Puck — January 9, 1878 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

12 manent promotion, was zealous in furthering Miss, Biron’s interests. When the fire was threatening the house, he repaired to de Gaillefontaine’s rooms, and cleared them of all that he considered valuable. The little leathern bag lying beside the ulster attracted his attention, and its weight induced him to remove it. He opened it when, later in the day, it became evident that de Gaille- fontaine was one of those burnt in the theatre; and the contents he himself took to Reading and paid into the bank to René’s account. John Smith had disappeared —possibly not liking the society of certain gentlemen among the spectators of the fire, whom he had seen before in their magisterial capacity—and all endeavors to find him were unavailing. But when it grew dark, the man presented himself at the Ferry-boat, and asked to see Miss Biron. Mr. Bruce, luckily at that time in the house, pounced upon him, took him aside, heard what he had to say, promised perfect secrecy, and the next morning carried him to London and to Miss Biron’s hotel. Hugh had called to see René, and promised to return; and she, to receive him, had over- ruled the objection of her attendants, and risen from her bed, giving instructions that visitors should be sent to her sitting-room. She was astonished when Mr. Bruce and John Smith were ushered in. “T should have avoided anything which caight serve to revive the recollection of yester- day's painful event,” Mr. Bruce explained, “but that the occasion seemed too urgent for delay. This is the man who escaped from the fire.” René said she would hear all that was to be told in as few words as possible; and, bowing her head, endeavored to listen, calmly and with fortitude, to details which she knew must shock her. Mr. Bruce signaled to John Smith, who said, with some difficulty in finding words for his purpose: “T's like this. 1’ma man that ain't got any friends, and I don’t want to get into trouble just as the season’s coming on, when a man can earn a living pretty comfortably; and as I’ve come for’ard of my own free will, when there wasn’t any call for me to do so, no more’n a want to do the thing that’s right to- wards the dead, I hope you won't take advan- tage of my position to have me lagged after I've said what I got to say.” “You do not wish to be detained after you have made your statement—that is what you mean, I think ?”” said René. “Just so, miss. It’s like this, About a week ago Master Fox—I don’t know whether you know him, miss—used to be at the house afore you came, in the old gentleman's time.” “I remember him.” “He comes to me and says as he goes in danger of his life because of this here French- man, Mounseer de Gaillefontaine, and he hires me to protect him when he went out a-walking. Well, miss, business being slack, and the job a honest one, I undertook it. One day he goes for a walk with this mounseer, and I follows, keeping a heye on him. Sure enough, when they got into the Quarry Wood, side o’ the pit there, mounseer takes the old gentleman and tries to shove him over the rails. Of course 1 did my bounden duty; but whilst I was hold- ing of this mounseer, Master Fox he took a lit- tle bag hidden under the French gentleman’s shirt, declaring it was hisn, Business took me up here in Lunnon, and strange enough I met Master Fox, who was quite delighted to see me, as he wanted me to protect him again, as he was invited to your ball and couldn't refuse you. Master Fox and the Frenchy met each other quite pleasant and agreeable, and, from what I heered, offered to sell him the very bag PUCK. as he took away from him last week, and which, go's it shouldn't be taken from him, Master Fox had gave me to take care on. ‘his here Gaillefontaine says, ‘Meet me on this terrace at six o'clock, and I’ll let you know for certain whether I'll buy it or whether I won't,’ he says.. At six~rather afore than after— moun- seer comes wrapped up in a cloak all of a hurry, as if he'd forgotten us; but when Mr. Fox asks him if he wants to buy the bag, he says, ‘Oh, yes, I will. Foller me,’ he says, “to where we can talk private,’ says he. He took us into that theatre by the back door, leads us into a little room, and locks us in. ‘Then he sets fire to the shavings on the floor, intending to burn us there, and escape by the door he had come in by. But whilst he was getting a light, Master Fox had taken the keys out of the door; and when we bust out and he come back for ’em, it was too late to get to the door for the fire, and so we was all caught in the trap together. I was the only one who es- caped,” René lifted her eyes and listened aghast, but with a sensible relief. Hitherto a vague im- pression haunted her that she in some manner was implicated in the death of de Guillefon taine. . John Smith took a bag from his pocket, and continued: “Now, miss, it ain't for me to judge them two men, cruel as that Frenchman acted to- wards us, and their sufferings is enough to take the