbed homeward, and as the light vehicle 
 rolled down the Rue Blanche, through the Place de la 
 Trinit^, and away to the grand boulevards. As she passed 
 the Opera she looked at her watch. It was a quarter to 
 ten. " If mamma should take a sudden fancy to return 
 home before the Opera is over, what a scene is in store for 
 me ! " thought the girl. But then arose the all-absorbing
 
 TEIAL AND PARTING. 315 
 
 thought of her mission. There was a secret to unravel 
 a man to save from some mysterious danger. Should she 
 not make one earnest effort to protect her love? Who 
 could blame her? 
 
 She grew bolder as she approached the scene of the 
 meeting, which was perhaps to be of capital importance to 
 her future peace and happiness. Her lips were firmly 
 closed ; her eyes shone like twin stars ; the heavenly 
 colour came into her cheeks the real rose of the dawn 
 appropriate enough, for a great resolve was dawning in 
 her spirit. She knew not whom she was to meet, or what 
 she was to say, but she felt confident that she was to find 
 out how to save Pleasant Merrinott from becoming the 
 dupe of conspirators from sacrificing his future, from 
 being drawn away from her ! 
 
 The Rue de la Paix the Place Vendome a panoramic 
 glimpse of the arcades of the Rue de Rivoli a rattle over 
 the half-deserted spaces of the Place du Carrousel a look 
 into the smoothly flowing Seine from the arch of a bridge 
 then a long whirl through narrow, ill-smelling, and poorly 
 lighted streets ! Alice began to feel as if her courage 
 would ebb away. She grasped Bertine's hand so tightly 
 that the poor girl winced. Her head was hot, and it 
 seemed to her as if the passers-by turned around to stare 
 after her and to comment upon her extraordinary conduct. 
 One of the wheels struck a loose stone and gave the carnage 
 a severe shaking. Alice sprang up from her seat, trembling 
 in every limb. Then she sank down again, drawing the 
 black lace shawl over her head and concealing her face, 
 and so she remained, leaning back in a corner, with 
 Bertine's quizzical and half-terrified eyes looking up at 
 her, until the carriage stopped. Her heart gave a great 
 bound as Guillauine opened the door. 
 
 " Mademoiselle will perhaps find it better that I should 
 wait here, as the street is very narrow, aiid a carriage like
 
 316 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ours is a rare sight in these parts," said the coachman, 
 whose grave, impassive face betrayed no curiosity, and 
 would have manifested none had he been convinced that 
 he were driving to a rendezvous of witches or demons. 
 " This is the street, and the odd numbers are on the right 
 side. Forty-one ; it is not far. Shall I step and see? " 
 
 " No, thank you ! Come, Bertine ! " said Alice, cour- 
 ageously stepping down from the carriage and glancing 
 around her. " Guillaume, don't stir from this spot until 
 I return ! How long will it take you to drive home 
 swiftly?" 
 
 " Half an hour, Mademoiselle. It is a long " 
 
 "We shall come back in a few minutes." And the 
 figures of the two girls glided into the shadows which 
 overhung the mean-looking street. 
 
 Guillaume watched them until they disappeared in a 
 doorway. Then he climbed back to his seat, and began 
 to wonder what it all meant. He had been sitting there 
 but a few moments when a circumstance occurred which 
 set him to wondering more earnestly, and caused him 
 serious annoyance. A black-looking fellow in a silk cap 
 and a blue blouse loomed up, seemingly out of nowhere, 
 beside Alzor's head, and put out his hand as if to fondle 
 the high-spirited animal. 
 
 " Look out for your claws, my ancient ; my horse bites," 
 said Guillauine, in the familiar and contemptuous language 
 of the street. 
 
 " Perhaps you will tell me, my fine fellow, whose car- 
 riage this is," said the man in the blouse, in a soft, caress- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Perhaps I will not," said Guillaume. " And you just 
 move away from my horse's head. The butt end of my 
 whip is hard." 
 
 The man in the blouse laughed aloud. " You won't 
 tell us, won't you? You are original, as original as a
 
 TRIAL AND PARTING. 317 
 
 porcelain dog. Never mind, my hearty, we shall know 
 soon enough without any of your aid. But thank you all 
 the same." And he disappeared. 
 
 " Un mouchard!"* said Guillaume, in dismay and 
 under his breath. " Now, what does this all mean? This 
 is what one gets himself into by working for strangers. 
 B-r-r-r ! I feel cold all down my back ! " 
 
 Alice and Bertine stopped a moment, breathless and 
 hot, as they entered the dark passage-way in the old house 
 on which the}- saw the mysterious number, "41." Alice 
 thought that she saw a figure stir in a corner, and she 
 drew back, instinctively putting out both hands as if to 
 protect herself. "Who am I to ask for? There is no 
 porter's lodge here. How am I to know? I shall faint 
 if I have to wait in this dreadful place ! ' ' These were 
 her thoughts, and by the timorous manner in which 
 Bertine clung to her skirts she learned that small depend- 
 ence was to be placed on the poor maid. She felt her way 
 to the wall and leaned against it, trying to resolve on a 
 course of action. Just then she heard the sound of foot- 
 steps slowly descending a flight of stairs, which she could 
 not see. 
 
 "Oh, Mademoiselle!" whispered Bertine, and she 
 turned to fly, but Alice caught her by her wrist, and held 
 her. 
 
 The footsteps came nearer. There was the feeble 
 twinkle of a candle, and in a moment Alice saw that she 
 stood at the foot of a tortuous and blackened stone stair- 
 way, such as one sees only in the ancient houses in the 
 most venerable quarters of Paris. Just at the turning 
 of the stairs stood the old man who had given her the two 
 warnings. He was protecting the glimmering flame of 
 his caudle with his hand, and although he peered forward, 
 Alice felt sure that he did not see her. 
 * A police spy.
 
 318 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Was I mistaken?" he said in a low voice, as if to 
 himself, but in English. " Or did I hear some one in- 
 quiring forme?" Then he bent his head and listened 
 intently. 
 
 Before she answered Alice looked very carefully at 
 him. It did not seem to her that there was anj-thing to 
 fear from that feeble old creature, whose face, framed as 
 it was in the darkness all about it, and brought out 
 strongly by the candle-light close to it, would have done 
 well enough for the picture of some aged saint, had there 
 not been a mingled expression of sternness and cunning 
 at the lips. 
 
 ""Well," thought Alice, " I am my father's daughter. 
 I have heard him say that he never knew what fear was. 
 Let me see if I can summon up a little of his courage." 
 She stepped forward, and answering in English, said 
 
 " Perhaps you heard us come in, sir? " 
 
 An expression of real joy flitted over the old man's 
 face. " I am glad that you have been kind enough to 
 come, daughter," he said. "You are the lady to whom 
 I gave the note to-day, are you not? " 
 
 "lam." 
 
 "Step up this way, please. Ah! you are not alone. 
 Oh ! it is your maid, I suppose. Come up two flights ; 
 you have nothing to fear ; and I will not detain you 
 long." 
 
 He held the light forward, and stood aside on the 
 narrow stone stairs to let Alice and Bertine pass. His 
 courtesy was ceremonious, and Alice liked the sound of 
 the English as he spoke it, with a certain primness which 
 betokened the foreigner who was determined to get every- 
 thing right. 
 
 After some stumbling, Alice found her way through 
 a low door into an humble room, scrupulously clean, and 
 very decently furnished. The tiles of the floor were red,
 
 TKIAL AND PARTING. 319 
 
 and gave a pleasant sheen under the flame of two candles 
 burning in a rusty candelabra on the table. In one corner 
 stood a small work-bench, covered with tools, and beneath 
 it were boxes and baskets filled with bits of iron, brass, 
 and copper. The old man came in behind Bertine, passed 
 through the room into another one at the side, left his 
 candle there, and returned. Then he gravely motioned 
 Alice to take a seat in a roomy wooden arm-chair, and 
 beckoning to Bertine, he said in French, with a smile, 
 " Can you read? " 
 
 Bertine answered very decidedly that she could. 
 
 "Well, as what I have to say to your mistress is 
 private, would you mind stepping into the next room? 
 You will find a light and some books on the table. You 
 can leave the door ajar, and when I have said what I have 
 to say, I will call you." 
 
 Alice was about to protest, but she rallied her courage, 
 and made a sign to Bertine that she was to obey. There 
 was nothing gruesome in this nook in a remote quarter 
 of Paris ; one of the long windows in the thick wall was 
 open, and through it Alice could see the October moon- 
 light shining on some vines on a high trellis. There were 
 flowers on the table ; a Paris evening paper and one or 
 two German books were within reach of Alice's hand. 
 "When Bertine had disappeared behind the door of the 
 other room, the old man carefully closed the one opening 
 on to the stairs, and then turning with almost mournful 
 look to her, he said 
 
 " My child, I will be very plain and very brief. You 
 are j'ouug, lovely, accomplished, rich, and happy. You 
 live a life that to millions of poorer people would seem an 
 ideal one. But shadows fall across the sunniest spots. 
 You see, my daughter," he added, almost apologetically, 
 "I know a great deal about life. I have endured it. I 
 think I could give advice, often, very often, which would
 
 320 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 save from much suffering. And so I have made bold to 
 offer to advise you, to warn you. Will you forgive me? " 
 
 "How can I forgive you when I do not understand 
 you?" said Alice, who was quite calm now, and who felt 
 that the crucial moment was at hand. " What do you 
 mean? What interest have you to warn me? As you 
 wish plainness of speech, let me help you to it." Here 
 her heart suddenly began beating violently again, as if 
 astonished at its owner's boldness. " You have given me 
 a written warning not to place my "affection upon Mr. 
 Pleasant Merrinott. Now, what is he to you? How run 
 it matter to you what he does, or whom he loves? Answer 
 me that, and then we shall comprehend each other better." 
 
 The old man sat down by the table, and leaned his 
 elbows on it, shielding his wrinkled face with his two 
 hands. 
 
 "The answer," he said, "is simple enough. Three 
 months ago the young Indian was no more to me than 
 any passer in the street might be. But since that time 
 Fate has thrown him in our way. Fate meant him for 
 one of us and he has joined his fortunes to ours. Do 
 I need to tell you who and what we are? " 
 
 " No, you do not ! You are conspirators ! Misguided, 
 unfortunate people, and }'ou are on the road to ruin!" 
 said Alice, hotly. 
 
 "You have said it," responded the old man, meekly. 
 " We are on the road to destruction and ruin, but a ruin 
 out of which we mean to construct a new and a better 
 world." 
 
 " Ah ! now I see it all ! " cried the girl, rising. Her 
 face was quite pale ; the lace shawl had fallen from her 
 head, and her excitement lent a lambent, spiritual flame 
 to her beauty. " I see it all ! You are the Nihilists, the 
 destructionists, of whom we have heard so much, and you 
 have drawn this iiuioceut young man into your plans, your
 
 TKIAL AND PASTING. 321 
 
 plots ! And now, what is it that you require? That he 
 should give up his love, his honour, everything, that you 
 may use him as an instrument of your will ! Why, sir, 
 I am only a girl, but it seems to me that I can read human 
 nature better than you have read it. Do you think that 
 I will give him up now, when what you have told me 
 makes it more than ever my duty to cling to him, to save 
 him? Never!" 
 
 "He is no longer his own master," said the old man, 
 who was momentarily becoming more and more the prey 
 of a mystical exaltation. " He is one of us. He is an 
 apostle of vengeance. He is a herald of destruction. He 
 has mighty wrongs to avenge. He has a mission beyond 
 the sea. He cannot retire. If you hold him from 
 his duty you destroy him. Draw back, my daughter, 
 from mysteries that you do not understand. It is yet 
 time. Seek your happiness, your love, elsewhere. Re- 
 member Pleasant Merrinott as one whom you have seen 
 in a dream. He is wedded to his work. The die is cast ; 
 the word is spoken ; he must henceforth be one of those 
 who work to destroy the world the society that has no 
 future ! " 
 
 " Sacrilege ! " said Alice. " Are you so presumptuous 
 that you do not tremble when you talk of blotting out, of 
 destroying, a society which a God died to redeem ! " 
 
 The old man was silent for a minute or two. But at 
 last he said, " It would be useless for us' to discuss these 
 matters. I should only shock your feelings. Some day, 
 when you hear the clock of destiny strike, you will feel 
 that we have not laboured in vain. But do be warned. 
 Believe me ; it is because I respect and reverence your 
 youth and beauty and goodness that I have warned you ! 
 Turn away, child of fortune that you are, from the thorny 
 path that the chosen ones must tread. The young Indian 
 might, for the sake of your love, prove false to his duty.
 
 322 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 If he should prove false now, no power on earth could 
 save him ; his death warrant would be sealed. If you 
 value his life, turn away from him, and forget him ! " 
 
 ' ' This is monstrous ! ' ' said Alice. ' ' You are criminals ! 
 I will not listen to such language ! I will have you 
 punished ! Do not think that I am afraid ! I will leave 
 this place ! Bertine ! ' ' 
 
 The old man arose, and gravely stroked his gray beard. 
 " My child," he said, " you are as free to go as you were to 
 come. No one will raise a hand against you. But do not 
 think that you can injure us. One two ten twenty 
 of us are taken away ; others quietly and silently take 
 their places. Believe me, you can do nothing. You are 
 in presence of a superior force. Your momentary interests 
 conflict with its eternal and immutable aims. Yield and 
 retire, before your heart is too deeply engaged. The 
 advice is harsh, but some day you will thank me for it." 
 
 "But what do you want to do with him with Mr. 
 Merrinott?" cried the girl desperately. "What miser- 
 able plot have you drawn him into ? Why did you not let 
 him attend to his noble mission, of protecting and saving 
 his own race his down-trodden Indians? " 
 
 " He will find greater consolation in greater work if 
 you will but leave him free to attend to it. Remember, 
 your love will be fatal to him, for it will make him false 
 to his sublime vow." 
 
 "My love shall save him!" said Alice, drawing her 
 shawl over her head and moving toward the door. 
 
 Bertiue, with flaming eyes and with pallid cheeks, 
 followed cautiously. She had sprung out from the other 
 room at the cry of her mistress, and was all aglow with 
 exasperation at the patriarch, of whose harangues she had 
 not understood a syllable. The old man took up a candle 
 as if to show them out. Alice's swift gaze photographed 
 upon her memory every detail of his appearance the face
 
 TRIAL AND PARTING. 323 
 
 seamed with wrinkles and scars ; the queer white curls in 
 front of each ear ; the stubby beard which he had allowed 
 to grow since he had left Switzerland ; and the frayed and 
 soiled long coat. He even cringed a bit before her keen 
 eyes. 
 
 Just as the venerable conspirator's hand was on the 
 latch, there was a noise on the staircase, the sound of 
 voices approached, and in a moment there was a knock 
 at the door. An ironical smile lighted up the face of 
 Ignatius. "It is better so," he muttered in his native 
 tongue, and motioning Alice and Bertine aside, he threw 
 the door wide open. Advancing a little, he held up the 
 candle so that the light fell full upon the faces of 
 Pleasant and Vera. 
 
 At this instant a most extraordinar}- revolution took 
 place in Alice's mind. As her determination to save 
 Pleasant had grown under the old man's menaces, her 
 tenderness and affection for him had also increased. But 
 now that she saw him side by side with the woman whom 
 she had from the first suspected as the author of the 
 mischief ; now that she saw Vera, with a curious expression 
 of joy and triumph on her face, holding Pleasant's hand 
 in hers, an unaffected and unabashed feeling of rage and 
 contempt gained possession of her. The rage was un- 
 reasoning but mighty, and directed against Vera. The 
 contempt was regretful but strong, and fell upon Pleasant. 
 
 The new-comers did not see the girls, and, before 
 entering, Vera said, solemnly 
 
 " Great news, brother. I am the chosen one." 
 
 In his excitement the old man let the candle drop from 
 his hands, and stood staring admiringly at Vera. Pleasant 
 unclasped Vera's hand from his, and stepped down to pick 
 up the light. The rustling of Bertine's garments caused 
 him to glance hastily at the spot where the girls stood 
 together.
 
 324 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Alice ! " he cried. " Alice ! here ! " 
 
 Vera turned her face slowly toward the girls. 
 
 "Strangers here, and at this solemn time," she said. 
 "Ignatius, do you know what risks you incur?" She 
 spoke in English, as she had spoken at first, because 
 Pleasant was with her. 
 
 Ignatius began to mutter something about a " good 
 motive," but no one listened, for Alice, wild with excite- 
 ment, could contain herself no longer. She stepped im- 
 periously to the door, motioning Vera to make way. 
 
 "I have seen and heard enough," she said to the old 
 man. " You were right to ask me here. I have learned 
 much. And now, good-bye to each and all of you for 
 ever! " 
 
 She was gone, with Bertine fluttering after her down 
 the stone staircase, into the darkness. 
 
 " Alice ! Alice ! " cried Pleasant, trying to follow her". 
 But the old man fell on his knees before him, and Vera 
 placed her hand on his shoulder, and he stood still. The 
 light faded out of his face. The shadow of the wings of 
 the angel of destruction had fallen upon him. 
 
 ****** 
 Alzor went home as swiftly as he had come, and, as the 
 clock in the library marked half-past eleven, Alice climbed 
 feebly up the stairs to her own rooms. When her mother 
 returned from the opera she listened at the girl's door, and 
 hearing no sound, fancied that she must have long been 
 asleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN. 
 
 PRESENTLY the old man arose, and stood with bowed head 
 at a little distance from Vera and Pleasant, in the attitude 
 of one who expected a reproof. Vera removed her hand 
 from the young Indian's shoulder, and walked to the 
 window, whence she looked down upon the peaceful, 
 moonlit garden. She was terribly agitated, and was 
 making a great effort to recover her calmness. Pleasant 
 fancied that he could feel his life ebbing awaj r . It seemed 
 to him that in that one minute when Alice's beautiful and 
 haughty face had flashed upon him out of the darkness, 
 he had lived a life-time, had exhausted all his strength 
 and courage. He stood staring at the door through 
 which Alice had disappeared ; that was all he felt capa- 
 ble of for the time. 
 
 He heard the ticking of a clock in a corner of the 
 adjoining room ; and each sound of the pendulum seemed 
 to strike a blow upon his heart. He had lost his love ! 
 he had lost his love ! a love that had seemed thrice 
 precious to him since he had learned how freely, how 
 loyally Alice had given him her heart ; how she had suffered 
 from his caprices and his neglect ; and how horror-stricken 
 and wretched she must now be, if she had learned of his 
 final determination. He had cast away his love to 
 engage in an enterprise which was, perhaps, a bitter and 
 
 325
 
 326 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 criminal folly ! He had hoped that there might be some 
 means of reconciling his devotion to her with the per- 
 formance of what he fancied to be his duty to these strange 
 acquaintances these mysterious artificers of destruction 
 this virginal priestess of Bakounin, and this ancient 
 mechanic, this builder of engines of Upheaval. Tick ! 
 tick ! The clock's monotonous voice maddened him ; his 
 head was heavy, and his brain began to reel. 
 
 Vera's voice aroused him. She had regained her nerve 
 now, and in her speech there was a peremptory ring. 
 
 " Ignatius ! " she said, " how came those women here 
 to-night? "Were you mad to expose us in this manner just 
 as we are on the point of success ? Explain ! Talk the 
 English ; let our new brother understand every thing. 
 Speak, man ! don't stand twisting your hands like that ! 
 We have more important matters to discuss when this is 
 settled." 
 
 " There is nothing to settle," said the old man, a little 
 uneasily. " After our brother had entered into a solemn 
 engagement with us, it was my duty to see that he was 
 not drawn away from his work by outside influences. This 
 young girl whom you saw here to-night was an outside 
 influence. I warned her that she must renounce our 
 brother ; that now he could devote himself to nothing but 
 the work. She did not heed my first warning ; so I wrote 
 to her that if she would come here I would convince her 
 that she must give up all interest in or affection for Mr. 
 Merrinott. Your sudden arrival aided me much. You 
 see that she is convinced ! " The old man said these last 
 words in a mocking manner, rendered doubly effective by 
 the slight foreign drawl with which he spoke English. 
 
 Pleasant turned fiercely upon him, but Ignatius spread 
 out both hands, and bowed his venerable head lower than 
 before, as if deprecating the idea of a dispute, and abso- 
 lutely refusing to enter into a quarrel.
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN. 327 
 
 "But do you not think that she will betray us? Do 
 you think a young girl who has the courage to come to 
 this place at this hour of the night will not have the 
 presence of mind to expose us to ruin us to render 
 all our efforts valueless? Oh, Ignatius, what have you 
 done ? ' ' cried Vera. 
 
 The Jew went slowly to the door and closed it. He 
 noticed that Pleasant was watching, with wolf -like eager- 
 ness, for his answer to this last question. He sat down 
 and rubbed his wrinkled hands together, as if entirely 
 satisfied with his thoughts. 
 
 "The girl betray us? Not she!" he replied. "She 
 is the last person in the world to do it. We have nothing 
 more to fear from her. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Why ? ' ' said Vera. 
 
 " Because she is a sensible person. Because I have 
 told her of the terrible risks which our new brother would 
 run if she caused him to falter in his work, and because 
 she would rather lose him than to feel that he is in con- 
 stant danger of losing his life." 
 
 Pleasant leaned against the wall of the little room, and 
 folded his arms. He was trapped caught in the meshes 
 of the conspiracy just at the moment when, in the ex- 
 tremity of his doubt, he had cried out to Alice to save 
 him. And now her very love for him had been turned 
 into a barrier to erect between her and himself ! The 
 cunning of the old Nihilist aroused a stern resentment in 
 his mind. But if Alice had really loved him, if her 
 affection had been of that sterling ware which is proof 
 against everything, would she not then and there have 
 sprung to his arms and insisted that he should go away 
 with her? It did not enter his mind for an instant that 
 she could be jealous of Vera that she could by any 
 remote possibility misunderstand the nature of his re- 
 lations to the Russian girl. No ; he was caught in the
 
 328 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 meshes ; he must go on now in his pilgrimage towards the 
 mysterious new world which the revolutionists expected to 
 evolve out of the ruins of the old and corrupt one. He 
 was beginning to feel like the Jesuit brother, who delivers 
 himself perinde ac cadaver, like a very corpse, into the 
 hands of those who are to control him. But he could not 
 deny that his heart ached, and that the vision of Alice 
 was constantly before his eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps you are right, brother. The American girl 
 
 may reflect, because of the danger to But did she 
 
 fully understand that he has bound himself to us that 
 he is responsible to us that he is to undertake a mission 
 for us?" 
 
 "She understands enough," said Ignatius. "Didn't 
 you hear her parting words? Did she not bid us all 
 good-bye for ever?" 
 
 For ever ! Pleasant thought of one night on the terrace 
 of Berne, and the kiss that he had placed on Alice's brow, 
 and the music of the waters of the rushing Aar. He 
 thought, too, of the moment when he had clasped her to 
 his breast, and had cried out to her to save bun. Now 
 all that was gone by ; Alice would learn to hate and 
 despise him ; she would shudder with loathing at the very 
 recital of the dream of daring which filled his mind. He 
 looked down at the Russian girl, who had turned to him, 
 as if she expected some outcry, some protest from him, 
 because of the summary nature of Ignatius's proceed- 
 ings. 
 
 "And what have you to say, brother?" she asked, 
 almost sadly. 
 
 "You have robbed me of my love," he answered, 
 hoarsely. " I think the new world that we build will 
 have to be mighty fine to compensate me for my loss." 
 
 Vera went up to him impulsively, with a strange light 
 in her eyes, and looked at him almost compassionately.
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN. 329 
 
 " Do not fancy that you. are alone in your sacrifice, 
 brother," she said. "I, too, suffer. I know what it is 
 to love hopelessly. But the fruition of love is forbidden 
 to those of us who look forward to the complete success of 
 the great cause. Love is not for me ! love is not for you ! 
 The thorns for us, my brother ! the thorns ! "We are now 
 no longer merely human. We are sublimated wills, we 
 are the apostles of the Absolute Idea ! we are the pioneers 
 of man's emancipation from tradition ! Courage ! Remem- 
 ber our motto ! ' Let man's will be done ! ' Courage ! " 
 
 Pleasant tossed his hair back he had thrown his hat 
 aside as Alice hurried away and a scowl was on his 
 bronzed brow. He had aged curiously within two or 
 three days ; the intensity of his doubt, of his striving, 
 had left deep marks on his face. Although he was now 
 committed beyond recall to the cause of these extraor- 
 dinary people, he did not like their ways, and their 
 strange jargon, of which he heard more and more as he 
 became better acquainted with them, annoyed him very 
 much. He was constantly tempted to ask Yera to trans- 
 late her sentiments into plain language. Even now that 
 her convictions had become his own, he was sensible that 
 there was a wide difference between them, in method of 
 thought, in manner of expression, in everything. 
 
 " How is it," he said suddenly, and in a matter-of-fact 
 way, as if he had swept Alice and her love entirely and 
 for ever out of his mind, " that your brother Stanislas 
 never talks about the the mission in this this earnest 
 and excited way, like you and Ignatius and the others? 
 Sometimes I think it is not so serious a matter to him as 
 it is to you. The other day, when we were discussing the 
 means to employ in America, there was something almost 
 like a sneer perceptible in his conversation. Is he as 
 much in earnest as the rest of us? " 
 
 Vera's face grew so deathly pale that Pleasant was
 
 330 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 sorry he had asked the question. "I I don't know," 
 she stammered, "that I have ever observed anything of 
 the kind. Brother Stanislas is so very much engrossed 
 
 in his music that perhaps now and then But the 
 
 hour is late, and we must finish our duties. Ignatius, 
 there are police agen-ts about us, as you know, but they 
 can discover nothing, I think." Her voice sank to a 
 whisper. " Remember that I am the chosen one. The 
 news came to-night. When I have waited a suitable 
 time I shall start on the mission. But our young Ameri- 
 can friend must be on his way first. He shall shock the 
 New "World to its centre while we shock the Old World. 
 America and Russia, the two nations that shall lead the 
 way in the great overturning, are the nations which are 
 most ready to build new structures on the ruins that we 
 propose to create. In a few days all the instructions will 
 be at hand. Take care that my clock of destiny is not 
 discovered, and taken from you by these prying French 
 police, before the moment arrives to commit it to my 
 keeping." 
 
 The old man nibbed his hands again and looked up at 
 Vera, with a cunning leer on his face. "Ho! ho! " he 
 said, "do you think that I would have risked bringing 
 the clock of destiny into France? Ignatius is not *u<-h 
 a fool. When you pass through Switzerland," he added, 
 leaning forward and whispering, " it will be delivered to 
 you. But at present you cannot know by whom ; nor 
 can I tell you where it is. Do you but guard it well when 
 once you have it, and let no one take it from you ! No 
 living human beings have seen it but Stanislas, and your- 
 self, and myself and and the young man," pointing 
 to the Indian. 
 
 "Good," said Vera. "There is no danger from any 
 one of us. I am sure. Stanislas sees much of the Russian 
 diplomatic circles in society here, and he would be sure to
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN. 331 
 
 warn us if they were to undertake any decided movements 
 against us. As it is now, they can only watch us and 
 suspect us. They will hardly dare to go further. I must 
 sit down for a few minutes, I am so very tired. Mr. 
 Merrinott, will you not rest a bit before we separate for 
 the night?" 
 
 Pleasant brought her one of the old-fashioned arm- 
 chairs which stood near the fireplace, and himself sat 
 dovfti in the other which Alice had occupied while she 
 listened to the pleadings of old Ignatius. 
 
 Vera faced the moonlight, which was peeping in, as if 
 the artful Russian agents of the "third section" had 
 employed it to watch the conspirators ; and, letting her 
 hands fall in her lap, and throwing back her head, she 
 said, dreamily 
 
 "Now I could feel content for the time being, if only 
 our brother here were on his way to America. To think 
 that he is hastening to his duty in the West, while I go to 
 mine in the East ; to feel that we two can shake the world ; 
 that our humble efforts, our two pairs of arms, can turn 
 the current of society, can destroy tradition, overthrow 
 tyrants and capitalists, fulfil the dream of Bakounin it 
 fills my heart with joy ! I would not have the noblest 
 coronet of the wealthiest European empire in exchange for 
 the mission which has to-day been given to me ! " She 
 turned hastily to Pleasant. " What arc love, life, caresses, 
 kisses, happy moments, when weighed in the balance with 
 such missions as ours ! " she said. " Do you falter now? 
 Would you give up your work of vengeance, of liberation, 
 in exchange for the love of the poor innocent girl who 
 was here a little while ago? No, you are the true stuff 
 of which the disciples of Bakounin are made, and you 
 will show the misguided Americans, who are following in 
 the footsteps of the corrupt Europeans from whom they 
 sprang, that for the followers of Bakounin the world is
 
 332 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 but one country, and all peoples are but one nation. Swear 
 to me that you will do it." 
 
 "I have given my word," said Pleasant. "There is 
 no need of saying anything more on that subject, I reckon. 
 We must work now not talk." 
 
 " I accept the reproof," said Vera meekly. " But the 
 vision was an inspiring one. Oh, why is not Stanislas 
 here to join in our triumph ? He is very negligent lately. 
 Do you think, Ignatius," she added, in a strangely altered 
 voice, " that by any strange circumstance Stanislas could 
 be betrayed into telling our secrets could be deceived 
 could what do you think ? ' ' 
 
 " I think," said the old man, rising painfully, going to 
 Vera's chair, and placing his wrinkled hand affectionately 
 on her head, " I think that Stanislas loves his life too 
 well, much too well, to tell any of our secrets. Think 
 not so much of Stanislas, my daughter," he added, bend- 
 ing down to her and speaking in their native language ; 
 " it may distract you from the mission." 
 
 " True, true," said the girl. And a flush stole into her 
 pallid cheeks. 
 
 " And now get to your homes," said the old conspirator. 
 "And you, Mr. Merrinott? Are you angry with me for 
 what I have done to-night? Will you keep your word to 
 go ami receive your clock of destiny when I tell you 
 where you will find it? Have you given your heart 
 wholly to your work ? Do you regret what has happened 
 within the past hour? " 
 
 " What is done is done," said Pleasant. " And now it 
 cannot be undone. I have forsworn myself ; I have lost 
 my love ; I have struck a blow at my honour, in sen-ing 
 you and your cause. You would be right exacting to ask 
 any greater proofs of my devotion to the enterprise." 
 
 Oh! love! honour! pretty, endearing terms!" said 
 the old man. " How much they mean, and yet how little !
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW AGAIN. 333 
 
 How easy it is for the apostles of Bakounin to forswear 
 them ! For we steel our hearts, Mr. Merrinott ; we must 
 not let them be weak. We must have hearts of Titans 
 if we mean to pull down the world ! Heigh ho ! my old 
 limbs ache terribly. Leave me, my children, and let me 
 crawl into my bed and rest. Ha ! ha ! when the November 
 fogs come, and the rheumatism keeps me awake all night, 
 I shall think " he stood between the chairs of Vera and 
 Pleasant, and stooping, he took their hands in his, "I 
 shall think of my children of progress, my followers of 
 Bakounin the one going west with the clock of destiny, 
 the other going eastward with the clock of destiny. Ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! and I shall lie thinking of your journeys, and 
 your troubles and dangers, and longing for the moment 
 when the clocks shall strike, ha ! ha ! ha ! and society 
 shall crumble ! ' ' 
 
 " Hush ! " said Vera, rising hurriedly. " You are less 
 cautious than we are. We shall see you again soon. 
 Stanislas will help me in the movements that I must 
 make. He will provide mone}* and letters. I am to be 
 in Odessa within a month. There is plenty of time. Mr. 
 Merrinott will be at his post in America before that." 
 
 " Oh, the earlier the better ! " said the Indian. 
 
 He bade them good night, and, as he picked up his hat 
 from the floor, he stumbled. This was a confession of 
 weakness which made him angry with himself. He felt as 
 if he had been worsted by Fate, and by the cunning of old 
 Ignatius, who had now separated him permanently from 
 Alice. He went out, and, not far from the corner of the 
 street, a closed carriage was driven rather ostentatiously 
 toward him, and the driver offered his services. Pleasant 
 gave the man his address, jumped into the carriage, threw 
 himself back against the dark cushions, and began to 
 wonder, gloomily, how much help his Cherokees would 
 derive from his new endeavours as a conspirator. He was
 
 334 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice 
 that a dark-faced fellow, in a silk cap and a blue blouse, 
 climbed up beside the Jehu on the box before they drove 
 away. 
 
 When Pleasant had gone, Vera said to the old man, 
 "Do you not think that that proud-spirited girl will 
 make us trouble? She looked at me to-night as if she 
 wanted to crush me." 
 
 " My dear child, she is safe for the present, as I have 
 told you. Pride and fear will prevent her from any inter- 
 ference just now with our plans. But the Indian must 
 leave Paris at once, and must not see her again. I will 
 arrange that. I will be at his lodgings an hour after day- 
 break. All his enthusiasm is ours now, and we must 
 keep it untainted. Good-night, chosen one." 
 
 Vera went home fearlessly through the darkened 
 streets. Perhaps the wine-flushed wanderers, who might 
 have been tempted to pay her too broad compliments, 
 recognized the fact that behind her chaste presence 
 marched the spirit of a sinister and terrible Idea.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPORTS FOB ORDERS. 
 
 "I MUST not forget poor Caro," said Alice, languidly 
 turning over and over in her hands a note which she had 
 just received from Miss Merlin. " I had no idea that her 
 concert was so near at hand." 
 
 It was not strange that Alice had taken but small 
 notice of the swift flight of the October days, since the 
 memorable night when she had gone to beard old Ignatius 
 in his conspirators' den. The girl's nature had received 
 a great shock ; and for two or three days after she had 
 undergone the sudden revolution in her heart which led 
 her to bid farewell for ever to Pleasant, she went about 
 dazed and silent, brooding over her lost illusions, as she 
 fancied, rather than over her vanished love. The stern- 
 ness of the girl's indignation at what she conceived to be 
 Pleasant's gross insincerity, his double dealing, and his 
 weakness, seemed to give her strength, so that she did not 
 relapse into illness. Mrs. Harrelston, observing that the 
 young Indian made no more visits to the house, inquired, 
 as discreetly as possible, what her daughter knew about 
 it. Alice answered quietly that Mr. Merrinott would 
 come no more ; that she believed he had been called away 
 on urgent business ; and showed such determination to say 
 nothing further about him that Mrs. Harrelston at once 
 
 335
 
 336 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 joyously concluded that Alice had rejected his overtures, 
 if he had made any serious ones, and that he had de- 
 camped, like the savage that he was, without endeavour- 
 ing to conceal his disappointment and mortification under 
 the cover of a conventional parting call. She questioned 
 Bertine very closely as to the date of Pleasant's last visit, 
 and the period of his final disappearance, but the little 
 maid told such a series of disconnected and improbable 
 tales, and apparently regarded the Indian with such aver- 
 sion and disfavour, that Mrs. Harrelston placed small 
 reliance on what she said, and little dreamed that Bertine 
 could have given her the whole secret. 
 
 Mr. Harrelston was angry when he learned of Pleasant's 
 disappearance. He felt that he had been imposed upon ; 
 he trembled lest his " experiment" should prove worse 
 than useless, perhaps fatal, to Alice, now that he on whom 
 its success depended had absconded like a thief in the 
 night. Mrs. Harrelston used her utmost influence to 
 convince him that Pleasant Merrinott was unworthy of 
 the delicate confidence which the banker had reposed in 
 him ; that he was a vulgar half-breed, engrossed in the 
 sole occupation of securing all the benefits that he could 
 for his petty race ; and that his departure had happily 
 prevented man}- annoyances, and possible scandal. With 
 feminine eloquence she discoursed upon the evils which 
 might have sprung from the continuation of Alice's pas- 
 sionate attachment for the Indian. 
 
 " She will soon forget him," said Mrs. Harre'ston ; "it 
 was the romantic side of her nature, and not her heart, to 
 which he appealed. Besides, he was tainted with all sorts 
 of social heresies, and as he was so untrained and impul- 
 sive that he was capable of almost any folly, I am glad 
 he is well out of our house, and I do not propose to let 
 him enter it again." 
 
 The banker acted as if he were convinced of the justice
 
 COLOXEL CLIFF REPORTS FOR ORDERS. 337 
 
 of his wife's opinions, but in reality he was not. He 
 could not reconcile Pleasant' s new departure with the 
 sincerity of character which had been so manifest in the 
 young Indian's self -accusation, and his frank avowal of 
 his affection for Alice in the interview at the bank after 
 his return from Switzerland. 
 
 "Any man," thought Mr. Harrelston, " who is willing 
 to confess that he has been a fool, is on the high road 
 to wisdom ; and the young Cherokee made his confession 
 early in life. No ; he is an enthusiast ; he is overweighted 
 just now ; he fancies his duties to his race much greater 
 than they really are. I should not be surprised to see 
 him back here again, full of some new whim about his 
 Nation,* and apparently un conscious that his sudden 
 changes of mental temperature attract any attention or 
 cause any disturbance. But in the meantime, how fares 
 it with little Alice? " And he watched over his daughter 
 with even more tenderness than he had ever before 
 manifested, comprehending and gratifying her smallest 
 wishes before they were expressed. If she was paler 
 than usual when he returned from business in the even- 
 ing he- overwhelmed himself with reproaches for having 
 allowed his experiment to terminate so abruptly, and was 
 nervous with fear that another illness was at hand. Her 
 mother endeavoured to keep her in company as much as 
 possible, relying upon social excitement completely to 
 dissipate an impression which she regarded as unfortunate. 
 Alice began to think that her father was secretly grieved 
 at the turn affairs had taken, and this seemed to afford her 
 a certain consolation, although she thought herself so 
 offended by the Indian that any openly expressed sym- 
 pathy for him would have encountered her instant dis- 
 approval. 
 
 It so happened that the two persons who might have 
 thrown light upon Mr. Harrelston's somewhat bewildered
 
 338 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 notions of Pleasant's new freak were both absent from 
 Paris when the banker sought them in pursuit of infor- 
 mation. One was Colonel Cliff, who had gone to England 
 on business connected with his Spanish mining company ; 
 the other was Stanislas. Mr. Harrelston had met the 
 musician now and then in society the previous season, and 
 he had formed an excellent opinion of him. He had been 
 much impressed with what he had heard from his wife 
 about Vera, the mysterious sister of Stanislas, her possible 
 relations to some vague conspiracy, and her friendship for 
 Pleasant Merrinott. It seemed to him that from Stanislas 
 or the sister he might learn something about the Indian. 
 From Mrs. Merlin, who came into his private office one 
 morning in great haste, to ask his advice upon some 
 matter concerning the lease of her small house, he secured 
 Stanislas's address, and drove to it, on his way home, the 
 same evening. The musician lived in a handsome apart- 
 ment in a house on the Boulevard Malesherbes, not far 
 from the Church of the Madeleine. But he was not at 
 home ; there was no one in, said the concierge. Monsieur 
 Stanislas had left for foreign parts, and his sister was in some 
 country town near Paris, but exactly where the concierge 
 could not sa}'. Mr. Harrelston was vexed. Had he known 
 that he was in search of the very persons who were most 
 interested for the moment to keep the whereabouts of 
 Pleasant Merrinott a secret from all except themselves, 
 his vexation at his blunder would have been greater than 
 that caused by his failure to find them. He took measures 
 for hearing from his agents in the West in case Master 
 .Merrinott suddenly reappeared in the Indian Territory, 
 and was compelled to content himself, for the time being, 
 with this. 
 
 So the days had flown, bringing increasing sorrow and 
 gloom for Alice, who had made private inquiries on her 
 own part about the movements of Pleasant and Vera,
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPORTS FOB ORDERS. 339 
 
 because she was constantly haunted by the fear that the 
 Indian might become involved in some terrible and dis- 
 graceful tragedy. But she could discover nothing definite. 
 The old Jew had disappeared from Paris, although he 
 still retained his lodgings. Vera and Stanislas were gone, 
 and Pleasant was where? There was a postscript to 
 Caro's note about Stanislas. Alice had not seen it at 
 first, as she turned the page, but now she read it hastily, 
 in the hope that it might offer some clue to the move- 
 ments of the conspirators. " Stanislas," wrote Caro, "has 
 not been near us for ten days, but now we have a note 
 from Germany to say that he will be at the concert. I 
 have sent that singular personage, Mademoiselle Vera, a 
 ticket, but as I have had no answer from her, I fancy she 
 must be more than usually occupied with her medical 
 studies. Alice, we shall find out yet what that young 
 woman is up to ; and you take my word for it, it won't be 
 anything very good. And where's Mr. Merrinott, the 
 base bronze deceiver, who promises to call and never calls ? 
 I have not seen him since that afternoon when I met him 
 at your house." 
 
 Alice was standing in the library as she slowly de- 
 ciphered Caro's faintly pencilled and straggling chirog- 
 raphy. She was dressed for an afternoon round of calls 
 with her remorseless mamma, who insisted that she 
 required diversion. But she was to have some time alone 
 before her mother would be ready ; and she had already 
 begun to lose all sense of the flight of the minutes in a 
 mournful reverie, through which the figure of Pleasant 
 Merrinott moved with the misty unsubslautiality of a 
 ghost. She put the note in her pocket, and, sitting down 
 at the huge carven desk, ornamented with ivories and 
 bronzes, began to write to Caro, to assure her anew that 
 she would be present, with her friends, to encourage her 
 debut. As she placed the blotter on the first page she
 
 340 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 heard the bell ring in the hall, and she nervously pushed 
 the paper aside and leaned back in the chair. She never 
 heard the bell ring now without sudden apprehension of 
 evil tidings she could not explain why. 
 
 The servant brought in a tiny English card with 
 Colonel Cliff's name upon it, and as Alice arose the 
 Colonel's pleasant face appeared at the door. It chanced 
 that they had not met since Alice's sorrowful loss of her 
 illusions. The girl was glad to see him ; he seemed to 
 offer temporary relief from her thoughts. 
 
 " We heard that you were in London, Colonel," she 
 said. " Your absence has caused a decided consternation 
 in the Rue de Presbourg, where you had promised to 
 superintend Mrs. Van Allyn's tableaux ; do you not 
 remember?" 
 
 " I know, I know, Miss Harrelston ; but those Spanish 
 mines are such dreadful tyrants ! Business is a foe to 
 social engagements. Have you quite recovered from your 
 illness ? I fancied you were looking pale and and very 
 thoughtful when I stepped in ; but I think it was the 
 dimness of the light in the room. November is at hand 
 and the clouds are thick to-day. Don't let me delay 
 you an instant if you are going out." The Colonel 
 paused between each of his commonplace remarks, as if 
 it caused him great pain to say any thing at all, and Alice 
 was a bit surprised to see that be was confused and ill at 
 ease. 
 
 "Colonel Cliff," she said gaily, " I am quite well. I 
 am not going out for an hour, and you are very kind to 
 come and waste that hour with me. I have been writing 
 to Miss Merlin about her debut. Let me see, this is 
 Thursday ; it will take place on Friday evening. Shall 
 I add a postscript to say that you are certain to be 
 there?" 
 
 "Most decidedly. If it were only for the pleasure of
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPOKTS FOE OKDEES. 341 
 
 having a moment's chat with you in your box, I would 
 go," said the Colonel, laying his hat and gloves aside, 
 and seating himself in an arm-chair near the desk. 
 
 Alice could look down from the high chair in which she 
 was seated into his face, which, although marked a trifle 
 here and there by the hand of time, was handsome and 
 impressive. As the conversation proceeded, his confusion 
 vanished, and gave place to rather more resolution than 
 Alice had usually remarked in his demeanour. He looked 
 like a man who had made up his mind to do something 
 decisive. And he had. 
 
 ' ' I have called in vain on half a dozen people this 
 afternoon," he said. "All out. Even your father was 
 not in his office. I had something to communicate to our 
 friend Mr. Merrinott, but he has been gone from Paris for 
 many days, I learn. Rather mysterious in his movements, 
 Mr. Merrinott is. He changes his address frequently, 
 and it was only by rallying him when we met that I could 
 get him to tell me where his new abode was. Nomadic 
 instincts inherited, I suppose. Indian blood, and all 
 that." 
 
 "Yes," said Alice, displaying the tips of two daintily- 
 shod and tiny feet as she whirled the library chair 
 around, "he has vanished. I suppose his Indians have 
 claimed him again. Perhaps he has gone into a corner 
 to brood over their wrongs. Or perhaps he was only 
 a wraith ? ' ' There was a mischievous flash of seeming 
 merriment out of her brilliant eyes as she added, " Do 
 you think he was real ? Might he not have been a 
 phantom ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, hardly," said Colonel Cliff, laughing. "He was 
 a solid reality, and a dangerous one, some years ago, when 
 I was compelled to interfere with my soldiers to keep him 
 out of a fight. I suspect he has gone home to nourish his 
 feud. Those border men are incorrigible. But did he
 
 342 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 come to say no farewells after all the kindness that has 
 been shown " 
 
 The Colonel stopped, half afraid that he had been in- 
 discreet. Yet for the fulfilment of his purpose it was 
 absolutely necessary to know whether or not the Indian 
 had made a lasting impression on Alice's heart. 
 
 " Never a farewell said he," answered the girl. " He 
 was gone, like an apparition. I suppose some day we shall 
 read of him in a great border war, and then we shall be 
 proud of having known such a celebrity." 
 
 Evidently this was not the manner in which Alice 
 would speak of the Indian if she loved him. The Colonel 
 became convinced that the moment had arrived for the 
 execution of his plan. He had returned from London 
 decided, if he were not warned by some sign that it was 
 absolutely useless, to ask Alice Harrelston to be his wife. 
 His prospects, thanks to a lucky speculation, were 
 brilliant ; he knew that he was esteemed by Alice's 
 family ; the Indian appeared to have taken himself out of 
 the way ; and there, in the library chair before him, sat 
 the sweetest, loveliest girl he had ever seen. His first 
 wife, a fretful }'oung creature, whom he had married in a 
 Western village where he had been stationed, and who had 
 lived to vex him with constant complaints only a year, 
 had left but a shadowy memory. Indeed, her image 
 seemed to fade away entirely now that he looked again on 
 Alice Ilnrrelston, with her gentle, low brow, her olive 
 cheeks, her thin, passionate lips, and her perfect eyes. In 
 the light of those eyes he felt that he could be happy 
 always. His courage increased momentarily; he had 
 arrived at the proper moment he was to be the victor. 
 Joy! His voice shook with emotion as he, continued the 
 conversation. 
 
 41 1 hope Mr. Merriuott will confine himself to legitimate 
 work for his own people," he said, "and then he could do
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPORTS FOR ORDERS. 343 
 
 nothing which we might not praise, even if we disagreed 
 with it. But I must still confess to a lurking fear that 
 those clever Russian plotters have turned his head. He 
 would go into the maddest of enterprises and lose his life 
 gladly if he thought there were a kind of duty in it. I 
 took occasion to find out about Mademoiselle Vera, whom 
 you met in Switzerland, and what do } - ou think I dis- 
 covered? Why, that she is one of the most determined 
 of the wretched gang of the apostles of destruction." 
 
 Alice smiled bitterly. "What could he tell her that she 
 did not know ? 
 
 ' ' You remember we fancied that it might be a mere 
 coincidence of names; and " 
 
 Colonel Cliff heard a door hastily opened, and sprang 
 up in alarm, as he saw a mortal whiteness invade the 
 cheeks of Alice. His first thought was that the adventur- 
 ous Indian might have returned in time to defend his 
 reputation ; but, looking around, he saw no one but the 
 little maid, Bertine, with terror written on her usually 
 placid countenance. 
 
 " Will you excuse me a moment, Colonel," said Alice, 
 rising, and moving to the door. 
 
 While he murmured " Certainly," a fear that some- 
 thing had occurred to blast his happiness, to ruin his 
 projects, stole into his mind. The wrinkles in his fore- 
 head seemed to grow deeper, and grays crept into his 
 cheeks. If he lost Alice, he would lose the last remnants 
 of his youth ! 
 
 Bertine caught her young mistress tightly by the arm, 
 as Alice stepped into the hall, and, placing a letter in the 
 girl's trembling hands, drew her, unresisting, away from 
 the stairway into a corner, and whispered 
 
 " It's another. It was not the old man who brought 
 it, but it is from them. It was a young man. He ap- 
 peared at my elbow as I stood in the garden. ' Take this
 
 344 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 to Mademoiselle Harrelston,' be said, ' and mind you give 
 it to no one else.' And, b-r-r-r-r ! be was gone." 
 
 Alice glanced at the envelope. Tbe superscription was 
 in English. "To Mademoiselle Alice Harrelston," and 
 theu followed the address, and these words, "To be 
 delivered in ten days." The letter had been written ten 
 days ago. Alice tore it open, and read 
 
 " When you receive this I shall be so far away that, 
 even if my own heart were weak enough to ask me to go 
 back to you, I could not reach you until you will have 
 forgotten, after having, I hope, forgiven, me. I know 
 that my conduct has seemed to you inexcusable, may be 
 insincere, at any rate culpable. I did not know myself ; 
 and when I asked you to save me, it was because I went 
 with hesitation and trembling toward the mission which I 
 have now imposed upon nryself. I reckon }'ou do not 
 care to have me explain to you what that mission is. Old 
 Ignatius, in his anxiety to separate you from me, must 
 have given you some hint of its general character. 
 
 " But I must tell you, now that it is too late, that if 
 you had called to me, if you had given me word or look 
 or sign, if you had commanded me, on that night when 
 we last met, I would have followed you anywhere and 
 done anything for you. For I love you and can love but 
 you, and I would have renounced the mission my race 
 and its regeneration everything for you ! I have never 
 dreamed or thought of any other than you since I held 
 you in my arms at the canon there in the mountains, after 
 the big stone had come so near to crushing you. 
 
 " Perhaps it would have been better a powerful sight 
 better for me to have stayed by you and won your love, 
 and worn it like the pearl of great price that it is ; but 
 somehow 1 could not reconcile that with in} 7 notions of 
 my duty until it was And so now, good-bye. 
 Forget that 1 ever existed, for hereafter my life belongs
 
 COLONEL CLIFF REPORTS FOR OKDERS. 345 
 
 only to the companions whom I have voluntarily chosen. 
 My thoughts are all for the doctrine to which I have 
 given myself after grave doubts and many delays, it is 
 true, but definitely at last* I do not tell you where I go ; 
 and do not try to find out. Forgive forget. Good-bye. 
 
 "P.M." 
 
 Alice crushed the missive in her right hand., and looked 
 up, with hot tears in her eyes, but with a proud resolution 
 on her lovely face. Her lips trembled, but she felt that 
 she was still mistress of her emotions. " Not find out 
 where he has gone ! " she whispered. " I will know, if he 
 is on earth. I will find him, and save him yet. And as 
 for that woman that mad Russian creature who has 
 bewitched him with her wicked doctrines, she shall tell 
 
 me where he is, or she shall ! I knew he could not 
 
 love her. I felt that he was true and yet I doubted ! " 
 
 "Mademoiselle is crying!" said Bertine dolefully. 
 " Has something dreadful happened? " 
 
 "No, Bertine; good news, glorious news!" and she 
 felt like adding, u He loves me ; he has never been false 
 tome!" but she made a great effort to be calm. 
 " Ecoute! " * she said, " Bertine ; watch here and let me 
 know when mamma is about to come downstairs. Do you 
 understand ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, Mademoiselle, she will not be ready for half an 
 hour yet. She is in the very midst of her pins ! I will 
 watch." 
 
 Alice dried her eyes, and went back to the library, her 
 mind concentrated on a great resolve. Her romantic and 
 impulsive nature was now thoroughly aroused ; she was 
 capable of daring, of heroic deeds. The Colonel was 
 sitting just where she had left him, but with his head 
 bowed forward and his eyes staring into space. He had 
 * Listen.
 
 346 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 taken up one of his gloves and was idly swinging it back 
 and forth. He did not hear her come in ; he was absorbed 
 in the contemplation of the saddest spectacle that man 
 ever looks upon the departure of his last illusion. A 
 mysterious presentiment told him that he had hoped in 
 vain that Alice Harrelston was not for him. 
 
 He started, and his face lighted up as he heard the 
 girl's rustling robes once more beside him. Alice sat 
 down in the chair at the desk, and looked at him so 
 strangely, that he arose. 
 
 "I am afraid I am intruding," he said. "Has any- 
 thing is there any thing ' ' 
 
 " Colonel Cliff," said Alice, " what would you say if I 
 asked you to do me a great oh, a very great service 
 something for which I could never hope to repay 
 you?" 
 
 "The only serious object which I have in life, Miss 
 Harrelston," said the Colonel, a trifle gloomily, " is to be 
 of service to you. In fact, if I might be allowed to devote 
 my whole life to I came to-day to tell you " 
 
 His heart sank within him. Alice did not seem to hear 
 his stammering hints at declaration. 
 