spite out of any one’s heart, and, more- over, I took a solemn oath when I was, like a miracle, delivered from that awful fire, as I'd never do nothing wrong no more. And I’ve kep’ my oath. I ain’t so much as looked at this bag; and as you're the only party as I know any way connected with them there dead men, I give it into your hands, hoping it won’t | lead me into trouble.” René took the bag with some hesitation, and drew from it the folded parchment, on which was neatly pasted the two crumpled, torn, dirty halves of Gregory Biron’s last will. ishment as she read, and the reflections that followed the reading, so absorbed her mind, that she forgot the men, until a movement of Mr. Bruce’s broke off her reverie. She dis- missed them, bidding Mr. Bruce reward John Smith liberally for his trouble. When they were gone she became eagerly impatient for the coming of Hugh; and when she was told that he had promised to return in a couple of hours, and since promising little more than an hour had elapsed, she sent for a cab, and declining attendance, was conveyed to Charlroy Street. remembered her. “1 don’t think he'll want you, miss,” said she. ‘He's been sadly put out about some- thing since you used to sit to him, and he can’t settle down to anything this morning. He's been in and out two or three times, and now he's out. However, I daresay his studio’s un- locked, and if so youcan sit there till he comes in; if so be it’s locked, you can come down and sit with me in the kitchen. He’s a’most sure to be back presently.” ‘The key was in the lock. She opened the door, but paused upon the threshold, as fami- liar details of the room revived the feelings of the past. She could regard these feelings now with nothing but regret and shame. Some- thing more than mere curiosity took her to the easel, and made her uncover the picture upon it. and steadfastly at this ‘portrait of herself, and as she looked, there came joy and pride and love into her heart. This ‘ace, in which were nobility and purity and truth, and all that makes a woman's face divine, reflected Hugh's thought of her. These virtues he saw in her in spite of all she had done to make him think Her aston- | The woman of the house |. She sat upon the stool, and looked long | her silly and weak, and even worse than that. Still looking upon the portrait, her bosom swelled with a great hope, a great belief that she should yet prove the truth of all Hugh had painted on that canvas. ‘The door below opened and shut, and René rose with a heart beating high as some one came bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. x. “T was told at the hotel you had left,” ex- plained Hugh; ‘‘and my heart told me you had come here.” “Your heart never does me wrong.” “Tt never deceives me.” “Yet what will you say when you know that I have been foolishly and wickedly wasting your money for months and months past ?” “Tf I were convinced that you were wasting it, and that it really was mine, then I daresay Ishould say that you had used it, thinking it your own.” “Who is happier, better for the money 1 have spent? A heap of ruins is all I can show for my stewardship. See, this shows that the wealth was yours.” Hugh took the paper with some curiosity, and said, smiling: “So this is the will about which there has been so much fuss. Why, this paper does not assure me that the money was mine! Legally it is no will at all, I expect; certainly it would give me no moral claim.” René seated herself, and in silent wonder looked up at Hugh. “Do you know that this paper was taken from my friend, de Gaillefontaine ?” “Yes.” “And yet with the possibility, nay, the pro- bability, that I shared his knowledge of the contents, you steadily painted truth and good- ness in that portrait!” ““T have need of some virtues, if it be only decent generosity; for within two days you have given me a life and a fortune; and I have it in my heart to ask yet more of you.” René hung her head, for she knew the mean- ing of his words; and as he stepped towards her, she sprang from her chair, and flung her arms about his neck, vowing he should not kneel at her feet. She gave him her lips to kiss, closing her eyes in passionate delight. Then she burst into tears, being yet so weak and shaken, and between her sobs told how she would be a good and wise wife under his guid- ance, beginning her new life with humility and faith. THE END. ‘Tuat aspiring patriot who called on Presi- dent Jackson to ask that he might be appointed Minister to England, and went away with the ift of a pair of old breeches, has his parallel in the Hon. is Marchard, a colored ex- Senator in Florida. This gentleman went to Washington equipped with recommendations for the Belgian mission. His strong point was that his race ought to be recognized. But the Belgian mission was already ‘ bespoke,” so he asked to be appointed Consul to Liverpool. That being refused, he wanted a clerkship, and at last accepted with gratitude the place of watchman in the Treasury Department.—Bos- ton Post. i