 " Colonel," she said, rising, and speaking huskily, while 
 the tears came back to dim her eyes, *' I am afraid your 
 worst fears have been realized about about Mr. Merrinott. 
 There seems good proof that he has been drawn into a 
 plot by the Russians of whom we were speaking the other 
 day. lie has gone on some wild mission in which he will 
 lose his life or his honour. Colonel, I want to ask you if 
 you will help me to find him, and save him? " It was said 
 sweetly ; her eyes were downcast, and a faint blush tinged 
 her cheeks. " To save him," she continued, " from him- 
 self. And the first thing to do is to find that Russian girl 
 Vera, and to make, her tell where he has gone. Oh ! if I 
 were a man ! I would make her tell. Will you find her
 
 COLONEL CLIFF EEPORTS FOR ORDERS. 347 
 
 this very day, if she is in Paris, Colonel Cliff, and make 
 her tell the truth?" 
 
 "I will," he answered, after a minute's reflection. It 
 takes at least a minute for the best of men unselfishly to 
 put away his heart's fondest desire. "I will; consider 
 me as on duty for you in this matter. Use me as you 
 will. The first thing, then, is to find Mademoiselle Vera 
 and make her tell where Mr. Merrinott is? " 
 
 "Do you think you can do it ? " said Alice eagerly. 
 "And remember not a word to my parents to any 
 one." 
 
 " I think I know a way to make her speak," he said. 
 " But it may be a little difficult. I will do my best, and 
 to-morrow morning I will report to you for orders. I 
 shall hardly have accomplished anythiug before that time. 
 And, if you will excuse me, I will take my leave at once, 
 as I may find still at his office a certain diplomat who 
 usually keeps well informed about this person Vera's 
 movements. Count on me, Miss Harrelston, count on me 
 absolutely." 
 
 He held out his hand ; it trembled a little. Alice 
 looked up at him as she gave him hers. She was some- 
 what surprised at an indefinable change in his voice and 
 manner but he was, if possible, more kindly and courte- 
 ous than ever. 
 
 " You can never know how grateful I am for your 
 aid," she said. 
 
 He let her hand fall, and took up his hat and made 
 her a military bow. He felt like an officer going on an 
 important secret mission on which life depended. 
 
 " I will do my best," he said. 
 
 At that moment Bertine, dismayed at finding that she 
 had miscalculated the time which it would take Mrs. 
 Harrelston to complete her toilette, opened the door, and 
 signalled desperately to Alice that her mother would be
 
 348 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 down iii a moment. So Alice rather expedited the good 
 Colonel's departure. He went his way, feeling that the 
 sun had lost its brightness for him ; and Alice, seated at 
 the writing-desk, was calmly finishing her note to Caro 
 when Mrs. Harrelston came in, equipped for her afternoon 
 visits.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 UNMASKING. 
 
 CARO threw aside the little calendar at which she had been 
 looking, and clambered out of the old leathern arm-chair 
 with a doleful expression .on her resolute young face. 
 " The twentieth of October, and Thursday ; there is no 
 doubt about it!" she said. "And that means that to- 
 morrow will be the twenty-first, and that I must make 
 my debut on a Friday ! How strange that I should never 
 have thought of this before ! Now if I were super- 
 stitious !" She threw a shawl over her shoulders, 
 
 and went up to the balcony in the roof. 
 
 It was quite dark, and the autumn evening was cool. 
 A capricious wind that had come from the sea-coast, and 
 had brought the perfume of the ocean on its wings, was 
 hanging about the heights of Montmartre, making the loose 
 tiles on the houses rattle, and filling the small groves of 
 horse-chestnuts, acacias, and sycamores in the gardens 
 with quaint moanings and sighings. There was a proph- 
 ecy of November damps and fogs in the air. In the 
 vast city below, myriads of lights were shining out of the 
 shadows in all directions and twinkling like stars. Caro 
 amused herself for a minute with the fancy that they 
 resembled constellations in some firmament above which 
 she had mounted. 
 
 349
 
 350 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " To-morrow night, when I' come up from the theatre," 
 she said aloud, as she leaned on the balcony railing and 
 gazed at the millions of tiny flames which marked the 
 almost countless abodes of the dwellers below, "to-mor- 
 row shall I have won victory or defeat down there ? ' ' 
 
 The wind came to toy with her hair and to tug at her 
 shawl, as if to divert her attention from her fears for the 
 morrow. But she did not heed it. " If I fail," she con- 
 tinued, " I shall never wish to see that sight again ! " and 
 she indicated Paris and its lights with a sweeping gesture. 
 " I should feel like a general looking at a fortress which 
 he has failed to conquer ! And where is Stanislas ? Why 
 doesn't he come? " 
 
 Caro had been watching for some days for the arrival 
 of Stanislas from Germany, whither he had gone, as he 
 told her, on a professional journey, a certain high-tempered 
 Teutonic impresario having threatened him with an action 
 for damages, and a variety of disagreeable correspondence 
 in the newspapers, if the musician persisted in breaking 
 his engagement with him, as he had done with so many 
 others since his passionate declaration to Caro on the 
 house-top in the Rue de 1'Orient. The time fixed for the 
 return was long past, and Caro was oppressed with anxiety 
 lest Stanislas should not come back iu time to be present 
 at her dtbut. There were phases of his conduct, latterly, 
 which her reason could not explain, but which her affec- 
 tion was resolved to pardon. 
 
 Stanislas was evidently ill at ease, and there were 
 moments when he seemed haunted by a vague dread of 
 some shadowy danger. There was a furtive look in his 
 e3 - es, and the enthusiastic gaiety usually so characteristic 
 of him appeared wholly subdued. For a day or two before 
 his departure for Germany he had answered Caro's ques- 
 tions with an absent and preoccupied air, and once but 
 once only when he was advising her concerning a pas-
 
 UNMASKING. 351 
 
 sage in an aria, he manifested real petulance. The girl was 
 astonished, and felt certain that the hidden griefs or cares, 
 of which these things were the outward manifestations, 
 had some mysterious relation to the eccentric career of his 
 "sister," or the girl whom he called his sister, Vera. Too 
 loyal to take any secret measures for discovering the exact 
 nature of the relations between Stanislas and Vera, Miss 
 Merlin had contented herself as best she couldi up to the 
 time of the musician's absence, with Colonel Cliff's ex- 
 planation of Vera's probable aims, and with Stanislas's 
 occasional mentions of her as "well-meaning, but eccen- 
 tric," or as " half crazy over philosophy and medicine." 
 She had had no chance for an outpouring of all her hopes, 
 her love and her suspicions, to Alice ; she would have been 
 glad of an opportunity, but Alice, who " nursed her deep 
 wound in her silent breast," thought that she had the best 
 of reasons for avoiding intimate conversation with the 
 young Western girl. 
 
 A swallow flew circling around Caro's head three or 
 four times as she turned away from the balcony's edge to 
 go downstairs, and in the small bird's weird cry there 
 was, as it seemed to her excited spirit, a kind of foreboding 
 of evil. She shuddered, and went down to the study- 
 room, where, seated at the piano and listlessly evoking 
 idle melodies, she waited for the much-desired corning of 
 Stanislas. Joined to the impatience of the lover was now 
 a mysterious and scarcely-defined displeasure. But Caro 
 would not, could not, visit it upon the musician alone. 
 "What if his strange sister his queer protegee, Vera, had 
 got him into trouble with her silly plots ! 
 
 " I declare ! " she said aloud, jumping up and looking 
 for her hat, " I am half inclined to go to the place where 
 they live, and if I can see Mademoiselle Vera, to ask for 
 an account of her brother's movements. Perhaps she will 
 deign to explain, too, why she has not acknowledged the
 
 352 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 ticket which I sent her for the concert to-morrow night. 
 I will go ! I cannot sleep until I know whether Tie is to 
 be here then ! " 
 
 Ten minutes later Caro, modestly robed in black, 
 slipped out of the house and through the little garden into 
 the street. Her mother was waiting patiently at a dress- 
 maker's,, in the Faubourg Saint Honore, for the last 
 touches to the concert dress for the morrow. Good Mrs. 
 Merlin would not rely on the man-milliner's promises to 
 send the sacred garment at an early hour the next morn- 
 ing, and had grimly determined to see it completed and 
 iu her possession some time before midnight. The girl felt 
 a little timid as she went down the Rue Lepic alone, but 
 presently she hailed a passing carriage, and shortly before 
 iiiue o'clock she arrived without adventure -at the door 
 of the handsome mansion in the Boulevard Malesherbes 
 where Stanislas and his "sister" Vera resided. The 
 tenant of the porter's lodge, a fat and fluffy old man of 
 indolent disposition, did not even take the trouble to look 
 at her as he answered her faltering inquiry whether 
 Monsieur Stanislas had yet returned from Germany. 
 He was having his dinner all alone at a small round table, 
 and his back was turned to Caro. He took his soup- 
 spoon out of his mouth, and answered, very tartly, "I 
 don't know any thing about }'our Germany ; but if you 
 want Monsieur Stanislas, you will find him in his room 
 sixth floor, first door on the right. You must knock ; 
 some one pulled down the bell-cord yesterday, and I have 
 no time to put it up." 
 
 He went on grumbling and eating, while Caro, into 
 whose cheeks a rosy colour had sprung, went slowly up 
 the first (light of stairs, trying to persuade herself that it 
 was not proper to call on the musician now that he had 
 come home. Why had he not flown to find her? Her faint 
 mistrust began to assume a definite form, and it made her
 
 UNMASKING. 353 
 
 heart ache. No ! she would ask for Vera ; and theu he 
 would hasten to her he would explain, and all would be 
 well. 
 
 The apartment occupied by the musician, at the top of 
 the house, was what is known in Paris as a terrasse; that 
 is, it possessed a large and handsome balcony, decorated 
 with flowers and vines, and as there was no storey save 
 that in the Mansard roof above it, it had the merit of afford- 
 ing that comparative seclusion so precious to the dwellers 
 in great cities. The terrasses usually rent for rather more 
 money than the two floors below, because they are preferred. 
 
 Caro found the door on the right open, and she saw 
 a dimly-lighted ante-chamber, richly-furnished with carpets 
 and carved wooden chairs, and a curious cabinet littered 
 with books, sheets of music, and bric-a-brac. There was 
 an odour of delicately perfumed oriental tobacco in the 
 air. The girl knocked stoutly once twice, and stood 
 almost breathless, and a trifle flushed, hoping that the 
 servant would speedily appear. But no one came. Again 
 she knocked ; still no answer. She glanced at the bell- 
 cord ; it was broken, as the concierge had said. One more 
 knock. The strange silence terrified her. What if there 
 had been a disaster, a crime within? 
 
 Hardly realizing what she was doing, she stepped into 
 the ante-chamber, her footsteps falling noiselessly on the 
 thick carpets, and moved toward the open door of a large 
 room at the left. Just as she had decided not to enter 
 there, but to beat a hasty retreat, she heard the sound of 
 voices, evidently in a room fronting on the street, and 
 a moment afterward the musician's familiar tones. The 
 awkwardness of her position was clearly apparent to her, 
 and she flitted into the room on the left, and took refuge 
 behind a tall and ample old-fashioned screen in a corner, 
 just as Stanislas strode forward to close the outer door of 
 the apartment. Then she heard him return to his com-
 
 354 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 panion, and she was a little surprised to hear him say in 
 English 
 
 ' ' Do you not think it would be better to step in from 
 the balcony ? If she were to catch a glimpse of you from 
 the street, she might not come up ; she is exceedingly 
 mefiante* lately." 
 
 u And not without reason, one might almost say," was 
 the rejoinder, in a voice which sounded curiously familiar 
 to Caro, but which she was too terrified and perplexed 
 readily to recognize. She discovered that the screen was 
 not far from a door concealed by two thick curtains 
 which opened into what was probably the drawing-room ; 
 and every word of the conversation reached her distinctly. 
 What should she do? Should she venture forth, and try 
 to regain the outer door without attracting qotice ? What 
 apology could she offer if her lover found her escaping 
 from his lodgings? Fortunately, there was a chair behind 
 the screen ; she sank into it, in doubt as to which made 
 the most noise, the beating of her heart or the rustling of 
 her dress ; and she determined not to stir from her con- 
 cealment until she were a little more composed. 
 
 The faint notes of a piano reached Caro's ears. She 
 could picture the 3'oung musician, in her fancy, seated at 
 the instrument as he talked with his visitor, letting his 
 shapely hands stray to and fro along the ke3's, now striking 
 a chord to emphasize his remark, now caressing the ivory 
 as if he loved it and thought it received pleasure from his 
 touch. 
 
 " I am bound to tell you," said Stanislas to his com- 
 panion, " that I am entirely ignorant of Mr. Merrinott's 
 whereabouts. The poor American ! To think that he 
 should be distracted by ." He struck the keys im- 
 petuously, bringing forth jarring discord. "When Vera 
 comes in you can ask hcvr, but I doubt if she will answei 
 * Suspicious.
 
 UNMASKING. 855 
 
 you. Do you know I am not sorry that you are here. 
 I shall be pleased to have a witness of something that I 
 myself have to say to Vera. I hope you will not think 
 it very strange, but perhaps it will be a new .phase of 
 European life for you to contemplate." 
 
 ' ' I confess that it would require something strikingly 
 novel to astonish me," said the visitor. " Every-day life 
 in Europe certainly affords capital chances for the study of 
 the romantic. But, to be serious, Monsieur Stanislas, 
 nothing has puzzled me more than your relation to this 
 singular, and, if you will allow me to say so, this abomin- 
 able conspiracy. How and What you can expect to gain 
 by it I am at a loss to discover. As a wise brother, you 
 ought to have discouraged Mademoiselle Vera's rdle in it 
 long ago ; and as an artist, a man of genius, I cannot con- 
 ceive how the vulgarity of the plot has not offended your 
 aesthetic sense." 
 
 Stanislas laughed uneasily, and answered, "You will 
 not have to wait long for the solution of the riddle, and I 
 trust that you will not judge my action too harshly." 
 
 "Very well," said the other. "I will wait. But 
 remember that the main object of my visit is to learn in 
 which direction Pleasant Merrinott has been sent by these 
 misguided people, and that I shall spare no effort to learn 
 this. If you could counsel your sister not to be stubborn, 
 
 it might be . Once or twice I have heard you speak 
 
 as if you were anything rather than sympathetic for the 
 conspiring disciples of Bakounin." 
 
 "You have given me your word that you will wait," 
 said Stanislas. " Hush ! there is her key in the lock now. 
 She is punctual as the sun." 
 
 Caro started up from her chair, for she heard the well- 
 remembered voice of Vera. That mystical personage was, 
 however, saying nothing extraordinary. She merely gave 
 directions to some one who had accompanied her to set
 
 356 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 various parcels in a corner of the ante-chamber, thanked 
 him gracefully in French, closed the door after him, and 
 then Caro heard her pass lightly through the room, and so 
 near the screen that her dress brushed against it. 
 
 " She has gone to her own apartments," said Stanislas 
 to his visitor in a low tone. " Be ready, please, to be pre- 
 sented at once when she comes in here." 
 
 Then there was a long silence. Caro had seated her- 
 self again, and exercised her will vigorously to restrain 
 her longing to overturn the screen and to escape hastily 
 from the apartment. Presently she heard the rustle of 
 robes ; the curtain concealing the entrance to the room in 
 which the musician and his visitor sat was pushed aside, 
 and Vera had evidently entered. This is what Caro would 
 have seen, had she ventured forth from her hiding place : 
 
 The Russian girl was dressed in black, and wore no 
 ornament of any description. Her wavy, chestnut hair 
 was no longer worn in masculine fashion, but was combed 
 smoothly down and parted in the middle. The sternness 
 of her face seemed to have been softened ; instead of the 
 sinister look so often there one could now perceive only 
 the shimmering flame of an exalted enthusiasm. As she 
 came forward so that the light from the lamp on the piano 
 fell fully upon her, the musician's visitor arose. Vera 
 stepped hastily backward. 
 
 " I beg pardon," she said in French. " I had understood 
 that brother Stanislas would be alone this evening " 
 
 "You may speak in English, Vera," said Stanislas, 
 drumming faintly on the piane. " This gentleman is my 
 friend, Colonel Cliff. I believe you have never met before, 
 although you have often heard of each other in the moun- 
 tains do you not remember? " 
 
 Vera gave the good Colonel a look which seemed to 
 penetrate his very soul. Then she stepped forward and 
 offered him her hand, after which she took the hand which
 
 UNMASKING. 357 
 
 Stanislas extended, and held it for an instant in both her 
 own, then. let it fall. It was done so gracefully, and with 
 such an air of reverence, that the Colonel fancied it might 
 be some Russian custom, which he now saw for the first 
 time. 
 
 " A friend of those charming people, the Harrelstons, 
 is it not? at least, I think so," said Vera, apparently 
 finding some slight difficulty in getting her thoughts into 
 English harness, but, when they were once in, conducting 
 them with admirable ease, " and of that sweet little singer, 
 Miss Merlin. How is it that I did not have the pleasure 
 of seeing you in Switzerland, Col-o-nel? " inquired Vera. 
 All the time that she was talking she was studying both 
 Stanislas and the Colonel, and not one of their slightest 
 gestures escaped her attention. 
 
 " I am sorry that we did not meet in the mountains," 
 he said vaguely, and with somewhat embarrassed air. 
 He was thinking that his mission might be rendered 
 fruitless unless he conducted it very skilfully by the 
 phenomenal self-possession and wariness of this remarka- 
 ble young woman, who inspired him for the moment with 
 both curiosity and awe. " I had separated from my 
 friends before they had the pleasure of meeting you." 
 
 "That was a misfortune for them, as for me," said 
 Vera. looking straight into his eyes. She was trying to 
 discover whether Alice had told him of her visit to the 
 abode of old Ignatius. She saw at once that the Colonel 
 was a man of energy and decision, and that he was likely 
 to prove her match. " We were quite merry for a short 
 time in Berne," she added. " I like Americans ; they are 
 not stiff, and formal, and and they are original. The 
 Indian, Mr. Merrinott I fancy you know him, Col-o-nel? 
 Ah ! he was exceedingly original. Perhaps your friends 
 have told you of the curious wager that we made." 
 
 " It was to ask us a question about Mr. Merrinott that
 
 358 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Colonel Cliff called on us this evening," interrupted 
 Stanislas, bending down to a pile of music books at his 
 right hand, and taking up one carelessh". 
 
 "Yes," said the Colonel, rising and stepping briskly 
 forward so that he stood between Vera and Stanislas. " I 
 have taken the liberty of calling, at the request of a 
 friend, to ask you " and he turned quietly to Vera 
 " if you will be good enough to inform us of the present 
 whereabouts of the young Indian." 
 
 Vera sat down on a sofa and smoothed out the folds in 
 her black dress. Then she answered tranquill} 7 , " I saw 
 a good deal of Mr. Merrinott for a time. He was very 
 interesting and sympathetic. But for the last ten days -I 
 have not seen him." 
 
 " Well," said Colonel Cliff, as quietly as if he were 
 reciting a fact which was current news, " knowing that 
 you were instrumental in sending him on his mission, I 
 thought it but natural that you should be able to tell me 
 in what direction he had gone." He started, for Vera 
 had sprung to her feet, and approached him with a dan- 
 gerous whiteness in her face. 
 
 "So the American girl has betrayed us!" she said, 
 proudly raising her head and looking at the Colonel with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 "Not at all," answered Colonel Cliff. "You have 
 betrayed yourself. ' ' 
 
 " Monsieur does not make his meaning clear." 
 
 " But I will do so," said the Colonel. "You will have 
 nothing to lose by telling me where Mr. Merrinott has 
 gone, that I may take measures for restoring him to his 
 friends before it is perhaps too late to prevent him from 
 committing a crime. Let me speak with perfect plainness. 
 By utter frankness now I may be able to save }*ou from 
 ruin. Mademoiselle, your plans, your conspiracy, your 
 secret aims are all known ; your accomplices in Russia and
 
 UNMASKING. 359 
 
 Germany are in the hands of the police, and those stationed 
 here are surrounded by such a network of governmental 
 weaving that they cannot make a decided movement with- 
 out danger to themselves. And as for you, Mademoiselle, 
 the only reason that you have not been expelled adroitly 
 from France so as to fall into German hands, from which 
 you would be delivered to the tender mercies of the 
 Russians, is to be found in the intervention of a single 
 person." 
 
 The Colonel had seen many piteous sights in his time, 
 but never anything so worthy of supreme pity as the 
 Russian girl's face when he uttered these last words. He 
 turned away for an instant. Vera moved and terrified him. 
 
 She tried to speak, but the words choked in her throat. 
 For a minute or two she stood mutely gazing, first on 
 Stanislas, then on the Colonel, as if incapable of fully 
 comprehending the cruel yet earnest words which announced 
 the ruin of her hopes. At last she found her voice. 
 Advancing to the piano, she stretched out her hand, asking 
 feebly 
 
 "And who is the person who has been gracious 
 enough to interfere in my behalf? " 
 
 " Why, there he sits ! " said the Colonel, turning, with 
 a flash of scorn in his eyes, and pointing to Stanislas. 
 
 " He knows it, then, and has been playing with me ! " 
 muttered the musician, quitting his seat and glancing 
 quickly around him. "Ah! Monsieur, you might have 
 spared me this! " 
 
 He heard a faint cry in the adjoining room, and it 
 almost stopped the beating of his heart. Was the avenger 
 already at hand? 
 
 Vera seemed to possess wonderful strength and com- 
 posure. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were dry, as 
 she said, "I do not understand you. Do you mean 
 Stanislas? "
 
 360 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 "Yes. Your brother." Despite the compassion which 
 the Colonel felt for the poor girl's woful plight, he could 
 not refrain from laying a slightly malicious emphasis on 
 the word brother. He felt that now he should have an 
 explanation of the strange relations of this singular pair. 
 
 "My brother! Since you seem to know everything 
 that concerns us, I suppose you have discovered that he is 
 not my brother. Oh, Stanislas ! What have you done? " 
 
 " Be calm, Vera," said the musician, whose face was 
 now whiter than the girl's. " You will understand all in 
 time. You will see that I was bound that I was com- 
 pelled that I wished to save you from yourself " 
 
 She interrupted him with a hoarse cry, followed by a 
 dozen words in a language which neither the Colonel nor 
 Caro understood. Then she turned to Colonel Cliff and 
 addressed him in English again. The resistless and over- 
 whelming manner in which the wave of her passion 
 mounted to her brain alarmed him. He feared that some 
 great tragedy might suddenly spring from this white heat.
 
 CHAPTER XXXH. 
 
 VERA IN THE TOILS. 
 
 "J/2/ brother I" repeated the girl, with a strange com- 
 mingling of sorrowful reproach and scorn in her tones. 
 ' ' The man in whom I believed as I believed in nothing 
 else on earth ! ' ' 
 
 She gazed steadfastly at the musician for a few 
 moments, as if she expected him to defend himself, to 
 cry out, to come to her side, and to tell her that it was 
 all a horrible dream. But, seeing that he had reseated 
 himself at the piano, and was looking down rather con- 
 fusedly at the white ke3's, she staggered back to the sofa r 
 sat down, took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped 
 her lips with it. The Colonel's quick eyes saw that it 
 was stained with blood. 
 
 " You are ill ! " he cried. " Be calm ; there is nothing 
 to fear ; it is dangerous to excite yourself. Can I help 
 you?" 
 
 She arose, and the old mystical, exalted look came over 
 her face. " No," she answered, huskily. "If you wish to 
 aid any one, help him." And she pointed to the musician. 
 "But all the medical skill in Paris all the doctors in 
 Europe could not save him now. He is a dead man." 
 
 Stanislas struck heavily with one hand on the piano, 
 bringing out a harsh discord, and sprang up. " Do not 
 
 361
 
 362 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 listen to her foolish talk," he said to Colonel Cliff. " She 
 is ill she raves when she is in that excited state. "We 
 shall have her in convulsions directly ! Vera, you are 
 angry with me now ; but when you have had time to 
 reflect, when you see what I have saved you from, you 
 will thank me." 
 
 A spasm contracted the girl's face. There was a faiut 
 gurgling in her throat, and again she pressed the hand- 
 kerchief to her lips. But now she kept her eyes tightly 
 fixed upon Stanislas, as if she were afraid to lose sight of 
 him even for an instant. He came up to her and tried to 
 take her hands in his, but she dexterously moved around 
 an arm-chair, so that it stood between him and herself. 
 
 I am glad this American gentleman is here as a 
 witness! I wish him to hear what I have to say," con- 
 tinued the musician. "Vera! it was all a dream from 
 the first a noble, bewitching, golden dream if you like 
 but without the smallest chance of realization." 
 
 Of what are you speaking?" said the girl, making 
 a desperate effort to control the nervous twitching of the 
 muscles of her cheeks. 
 
 i; Of what am I speaking? Why, of the Nihilist 
 revolution the grand Pan-destruction which you have 
 dreamed of night and day, ever since I first met you in 
 Moscow and heard you tell the pathetic story of your 
 parents' exile to Siberia. You drew me into it so prettily, 
 with your splendid enthusiasm and your fine reasoning, 
 that I was committed before I knew where I was. Ah ! 
 Bakounin was right when, in his ' Revolutionary Catechism,' 
 he said, The most precious helpers in the work are women 
 who arc completely initiated and who accept our entire 
 programme. Without their aid we can do nothing.' He 
 had a subtle mind this Bakounin and he knew that with 
 this aid his disciples could do everything. Bah ! you had 
 made me a conspirator before I knew that I had talked
 
 VEKA IN THE TOILS. 
 
 with 3 T ou about anything more serious than music. A 
 conspirator ! I a boy musician. It makes me smile 
 when I remember it ! " 
 
 " Stanislas," said the girl, " your voice comes to me as 
 from the dead. Remember that for me you exist no 
 longer. You have signed your own death warrant. What 
 you may say or do now can have no importance." 
 
 " Pas si vite I " * cried the musician, impatiently stamp- 
 ing his foot on the carpet. " I am not dead yet, if you 
 please, and I know perfectly well what I am saying. 
 You shall hear me out ! I am not afraid of the assassins 
 of the society." Yet his voice wavered, and he glanced 
 around hurriedly as he said these last words. "I shall 
 have protection. I will not be dictated to by these all- 
 destroying fiends." 
 
 Vera smiled scornfully. " You have just quoted," she 
 said, " from Bakounin's ' Revolutionary Catechism.' Do 
 you remember his definition of his idea of the Revolu- 
 tionist? Let me repeat it for you." 
 
 She coughed faintly ; then, folding her hands and clos- 
 ing her eyes, she spoke the following sentences slowly and 
 impressively: "'The Revolutionist is a devoted man. 
 He must have neither personal interests, nor affaire, nor 
 sentiments, nor property. He must allow himself to be 
 absorbed entirely into a single exclusive idea, one sole 
 thought one passion the Revolution ! He has but 
 one aim ; he knows but one science destruction. For 
 that, and for nothing but that, he must study mechanics, 
 physics, chemistry, and sometimes medicine. He must 
 observe, for the same end, men, characters, positions, and 
 all the conditions of the social order. He must despise 
 and hate the present moral code. For him everything is 
 moral which favours the triumph of the Revolution ; every- 
 thing is immoral and criminal which hinders it. Between 
 * Not so fast.
 
 364 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 him and society the war is to the knife, incessant, irrec- 
 oncilable. He must prepare himself to die, to support 
 torture, and to slay with his own hands all who place ob- 
 stacles in the path of the Revolution ! ' 
 
 She grasped the back of the chair for support with one 
 hand, and with the other held her handkerchief to her 
 mouth a moment, then let it fall to the floor. Stanislas 
 again approached her, but she motioned him away. " I 
 did not think," she said, " that it would ever be my fate 
 to become one of your executioners. You! Stanislas! 
 false ! you, my only love ! The man whom I adored, 
 loved, cherished, as if he were a demi-god ! " She said 
 something more, but so faintly that the Colonel could not 
 tell whether it were uttered in English, French, or Rus- 
 sian ; then she swaj'ed around and sank down, breathing 
 heavily. 
 
 "Vera! little one, my love, forgive me!" cried the 
 musician, springing forward to raise her from the floor. 
 
 Just as he was about to touch her he recoiled, with an 
 ashy pallor on his cheeks. There was a loud noise, as of 
 the fall of a heavy body in the next room, and then the 
 sound of lightly flying footsteps. The outer door was 
 opened and closed, and all was still again. 
 
 " See what it is what it was," muttered Stanislas, 
 pointing with trembling hand to the door of the dining- 
 room, and Colonel Cliff obeyed his injunction. 
 
 " A screen has fallen over," he said, peeping into the 
 room. " And I thought I heard some one retreating. Do 
 you fancy " 
 
 The musician had placed Vera upon the sofa, and stood 
 looking down at her. He had recovered his self-control 
 now, and Colonel Cliff could not help thinking that there 
 was a grim smile of triumph on his face as he contem- 
 plated the suffering woman. 
 
 " This is not a very severe convulsion," he said. " She
 
 VERA IN THE TOILS. 365 
 
 will come out of it without help. Let me see if I can find 
 her another handkerchief." He placed his hand lightly 
 in the pocket of the girl's skirt, and drew forth half a 
 dozen small, daintily perfumed squares of linen. " Poor 
 thing! " he said. "I have sometimes seen her saturate 
 as many as there are here with the blood from her lungs. 
 There is a fan on the piano. Would you mind handing it 
 to me? Thanks. Now that right hand is clenched too 
 tightly. Oh, that will never do ! We must rub it a little. 
 So ! While the good Colonel swings the fan. Aha ! at 
 last she opens her eyes." 
 
 She did indeed open them, but as if upon another 
 world, for her gaze was full of mystery. She seemed to 
 see things unearthly, inexplicable, grand. Although 
 Stanislas knelt close beside her and supported her on one 
 arm she did not appear conscious of his presence. By- 
 and-by her lips ceased to tremble, and she smiled. Then 
 she coughed again, turned to one side, and clasped both 
 hands to her breast. Stanislas quietly placed a handker- 
 chief in her grasp. 
 
 " I have known her to have a dozen of these in a night, 
 mon ami," he said, almost gaily. His face was still pale, 
 but it was easy to see that the strain on his mind was 
 not so great since Vera's illness had become manifest. 
 " Sometimes she suffers terribly ! But her patience is 
 quite " 
 
 He ceased speaking, and slowly removed his arm from 
 beneath Vera's shoulder. The girl had come back to 
 earth at last, and had fixed upon the musician such a look 
 that it almost froze his blood. Colonel Cliff, thinking of 
 it years afterward, felt a singular chill. Stanislas cowered 
 before the light of Vera's virginal e3 - es. There was some- 
 thing new in them, something which desperately alarmed 
 him. With feminine delicacy and grace the girl arranged 
 herself in a more careful reclining posture ; then, leaning
 
 366 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 her head on one hand, and plucking at the folds of a clean 
 handkerchief with the other, she said to Stanislas 
 
 " That is the last time that you must ever touch me. 
 There is a gulf between us hereafter. Oh ! go go away 
 to some place to hide before it is too late." 
 
 She loves him, thought the Colonel, looking down 
 sadly at the strange pair, and feeling pity for both in his 
 great and good heart. She loves him, but she will never 
 forgive him for betraying their cause ! And, as if she 
 were echoing his very thought, Vera continued 
 
 " I am punished as I deserve. I, too, am to blame, for 
 I have wandered from my ideal. But I am afraid that 
 this is too much for your nerves, Monsieur," she said, 
 glancing up at the Colonel. " Will you allow me to say 
 that it would be useless to wait for your answer now." 
 
 " Do I understand you to refuse me the information 
 that I asked for concerning the present whereabouts of 
 Pleasant Merrinott, Mademoiselle? " 
 
 "I must refuse it. If it was my duty before I hud 
 learned of this treachery, it is more than ever neces.sm y 
 that I should do so now." 
 
 "But of what avail can it be when your plans are all 
 discovered, checked, prevented?" 
 
 " Prevented? " cried the girl, sitting up and gazing at 
 the Colonel in genuine surprise. " You forget, Monsieur, 
 that an organization strong enough and daring enough to 
 attack what you call civilized society everywhere is not 
 likely to have its plans prevented by accidental disclosures 
 in one particular section." She spoke her English 
 trippingly now, taking a certain pride in choosing her 
 words and in avoiding any eccentricities of accent. 
 Despite her illness she was cool, calm, clear-headed. 
 " And can you not see that it would be rather inconsistent 
 in me to betray one of our secrets just at the moment 
 when I have rooted a betrayer out of my heart, and cast
 
 VERA IN THE TOILS. 367 
 
 him away from me for ever? Do you wish me to sell my 
 life as cheaply as as he has sold his ? ' ' 
 
 " No, Mademoiselle, I wish you to do nothing that you 
 would consider dishonourable. I have done my duty, and 
 I will now leave you. I am glad that you personally are 
 shielded from the punishments and humiliations that your 
 fellow-conspirators are to undergo, and if I might offer 
 you some advice, it would be to renounce your allegiance 
 to Bakounin, and to devote }-our attention to recovering 
 your health. The world," added the Colonel, putting on 
 his English air, " is altogether too green to burn. The 
 all-consuming fires that you would like to scatter broad- 
 cast through the lands to-morrow are probably hidden 
 away in the bosom of nature, but it will be centuries yet 
 before they will break through the crust. You are five 
 hundred years in advance of the times, Mademoiselle. 
 Why, it is scarcely an hundred years since the Bastille 
 surrendered ! You must be more patient under this 
 mystery of sin and sorrow, of oppression and inequality, 
 which pervades society, just as you were patient in your 
 physical suffering a few minutes ago. Believe me, your 
 dream of a great revolution for the destruction of society 
 is a mistake. Relinquish it ; turn from it, before it is too 
 late. It grieves me to see such a noble soul as yours 
 wedded to an almost inexcusable folly." 
 
 Vera listened attentively, coughing now and then, but 
 making efforts to control the aggressive hemorrhages. 
 When he had finished and had turned away, a little 
 stirred by the emotions which his pity for the unfortunate 
 girl had aroused, she said 
 
 " It is useless for us to enter upon a discussion. From 
 your standpoint you are right ; seen and judged from 
 mine, my conduct is absolutely correct or will, at least, 
 henceforth be so. For I am as one moving in the world, 
 yet not of it ; no part of my kingdom is here ; I am but
 
 368 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the instrument chosen to further the destruction. I am 
 sealed with a vow. I am consecrated to a purpose, and 
 for me its realization is as certain as it is that the sun will 
 rise to-morrow. When I fall, another will take my place, 
 as another has taken his place already." 
 
 She pointed to Stanislas, who had sat down on the 
 carpet, with one elbow leaning on the broad cushioned 
 seat of the arm-chair, and was listening with a look of 
 growing fear in his eyes. She seemed to reflect a moment ; 
 then she looked up suddenly to the Colonel and made a 
 pleading gesture. " Oh, Monsieur ! " she said, " you can 
 readily see that I am faint and ill, and I am certain that 
 you will not refuse to do me a service." 
 
 " I will do anything that I can properly do for you, 
 Mademoiselle." 
 
 " Then take him away with you ; convince him that 
 he is in danger ; urge him to conceal himself." 
 
 " No more of this ! " said the musician, flushing. u I 
 will leave you, Vera, until you have become convinced 
 that my course was correct ; but I will not run before the 
 fanatics of any secret society ! I defy them ! They are 
 surrounded by a network through which they cannot 
 creep. Listen to me, Yera, and let me convince you once 
 for all. Six months after you had converted me to the 
 doctrines of Bakounin, in Moscow, and after it had been 
 agreed that, the better to shield you in your undertakings 
 while you were in Switzerland and other countries, you 
 should, if occasion required, claim to be my sister six 
 months after that time I was in Warsaw. One evening, 
 just as I was leaving for the reception which had been 
 organized in my honour at the house of a lady of high 
 rank, a gentleman called upon me. I said that I could 
 not be seen was engaged, but he forced his way in, and 
 told me who he was. He knew everything about my 
 relations to the conspiracy, my romantic, intellectual
 
 VERA IN THE TOILS. 369 
 
 alliance with you everything! The man was a demon. 
 He gave me my choice to be handed over to the tender 
 mercies of the Third Section, of which he was one of the 
 most cunning agents ; to be packed into jail like a thief 
 who had been pilfering black bread ; or or " 
 
 "Well," said Vera, coughing, and moving one hand 
 impatiently, "or? " 
 
 "Or to become his ally; to follow the movements of 
 the conspirators with whom I had allowed myself to be 
 associated. Well, I had debts enormous ones about 
 which no one knew, it is true, except the usurers to whom 
 I was bound bod} 7 and soul ; I was in desperate straits, 
 and now here came this thunderbolt from the hands of 
 the Government. What could I do? I made a sudden 
 resolve. I told the police agent that if he would agree 
 to shield you from punishment, in any case, I would 
 accept accept the bargain which he offered me. The 
 agreement was made, and since that time, Vera, I have 
 been protecting you against yourself. What else could 
 I do? Conspiracy in Russia is hopeless ; and I had, in a 
 moment of passionate excitement, been drawn into com- 
 plications with conspiracy which would have proved fatal 
 had I not taken the one road out of the difficulty." 
 
 "And so, since that time, you have kept the Russian 
 Government informed of my movements? " 
 
 " But I have saved you ! You are free as air, to go 
 where you will. Oh ! I was adroit ; I convinced them 
 that you had been drawn, like myself, in a momentary 
 impulse, into the conspiracy. And I suppose 
 
 ' ' That they knew how much they had to gain by 
 watching me at work," interrupted the girl. Her face 
 grew dark. " Stanislas," she said, "there was a sacred 
 bond between us. You have broken it. Hereafter you 
 are as one dead to me. I loved you ; I respected you ; 
 I gloried in your genius ; I believed in your sincerity. My
 
 370 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 love blinded me to your horrible duplicity. I am punished. 
 I shall go away from this place to-night. I must never 
 see your face again. Your death is at hand. Leave 
 me!" 
 
 She sank back exhausted, with one palm pressed 
 against her bosom, as if she had just received a fatal 
 wound there. 
 
 Colonel Cliff felt like taking the musician by the collar 
 and dragging him out of Vera's presence, but he restrained 
 his inclination. Vera was soon in another convulsion ; 
 her eyes were closed ; her teeth were set ; her hands were 
 tightly clenched ; her breathing was heavy. Suddenly it 
 seemed to stop altogether. 
 
 " She must be raised up quickly," said the musician, 
 in a hollow voice ; but he did not rise and offer to aid her. 
 He seemed half stunned by what she had said to him. 
 
 Colonel Cliff stooped and gently lifted the girl. "Is 
 there no remedy which she is accustomed to use for these 
 convulsions?" he said. 
 
 But Stanislas did not answer. He appeared to be 
 
 dreaming. 
 
 **** 
 
 Caro stood in the ante-chamber, trembling in every 
 limb. She had started to fly from the place where she 
 had already heard too much when the Russian girl had 
 first confessed her love for Stanislas. The fall of the 
 screen had been caused by her nervous movements, and 
 she had fled terrified to the outer door and opened it. 
 But she did not go out ; she instantly closed it again, and 
 leaning against it, listened to the remainder of the strange 
 conversation. It seemed to her now that she had a right 
 to hear ; that it was her duty to learn all* But when 
 Vera had said the words, "There was a sacred bond 
 between us," the blood rose to Caro's brow. She felt 
 angry, humiliated, outraged. She turned away with
 
 VEEA IN THE TOILS. 371 
 
 despairing gesture, softly reopened the door, and was soon 
 downstairs and in the street. 
 
 For a minute or two she stood hesitating ; she was 
 almost inclined to go back and demand an explanation ; 
 but she recovered speedily, walked briskly to a carriage 
 stand, secured a cab, and was half-way home before she 
 realized the full measure of her grief. When she reached 
 the house she was glad to find that her mother had not 
 returned from the dressmaker's. She went up on to the 
 roof balcony, and there, when she felt sure that she was 
 quite alone, and that no one could Lear her, she gave way 
 to an agony of weeping.
 
 CHAPTER XXXm. 
 
 DBCT. 
 
 WHEN the blue mists return to Paris, late in October, and 
 the days are damp and chilly, the Parisians are suddenly 
 seized with an irresistible longing for the concerts and the 
 theatre, from which they have absented themselves for 
 months. This is the period which elderly ladies who have 
 once been renowned in the world of song or of drama 
 invariably choose for their own ' ' reappearances " or for the 
 debuts of their pupils. The great La Vange, whose statu- 
 esque beauty and superb contralto voice had once been 
 the joy of Europe, had long been living in comparative 
 seclusion at Asuieres, where she was the lucky owner of 
 two or three villas, each of which she inhabited in turn for 
 a month or two at a time, when it occurred to her that she 
 would like to own a house at Passy. 
 
 She consulted her banker, and found that the funds at 
 her immediate disposition were not quite sufficient to 
 allow of the purchase of the property which she had 
 selected. "Better wait a year," suggested the banker. 
 " No," said La Vange ; " in a year I may be in Pere La 
 Chaise ; I am tired of seclusion, and I wish to give some 
 receptions in the Passy house this winter. Ah ! I have 
 it ! I must make a reappearance I must have a benefit 
 concert ; and we will put the prices so high that there
 
 THE DEBUT. 373 
 
 will be no doubt about making up the sum." "Oh, if 
 Madame proposes to give a concert, I shall be only too 
 happy to advance the extra money needed for the pur- 
 chase," said the banker. 
 
 And so it happened that La Vange got the coveted 
 house, and that her great name adorned the yellow 
 posters on the bill-boards in front of the Theatre-Italien, 
 and that Caro Merlin was thus afforded an opportunity to 
 exhibit the qualities of her voice before a fashionable 
 Parisian audience. 
 
 Every one of the critics will be present," M^lari had 
 said to the girl, " for the reappearance of La Vange is as 
 interesting to them as a comet is to the astronomers. You 
 could not get another such a hearing if you were to try 
 for it for years. So courage ! and we shall soon have 
 you launched forth upon the sea of fortune ! by which, if 
 you please, chere mademoiselle, I mean that we shall 
 see you engaged for a first appearance during the next 
 spring season in London. Courage ! " 
 
 If M61ari could have seen his favourite pupil on the 
 morning of the day of her debut in Paris, he would have 
 thought that she was in bitter need of all the encourage- 
 ment which he could offer. The girl arose at dawn, white- 
 faced, with dark lines beneath her eyes, from the couch 
 on which she had tossed sleeplessly all night, and a shiver 
 of disgust passed over her pretty shoulders as she put on 
 her garments and took up the burden of life again bur- 
 den which had become almost intolerably heavy. Shie had 
 managed to escape from a meeting with her mother the 
 previous night ; she had felt that she could not endure it ; 
 that she must suffer alone ; and so she had locked herself 
 into her bedroom, protesting absolute necessity for seclu- 
 sion, that she might be fresh for the important duties of 
 the morrow. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin had come home toward midnight, worn out
 
 374 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 with the fatigue of waiting, and with anger at the officious- 
 ness and insolence of French dressmakers. 
 
 " I come mighty nigh boxin' the ears of one o' them 
 pert sauceboxes down there," she said to Caro through 
 the keyhole, at the same time announcing that she had 
 brought home the dress. "It's -perfectly lovely," addi-d 
 the old lady ; " we'll try it on first thing in the morning." 
 
 And while the good soul sank quickly away into well- 
 earned repose, her daughter lay hating the world, mourn- 
 ing over her love, and wishing she were dead. Caro 
 bestowed no thought upon the responsibilities of the 
 approaching concert during the night ; she was passing 
 in review all that she had heard said by Stanislas and 
 Vera, and every word that the Russian girl had uttorrd 
 seemed to burn into her soul. Caro felt humiliated 
 because she had not been able to form a more accurate 
 judgment of the character of Stanislas ; although she 
 loved him as deeply as before, she seemed in some 
 strange way contaminated and dishonoured by his pro- 
 fessed affection for her. Her mind was filled with intense 
 jealousy of Vera ; she had understood the sombre and 
 exalted words of the mystical enthusiast to mean much 
 more than their real significance ; and with the withdrawal 
 of henrespect from Stanislas, Caro had expected to see 
 her love for him fade out. But no ! it remained, and 
 imperiously asserted its (intention to remain in her heart. 
 It 'had been a source of inspiration, but now it seemed to 
 add to the heaviness of her burthen. 
 
 And what had the wretched musician done? He had 
 betrayed his fellow conspirators, and thus jeopardized his 
 life. Perhaps at that very moment, while she was rising 
 and facing the day which was to decide the fate of her 
 career, he was lying, white and still, at some street 
 corner, struck down by the hand of the avenger. The 
 thought filled the girl with horror ; her unsteady nerves
 
 THE DEBUT. 375 
 
 thrilled with pain as her heated imagination pictured for 
 her an hundred terrible dangers into which the musician's 
 imprudent and, perhaps, dishonourable conduct had led 
 him. 
 
 What if he should come to her for asylum ; should ask 
 her for protection against the Vera who had confessed 
 that she loved him madly, devotedly, and whom he had 
 called " his little love ! " Could she spurn him from her 
 
 send him out to encounter certain death ? No ; she 
 consulted her heart carefully, and she was sure that she 
 could not do that. And she would see him that ven- day ! 
 He would not desert her on this all-important occasion, 
 when he had solemnly promised to stand by her, and to do 
 everything in his power to aid her success. She was con- 
 fident that he would come, and she would shield him until 
 the storm of resentment for his treachery to his comrades 
 had passed by ! She could never respect him more ; that 
 was unutterably sad, yet true as sad ; but she could, she 
 must love him ! 
 
 She awoke from her reverie, and found herself stand- 
 ing before her dressing-table, clasping her hands together. 
 She was a little astonished to find that there were tears in 
 her eyes. She swept them away angrily, and the least 
 bit of colour struggled into her pallid cheeks as she re- 
 membered that she had to sing before a refined and hyper- 
 critical audience in a few hours. Her ambition, which 
 had been rudely jostled aside by the disclosures of the 
 night just passed, came back to its old place. She mar- 
 shalled her determination. 
 
 " I must not let this blow crush me ! " she whispered. 
 "I will succeed to-night ! I will! Let death, let loss of 
 love, let endless sorrow and bereavement come afterward 
 
 to-day, to-night I will concentrate my whole energy 
 upon my art ! " She lightly brushed her hair back from 
 her heated forehead, softly opened her door, passed
 
 376 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 through the room in which her mother was peacefully 
 sleeping, and went down into the garden. 
 
 The sparrows were twittering their morning prayer for 
 alms ; those dun-coated friars of the bird world had hard 
 picking now that fog and mist had come, but they recog- 
 nized a friend in Caro, and one of them flew almost into 
 her face to attract her attention, then retired to a chimney- 
 pot to scold at her when he found that she did not listen 
 to him. The sun came out gloriously after a little, and 
 Caro accepted this as a good omen. A leaf came floating 
 down and lodged upon her breast ; she caught it up and 
 kissed it passionately, for it reminded her of the day when 
 she stood with Stanislas at the door and listened with 
 delight to his tender words of love. Stanislas ! Stanislas 
 everywhere ! His image was constantly in her vision, and 
 she felt that if she were required to cast him out of her 
 life, to forget him, to banish him, the effort might kill her. 
 
 " Mercy ! daughter ! how white your face is ! " was Mrs. 
 Merlin's cry when Caro went in, after wandering for an 
 hour bareheaded under the melancholy boughs of the trees 
 which were losing their last leaves. " You haven't slept a 
 wink, I know ! Xow, Caro, don't break down to-day of all 
 days in the world ! Think how we have struggled, and 
 and how it would tickle about twenty young women who 
 have failed, if you should join their ranks ! My senses ! 
 if Miss Scolley should see you make a blunderer a failure 
 to-night, I believe she'd elevate that little stuck-up nose 
 of hers until she'd break her neck short off, and that 
 mebbe would be some consolation." 
 
 " I shall not fail, mother," said Caro, gently. The 
 sight of the worn, prosaic, homely face, beaming with 
 motherly love and solicitude, touched her heart. " Where 
 is the wonderful new dress? May I look at it? We 
 must get all these smaller preparations finished early. 
 Mulari is coming at nine."
 
 THE DEBUT. 377 
 
 " And Stanislas with him, I suppose," said the mother, 
 fixing her gaze sharply on Caro, for a moment or two. 
 
 "He promised to come," answered the girl, lowering 
 her eyes. 
 
 After she had seen the dress, and tried it on, and 
 praised its beauty, she climbed slowly to her study-room. 
 Half-way up the circular stairway she reeled, and would 
 have fallen, had she not convulsively clutched the railing. 
 She sat down in her old leathern arm-chair near the piano 
 when she reached the study ; but she did not sing a note, 
 nor even look at the music-books. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The Theatre-Italien is gone now, and in its stead is a 
 banking establishment of which fashionable Paris does not 
 even know the name, for societj* has not visited the Place 
 Veutadour since the Muses were expelled from it. The 
 shabby building in which the Parisian beau monde and 
 wealthy strangers from all corners of the world had been 
 content to take their Italian Opera for two full genera- 
 tions was still considered sacred, however, at the tune of 
 Caro's debut; and La Vange, whose most brilliant suc- 
 cesses had been achieved there, would not have consented 
 to reappear anywhere else. 
 
 Audiences at the Italiens, as the theatre was familiarly 
 called, differed from those assembled elsewhere in the 
 French capital : there was about them an indefinable 
 air of distinction, of refinement ; people came and went 
 with dignity and a certain amount of solemnity, as they 
 go and come in church. To be seen at the Italiens at 
 least once a week in the season was indispensable ; and 
 the legions of pretty young girls whose mammas would 
 have perished rather than have permitted their daughters 
 to see the "Chandelier" at the Come'die Fra^aise, or, 
 indeed, to visit a veritable theatre at all, were willing 
 enough that they should bare their lean, yet snowy
 
 378 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 shoulders now and then, and listen to the questionable, 
 although enchanting philosophy filtered through the be- 
 witching music of "La Traviata, " or to the ineffable 
 sadness of Donizetti's dreamy and romantic " Lucia." 
 
 The mammas, as they rustled in their loges, and heard 
 the familiar airs for the hundredth time, now and then 
 fancied that they saw a ghostly procession of vanished 
 glories flitting across the stage, headed by Lablache and 
 Rubini, and with those splendid singers, Mario, Tamburini, 
 the divine Malibran, Persiani, Sontag, and Grisi, in their 
 train. "Helas! mesenfants!" the mammas would say 
 to the daughters who were in ecstasies over some newly 
 arisen Spanish or Italian star; " you can never see the 
 great Mario as Almaviva in the ' Barber ! ' Life no longer 
 seems worth living ! And those delightful days when La 
 Vange came to startle us into enthusiasm once more, after 
 the demi-gods had long departed ! What can compensate 
 for them ? ' ' 
 
 They had all carefully cherished La Vange in their 
 memories, and the result was that the renowned singer 
 attracted a brilliant audience to the Italiens for her 
 benefit concert. The house was filled punctually at 
 eight, but the audience was so ecstatically engaged in 
 self-admiration that the stage-manager did not venture 
 to ring up the curtain until nine. La Vange's old 
 admirers, the beaux of the last generation, came in 
 scores, and paid fabulous prices for comfortless chairs 
 placed in the central aisle, which the Italiens, unlike 
 most Parisian theatres, happened to possess. There were 
 diplomats and generals by dozens ; celebrated authors with 
 vast beards and bald heads ; and English dowagers with in- 
 describable toilettes. Beautiful ladies, a bit passtes, from 
 New Orleans, and Pernambuco, and Santiago, and Rio de 
 Janeiro, and Barcelona, and Havana, came to salute the 
 singer who had once charmed them in their far-off homes ;
 
 THE DEBUT. 379 
 
 Russia had sent a delegation of its prettiest blondes, 
 accompanied by their husbands and fathers, each of whom 
 had probably offered his heart and hand, in his time, to 
 La Vange ; and there was a flaring German scion of royalty 
 in the very centre of the first row of loges. Along the 
 sides of the section devoted to the orchestra stalls were 
 ranged the critics, young and old, a compact and formid- 
 able army of scribes, ready to waken Paris to laughter if 
 La Vange should prove exhausted and should niake a 
 couac with her once peerless voice ; ready to pillory the 
 amateurs who dare, on such occasions as "benefit con- 
 certs," to thrust themselves into comparison with profes- 
 sionals ; and read}', also, to transfix little Caro's dawning 
 artistic reputation upon the points of their diamond-tipped 
 gold pens, should she falter or show by any smallest sign 
 that she had mistaken her vocation. They had all heard of 
 Caro ; some of them had seen her, and had been touched 
 by her beauty ; and Mclari had been among them since 
 the doors of the theatre were opened, prophesying success 
 for his favourite pupil. 
 
 But where was Stanislas the great Stanislas who 
 had promised to be present? This question was asked 
 by each of the critics, who, with the malevolent acuteness 
 which distinguishes the members of their profession, had 
 guessed that the musician was strongly interested in 
 Caro ; and Melari was obliged to bite his lips with 
 vexation, and to answer that he had no information as 
 to the comings and goings of the pianist. For Stanislas 
 had not been seen at Mrs. Merlin's all that day ; Stanis- 
 las was not visible in any of his accustomed haunts ; and 
 at his lodgings the concierge had discouraged the inquiries 
 of the messenger whom Mrs. Merlin, impelled by Caro's 
 distress, had sent to find him, with the statement that he 
 knew nothing whatever about the musician's movements. 
 One or two of the critics were wagging thei.r heads, and
 
 380 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 looking wise, as they vaguely remembered some rumour 
 that they had heard about the relation of Stanislas to a 
 certain recent conspiracy, when Melari and those near him 
 were much surprised by the arrival of the man in question. 
 He pushed his way past complaining and grumbling ladies 
 and gouty old gentlemen; saluted right and left, as was his 
 wont, and dropped into his reserved seat with the air of 
 a man thoroughly at peace with himself and with the 
 world, although he was very pale. 
 
 Caro was standing on the stage, beside La Vange, to 
 whom she had just been presented, and the two were 
 peeping through a round " eye-hole " in the curtain, con- 
 templating the audience, when Stanislas came in. The 
 3'oung girl started so that La Vangc looked at her with 
 amazement, and Caro felt the need of stammering an 
 excuse. There was the beloved face ! There was Stanislas 
 alive and well, and apparently in no dread whatever of 
 avenging conspirators. She would sing for him. and she 
 would succeed. She forgot his cruel neglect, and thought 
 only of his presence. Just as she had spied Alice and Mrs. 
 Harrelston in their box near the stage, there was a cry to 
 " clear the boards," and she had but tune to retreat into 
 the wings before the curtain went up, and two sprightly 
 actors were playing a one- act comedy. She stood in the 
 shadow watching the scene so novel to her with interest ; 
 but the cold air, the smell of gas. the jostling to which 
 she was subjected as the stage-manager and his aids 
 rushed recklessly about, wearied her. She retired to a 
 dressing-room, and sat down beside her anxious mother. 
 
 Half an hour passed slowly enough for Caro. At 
 last thunders of applause announced that the idol of the 
 evening, the great La Vange, had appeared. There was 
 an encore, then there were six recalls, and then, as the 
 audience had begun to buzz and chatter very audibly, 
 every one wishing to exchange reminiscences of the re-
 
 THE DEBUT. 381 
 
 nowned woman with every one else, a grimy-faced boy 
 appeared in front of Caro's retreat, and said, " Number 
 four ; Mademoiselle Merlin, if you please ! " 
 
 " Now, Caro," said her mother ; and Caro arose, threw 
 aside her shawl, took her music, and stepped briskly 
 forward. 
 
 There was a little flight of stairs to go up ; a dark- 
 haired gentleman gave her his hand, with an exceedingly 
 deferential ' ' Pardon ! ' ' and then bowed his way before 
 her to the stage, where he sat down at the piano. Caro 
 was to sing the "Jewel Song" from Faust. The first 
 notes were heard ; the talkers began to cease their con- 
 versation and to stare coldly and rather impertinently at 
 the beautiful girl who stood, calm and dignified, before 
 them, about to solicit their approval. The ladies consulted 
 their programmes, and seeing the name Miss Caro Merlin 
 for Caro had decided to assume no false colours they 
 smiled at each other, and whispered, " Une Anglaise. Now 
 we shall be amused ! " The old men shifted their opera 
 hats from hand to hand and showed their teeth ; M61ari 
 put on a sympathetic smile ; the critics grinned derisively ; 
 and Caro felt that, with the exception of a few personal 
 friends scattered hither and 3*on throughout the theatre, 
 she had in front of her fifteen hundred people who would 
 willingly applaud her if she succeeded, but who felt con- 
 vinced that she would not achieve success. 
 
 Nevertheless, she began to sing, and as she sang she 
 looked at Stanislas, in the vague hope that some inspiration 
 born of his love would bear her through the trial which 
 was every moment growing more formidable. But she was 
 surprised to see a portly gentleman with yellow whiskers, 
 who was seated directly behind Stanislas, lean over and 
 touch the musician's shoulder, and to see Stanislas start 
 violently, look around, and then, as by instinct, gaze up at 
 a point in the gallery. The girl sang bravely on, but her
 
 382 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 eyes followed those of Stanislas until they rested on a 
 strange-looking old man, with scarred and wrinkled face, 
 and with a long white beard. This man was leaning over 
 the railing, and watching the musician as a cat watches 
 the mouse upon which she is about to spring. 
 
 To- the astonishment of his neighbours, who were begin- 
 ning to give a little sympathetic attention to Caro, Stanislas 
 arose hastily, and made his way out, brushing against the 
 ladies, and elbowing men almost brutally. Murmurs and 
 cries of " Sit down ! " were heard, but he paid no attention 
 to them. With a look of terror on his face, he scrambled 
 on until he reached the end of the row of scats ; then dis- 
 appeared through a door, heedless of the remonstrances 
 addressed to him. 
 
 Caro' s voice failed, sank ; a mist arose before her 
 eyes ; she saw anew the vision of Stanislas lying white 
 and still ; she clutched her music desperately but the 
 murmuring audience seemed to recede ; despair choked 
 her utterance ; she staggered, and fell. The pianist 
 hastened to her side ; the curtain was rung down ; and the 
 critics shook their heads, and fanned themselves vigorously 
 with their hats. Melari glared at the pitiless society 
 dames who giggled at the catastrophe, and bit his lips 
 until the blood came. 
 
 A minute afterwards the door of the Ilarrelstons' box 
 was opened, and a soft voice said in French, " Is Mademoi- 
 selle Harrelston there? Can I speak with her? " 
 
 " Perhaps Caro has sent for me, mother," said Alice, 
 rising. " May I go to her? " 
 
 ' ' ( Vrtainly , my dear that is, if you think And 
 
 Alice stepped into the narrow passage. 
 
 The messenger was a small girl, dressed in black. She 
 put a note into Alice's hand, and placed one finger on her 
 own lips, to indicate silence. Evidently this summons was 
 not from Caro. Alice broke the seal.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE TEMPTER. 
 
 MRS. MERLIN slowly drew off her gloves, and looked at 
 her daughter as if she would read her thoughts. The old 
 lady's face was stem. Caro felt that she could detect a 
 certain anger mingled with the pity which she knew that 
 the mother could not choose but bestow upon her unlucky 
 daughter. 
 
 They were at home, in the great study-room, which 
 was a weird and melancholy place when dimly lighted 
 by Caro's little reading lamp. One might readily have 
 imagined it filled with the shades of the dead and gone 
 painters who, in successive generations, had inhabited 
 it, and had there nourished their lofty ambitions or 
 struggled with their despairs. Caro thought of them as 
 she sat in the old arm-chair, while the pall of her own ill 
 luck settled slowly down upon her. The gloom almost 
 frightened her. She fancied that she could hear footsteps 
 upon the circular stairway ; and she wished, with all her 
 heart, that she were comfortably at home in Illinois. It 
 seemed very far away now farther than ever, since she 
 began to feel that she was on the border-land of failure in 
 her cherished plans. The tears filled her eyes. She gave 
 her small, cold right hand to her mother, who took it be- 
 tween her two warm palms, and held it gently while she 
 waited for the girl to speak. 
 
 383
 
 384 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " I am sorry, mother, heartily sorry for your sake," at 
 last Caro said ; "but for my own sake I don't care the 
 first grain. I only know that I wish I were dead. ' ' 
 
 The old lady did not speak. She continued her search- 
 ing gaze, and Caro began to grow a trifle rebellious under 
 this mute interrogation, which had a decided savour of 
 accusation in it. 
 
 " I thought you were sorry for me, mother," she added ; 
 " but I begin to believe " 
 
 ""Wai," said the old lady, breaking her silence and 
 speaking in her most matter-of-fact, her harshest tones, 
 " I don't care nothin' about the accident to-night. I don't 
 consider that it's a failure, and I don't think 't any of 
 them girls that was grinnin' up in the fourth-story boxes 
 think that 'twas either. M61ari come behind the curtain to 
 see me before you was brought to, and he said that Miss 
 Lottie Eldridge said that you fainted on purpose so's to 
 get a lot of notices in the French papers. I declare I 
 believe it would do me good to box that girl's ears. On 
 the whole," continued Mrs. Merlin, with the air and tone 
 of a general summing up the result of an unsuccessful 
 action, which yet could not be called a defeat, " I don't 
 know as any great harm's done to your career. It is jest 
 as Melari says ; it can't be called a first appearance, be- 
 cause you hadn't had time to appear when you went down 
 as if you'd ben shot. But that isn't what worries me. If 
 that was all, and if there was no secret cause, no trouble," 
 here Mrs. Merlin's voice grew harder and somewhat 
 lower, and her manner became condemnatory "no se- 
 cret cause, I say, of all this, I could go to bed and sleep 
 as comfortable as usual. But there's somethin' wrong, 
 and I want you to explain it to me before we move from 
 whore we are now." 
 
 She released her hold of Caro's hand, and stood eyeing 
 her as if she were determined to exact an explanation, no
 
 THE TEMPTER. 385 
 
 matter how much it might wound and weary the girl in 
 her excited and fatigued condition. 
 
 Caro's look was proud, but her voice trembled as she 
 answered, " We can have no confidences, no confessions 
 to-night, mother. I asked you, when we were in the 
 cathedral at Berne, never to distrust me again. And I 
 made up my mind, then and there, that if you did me so 
 little honour as to doubt me, the sooner I stopped telling 
 you of my feelings and and my impressions, the better. 
 You never did understand me, and you never will. It's 
 no time to-night, after all that has happened, to worry 
 and scold me, and I wish you to comprehend that I don't 
 propose to be lectured. I am ashamed that I was so 
 weak, and that you have to suffer with me in my failure ; 
 but I tell you that when you begin to ascribe my weakness 
 to some unworthy thing you go decidedly too far. And I 
 wish you would go downstairs and leave me to my own 
 thoughts. I think they will furnish me company enough." 
 She sprang out of the chair, threw aside her bonnet, ner- 
 vously replaced a loosened hair-pin in her chestnut braids, 
 and went away into a dark corner. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin quailed. She adored Caro when the girl 
 rebelled against her wavering and brief manifestations of 
 maternal authority. But her heart was sore, and she felt 
 it her duty to say something more. 
 
 "Yes, Caro," she murmured, plucking at her sleeves 
 and beginning to cry, "oh yes, I recollect how you 
 scolded me in the church at Berne that night when Stan- 
 islas played all that raving mess of music on the organ, 
 
 and when you I tell you it would have ben better 
 
 for you if you had never seen that man, and if I had 
 never let him put his moonstruck foreign face inside our 
 doors ! And I want you to remember that he mustn't 
 come around here any more ! If you haven't got common 
 prudence, I have, and I propose to exercise it* I warned
 
 386 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 you about foreigners, but you wouldn't listen ! There ! 
 I won't say another single word to you to-night." Then, 
 changing her tone to the gentle one habitual to her when 
 addressing her daughter, she added, " You'd better let 
 me take your dress off, dear, and bring you } r our wrapper, 
 if you're goin' to sit around any longer. It'll be a pity to 
 wrinkle it, it's so pretty." 
 
 " Please leave me alone, mother, to-night," pleaded 
 Caro. "We shall both be hi a better mood to-morrow. 
 Do go to bed, and when daj T light comes we will have a 
 talk, and decide what must be done. See that the servant 
 goes to her room. I don't want her to think that we have 
 been defeated down there to-night. Come ! forgive me ! " 
 and, returning out of the darkness, she kissed her mother's 
 wrinkled cheek, and pushed her gently to the door. 
 
 Mrs. Merlin yielded, and went slowly downstairs, 
 mourning over the untoward event of the evening, and 
 muttering sombre prophecies for the future. Caro closed 
 the small door at the head of the spiral staircase, and 
 was alone. 
 
 It was almost midnight. The girl but dimly recollected 
 how she had found herself lying on a dusty sofa in a 
 dressing-room, with her hair drenched with cologne water ; 
 how she had hidden her pale face in her mother's friendly 
 bosom when Melari had come to console her and to coun- 
 sel her not to do what she had not dreamed of doing 
 attempt to appear again the same evening ; and how 
 finally she had been brought home in an ill-smelling cab, 
 and had climbed up to her refuge in the leathern arm-chair 
 with a kind of vague belief that with the morrow all earthly 
 things would end. She was calmer now ; but tears filled 
 her eyes, and a burning flush invaded her brow as she 
 thought of the gossip which her swoon would excite among 
 the rivals who envied and hated her, especially if they had 
 observed the hasty exit of Stanislas from the theatre.
 
 THE TEMPTER. 387 
 
 Stanislas ! Her mother's mention of his beloved name 
 had awakened her ardent love for him with tenfold pas- 
 sion, and it glowed in her veins. He had neglected her, 
 deserted her at the very time when she had most needed 
 his presence had been the cause of her humiliation ; but 
 she would pardon him all if she could but see him if she 
 could but feel his hand upon her hands, if the magic of 
 his presence were once more vouchsafed to her if he 
 would hasten to take the necessary precautions for his own 
 safety ! What could she do to save him ? How could she 
 shield him against the vindictive enemies whom he himself 
 had placed upon his track, and of whose whereabouts she 
 knew nothing ? On whom could she call ? In whose name 
 could she invoke protection for this wonderful artist, this 
 man of genius, this musical demi-god whose name was 
 famous in two hemispheres, and who was supposed to be 
 above the reach of worldly cares or anxieties? 
 
 Her helplessness enraged her. She went, without being 
 entirely conscious what she was doing, to the piano, and 
 lighted the candles in the brackets on each side of the 
 music-holder, and others in the candelabras at the sides 
 of the huge room. These, with the lamp, made the dark- 
 ness more visible, but seemed to cheer her up a bit. She 
 sat down at the instrument, allowing her fingers idly to 
 wander over the keys, and began rehearsing, in a low 
 voice, that "Jewel song" of which she had made such 
 wreck scarcely two hours before. The music soothed her ; 
 her courage began to return ; and with it came again the 
 vision which she had so many times seen of herself as a 
 great and successful artist, crowned with the popular 
 favour, and worshipped as one of the favoured ones of 
 the earth. 
 
 " I will have my dream ! " she cried, passionately, start- 
 ing up from the piano. " I will succeed. I know I can 
 and I must ! I must put away all these small human pas-
 
 388 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 sions and sympathies, and consecrate myself to art ! But 
 how," and here she paused, dreamy-eyed and absorbed in 
 her reverie, and lowered her voice as she added, " how 
 can I give up Stanislas? He is the very breath of my 
 life. Sometimes I think he is my inspiration ! " 
 
 She stepped hastily backward, uttering a faint cry, for 
 she fancied that she heard the door which opened on to 
 the balcony-roof close gently, and then the sound of a 
 light footstep. Her first impulse was to seize the lamp 
 and go up to the door, but in an instant she heard a 
 second footfall, then a figure came into view on the stairs, 
 and moved composedly down into the room. 
 
 Caro staggered back to the piano and clutched at it. 
 She appeared now to have lost her voice, her strength ; 
 her individuality seemed for the moment to be merged in 
 the being of him she loved of the living and breathing 
 Stanislas, who stood before her as if he had dropped from 
 the sky in obedience to the earnest prayer in her mind 
 that she might see him once more. 
 
 He was very pale, but otherwise unchanged. His eyes 
 gleamed with the old familiar light, and his attitude was 
 as graceful and striking as usual. Caro began to fancy 
 herself the victim of an optical illusion. Surely this was 
 not the man whom she had seen hurriedly quitting his 
 place at the theatre, with the marks of fear upon him ! 
 Yet he lived he moved he spoke ! 
 
 "I know you are amazed, ma chdre Caro, to see me 
 here, and coming from your balcony, at such an hour," 
 he said, " but I can explain all. After what has occurred 
 at the theatre, I feel that I am at a disadvantage that 
 I am in a false position; but" and he moved quickly 
 toward the girl " will you let me explain? One of the 
 critics ran after me in the lobby to tell me that you had 
 fainted, and then it was that I cursed my stupidity. Oh, 
 toll me, c/terie, my own, my saint, was it because you saw
 
 THE TEMPTER. 389 
 
 my agitation that you, too, lost control of your nerves? 
 Never mind ; it shall do you no harm ; it shall be made 
 up to you an hundredfold mille foist* Let us forget it 
 already. You must know that I have been in an adven- 
 ture, and, sapristi! I have narrowly escaped a tragedy ! " 
 He drew a long breath, and, taking a delicately perfumed 
 handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his brow. 
 
 Caro sat down, feeling inexpressibly relieved at his last 
 declaration. After all, how could she blame him for this 
 intrusion at such an hour? If he had come to her, and 
 asked her to shield him, would she not instantly have done 
 it, no matter at what time of night or day? Here he was 
 alive, and congratulating himself on his final escape from 
 his enemies. Was not that joy enough for the moment ! 
 She felt like sounding a paean of rejoicing on the white keys. 
 
 "I must tell you," he continued, " that I have been 
 fortunate enough to give the Russian Government some 
 interesting news about a band of conspirators wicked 
 people -'who have been operating against the peace of the 
 Empire from their haunts in half a dozen countries. And 
 do you know that those impudent people were actually 
 foolish enough to wish to kill me for betraying their small 
 secrets ! Bah ! They even sent me word that they would 
 kill me. Now I would not have cared much about that 
 threat had the police been so lucky as to get all the con- 
 spirators ; but one of them, the most dangerous and vin- 
 dictive of all the delightful party, is still at large. You 
 can fancy my amazement when, at the concert to-night, I 
 felt my shoulder touched from behind, and looking around 
 I saw a Polish gentleman who used to be in the diplomatic 
 service, and whom I have known here in Paris for some 
 time. He called my attention to a figure in the gallery, 
 and who do you think it was? Why, my uncaught con- 
 spirator a scurvy old rascal, well known in Poland and 
 * A thousand times.
 
 S90 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Russia as guilty of provoking many conspiracies during 
 his long life. I made up my mind that that was the man 
 who had been delegated to kill me, and so I made all 
 possible haste to get out and communicate with the police, 
 and have him taken before he could leave the theatre." 
 
 " I saw him, leaning on the gallery rail and looking at 
 you," cried Caro. "But go on goon! "Was he caught ?" 
 
 " Hum ! not for the moment ! " answered the musician. 
 'He seemed to have got out of the theatre by magic. 
 But the police agents of Paris will have him in their net 
 to-night. I came up here at once, after I heard that you 
 had given up singing at the concert, and I well do 
 you know when I found that I had arrived first, and that 
 your garden door was open and there was no light I 
 walked in, and climbed to the balcony, and shut the door 
 and locked it ! I said, ' No conspirator can get me here 
 until I choose to open to him, at least ; ' and the sense of 
 relief from feeling that I was followed was tremendous. 
 Then I heard you come in, and and now here I am! 
 Does it not all sound like a story of the middle ages? 
 And yet it is real nineteenth century real and true ! 
 Oh, Caro ! do not look at me with such great round eyes 
 so full of wonder. I know you have much to forgive 
 but I will explain all." 
 
 With a quick movement he was beside her. He placed 
 one hand tenderly upon her pale forehead, and bent her 
 beautiful head a little backward. In another moment 
 his lips would have touched hers. But Caro arose, and 
 Stanislas withdrew his hand, looking a trifle alarmed. 
 
 "Then explain to me," she said, feeling a wondrous 
 longing that he might be able to do so, " how it is that 
 you are not in danger when the conspirator most to be 
 dreaded is at large when Vera, who, by her own con- 
 fession, is pledged to take your life because you have 
 betrayed her and her accomplices, has not been arrested?
 
 THE TEMPTER. 391 
 
 Answer me that if you can, to my satisfaction? "Will 
 she forbear to carry out her mission to you because 
 because there has been love between you?" 
 
 " Bon Dieu! how did you hear all this?" cried the 
 musician, falling on his knees at her feet and grasping 
 both her hands. " Sit down, Caro," he whispered ; " be 
 calm, and you shall have the explanation. Who has told 
 you of Vera ' s ravings? " 
 
 The girl sank down once more on the seat, and told 
 him how it was that she happened to overhear Vera's 
 mystical prophecies of his doom. And while the musician 
 covered her hands with kisses, and swore that he had 
 never loved Vera, and that she had been the curse of his 
 life, and that he did not fear her Caro felt a new and 
 invincible repugnance to the young artist's caresses arising 
 in her heart. It seemed now to her as if in them there 
 might be some hint of dishonour. The agony of renuncia- 
 tion was perhaps to come ; she had tasted of the bitter cup 
 of sorrow often of late ; the draught might once more be 
 presented at her lips. And now her senses were return- 
 ing ; she began to see the man in a new light as one who 
 had remorselessly sacrificed a woman who loved him, and 
 for whom he disclaimed all affection. Or did he love 
 Vera, and was she, the inexperienced, unworldly American 
 girl who had yielded her heart into his keeping, was she 
 deceived? This doubt was maddening, and the thought 
 that Stanislas was untrue to any one even to Vera 
 degraded him. She struggled to free her hands, and to 
 end this visit, which she felt was dangerous and profitless. 
 
 " This is no time and no place to talk so wildly, Stan- 
 islas," she said. "You must retire, and to-morrow you 
 can give me an explanation of your conduct. If you 
 knew how it cuts me to the heart to doubt you ! And 
 how I suffer at the thought that some of those vindictive 
 people may "
 
 392 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 He would not release her hands. There was a strange 
 look in his eyes which she had never observed before. 
 She shrank away from it, as if it might sear her brow. 
 
 "Oh, my little love," he said, "I love you and you 
 only ! With you I could brave the world ; and with you 
 I could hide from it, too, until the storm is over and there 
 is no farther danger from these people. I don't know 
 what Vera will do, but sometimes I am afraid of her. 
 Why can we not go away far away, where she could 
 not track or follow us you and I together always 
 in dreaming and in waking in morning and at nightfall 
 together in some southern some remote land 
 where we could live and love and study and be free ! 
 Listen ! I would atone for all my neglect I would make 
 you a great artist, and you would fulfil your ambition, and 
 make the nations sit at your feet. Oh ! why could we not 
 fly awa}- from this mean place of care and trouble, and 
 live in a new world of our own careless of all the dull 
 conventionalities for each other all in all. Would you 
 go with me if to-morrow I showed you the way ' ' 
 
 "I do not understand you, Stanislas," said the girl, 
 wrenching her bands free with such a violent effort as to 
 astonish the musician. " And I am sure that you do not 
 understand me ! Are you mad, to talk to me of a runa- 
 way marriage, when I doubt you as I have never doubted 
 you before? And why hide from the world? Oh, Stan- 
 islas, there was a moment when I thought that I should 
 be proud to love you in the whole world's sight but 
 now 
 
 " Marriage ! who talks of marriage who cares for it 
 in our artist world? " cried Stanislas, who seemed intoxi- 
 cated with his new idea of flight with Caro, and who hoped 
 to impel her to follow him wherever he commanded. 
 "Who talks of laws and legal forms? Will social law 
 help you in your career as a singer oh, my love?"
 
 THE TEMPTER. 393 
 
 The girl drew back, shudderingly, as from the brink of 
 a great gulf. The enchantment was over ; the moment of 
 renunciation had indeed arrived. The mask had fallen ; 
 the angel was a demon ; the demi-god was a foolish idol 
 with feet of clay ; the dream was done. Into the new 
 world to which he invited her she realized that it would 
 be death to enter. 
 
 "Now," she said, "I do understand you. There is 
 but one thing left for you to do you, the man whom I 
 loved, and raised to the stars, and thought as good as you 
 are talented and that is, to go away at once, and never 
 let me see your face 1 again. Don't stand there ! you make 
 me wish that I were a man, that I might kill you ! " 
 
 She heard him speak, protest, and plead, but she did 
 not know what he said ; and she felt as if a great load 
 were taken from her heart when he had gone, feeling his 
 way timorously down the darkened stairs. She was so. 
 dazed and abstracted that she did not fully realize where 
 she was, or what she was doing, until she felt her mother's 
 arms about her neck, and heard the querulous voice say 
 
 " My darling daughter! Now I do know that it was 
 wrong to doubt you, even for a single minnit ! Thank 
 God that you are a reel American girl, and that you can 
 find your way straight through Europe without being 
 watched over and spied on like these foolish young women 
 here." 
 
 Then she understood that her mother had been aroused 
 by the sudden appearance on the scene of Stanislas, and 
 that the good woman had heard all. 
 
 " Europe is no place for us, mother," said Caro, sud- 
 denly, drying the tears which still would persist in coming 
 unbidden.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 VERA FINDS THE NEW WORLD. 
 
 WHEN Alice had finished reading the note which the small 
 girl in black had brought her, she hesitated for a minute, 
 as if in doubt whether it were not her duty to return and 
 inform her parents of the strange message which it con- 
 tained. But presently her resolve was taken, and she 
 turned to the diminutive messenger, saying 
 " Show me the way. Is it far from here? " 
 "Not very far, Mademoiselle," answered the girl; 
 " with a carriage we can be there in a few minutes. And 
 none too soon, for the poor creature is alone, and when 
 I left she seemed likely soon to be unconscious again." 
 
 Alice felt her heart thrill with pity, despite the hot 
 resentment which now and then fought its way past all 
 her best impulses, and insisted upon asserting its presence 
 and importance. Proud, imperious Vera, the nvysterious 
 revolutionist, the priestess of destruction, the woman who 
 had stolen away her love, who had enlisted the young 
 Indian in a perilous and foolhardy enterprise, was ill, de- 
 serted and forlorn, in hired lodgings in the great capital, 
 and had sent a piteous appeal to Alice to come to her at 
 once. It was clearly her duty to go, she thought ; there 
 was a passionate appeal in the nervously written words of 
 the note which she could not turn away from. There 
 394
 
 VERA FINDS THE NEW WORLD. 395 
 
 would be time enough for explanation to her parents 
 later ; so she hurried with the girl to the vestibule of the 
 theatre, and was about to step out into the damp night 
 air with her, when she discovered that she had forgotten 
 her cloak. 
 
 " You must return to the box and ask for my wraps," 
 she said to the girl. " Say that I will be back soon, and 
 take care not to explain where I am going. Hasten ! " 
 
 And while the child flew to obey her orders, she stood 
 looking out on the dreary waste of the Place Me'hul, 
 wondering if she were to hear news of Pleasant Merrinott. 
 It seemed to her that the crucial moment had arrived ; 
 that now she was to know whether she were to be con- 
 demned to despair, or to find new hope before her. The 
 vision of the Cherokee's dark, handsome face arose ; she 
 closed her eyes to force back the tears which came as she 
 thought of the cruel separation on which he had insisted. 
 But suddenly she felt vaguely conscious of a presence 
 which seemed to menace her, and, opening her eyes and 
 looking out again, she saw, to her astonishment and horror, 
 the patriarchal conspirator, Ignatius, standing on the 
 outer steps, and gazing attentively at her. The scarred 
 and wrinkled face, the gray beard, the sparkling eyes, the 
 expression of mingled malice and mournful disappoint- 
 ment were all burned into her memory, and she recognized 
 them instantly. 
 
 At first she was frightened, and felt like calling for 
 protection from this veteran destructionist, who might 
 possibly have some vengeance to execute upon her. She 
 looked around ; there was no one save a lame programme 
 peddler near her ; and when she glanced out again, Ignatius 
 was gone. Alice shuddered as she endeavoured vainly to 
 think of a reason for this apparition ; but when the small 
 girl came back she put on her cloak and went away boldly 
 with her.
 
 396 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Alice was surprised when the slowly moving cab which 
 they had taken stopped before the door of a handsome 
 house on the Boulevard Malesherbes, near the Madeleine. 
 Vera had left no address on the cards which she had sent 
 to the Harrelstons, and Alice had expected to be conducted 
 into some back street in an obscure quarter, like that into 
 which she had penetrated in pursuit of old Ignatius. She 
 ordered the coachman to wait for her, and was soon in the 
 long drawing-room at the top of the house, where Colonel 
 Cliff, Vera, and Stanislas had so lately had their explana- 
 tion. A single candle was burning feebly in a bronze 
 candelabra attached to the wall. There was a faint odour 
 of perfumes and medicines in the room, and as Alice 
 entered she heard a stertorous breathing which alarmed 
 her. 
 
 "She is off again!" said the small girl, darting for- 
 ward to the sofa, on which Vera was lying. " La pauvre 
 femme 1 And who knows how long she has been so ! See, 
 she has been biting her hands ! " 
 
 " What is the cause of her unconsciousness, of her 
 illness? " asked Alice, throwing aside her wraps, and laying 
 her bonnet on the mantle. She did not approach Vera at 
 first ; she was questioning herself. But soon the unerring 
 feminine instinct told her that there was no contamination 
 to be feared from the helpless, forlorn young creature, 
 prostrate on the couch, with hands clenched convulsively, 
 and with her teeth set over one delicate finger ; with 
 limbs rigid, and with features slightly distorted by the 
 violence of the spasm into which she had fallen. She 
 believed that Vera was pure, however misguided she might 
 be, and she went forward impulsively, knelt down beside 
 the suffering girl, and began to care for her. 
 
 "It's hemorrhages, Mademoiselle," replied the small 
 attendant. "She has them for hours together, and they 
 bring on these convulsions, which seem to rack her all to
 
 VERA FINDS THE NEW WORLD. 397 
 
 pieces. See the handkerchief !" And she held up one 
 saturated with blood. 
 
 Alice shrank back in genuine alarm. But pity took 
 the place of fear. " We must bring her out of this at 
 once," she said. " Has she no physician. no friends 
 no remedies?" 
 
 " The .doctor has been here once," answered the girl, 
 " and he said he would come again at midnight. He said, 
 too, Mademoiselle," and the girl's voice sank to a whisper, 
 " that she may in her weak and excited condition, be suffo- 
 cated in one of these hemorrhages. She had no one here 
 with her but but Monsieur Stanislas, and and I think 
 they had some kind of quarrel. He went away and has not 
 come back. So I begged of her to send for some one and 
 finally she wrote the note to you, and sent me to the 
 theatre with it. She said she knew you would be there to- 
 night. She must be raised up see there she is purple 
 again. With a bit of ice on her forehead perhaps she will 
 come to her senses ! " 
 
 Alice raised the slender form, and supported it, while 
 the girl applied the simple remedies as the physician and 
 Vera had taught her to do. By-and-by it seemed to 
 Alice as if it were an age Vera's eyes opened, and she 
 released her poor wounded finger from her teeth, and at 
 last let both hands fall in her lap. An expression of intense 
 weariness came over her face ; intelligence seemed return- 
 ing to her gaze ; and Alice was about to speak to her, when 
 she arose, with a convulsive spring and a loud cry, and 
 clasped the sofa to support herself. Then, shuddering and 
 moaning, she settled slowly down again, and coughed until 
 the blood came oozing to her lips. She groped foE a 
 handkerchief, held it to her mouth, looked at it as she 
 withdrew it saturated with the life current, shook her head 
 mournfully, and then turned to Alice. 
 
 " Ah ! " she murmured, faintly, " you have come ! I am
 
 398 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 so glad that you did not refuse to see me ! Can you tell 
 me if it is very very late? Are the lights out here? I 
 can hardly see you. Oh ! find me some way to stop this ! 
 It is like hot steam ! It takes my life ! " 
 
 " Let me help you," said Alice, tremulously. "Shall 
 we not send for a physician again? Will you tell me, 
 now that you are conscious, how to apply the remedies? 
 I will watch with you until you are better." 
 
 "No no no!" said the Russian girl, earnestly. 
 " No plysicians. They can do me no good. They cannot 
 even prevent me from biting my hands." Her lips 
 trembled and laboured, and she seemed about to enter 
 into another convulsion. But she caught Alice by one 
 shoulder with a desperate, yet not painfully emphatic 
 movement, as though she were anxious to cling to sanity 
 and a normal condition as long as possible. " Do not be 
 alarmed," she said, very sweetly; "I shall find strength 
 and calmness yet to say much to you for it is to you 
 that I would confess." 
 
 Then she began to babble in her native language, and 
 to cough again, and Alice held her until her own strength 
 gave way, and she was compelled to lay Vera's head back 
 on the sofa pillow. The small attendant administered a 
 powerful restorative which the physician had left, pouring 
 it between the Russian girl's teeth as best she could ; and, 
 after a convulsion in which Alice thought it certain that 
 the frail life would pass out into the unknown, Vera 
 drifted once more back to a conscious condition. She put 
 out one cramped hand gently to Alice, who took it, and 
 held it tenderly, wondering why it was that she no longer 
 felt any feeling of anger or enmity against this woman. 
 
 "It is very pleasant to be cared for," sighed Vera. 
 "I have had but little care in my life not enough, I think. 
 Do you know that sometimes even when I have been 
 most eager in my work my mission," she uttered these
 
 VERA FINDS THE NEW WORLD. 399 
 
 last words reverently " I have been so hungry for love 
 that I could have died for lack of it ! yes, I could have 
 died because but now I see that I was mistaken that I 
 am punished because I allowed my weak, human feelings 
 to turn me aside. Ah ! do you remember our little wager 
 of the bouquet of violets about the Indian's enthusiasm? " 
 
 Alice unconsciously withdrew her hand from Vera's, 
 and wild, unreasoning resentment sprang into her heart, 
 and was manifest in her eyes. But the Russian girl 
 seemed unabashed before it. There was in Vera's manner 
 an unearthly and spiritual calm which grew momentarily 
 more and more perceptible. The sinister and harsh ex- 
 pression which at times had been so noticeable in her eyes 
 was gone, and in the blue orbs there shone only compassion, 
 regret, and resignation. The restorative had given her 
 temporary relief from the convulsions, aud she seemed 
 thoroughly composed as she took Alice's hand again, and 
 held it as gently as before. 
 
 ' ' The poor violets ! ' ' she said. ' ' I had almost forgotten 
 them in the rush and haste of important events. But I 
 think that I should have won them, if Mr. Merrinott had 
 remained in Europe. For now I do not think that he 
 would have lost his enthusiasm or abated his interest in 
 his work. I think he was true true as steel." 
 
 The blood mounted to Alice's cheeks, and she started 
 to arise, but Vera's slight grasp seemed to hold her down. 
 How could she submit to hear praise of Pleasant's 
 enthusiasm from this mystical creature who had misled 
 him into the maddest of ventures ! 
 
 "What have you done with him?" she asked hotly, 
 yet scarcely knowing what she asked ; ' ' where is he ? I 
 will know where you have sent him ! ' ' 
 
 " I cannot tell you that without violating an oath," 
 answered Vera, turning on her side and fixing her blue 
 eyes firmly upon Alice. "But I will tell you this that
 
 400 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the mission upon which he was sent is at an end, and the 
 obligation which was placed on him is removed. In 
 a very few days he will know all about this. I am sorry 
 that I cannot tell you more for I, too, know what it is 
 to love " 
 
 " You love him ! You love Pleasant Merrinott ! " cried 
 Alice, paling and recoiling from Vera. 
 
 " I, too, know what it is to love," repeated the Russian 
 girl, calmly. "To love hopelessly, despairingly: and I 
 would not have you suffer as I have suffered. No, it is not 
 the Indian good, brave, earnest man that he is, a pearl 
 among men it is not Mr. Merrinott that I love. But let 
 us not talk of that. I wished you to know that the man 
 you love is no longer bound to us, unless he chooses to be 
 so. The plan which we were to work out together has 
 been discovered ; his usefulness and mine are at an end. 
 He was but a simple disciple, not yet bound to us for ever, 
 but only for the special work in America. I hope that 
 now he will come back to you." 
 
 She pressed one hand to her breast and began coughing 
 again, timidly, as if she suffered racking pain. Then, 
 briefly and in impassioned and often eloquent language, 
 she told Alice of the failure of the conspiracy, taking care 
 to give her no details as to the actual aims of the con- 
 spirators either in Europe or America. She recited the 
 treachery of Stanislas, and became so strongly excited 
 that Alice, whose brain was giddy with newty-awakened 
 hopes and fears, vainly besought her to cease talking. 
 
 " It was my punishment," said Vera, " my punishment 
 that I should have been deceived in Stanislas ; punishment 
 for allowing love to creep into my heart after I had vowed 
 myself, my whole existence, my talents, my energies, to 
 the work of destruction. I fought against the passion 
 with all my might ; I tried to root it out of my heart ; but 
 it was useless. I could not do it. I made him my con-
 
 VEKA FINDS THE NEW WOULD. 401 
 
 vert, gave him my confidence, took him into my plans, 
 because I loved him. If I had not yielded to the voice of 
 love I should have been successful, and I would have made 
 society tremble to its foundations ! ' ' 
 
 There was a strange fire in her eyes as she spoke thus. 
 For a minute she was the old Vera, the determined and 
 powerful agent of Bakounin ; but the gleam faded away, 
 and again she was only the suffering woman. 
 
 " If I have caused you any unhappiness, forgive me," 
 whispered Vera, after she had spoken anew of Stanislas's 
 betrayal of her plans, and the deadly danger in which he 
 had thus placed himself. " Now that I know life is over 
 for me I feel a strange longing to leave as few unhappy 
 ones among the innocent as possible." 
 
 Alice knelt down by the Russian girl's side again. 
 "Do not be downcast," she said. "You will recover 
 from your illness and from j T our dream of destruction, 
 and the world will be full of hope for you." 
 
 Vera's lips began to tremble and twitch once more. 
 But she kept her eyes fixed on Alice's face. 
 
 " You are a good, sweet girl," she said, softly. "I 
 should be very happy if you would kiss me on my 
 forehead." 
 
 It was only for an instant that Alice wavered in pres- 
 ence of this request, but Vera's fine perceptions were 
 not to be deceived. 
 
 " You need not fear, my dear," she added, proudly, but 
 speaking even more softly than before. " I am as pure and 
 as true as you are. There is no stain of the world upon 
 me. My errors have been errors of the spirit alone. I 
 have lived as a priestess of the Absolute Idea should live." 
 And the proud yet broken-hearted virgin revolutionist 
 feebly raised her head, as if inviting the caress which she 
 had solicited. 
 
 Alice stooped and kissed her pale brow. "We must
 
 402 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 save you," she said. " Let me send word to my family ; 
 we will have the best physicians. You must not sink 
 down into discouragement and death." 
 
 The little maid brought the medicine, and Vera was 
 about to take a strong dose, when her hands clenched 
 again, her eyes closed, and she babbled incoherently, now 
 in French, now in Russian, now in English. Alice was 
 thoroughly alarmed, and despatched the girl for the doc- 
 tor, not daring to wait until midnight. Vera beat her 
 breast, and murmured at the pain which she felt. Her 
 limbs were rigid, and poor Alice passed terrible minutes 
 while the attendant was absent. Just as she returned, 
 with the fat physician panting behind her, Vera sprang 
 up once more with a loud cry, and fell back immediately, 
 holding both hands over her right breast. Then she 
 muttered 
 
 " Save him, warn him, warn Stanislas the vengeance ! 
 And remember the Absolute Idea man's will must be 
 done ! The world must crumble into rums ; a new world 
 must arise and a new society reign triumphant on the 
 ruins of the old. You will see it, you who remain behind ! 
 They who are left will finish the work " 
 
 She seemed to be searching for Alice, but her eyes 
 were only half open, and she did not look toward the girl. 
 She continued to talk in English interspersing her 
 monologue with scraps of other languages and to tell 
 of the charms which the new world would possess. Then 
 came a violent convulsion, so prolonged that the doctor 
 shook his head, and talked of sending for a priest. 
 
 ' ' What are her wishes ? Does any one know ? If I 
 could but bring her back to consciousness once more ! Give 
 me the brandy ! and a fan ! and you, little one, rub her 
 feet ! We must not let her remain in this condition." 
 
 But, even while he spoke, Vera had passed beyond the 
 reach of his skill. The apostle of destruction, the priestess
 
 VERA FESTDS THE NEW WORLD. 403 
 
 of the Absolute Idea, had departed for a new world, 
 grander than any -which Bakounin had ever evolved from 
 the recesses of his fiery imagination. Death had so subtly 
 severed the chords of the slender life that the great change 
 had been almost imperceptible, and Alice could not believe 
 the doctor's sorrowful announcement until she had looked 
 
 for some minutes upon the still face. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock in the morning when Alice, 
 accompanied by the physician, reached her home, and told 
 her half-distracted parents, who had just sent two servants 
 to Miss Merlin's house in quest of her, supposing her to 
 have accompanied the unlucky Caro home, of the scene 
 which she had witnessed. Her mother was strangely 
 frugal of reproof for her absence ; and her father, who 
 seemed in a curiously tender mood, led her into the 
 library, and showed her a blue telegram lying on his desk. 
 
 " Read it," he said, " and then go to bed, little Alice." 
 
 The girl obeyed. It was from Mr. Harrelston's agent 
 in St. Louis, and announced that Pleasant Merrinott had 
 returned quietly to his home in the Cherokee Nation, and 
 had thus far done nothing more mysterious than to settle 
 peacefully down on his farm. Alice let the despatch fall 
 from her trembling hands. Her father picked it up and 
 folded it. 
 
 "I shall sail for America in the Pereire next Saturday," 
 he said. " Would you like to accompany me? " 
 
 " If you think it best, papa." 
 
 " Very well. To bed ; and to-morrow we will see that 
 the unfortunate Russian girl has decent burial a proper 
 funeral " 
 
 "That's kind, Eric," said his wife, who was looking in 
 at the library door; "but I don't think that the poor 
 creature was a Christian." 
 
 " Perhaps not, my love ; but I am one."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 BLUELOTS AND MERRINOTTS. 
 
 IF any one who had never before seen him had looked 
 upon Pleasant Merrinott, as he stood at the entrance of a 
 great thicket in his beloved Indian Territory on a sun- 
 shiny morning, twenty days after the unfortunate Vera 
 was dead and buried, and after Alice and her father had 
 sailed from Havre for America, he might readily have fan- 
 cied the young Indian a prophet of his tribe. Pleasant's 
 devotion to the mystical doctrines of Bakounin had done 
 him serious harm, and had it not been for the sturdy 
 resistance offered by his magnificent physical organization, 
 he might already have been registered among the many 
 made insane by the great " apostle of man's will." 
 
 Had he remained in Paris, he would have been lost. The 
 vastness of the vengeance upon society which he had been 
 led to plan, his doubts and pcqolexities as to his duty to 
 Alice, the hunger of his love, the torturing anxieties as to 
 the fate of his sister conspirator, who, in his misguided en- 
 thusiasm, he had learned to revere as a saint who awaited, 
 with tender and sweet resignation, the martyr's crown 
 all these, any one of which was enough to break down a 
 man of less elastic temperament, had so preyed upon him 
 that he was nervous, choleric, capricious in his moods. 
 
 When he had suddenly reappeared among his people in 
 the vicinity of Tahlequah, the chief town in the Cherokee 
 
 404
 
 BLUELOTS AND MEERINOTTS. 405 
 
 Nation, and had shown little or no disposition to acquaint 
 the simple folk, whose interests he had once seemed to 
 have so much at heart, with the result of his self-imposed 
 mission, they had whispered- together that he had been 
 unsuccessful. Much to his surprise and indignation, they 
 soon began to look askance at him, and he found out the 
 truth of the melancholy proverb that a prophet is not 
 without honour save in his own country. His enemies 
 were not slow to perceive that something extraordinary 
 had happened to destroy Pleasant' s prestige ; and some of 
 them circulated rumours that he had been converted to 
 their views, that he now admitted the necessity of opening 
 the territory to the white man, of giving up the ancient 
 habit of holding the lands in common, and of merging 
 race and uniting possessions with those of the stronger 
 and richer neighbours. 
 
 When Pleasant heard that he was thus misrepresented, 
 he at first flew into such a terrible passion that he was 
 almost uncontrollable. He attributed the lies to the Blue- 
 lots, his hereditary adversaries, the cruel half-breeds who 
 had killed his brother Elias, and he was not wrong. They 
 sneered openly at his " mission," went about sowing dis- 
 cord even in the camps of his friends, and announced their 
 purpose of " shooting him at sight." They pretended that 
 he had espoused the views of then- faction with some 
 sinister and concealed motive. This was grave. Pleas- 
 ant fully appreciated its gravity, armed himself, and slept 
 with barricaded doors. When he went abroad he moved 
 as if he were in a hostile country. Once he had been so 
 popular that a dozen humbler Indians were glad to follow 
 in his train when he went forth to hunt or to visit a 
 neighbour's farm, and any one of these dusky rustic re- 
 tainers would willingly have lain down his life for the 
 man who wished to revive the independence and the purity 
 of race of the ancient Cherokees. But now he went uu-
 
 406 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 attended save by one or two of his own relatives, who 
 were themselves half angry with him for not explaining 
 his position, and who regretted his return because they 
 felt that it would inevitably precipitate a struggle which 
 they had hoped to avoid. 
 
 At this juncture of affairs Pleasant was surprised, one 
 morning, in his own house, by the entrance of a delega- 
 tion of dark-skinned, stern-faced farmers, accompanied 
 by a few Indians of the less civilized sort. He sat before 
 a smouldering fire on the hearthstone, and his mother, 
 crouching beside him, held his right hand in hers, while 
 she kept her great jet-black eyes fastened on his weary 
 and perplexed face. Pleasant's heart was deeply wounded 
 by the mute reproach which he saw in his mother's eyes. 
 Every one distrusted him ; and when he saw the delegates 
 mustering on the broad doorsteps he knew that the critical 
 moment was at hand. A great desire came upon him to 
 arise and go among this waiting throng, and tell them to 
 follow him ; that he would raise the standard of resistance ; 
 that it was their sacred duty to rebel, with arms in their 
 hands, against every attempt to force the company of the 
 whites upon them. A body of restless and ambitious men 
 from Iowa and other North-western States was still en- 
 camped On the border line some said actually within it 
 awaiting a favourable occasion for making their onslaught 
 undisturbed, and taking possession of some fat lands which 
 they coveted. "Why could he not rouse these half-civilized 
 farmers, these children of the forest, who would enjoy 
 nothing more than a relapse into the habits of their ances- 
 tors, and who, once on the war-path, would fight desper- 
 ately to preserve their rights ? He had but to say the word 
 and all his lost influence would come back ! He started 
 from his seat to go to them, and to electrify them with 
 passionate words ; but in a moment he sank back again. 
 The images of Ignatius and Vera came before him.
 
 BLUELOTS AND MERRINOTTS. 407 
 
 No ! he must be silent ! How could he explain to these 
 men of the woods and plains that since he had gone forth 
 into the world as their champion he had been converted to 
 a doctrine which was beyond their comprehension ; that, 
 in despair because he could not secure their rights and his 
 own rights, he had become an apostle of destruction ; had 
 taken a solemn vow to aid in pulling down the edifice which 
 could not be improved ; and had determined to whelm him- 
 self with them in general ruin, rather than to struggle for a 
 partial rebuilding and remodeling, for which it was useless 
 to hope? How could he tell them of Bakounin, and that 
 he, Pleasant Merrinott, had returned to America as the 
 agent of a secret organization, delegated to attempt an 
 act which would bring upon him ignominy and execration ? 
 No, no ; silence was his only refuge ; he must be content 
 to be misunderstood. He could not tell his own mother 
 of the fearful responsibilities which he had accepted, and 
 it was absurd to think of unfolding its nature to men who 
 had not yet wholly laid aside the habits of savagery. 
 
 The delegation prepared to come into the house, finding 
 that Pleasant was not disposed to come out. Hi& mother 
 whispered to him in Cherokee, " Your Winchester is lean- 
 ing against the right side of the chimney. Don't let them 
 surprise you." 
 
 "There will be no shooting, mother," said Pleasant, 
 sadly. " At least, none on my part." 
 
 The men filed in slowly through the door, which was 
 opened by Arch Sixkiller, himself one of the delegates, 
 and yet a dependent of the Merrinotts. Pleasant did 
 not rise, but looked up proudly. The delegation got into 
 order, and the young Indian noted, with a bit of surprise, 
 that it was composed of most of the important persons 
 who had signed the original protest which he had volun- 
 teered to carry to Europe and present to Mr. Harrelston. 
 There they were Cornelius Blackfox, Felix Redbird,
 
 408 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Arch Sixkiller, Hurry "Walkinstick Hurry had a feather 
 in his long black hair Scale Ragsdale, Sultuckee Charlie, 
 Synequvar, Stoning Deer, Garwarlarkee, Fishinghawk, 
 Killerbill, Watts Johnson, Mix "Water Mink, Ridder 
 Sleepingman, Tee-cah-see-mu-kee, Ezekiel Hair, John 
 Bross, Stand-in-the-Water, Blue Trap, John Proctor, 
 and their untamed brethren from the great plains in 
 blankets and war-paint. All of the men were armed, 
 but none of them manifested any immediate hostile in- 
 tentions. There was, however, no friendliness in any 
 face. Every one seemed anxious to convey, by his ex- 
 pression, the strongest sense of disapproval and reproach. 
 
 Pleasant folded his hands across his knees, and awaited 
 the address of the spokesman. His mother arose, and 
 standing behind him, rested her hands upon his shoulders, 
 but kept a watchful eye on the "Winchester rifle leaning 
 against the chimney-piece. 
 
 Cornelius Blackfox did the talking, and it was very 
 short. He spoke in Cherokee, which is quite as energetic 
 as English, and the substance of his remarks was as fol- 
 lows. Pleasant had volunteered to defend the menaced 
 interests of the Cherokees. He had received their con- 
 fidence, and had gone away to Europe, to foreign places 
 which they had never even heard of, but where there 
 were plots on foot against their homes and lands. He 
 had at first worked well for them, and had been requested 
 to remain abroad for a year or more. But now he re- 
 appeared among them, having relinquished his task at a 
 moment when his presence in Europe was most necessary ; 
 and in addition to this singular conduct he refused even 
 to explain it, or to give them any account of what he had 
 done. They had waited about long enough ; they had 
 slowly come to a conclusion which would have been 
 reached more speedily had they not remembered that 
 Pleasant was a Merrinott, and the son of a Merriuott
 
 BLUELOTS AND MERRINOTTS. 409 
 
 who had been high in honour among them. That conclu- 
 sion was that Pleasant had been " bought up ; " in short, 
 that he was a traitor, and that he had thought, by coolly 
 returning among them and maintaining an obstinate silence, 
 to prevent any unpleasant questions. They considered 
 his manner of proceeding entirely unjustifiable, and they 
 therefore now gave Pleasant Merriuott notice that he 
 must furnish them a definite explanation of his actions 
 on the fifth day after the visit of this delegation at this, 
 his own house, or must be prepared and here Cornelius 
 Blackfox paused a moment as if to give effect to his words, 
 
 "to be run out of the country." Then Cornelius, who 
 was a full-blood, and solemn and undemonstrative in 
 demeanour, fell back into the line out of which he had 
 stepped to deliver his remarks, and awaited Pleasant's 
 answer. 
 
 There was a look of sullen disappointment on all the 
 faces when Pleasant, without rising, and with a sombre 
 and mysterious expression, said that many things might 
 happen in five days ; that he was sorry the delegation 
 came in a suspicious frame of mind ; that some time 
 every member of it would regret his suspicions ; and that 
 he would receive them five days from that time, and would 
 then answer them more fully or not, as he saw fit. 
 
 One or two of the wilder members of the company 
 seemed inclined to disturbance, but Cornelius Blackfox 
 quieted them, and, after announcing that all would come 
 again on the fifth day at the exact hour appointed, he 
 marshalled his men into single file, and they went out 
 through the low doorway without casting a look behind 
 them. They mounted their horses, which had been teth- 
 ered at a short distance from the dwelling, and rode away, 
 
 all but Arch Sixkiller, who lived on Pleasaut's farm, 
 and who came in again as soon as the horsemen had 
 vanished.
 
 410 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Pleasant," he said, in Cherokee, " I want to warn you. 
 Dou't take it an}' other way than it's meant. The Bluelots 
 have been seen about here, and perhaps they're waiting 
 for a chance to meet you. They were inquiring down the 
 road what our party was to do up here to-day, and and 
 one of 'em said he'd take charge of the job of ridding 
 the country of you. I don't mean any harm ; I tell you 
 just as the folks say 'twas said." 
 
 The brows of the Merrinotts mother and son grew 
 dark. The mother was thinking of her boy Elias, who 
 was brought home to her dead, killed by the ever inimical 
 Bluelots. Pleasant was thinking of the Bluelot who had 
 thrown him into the Grand River. For a few minutes 
 the thought of his mission his vengeance on society 
 vanished, and his heart was filled with a savage thirst for 
 an encounter with the Bluelots. Let them come, one and 
 all ; he felt equal to meeting them. 
 
 "' Go away, Arch," he said, softly. " You mean well, 
 I reckon. Never mind the Bluelots. We shall have to 
 have it out, some day." He turned toward his mother 
 as if to reassure her, and was surprised to find a barbaric 
 glow of satisfaction in her eyes. Evidently -she hoped 
 that he would avenge his brother's death. 
 
 Men like to fancy that they control and make events. 
 but they are the veriest creatures of circumstance. Had 
 Pleasant known, as he would certainly have known had 
 he not so utterly secluded himself from the outer world 
 since his return from Europe, that his fellow-conspirator 
 Vera had gone the way of all the earth, he would have 
 spoken to the Indian delegation ; he might have placed 
 himself at their head, and gone forth on some unwise and 
 useless expedition. A certain epistle mailed to him from 
 Europe had gone astray because of its defective superscrip- 
 tion. The letter was sent by old Ignatius from a Swiss 
 town (Ignatius dared not send a telegram) and announced
 
 BLUELOTS AND MEREINOTTS. 411 
 
 in covert language the death of Vera, and the consequent 
 " necessity of postponing all action beyond the Atlantic " 
 until a substitute for Vera could be found, and simul- 
 taneous action in Russia and America could once more be 
 arranged. What new resolves might not Pleasant, 
 capricious creature that he was have formed, had he 
 received this missive ? While he thought he was fulfilling 
 his mission of destruction, half a dozen unforeseen con- 
 tingencies had shaped for him an entirely new course, 
 
 and had pushed him into it. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was on the morning after the visit of the angry dele- 
 gation that Pleasant was standing at the border of the 
 great thicket, with the mystical and prophetic look upon 
 his face. He was in daily expectation of being called 
 through the medium of a cipher-word sent by telegram 
 from Russia to proceed upon his dread mission. 
 
 His soul recoiled with horror from the task set for him ; 
 it seemed to him revolting to strike down an exalted and 
 unsuspecting functionary, who was peacefully discharging 
 his duties ; but the specious doctrine that ' ' the end justi- 
 fies the means" had made sad inroads upon his conscience. 
 He expected that death would be his certain lot after he 
 had done his part in the conspiracy. He fancied that 
 Vera would also find death close beside her duty, and 
 he wondered if they would meet in any future life, any 
 spiritual new world, from which they could look out over 
 this planet, and learn whether their desperate efforts to 
 establish a new society on the ruins of the old one had 
 been crowned with success. And then, the horrible pos- 
 sibility that both Vera and himself might be dupes that 
 perhaps they were risking their young lives, sacrificing 
 their loves, their honours, everything, for a vain chimera, 
 flashed through his mind ; and he reeled beneath it as if 
 it had been a stroke, while he stood silently watching the
 
 412 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 waving grasses and the dewdrops still glistening upon 
 them. 
 
 Far off, in a patch of woods, the wild turkeys were 
 calling ; the musical bay of a hound was now and then 
 borne on the breeze to Pleasant' s ears ; from time to 
 time his quick hearing noted woodland signs which would 
 have passed unobserved by a less experienced forester. 
 While he was knitting his brows in the anguish of his 
 speculation concerning his part in " the .conspiracy," a 
 noise in the thicket warned him that a deer Was not far 
 away. His Winchester was suspended over one shoulder, 
 so that he could bring it into play at an instant's notice 
 for he by no means disdained Arch Sixkiller's warning 
 about the Bluelots and in his cartridge-belt a navy 
 revolver was ready to his hand. Armed as he was, from 
 a decent shelter he would have been able to do fearful 
 execution on an attacking force. 
 
 The familiar forest sounds suddenly awakened his old 
 semi-savage enthusiasm. For the time Vera, Ignatius, 
 and all the incidents of and figures in the conspiracy faded 
 away, and his whole attention was concentrated on the 
 fact that a deer was softly moving through the thicket, 
 and would presently be visible in the open. The mystical 
 look fled from the bronze mask, and was replaced by one 
 of intense, half -ferocious attention. He caught his rifle 
 in both hands, examined it, made it ready for instant 
 use, and stood motionless, as if he had been made of iron. 
 So stood his ancestors many a time when they huuted the 
 deer in the glades of Georgia. 
 
 All at once the expected deer burst from cover, a 
 palpitating and delicately suspicious thing, and stood 
 snuffing the air, as if fearing that the danger were therein. 
 Pleasant, concealed by a tuft of bushes, dropped on one 
 knee and took aim. But at that moment a shot from 
 another rifle cracked sharply, followed instantly by a
 
 BLUELOTS AND MERRIXOTTS. 413 
 
 secoud, and the deer bounded and fell dying. There was 
 a rustling in the leaves opposite Pleasant, and then a tall, 
 elderly, powerfully built half-breed stepped into the open 
 plaiu. 
 
 It was the eldest of the Bluelot brothers, the repulsive 
 and vindictive wretch who had thrown Pleasant into the 
 Grand River when he was but a child ; who, rumour said, 
 was the murderer of young Elias Merrinott ; and who had 
 just discharged both barrels of his rifle at the unlucky 
 deer. 
 
 Pleasant sprang out from his concealment and covered 
 hun instantly with his Winchester. " Drop your gun and 
 put up your hands," he cried, in Cherokee, and in loud, 
 ringing tones. 
 
 o o 
 
 Bluelot and Merrinott, with the slain deer between 
 them, stood glaring at each other. 
 
 " Quick ! " said Pleasant. 
 
 The Bluelot was amazed. He did as bid. His rifle 
 fell on the grass ; his hands went up. " You've got the 
 drop on me, Pleasant," he said, sullenly. " But my folks 
 are not far off. Your time's short. I shan't beg. 
 Shoot, you coward ! " 
 
 "Now, Elias," thought Pleasant, "you are avenged ! " 
 The frown on his brow grew murderous. The Bluelot's 
 insult had filled his heart with rage. His time for 
 vengeance had come! 
 
 But just as he was about to execute the Bluelot, whose 
 face contracted as he saw the young man's grasp tighten 
 on his Winchester, there arose before him the sweet 
 slopes of the Brunig, and the vale of Meiringen in its 
 peaceful beaut}- below, and the lines of snow-clad mountains 
 in the background, and he bethought him of the promise 
 which he had made to Alice Harrelston in that charming 
 Swiss retreat only a weeks before. He saw Alice's lovely 
 face again, and he seemed to hear her saying, " Promise me
 
 414 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 that, whatever happens, you will do nothing to prolong 
 the feud with the Bluelots, and that if you are brought 
 into contact with them you will never use a weapon unless 
 it is entirely in self-defence." 
 
 He had promised. He remembered it now. He had 
 promised to Alice the lost, the beloved Alice! And 
 that promise must be sacredly kept. The Bluelot had not 
 yet attacked him. Clearly this shot which Pleasant was 
 about to fire would not be absolutely in self-defence but 
 an act of revenge. 
 
 He threw the "Winchester into the thicket ; took the 
 revolver from his belt, and pitched it after the Winchester ; 
 then, folding his arms, said to the astonished Bluelot 
 
 " I don't want your blood. Go your way, and I will 
 go mine." 
 
 At the same moment his ear caught the sound of foot- 
 steps in the thicket. The other Bluelots were, perhaps, at 
 hand. He regretted that he had thrown away both his 
 weapons. 
 
 His adversary had lowered his arms, and in his right 
 hand now gleamed a loaded pistol. 
 
 "The}- told me you was half cracked," he said, in 
 English, " and now I reckon I'll have to believe 'em. You 
 don't want my blood, don't ye? Mighty kind, ain't ye, 
 now? Wai, I do want yourn ; but I'll give ye a chance. 
 Run, ye coward, and mebbe I won't hit ye! Skip, now, 
 or ye're a dead man ! " 
 
 He took deliberate aim at the young man's heart. 
 
 "Run?" said the youth. "A Merrinott run? From 
 a Bluelot? " And he stood motionless. 
 
 The footsteps grew louder, came hastily nearer ; there 
 were many voices. " Come on, boys," shouted the Bluelot, 
 fancying himself addressing his brother and their sons, 
 " here's something that will please ye." 
 
 Pleasant fancied that the earth rocked beneath his
 
 BLUELOTS AND MEKKINOTTS. 415 
 
 feet, but he maintained his bold front. In another minute, 
 he thought, all will be over. 
 
 There was a loud shout. "Strangers!" cried the 
 Bluelot, with an oath, and, fearful lest his prey might 
 escape him, he fired. Pleasant unfolded his arms, and in 
 a moment or two fell face downward on the grass. At the 
 same instant the Bluelot was felled by a heavy blow from 
 the butt of a carbine, and two or three soldiers ran forward 
 to the spot where Pleasant was lying. Behind them came 
 a tall man in travelling dress, who, after gazing in amaze- 
 ment for a minute, raised the prostrate form gently in his 
 arms. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, " that this time my interference 
 in this wretched feud has come too late." 
 
 Pleasant gave no sign of life.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH. 
 
 ALICE TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 THE day on which Pleasant was to give his answer to the 
 Indians whom he was supposed to have cheated and 
 offended had arrived. Morning dawned delightful!}-, as 
 it always does even in November in the beautiful South- 
 western Territory ; then about nine o'clock came a slight 
 snow fall, which seemed ashamed of its intrusion upon a 
 land in which the birds sing all winter, and which is nearest 
 neighbour to semi-tropical Texas ; and finally arrived a 
 scorching noonday, which banished the snow, leaving 
 only slender memorials of it in glittering tears on the 
 stubble of the corn, on the symmetrical trees, and on the 
 waving grasses upon a huge mysterious mound not far 
 from Pleasant's dwelling. By the time that Arch Six- 
 killer had sighted the long procession of stern-looking 
 Indians, arriving in single file, mounted upon shaggy 
 horses, sun and gentle breezes had done their best to prove 
 that winter was only an audacious intruder, who had strayed 
 over the frontier, to be driven back ingloriously, like 
 Pleasant's enemies who wished to squat upon the fat lands 
 of the Nation. 
 
 Within the farmhouse silence reigned. The mottled 
 hounds seemed to know that something was wrong, and 
 were moodily reclining on the broad doorsteps, feigning 
 
 410
 
 ALICE TO THE fcESCtTE. 417 
 
 sleep, but starting uneasily at the slightest sound outside, 
 as if well aware that their master lay at death's door 
 within, and must on no account be disturbed. Two farm 
 hands, who looked more like warriors of the epoch of the 
 ancient Cherokee grandeur than like common labourers, 
 stood beside a rude fence, holding themselves proudl}' 
 erect, as if anticipating attack. It would not be too much 
 to sa}- that this is exactly what they did expect, and that 
 they were prepared to defend the Merrinott hearthstone to 
 the uttermost. 
 
 Afar off could be heard the solemn and harmonious 
 flow o'f a great river, moving onward to its junction with 
 the mighty Arkansas. Crows cawed lazily now and then 
 from the tops of the tallest trees, all the time suspiciously 
 eyeing the men below ; and from the neighbouring forest 
 came innumerous sounds, which, strangely intermingled, 
 made up a bewildering symphony, fascinating to Alice, 
 as she sat on a rude seat near the house, chatting in an 
 undertone with Arch Sixkiller, who was ready to pros- 
 trate himself on the ground before her. 
 
 The old Indian half persuaded himself that Alice 
 this vision of beauty and eloquence and grace and charm 
 which had floated suddenly into the Nation on the day 
 when Pleasant was brought home, half dead from the cruel 
 wound which the vindictive and merciless Bluelot had 
 given him was at least partially supernatural ; that her 
 origin and her arrival could never be satisfactorily ac- 
 counted for on ordinary grounds ; and that, after she had 
 accomplished her mission, she would float away as airily 
 as the fleecy cloud which he saw hovering over a distant 
 peak in the mountain range beyond the wide stream. 
 
 Arch's mind, as he answered Alice's numerous and 
 sprightly questions, was torn by doubt. Mr. and Miss 
 Harrelston were undoubtedly in the Cherokee Nation for 
 some important purpose ; their mysterious advent on the
 
 418 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 day of Pleasant's encounter with the Blnelot had been 
 remarked, and speedily bruited abroad among the dis- 
 contented Indians who had warned Pleasant that, if his 
 answer to them were not favourable, they would "run 
 him out of the country." What might not the mad pas- 
 sions of the motley crew induce them to do on this day 
 when they were coming for their answer, now that they 
 knew that the very banker who was supposed to be instru- 
 mental, in the European market, in prompting the sale 
 of the bonds which were to serve in opening their cher- 
 ished country to the prying and ambitious white invader, 
 had boldty come to pay Pleasant Merrinott a visit, and 
 had brought his daughter with him? Arch was mystified, 
 and distressed because he was morally bound to join the 
 league against Pleasant. But this latter thing he was 
 secretly resolved not to do ; he had made up his mind 
 that, if it came to fighting, he would be found upon his 
 master's side, and would do his best to protect this fair 
 young maiden who had ventured, without knowing it, 
 into one of the most lawless and dangerous corners of the 
 new world. 
 
 On Saturday of the week after the tragical end of 
 Yera's troubled existence, Mr. Ilarrelston and Alice had 
 sailed from Havre for New York. Alice's mother gave 
 her plenty of advice, but, oddly enough, refrained from 
 mentioning the name of the young Indian, probably be- 
 cause she had been enlightened on certain points by the 
 good banker, and, being a sensible woman, realized the 
 hopelessness of fighting against fate. Mr. Harrelston 
 .and liis daughter remained but one day in New York 
 ;a-day during which the banker managed, by a little judi- 
 cious telegraphing to Europe, to turn a few honest pen- 
 nies, amounting in the aggregate to one hundred and 
 eighty thousand francs after which they set out at once 
 for the Indian Territory.
 
 ALICE TO THE KESCTJE. 419 
 
 Alice was amazed and pleased with the grandiose 
 panorama of progress in the country as their train 
 sped across the flat and fat lands of the West, flashed, 
 over the Mississippi, and crawled up the Missouri's side on 
 a railway which made her father shake his head, and express 
 same doubts as to the wisdom of recommending Western 
 railway investments to guileless European capitalists. 
 On and on they sped, past miles and miles of yellow 
 corn-fields ; past rude log villages, where ruddy and half- 
 naked children were tumbling over each other in the 
 sun ; past quaint German settlements where vineyards and 
 breweries were flourishing ; past great woodlands and over 
 Indian reservations, where the blanketed savages came 
 out to gaze and sometimes to jeer at the train. Then 
 their course bent Southward, downward, away from the 
 mud, the mists and snows of the North, to a delicious 
 land where leaves were still green, where the magnolia 
 and the myrtle showed their beauty, and where the in- 
 vader man had not everywhere begun to ruin nature. 
 
 The latter half of the journey was strangely novel 
 to Alice, and had it not been for the intensity of her 
 fear that Pleasant might have already done some rash 
 deed, might have allowed the unwholesome doctrine which 
 had been grafted upon his mind to bring forth terrible 
 fruit, she would have been singularly happy. She felt a 
 certain consolation in what Vera had told her that 
 Pleasant was no longer bound to undertake the American 
 portion of the conspiracy ; yet she trembled and could 
 not sleep. At one of the railway stations, some distance 
 from the frontier of the Indian Territory, the little party 
 entered a " hotel car " a vast ambulatory house, species 
 of exaggerated Pullman, in which they were all ' ' as com- 
 fortable as they could have been at home," said the ebon 
 youth who superintended the culinary department of this 
 rolling domicile, and his exaggeration was pardonable.
 
 420 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 Colonel Cliff had accompanied Alice and her father 
 from Europe to America. On the morning after Vera's 
 death he had visited Alice to inform her that he had not 
 yet been able to discover the exact whereabouts of the 
 young Indian. He was of course greatly surprised and 
 shocked when Alice told him of the touching and painful 
 scene which she had witnessed, and he expressed his joy 
 that the girl had indicated Pleasant's release from his 
 obligation to the conspiracy. Alice then, with a certain 
 dainty modesty, referred him to her father for details 
 about the discovery of Pleasant's refuge, and she ex- 
 pressed no surprise when she saw the Colonel's tall form 
 on the deck of the French steamer at Havre. 
 
 She felt a pang because she was compelled to inflict 
 pain upon the self-sacrificing and worthy man, for she 
 was not slow to perceive that he had freely offered him- 
 self as a sacrifice upon the altar of his affection for her. It 
 would have been ungracious to refuse or slight the courtly 
 attentions which he lavished upon her while the steamship 
 buffeted the angry waves, and when they were fleeting 
 across the lands toward the Nation. Colonel Cliff did not 
 hesitate to talk freely of Pleasant Merrinott, and it was 
 easy to see that he had relinquished all hope of ever there- 
 after appearing as a possible rival to the eccentric and 
 erratic young Indian. 
 
 Alice, freed from the doubts of Pleasant's loyalty, 
 speedily recovered her animation and all the subtle 
 splendour of her beauty. In the grave which her father's 
 tender and all-embracing charity had provided for the 
 misguided Kussian girl had been buried Alice's last fear 
 that Pleasant himself might be wrested from her by human 
 agency. All that she feared now was that he might be 
 irrevocably wedded to an idea ; to his eagerness to avenge 
 himself upon that society by which he believed that he 
 had been so bitterly wronged.
 
 ALICE TO THE EESCUE. 421 
 
 When the "hotel car," which had the honours of a 
 special engine and a particular schedule, furnished to Mr. 
 Harrelston by the railway builders who were eager to 
 obtain his influence and his aid in Europe, had reached a 
 point on the road nearly opposite the eminence on which 
 stands Fort Gibson in the Indian Territory, the party 
 was visited by a delegation of army officers to whom 
 Colonel Cliff had sent despatches, and who were delighted 
 once more to see their comrade of other da}*s. The good 
 Colonel organized an observation party, escorted by the 
 officers and twenty stout cavalrymen, and it had been his 
 kindly intention that Alice and her father should, without 
 their previous knowledge, suddenly find themselves on the 
 Merrinott farm, and that they might then and there meet 
 the Indian. 
 
 "If he does not then throw away his silly prejudices, 
 and make love in earnest, he is no man," said the Colonel 
 to himself, sadly. 
 
 The small company went forth upon its tour, and 
 chance brought it, on the morning when Pleasant en- 
 countered the Bluelot brother, to the very wood on the 
 edge of which Pleasant was called upon to win the victory 
 over himself, to remember his promise to Alice, and to 
 refuse vengeance upon the enemy whom he momentarily 
 held within his power. Colonel Cliff and two or three of 
 the officers were a. little ahead of Alice, her father, and 
 the others, and reached the combatants just as the 
 Bluelot fired his revolver at Pleasant, and the young 
 Indian fell. Ten minutes later Alice was beside the 
 man whom she loved, and she believed him mortally 
 wounded. The cry which burst from her lips, as the 
 senseless Pleasant was borne away, completely enlightened 
 her father, if he had required any enlightenment, as to the 
 depth and earnestness of his daughter's affection. The 
 whole party accompanied the wounded man to the Mem-
 
 422 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 nott house, and from that moment Mr. Harrelston's mind 
 was made up. 
 
 The stunned Bluelot was secured, and in due tune was 
 handed over to the tender mercies of the local officer of 
 Cherokee law. But on the very first night of his incarce- 
 ration he managed to break out of the primitive jail, and, 
 with his kindred, who were hovering in the neighbour- 
 hood, made for a secure retreat, intending to lie hidden for 
 a few days, until he heard what turn Pleasant's affairs had 
 taken. If the young Indian did not die, the Bluelot felt 
 certain that he would be expelled by the angered Indians, 
 who believed themselves deceived ; and if he died, the 
 lengfhy feud would have ended in the triumph of Bluelots 
 over Merrinotts. 
 
 Messengers were despatched in all directions for skil- 
 ful physicians, and among those who arrived was one from 
 the fort, who at first gave up hope of saving Pleasant, but 
 on the morning of the third day announced that there were 
 a few signs of encouragement. The bullet from the Blue- 
 lot's revolver had made an ugly wound in Pleasaut's left 
 side ; it had been aimed at his heart, but the would-be 
 murderer had been disturbed in time to spoil the accuracy 
 of his aim. 
 
 Pleasant was delirious, and raved of his "duty," 
 and on the second afternoon, while Alice and Mr. Har- 
 relston were standing for a few moments at his bed- 
 side, he cried out in piercing tones that he must proceed 
 at once to Washington ; that he had a vengeance to 
 accomplish ; that he would be too late, and would be for 
 ever dishonoured. Then he murmured of Vera, of 
 Bakounin ; and many an incoherent fragment of the in- 
 sidious and terrible doctrine of destruction escaped his 
 lips. The army doctor was amazed, and looked inquiringly 
 at the others. The tears in the eyes of Alice indicated 
 that she partially understood the cause of the poor youth's
 
 ALICE TO THE RESCUE. 423 
 
 ravings ; but she bowed her head and went slowly out of 
 the room, her father following her. 
 
 It was the mental anguish which the doctors feared 
 more than the physical trouble. Pleasant had an Indian 
 constitution underlying h\s impressionable and sensitive 
 nervous organization of half-breed ; and the body would 
 under ordinary conditions have been proof against a wound 
 to which a white man bred in a city would have suc- 
 cumbed. But the constant delirium and the terrible strain 
 upon the young man's brain was alarming, and the doctor 
 from the fort looked grave even while he spoke encoura- 
 gingly. Every one took utmost pains to keep from Pleas- 
 ant's knowledge, in his brief lucid intervals, the fact of 
 the presence of Alice and her father. 
 
 The Indian mother followed the movements of Alice 
 greedily with her coal-black eyes, but she manifested 
 neither resentment nor curiosity. She was all Indian and 
 impassive in her demeanour. She felt that the time would 
 soon come when all would be explained. The wide rooms 
 offered the visitors were comfortable, and Colonel Cliff, 
 Alice, and Mr. Harrelston settled in them as if they had 
 come to spend the winter. Meantime the "hotel car" 
 waited on a siding, and small mountains of mail matter, 
 forwarded from this car, at which they were left by the 
 "through train" daity, astonished the eyes of the local 
 postmaster, who himself trudged four miles each morning 
 to bring Mr. Harrelston his letters and papers. To all 
 inquiring missives the banker made one stereotyped reply, 
 that he was " seeing the country and taking a little much 
 needed rest." 
 
 And now, on the morning of the fifth day after Pleas- 
 ant's narrow escape from instant death, Alice sat on the 
 old bench near the garden fence, waiting patiently, as she 
 had waited so long, for Pleasant to recover his senses, his 
 health and then ! She knew not what might come then,
 
 424 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 but she felt that she had acted wisely in coming with her 
 father ; and the light of a great hope filled her heart, 
 although the doctors' faces were dark. As she was talk- 
 ing with Arch, she observed that he was somewhat ab- 
 stracted, arid although his brown face was as quiet as if 
 carved in stone, her quick womanly perceptions told her 
 that he was agitated. At the same time she caught sight 
 of the motley procession of Indians approaching on horse- 
 back, and something in their appearance a certain grim- 
 ness and concerted severity alarmed her. 
 
 "Arch," she said, playfully, "why do you not wear 
 the the national dress, like that Indian in blanket and 
 feathers there behind all the others. It is much 
 prettier than the slouch hat, the homespun, and the heavy 
 boots worn by white folks. Don't you think so? " 
 
 The old man frowned, and glanced around hastily. " I 
 reckon ye better move away a bit," he said. "You 
 wouldn't wunt to see them fellers, I don't guess." 
 
 "Why are they comiug here? Speak out, Arch, and 
 tell me who they are ! " 
 
 "They're only just some of the neighbours," gasped 
 Arch, who felt moved by a sudden impulse to tell Alice 
 all. Perhaps she would find a way out of the difficulty. 
 
 "And what do these extraordinary neighbours want? 
 They ride up as if they had come to besiege the 
 house." 
 
 Then the old man broke down, and told her the whole 
 story. She listened with paling face, but before he had 
 finished there was the light of a fine inspiration on her 
 brow. 
 
 "Surely," she stammered, "they would not dare 
 they would not be so cruel as to take any harsh measures 
 against Mr. Merriuott while he is lying at the point of 
 death. And nil for a miserable mistake ! They have 
 entirely misunderstood the matter! "
 
 ALICE TO THE RESCUE. 425 
 
 " I knowed it ! " cried old Arch, who was rejoiced at 
 the prospect of a way out of his dilemma. 
 
 ' ' But would they do any harm ? ' ' 
 
 " Wai, they might," answered the old Cherokee, 
 solemnly. "They're right rough 'bout these yer land 
 matters." 
 
 " Very well, then. I must talk to them myself ! No, 
 no, it will be fun ! I wish to do it ! " she added, as the 
 old man made a deprecatory gesture, which consisted of 
 putting one hand straight out before him. And she had 
 arisen and fluttered away from the seat before the Chero- 
 kee could rub his eyes. 
 
 Half way to the farmhouse-door she turned, and waving 
 her hand to Arch, cried merrily 
 
 " Get them ranged in a line down by the open field, 
 and make them wait for me. But don't let them come 
 near the house, or make any noise." 
 
 Arch decided to do his best to carry out her commands, 
 even if he got his skull cracked for his pains.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVm. 
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STRIKES. 
 
 STANISLAS sat before the piano, looking out at the window 
 upon the vines and flowers, and lazily evoking bits of 
 melody from the instrument, which he seemed to find a 
 certain pleasure in caressing. 
 
 He was at Cannes, as the guest of a Russian Princess 
 somewhat renowned in cosmopolitan society for the 
 splendidly reckless manner in which she disposed of a 
 colossal fortune, as well as for her sparkling beauty, 
 her elaborate toilettes, and the elasticity of her morals. 
 She had a husband somewhere but he rarely appeared 
 upon the scene, and left the Princess to the full en- 
 joyment of a liberty of which she took such advantage 
 as her caprices dictated. In winter she held a species of 
 pseudo-court at Cannes, to which charming southern 
 retreat she annually migrated, partly because of an 
 affection of the throat, and partly because she found there 
 the company of which she was most fond. Gifted with 
 fine intellectual powers, she succeeded in drawing around 
 her a .circle which comprised men and women of talent 
 and exquisite refinement; she could entertain two score 
 guests iii her house at one time ; and artists, actors, 
 musicians, the romancers in vogue, and the soldiers who 
 were the darlings of the moment, considered it a privilege
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STRIKES. 427 
 
 to be admitted into the magic domain which lay behind 
 the high and massive wall inclosing her garden and villa. 
 
 It was to this place that Stanislas had hastened, as to 
 a refuge, after he had learned of the death of Yera. He 
 had not even had the courage to return to his lodgings in 
 the Boulevard Malesherbes to see the dead girl who had 
 loved him so passionately, but who had smothered her wild 
 love, and treated him as her brother in the revolutionary 
 movement which he had now caused to fail. There was 
 one visit which he had been compelled to make, and that 
 was to the police commissary of the quarter, who sent for 
 him, and interrogated him so closely that Stanislas quite 
 lost his temper, and explained in a lofty manner that he 
 enjoyed the protection of important personages. The 
 police functionary seemed satisfied that there was nothing 
 of which the musician could be accused. The attendant 
 physician and Alice and the small girl-servant had all 
 furnished testimony which indicated that Vera had died 
 from natural causes ; yet Stanislas could not help observ- 
 ing that the commissary seemed to allow him to depart 
 with a certain regret, and but ill concealed an extraor- 
 dinary repulsion for him. 
 
 This puzzled the musician. He was shocked and a 
 little pained at Vera's sudden departure into the unknown 
 world beyond. But it was his artistic temperament rather 
 than his heart that suffered. It did not occur to him that 
 he was in truth a vile traitor, deserving scorn of all 
 honest and true souls. He regarded himself in the light 
 of an unfortunate and careless person, who had been 
 entrapped into disagreeable circumstances which had now 
 culminated in a tragedy. The infinitely pitiful character 
 of Vera's mistaken self-sacrifice did not present itself to 
 his mind at all ; he was annoyed, disturbed, vexed, that he 
 should have had his rdle condemned by the stern girl with 
 the sinister purpose, and that she should have had the
 
 428 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 bad taste to mourn over his defection, and to choose such 
 an inappropriate time to die. Had she lived, and forgiven 
 him, he might have found it in his heart to bestow a few 
 crumbs of love upon her for a season. 
 
 The more he reflected upon the matter, the more 
 strongly did he persuade himself that he had acted 
 magnanimously toward the girl in shielding her from 
 punishment, and he congratulated himself upon that as 
 an excellent sop for his conscience, if that monitor should 
 ever become troublesome. He was glad when he learned 
 that a charitable friend, who desired that his name might 
 not be disclosed, had arranged with the funeral company 
 of the city for Vera's proper burial in a corner of a small 
 cemetery outside the walls of Paris. That discreet 
 benefactor had smoothed away all difficulties, so that poor 
 Vera slept among respectable dead folks she, the Nihil- 
 ist, the destructionist, whose grave might bave been in 
 the ' ' common ditches ' ' had it not been for the goodness 
 of heart of a man who had never seen her alive. 
 
 Stanislas had kept no servants since his return to 
 Paris in the autumn ; he consequently had none to dis- 
 miss. He employed a valet, gave him instructions to 
 pack up a few personal effects, and to close the apartment, 
 leaving poor Vera's small possessions under seal as they 
 had been placed by the authorities the morning after her 
 death and then to follow him to Cannes. The story of 
 his efficient action as an agent of the Russian Government 
 in unearthing a Nihilist conspiracy had got abroad, and 
 when Stanislas appeared at the villa of the Princess, who 
 was a warm advocate of autocracy and its continuance in 
 Russia, he received a cordial welcome. 
 
 A few carefully-worded phrases, dropped from time 
 to time, served to show the lady that Stanislas was a 
 bit apprehensive of the vengeance of the conspirators or 
 their friends, and she assured him that he could count
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STRIKES. 429 
 
 on perfect safety so long as he remained her guest. 
 Knowing that the local police were zealous in protecting 
 the Princess from annoyance, he regained confidence a 
 trifle, and at the end of a few days the image of old 
 Ignatius no longer haunted him. A letter from a diplo- 
 matic friend in Paris informed him that the aged Jew 
 had been arrested in Switzerland, but a second epistle 
 announced that this was an error, and that the French 
 police were much mortified at being compelled to confess 
 that the ancient plotter had slipped through their hands. 
 This last missive caused a most disagreeable sensation in 
 the mind of Stanislas. 
 
 It must not be supposed that the musician had suffered 
 in spirits, or had felt his dignity ruffled, by the rebuff 
 which he had received at the hands of the innocent and 
 honest Caro. He did not appreciate the depths of his own 
 insincerity to call it by no harsher name nor was he 
 unselfish enough to regret that he had left a deep wound 
 in the young girl's heart. Himself a creature of impulse,' 
 utterly unchecked by principle, and hindered by no feeling 
 of responsibility to that society on the edges of. which he 
 hovered, as a brilliant bird of song flits along the border 
 of a garden filled with precious flowers it did not seem 
 to him that he had done any thing unnatural or dishonest 
 in tempting Caro to a flight which could have ended only 
 in shame for her, or at least in false appearance which 
 would have done her irreparable harm. 
 
 In his intellectual nature every thing was well ordered, 
 noble, rich with accomplishment, harmonious and impres- 
 sive ; in his moral nature disorder reigned supreme. He 
 had no rule of conduct, nor would he have been likely to 
 admit the possibility of establishing one. He had so long 
 been accustomed to mistake the stormy appeal of passion 
 for a stern decree of fate that he bowed before it. The 
 romance of life was doubled for him by his belief that he
 
 430 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 must obey his impulses that they were voices of nature 
 calling him to the f ulfillment of his destiny. No matter if 
 those he came in contact with were ruined ; that he did not 
 take into consideration as a serious calamity, ascribing it 
 to some fatal weakness in their mental and physical or- 
 ganisms for which he was in no wise responsible. 
 
 The firm opposition which the American girl had made 
 to his mad project, at a moment when she was crushed 
 beneath a humiliating failure in her art, and when her love 
 for him had been increased tenfold by the sympathy which 
 she bestowed on him in his dangerous situation this 
 opposition, coupled with an indignation so spontaneous 
 and withering, had amazed him. He had thought that Caro 
 would sacrifice any thing and every thing for him ; but at 
 the very slightest breath of license, she shrank away from 
 him as if his touch were contaminating. What was this 
 type of woman to which he was unaccustomed ? Evidently 
 the feminine natures in the New World were different from 
 those in the Old ; were less impulsive ; were, perhaps, 
 better balanced; at least, they were to him a mystery. 
 And he had almost determined to puzzle his brains no more 
 about it, when the Princess one daj r brought him word 
 that Miss Caro Merlin and her mother had taken modest 
 apartments in a quiet corner of Cannes. 
 
 The Princess had been enlightened as to Miss Merlin's 
 identity with the unlucky girl who had fainted at La 
 Vauge's concert, by a friend who was present on that 
 exciting occasion, and who had known that Stanislas 
 professed an interest in the American maiden's welfare. 
 So the hostess told Stanislas, in the hope that some ro- 
 mance might be hidden away beneath this acquaintance 
 of the distinguished pianist with the fair aspirant from 
 beyond the Atlantic, and that he would tell the story. 
 
 Stanislas pricked up his ears when he heard that 
 Caro was in the neighbourhood. lie was vain enough to
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STUDIES. 431 
 
 fancy that the poor child had heard of his retreat, aud had 
 determined to make the first advance toward reconciliation 
 by coming nearer him. He felt flattered, and touched, 
 and made up his mind to call upon Caro and her mother 
 at an early day ; to insist upon seeing them ; to assert 
 that, after a proper explanation, they could not refuse to 
 pardon him ; and if worst came to worst to attribute 
 his conduct to an inexplicable impulse born of an artistic 
 temperament. It was with the air of a general about to 
 return to a field where he had been defeated, but resolved 
 this time to conquer, that he mused on the best means of 
 resuming relations with the brave little singer. 
 
 Meantime Caro and her mother had not the remotest 
 idea that Stanislas was near them. If they had suspected 
 his presence at the handsome villa on the hill not far 
 from their lodgings, they would have begun their prep- 
 arations for departure. Mrs. Merlin had brought her 
 daughter to Cannes for a season of absolute repose, by 
 direction of one of the best American plrysicians in Paris. 
 Caro had been seriously ill but for a few days only. 
 "With Spartan firmness she had pulled from the wound the 
 arrow with which Stanislas had pierced her spirit, and yet 
 she had not succumbed. She had had a bitter and ter- 
 rible deception ; it had sobered, steadied, and refined 
 her; she was more beautiful, more quiet, more . resolved 
 than ever, when, after her short but sharp illness, she 
 accompanied her patient mother in the retreat from the 
 harsh Paris winter to the beautiful city where the roses 
 bloom in December, and where the sun shines with 
 generous fervour in midwinter. Of Stanislas she rarely 
 spoke, and it was her wish that his name should not be 
 mentioned in her presence. Her friends had succeeded in 
 persuading her that she had in no wise injured her career 
 by her unfortunate fainting 'fit at the concert; that that 
 was an accident beyond her control ; and that in spring,
 
 432 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 when she had recovered strength, she would do well to 
 make another trial. Melari was working for her. There 
 were moments when she felt as if the battle were not lost, 
 
 after all. 
 
 * * * * # * 
 
 The musician fell to musing anew about Caro, as he 
 sat in the Princess's odd and elegant Japanese pavilion, 
 erected in a corner of the garden, and led up to by a flight 
 of broad, handsome marble steps. This pavilion was the 
 resort of the guests at the villa when they took tea and 
 music together in the long dreamy afternoons ; but toward 
 evening and at night it was usually deserted. Stanislas 
 was so absorbed in his reverie that he did not notice the 
 quick approach of the soft southern twilight, and when 
 he at last came out of his abstraction it was quite dark 
 within the pavilion. Outside he could dimly distinguish 
 the serpentine bodies of the ancient vines straggling over 
 the wall ; he noted a few night birds flying swiftly in 
 circles ; and he heard some peasants in the street below 
 talking patois in a high pitched key, following their re- 
 marks with loud and prolonged laughter. 
 
 He glanced nervously about him, and arose from the 
 piano. Since his defection from the ranks of the Nihilist 
 conspirators he was averse to being alone after dark. A 
 nameless terror now seized upon him, and he resolved to 
 get back to the villa speedily. Its white walls gleamed 
 invitingly among the foliage some hundreds, of yards 
 away. But, when he started to go down the stairs, he 
 trembled, and drew back in such a timid manner that -he 
 blushed for himself. After standing irresolutely, for 
 some moments, at the door, he went back to the piano, 
 and sat down again. There was no sound in the pretty 
 little room, which was richly furnished with Japanese 
 screens, and vases, bronze images of birds and beasts 
 and gods and goddesses.
 
 THE CLOCK OF DESTINY STRIKES. 433 
 
 Presently Stanislas determined to make some music, 
 hoping to allay his fears. But it seemed to him that he 
 could hear the beating of his own heart above every other 
 sound as he played on and on, now improvising, now 
 executing with wonderful delicacy a Hungarian waltz or 
 martial march, now rendering with exquisite sweetness 
 and fidelity a bit from one of Beethoven's sonatas. By- 
 aud-by the music reassured him ; he lost himself in it ; 
 so that he was not alarmed when he heard steps on the 
 marble stairs outside, and a hand on the wooden latch of 
 the pretty Japanese door. It seemed to him but natural 
 that one of the servants should have come to warn him 
 that it was time to dress for dinner. 
 
 The steps came nearer. Stanislas turned, and all the 
 blood in his body seemed frozen for a moment, for he saw 
 an old man, with a scarred and wrinkled face, and with a 
 long white beard, standing before him. At last ! There 
 was then no escape ! He passed his hand over his fore- 
 head, and opened his eyes widely, hoping that he might 
 find himself the victim of an optical illusion. But this 
 hope vanished, for the figure spoke, and it said, in Polish, 
 and with the unmistakable accent of old Ignatius 
 
 "The clock of destiny strikes once to-day. When it 
 strikes again, the new world will arise on the ruins of the 
 old. But first it strikes to destroy a traitor ! " 
 
 Stanislas sank back, breathless, half fainting ; then, 
 swiftly recovering himself, he arose and resolved to rush 
 at Ignatius. But Ignatius was no longer there. Again 
 came the vague hope that it might all be a dream the 
 work of a heated fancy, a terror-evoked image. He 
 must have lights ! The garden must be searched ! He 
 moved unsteadily toward the outer door. 
 
 But at that instant there was a loud explosion, and the 
 stone floor of the pavilion was wrenched and torn into 
 thousands of fragments, and the bronzes and the richly
 
 434 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 upholstered chairs and the piano disappeared. Flames 
 seized upon the light wood-work ; a suffocating odour 
 filled the air ; a smoke arose ; and when the frightened 
 attendants of the Princess came running to the scene of 
 the disaster, the pavilion was burning rapidly. Underneath 
 a mass of stone and wood lay Stanislas, dead, and with 
 his beautiful head bruised into a grotesque shape. Dead ! 
 
 At the first stroke of the clock of destiny ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 Caro saw the flames from her window, but happily 
 knew nothing of the cause of the conflagration until many 
 days thereafter. It seemed to her that night, however, 
 as if the hold that Stanislas had so long had upon her 
 heart finally relaxed just as the fire showed its light against 
 the sky.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 CALM AFTEK STORM. 
 
 ' ' THINK that it was but a dream a harsh and cruel 
 dream," said Alice, gently. 
 
 She was sitting beside the great chair covered with the 
 dressed skins of animals on which Pleasant reclined, and 
 from time to time the young Indian laid his hand tenderly 
 on her brow, with a caress that had in it all the earnestness 
 of a lover, but little of his old impetuousness. Pleasant 
 was at rest now ; his life had become a joy a blessing ; 
 and his future lay bright before him. Yet he felt as if 
 he had emerged, bruised and fatigued, from a terrible 
 struggle. With the calm now so enchanting had come 
 a physical and mental weakness which astonished him. 
 There were moments when he was still a trifle uncertain 
 as to his own identity ; when he felt like touching Alice 
 to prove to his senses that she were really no apparition. 
 He contemplated the spectacle of his return into the 
 normal state of things in the world much as mariners, who 
 have outridden a storm in which they fully expected to 
 perish, look at each other and at their good ship, when 
 by some singular chance they come safely into port. 
 
 Alice had been telling him of the death of Vera, and 
 how he was consequently freed from the terrible obligation 
 which he had incurred. There was a strange tremor in 
 
 435
 
 436 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 the girl's voice as she recited, rapidly, and in picturesque 
 fashion, the events which had occurred after the Indian's 
 sudden departure from Paris. Pleasant listened, now and 
 then endeavouring to dispel a host of confused images 
 assembling before his vision. 
 
 Vera dead ! The conspiracy at an end unsuccessful ! 
 The disciples of Bakounin dispersed ! The world was 
 not to crumble into ruins, then society was not to be 
 destroyed ; the new world of which they had seen such 
 grandiose visions was not to spring, a blessed Atlantis, 
 a bewitching Arcadia, from the chaos of the ancient 
 one ! And he Pleasant Merrinott representative of 
 a wronged and insulted and betrayed race he was not 
 to be called on to sacrifice his life in order that society 
 might be punished for its injustices, its gross neglect ? It 
 seemed, indeed, as if it had all been a dream. 
 
 A deeper colour came into his swarthy cheeks as he 
 remembered how he had unwittingly tortured poor Alice ; 
 how he had trifled with the priceless gift of her love, her 
 devotion ; how he had cast away her affection because it 
 interfered with his miserable pride of race ; and how 
 unwaveringly true to him she had been despite his follies, 
 his frailties, and his caprices. His distress of mind was 
 so great, as he reviewed his mistakes, and the dangers into 
 which he had almost wilfully thrust himself, that a low 
 groan escaped his lips. 
 
 The girl sprang up hastily, with paling face. " You are 
 suffering again," she said, with that exquisite sympathy 
 in her voice which women can manifest only for the men 
 they love. " I was wrong to tell you all these dreadful 
 things to-day. Oh ! I shall never forgive myself ! Would 
 it not be best for you to return to your room and try to 
 rest?" 
 
 Pleasant' s right hand strayed to that of Alice, and for 
 the first time since liis illness he felt a bit of his old
 
 CALM AFTER STORM. 437 
 
 strength returning. He drew the girl slowly back to his 
 side, and kissed her, reverently, on her forehead. 
 
 " No, Alice," he said. " I am at rest, here with you ; 
 I am no longer ill ; my wound will heal ; I shall be strong 
 again strong to love you, and to prove my repentance. 
 I have been a dreamer ; but I will be so no more. Can 
 you forgive me?" 
 
 " There is nothing to forgive," she said, looking up 
 with glistening eyes into his face. And for an instant 
 the youth felt that the tears of love were sweeter than its 
 smiles. 
 
 The lovers were in the large front room of the Merrinott 
 farm-house. The door was open, and a gentle breeze 
 strayed in to stir the ashes in the huge fireplace, and the 
 festoons of evergreen on the deer's horns from which 
 guns and hunter's trappings were suspended. Brilliant 
 sunshine flooded the broad, open spaces between the belt 
 of forest and the farm ; birds sang in the trees as merrily 
 as if it were August ; and the roar of the river in the 
 distance was imposing. Pleasant had besought Alice to 
 tell him how it happened that Mr. Harrelston had so 
 suddenby determined to visit the Nation, and she had an- 
 swered vaguely that she believed it " had some reference 
 to the railroad matter." 
 
 The Indian put on his scowl, for the " railroad matter " 
 awakened numerous painful recollections. " I believe," 
 he said, " that in my craziness about this Bakounin busi- 
 ness " (he had confessed to her his complete temporary 
 infatuation with it), "the railroad affairs, the bonds, the 
 rights of the Indians, and everything of that sort, had 
 vanished from my mind. I have been more stupid than 
 I supposed it possible to be." 
 
 Presently he looked up, still with bewildered air, and 
 said, " Tell me how many days is it since since I had 
 my encounter with the Bluelot? "
 
 438 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Almost twenty." 
 
 ' ' Twenty days ? Then they have not been here ? What 
 can it mean? While I have been in bed have there 
 been no no Indians here to see me ? I might as well 
 tell you that I have asked the same question of my 
 mother and of Arch Sixkiller this morning, and that they 
 both avoided answering it in a manner which was right 
 exasperating ; they left the room powerful quick. Now, 
 Alice, tell me the truth, please." 
 
 "Yes, said the girl, releasing her hand, not without 
 difficulty, from her lover's grasp, "there were some In- 
 dians here to see you the other day a great many of 
 them, in fact. It was of course impossible for them to 
 visit you ; so Arch and I " 
 
 "When was it ? " 
 
 " It was the fifth or sixth day after you were wounded." 
 
 " The time appointed ! " whispered Pleasant to himself. 
 " And they left no message nothing for me? " 
 
 Alice had arisen, and her eyes sparkled with merri- 
 ment, while blushes stole into her cheeks. " Since you 
 must know, exacting invalid," she said, "I will tell 
 you how they came. But first you must promise to lie 
 back in that chair and to remain motionless. Remember 
 what the doctor said about sudden movements. Do you 
 promise? " 
 
 Pleasant promised, and assumed the impassibility of a 
 bronze statue, although he was fiercely agitated within. 
 
 ' ' They all came the most ridiculous collection of 
 people I ever saw," said Alice, laughing, " one morning 
 while Arch and I were talking in the garden. Some of 
 them looked like Italian brigands, some like French peas- 
 nuts, and some like old women with blackened faces, 
 mid with feathers in their hair ! There was one venerable 
 party who had something on his head that resembled a 
 Hten--pan with a brace of rabbits in it. Forgive me for
 
 CALM AFTER STORM. 439 
 
 being merry at the expense of your countrymen, but it 
 was too amusing ! They ranged themselves in a row iu 
 front of the house, and with their guns and pistols they 
 looked very ferocious, I assure you. But did you not 
 promise to lie still ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, what did they say?" queried the young Indian 
 impatiently. 
 
 The girl's face grew grave and pale. " "What did they 
 say?" she repeated. "I don't think I understood it 
 all." 
 
 She stepped back from Pleasant' s side as she heard 
 brisk footsteps at the entrance ; and, looking around, she 
 saw a tall figure in the doorway. 
 
 "Here comes Colonel Cliff from his shooting excursion," 
 she said. "Perhaps he can tell you what the Indians 
 wanted." She looked steadfastly at the good Colonel a 
 moment, and placed her fingers on her lips as if enjoining 
 him to maintain silence on some particular topic. 
 
 The Colonel smiled, a little wearily, and looked, first 
 at Pleasant, then at the girl, as if he were anxious to read 
 their secret thoughts. As he stepped forward to the fire- 
 place to lay his gun across the deer's horns, Alice slipped 
 noiselessly out of the room. 
 
 "Stronger to-day, Pleasant?" said Colonel Cliff, 
 approaching the young man, and laying one hand gently 
 upon his shoulder. " You look quite strong and happy. 
 Ah ! the young lady has vanished ! I understand. Do 
 you know, Mr. Merrinott, that you are the luckiest of 
 men?" 
 
 " Why do you say that, Colonel? " queried the Indian, 
 scowling, in spite of his determination to be amiable to 
 the man whom he was daily learning to respect and love. 
 "You look mysterious. Ah! Miss Harrelston is 
 mysterious also. What is all this mystery about? Vou 
 must each account to me."
 
 440 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 " Now don't endanger your existence, Pleasant, by 
 moving in that violent fashion, and glaring after Miss 
 Harrelston . She has gone, and I am not sorry, for in her 
 absence I propose to disobey her injunction, and to tell 
 you something which I think you should know." 
 
 " Yes ; tell me why you think me a lucky man," said 
 Pleasant, eagerly. 
 
 "Very well. Don't interrupt, and please don't get 
 angry. Mr. Merrinott, the young girl who has just left 
 us has saved your life and your honour. I respectfully 
 submit that you are a lucky man to have such a defender." 
 
 " Go on please go on," murmured Pleasant, vaguely 
 conscious that he was now to hear about the visit of the 
 Indian delegation. 
 
 " I am bound to inform you, Mr. Pleasant Merrinott, 
 citizen of the Cherokee Nation," continued the Colonel, 
 smiling, " that your worthy fellow-citizens had conceived 
 a violent prejudice against you. Like most benefactors, 
 it was your lot to be misunderstood. This delegation of 
 Indians had come to expel you from your house and from 
 your Nation, because they believed you had been a traitor 
 to the mission which they had placed in your hands. 
 They had called on you for an explanation to be given 
 on the Qfth day after their first visit to you " 
 
 "Yes yes!" 
 
 " Meantime, no answer had been vouchsafed by his 
 haughty Highness Pleasant Merrinott, and strange people 
 even the banker whom Mr. Merrinott had .been to Paris 
 to see had arrived at the Merrinott farm. The Indians 
 were enraged. They fancied that their lands were in 
 danger ; that the banker, and possibty the banker's 
 daughter, were boldly plotting in their midst to steal 
 their fat acres. They refused to believe that you had 
 been dangerously wounded by the Bluelot, and declared 
 that that was a pretext to avoid meeting them face to face.
 
 CALM AFTER STOEM. 441 
 
 Some of them had gone so far as to move toward the 
 house, with the intention of finding you." 
 
 Pleasant's gaze wandered to his "Winchester rule. The 
 Colonel observed this. 
 
 " Exactly," he said. " If you had been well, you would 
 have indulged in a shooting match with the Indians, and you 
 would infallibly have been killed. But you were in bed 
 unconscious and so and so a young and lovely girl 
 was allowed to intervene in your behalf, and to save the 
 situation. It was fine ! Mr. Harrelston and I happened 
 to be snugly ensconced in a small thicket, from which we 
 could see and hear everything ; and when the good banker 
 saw his daughter standing on a chair, and making a speech 
 to that grim Indian delegation ' ' 
 
 "She! Alice! A speech ! To that wild pack of half- 
 breeds ! " 
 
 "Oh, they were not remarkably wild, after she began 
 to talk. She made them a regular address. Most of them 
 understood English, and she made Arch Sixkiller trans- 
 late to the rest. She told them that they had been 
 entirely mistaken ; that, instead of being a traitor to them, 
 you were their faithful friend and sovereign protector ; 
 that, rather than unsuccessful, you had been successful in 
 the highest degree ; that, because of your representations 
 and all this time she was making plenty of gestures the 
 distinguished banker, Mr. Harrelston, had come over from 
 Paris to investigate the matter of the bonds and the land 
 grants ; and that, because of your protest, and after a 
 careful examination, Mr. Harrelston had decided not to 
 take any part in the sale of the railway bonds in question, 
 either in Europe or anywhere else ! ' In fact, gentlemen,' 
 she said, ' Mr. Merrinott's mission has been, as you see, 
 so thorough a success that you owe him a vote of thanks, 
 or an apology for having doubted him, and you should at 
 once send him back to Europe as your agent, for no one
 
 442 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 else can do you such good service. ' Then she jumped down 
 from the chair, and went and shook hands with every one 
 of them. And then and then Arch gave them some 
 whiskey all round. All the old black things with feathers 
 in their hair said l Ugh ! ' and smiled." 
 
 Pleasant closed his eyes. He would not have liked the 
 Colonel to know that there were tears in them. 
 
 " The next thing that Miss Harrelston did," continued 
 Colonel Cliff, "was to draw up a paper, appointing you 
 anew as the Indians' trusted delegate in Europe. "When 
 this was finished, Mr. Harrelston and your humble servant 
 could remain hidden no longer. We had to come out and 
 congratulate Alice although I think Mr. Harrelston was 
 rather annoyed, you know. And, furthermore, we had to 
 shake hands with all the Indians. In fact, they who came 
 for war and bloodshed, went away as peacefully as lambs. 
 And it was that noble girl who managed it all ! " The 
 Colonel's voice grew husky. " Yes, Pleasant, you are a 
 lucky man." 
 
 Pleasant extended his hand feebly. "It was good of 
 you to tell me this," he said. " I do not deserve such luck 
 such happiness." 
 
 " Nonsense, man ; you merit it all." His face became 
 pallid. "You have found a treasure, my boy," he said. 
 Then he turned away from the young Indian, and after 
 pacing to and fro a little while, he went out. 
 
 An hour afterwards Alice stole in, hoping to find 
 Pleasant asleep. But his lustrous eyes were fixed upon 
 her as she approached him. 
 
 "Will you will you show me my appointment my 
 new commission as agent ? " he asked. 
 
 Alice grew rosy. " Colonel Glut is a monster," she said. 
 " He has betrayed me." 
 
 "Oh, Alice!" 
 
 The girl made an odd little gesture, expressive of anger at
 
 CALM AFTER STORM. 443 
 
 the Colonel, and took from her pocket a small paper which 
 she held out to her lover. Pleasant seized it and read it 
 eagerly. A glad surprise lit up his face as he cried 
 
 ""Why, you say here that Mr. Harrelston has decided 
 to withdraw entirely from this railroad matter. Entirely ! 
 I knew he would not do anything that was unjust, but to 
 withdraw fully is an odd thing for a business man who 
 had engaged in an enterprise to do. I want to thank 
 him, to tell him how much I appreciate his delicacy, for 
 our Indian prejudices against railroads are right strong." 
 
 Alice looked confused, and turned her face away. 
 " Well," she said, naively, " to be strictly accurate, I must 
 tell you that papa had not, at the time of my speech, said in 
 so many words that he would give up all participation in 
 the matter. But he had told me before leaving Paris that 
 this year he would give me the fulfilment of any wish that 
 I might express, for my New Year's present, you know. 
 Any wish whatsoever, within human scope, he had said. 
 So I resolved to ask him to withdraw from this rail- 
 road affair, in accordance with your protest, and, as I 
 knew he would not refuse me, I told the Indians in my 
 speech that they might consider it done." 
 
 ' ' What did your father say ? ' ' 
 
 The girl laughed merrily. " When he read the paper, 
 he grumbled a little, but very gently, and and he 
 was kind enough to say that the heart was sometimes 
 a safer guide than the head in matters of business ; and 
 that perhaps this was such a case. So he fulfilled his 
 promise and and But you are excited ! ' ' 
 
 " Darling," said Pleasant, " you have saved my honour, 
 my reputation ! You have done more : you have saved 
 my life!" 
 
 "And was not my life saved by you, in the Swiss 
 mountains? " answered Alice.
 
 444 THE GENTLE SAVAGE. 
 
 In her dreams that night the girl had a vision of a dark 
 face, more fascinating because of its very darkness ; a 
 face which the ladies of society declared when Pleasant 
 and Alice were married, and went to spend their honey- 
 moon in Nice, twelve months afterwards to be " quite 
 aristocratic, refined, and Italian." 
 
 THE END.
 

 
 I""" 11 'I! Q . 
 
 
 
 ^.