Puck — June 18, 1879 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

PUCK. ARCHIE GASCOYNE, A ROMANCE OF SKYE. WRITTEN EXFRESSLY FOR PUCK, BY JOHN FRASER, AUTHOR oF «fie: a Tale of Two Worlds; «Fair Fragolet Essays from the Westminster; " Scottish Chapbooks;” ‘A Dream of a Life; ”* “Duncan Fenwick'’s Daughter; « Legends of Lorne;” “ Lone Glengartney,”” etc., ete,, etc, (Continued.) OT that there was much in it. Simply a little bit of woodland and water; a few cattle standing knee-deep in the smooth- ly-flowing stream, amid the reeds and sedges; a bright sky, flecked with white clouds and gray, overhead; and on the river bank, stretch- ed at length amid the cool, long grass, a young man reading a yellow-covered book. As simple a study as well could be, and un- pretentious every way, but, though unfinished, marked with unmistakable ability—the treat- ment being exceedingly fine, the coloring good, and the general effect natural and bold. In short, it was one of those crude efforts that betoken genius; but genius of a careless and uncultivated kind, “A good sketch, by Jove!" said the young man to hisnself, as he carefully studied the pic- ture. ‘Who can be the artist? Pity it isn’t finished”—then, looking carefully around — “Suppose I try my hand.” Saying which he took up the brush and paints, and hastily but carefully completed the sketch, throwing in by way of finish a girl who, just about to surprise the youthful reader, is advancing cautiously and with a half-sup- pressed smile on her dainty lips, He had not meant to do it, but. the sketch was a likeness—Aer likeness—and Miss Mac- donald was not slow to recognize the fact; for she had caught the artist at work, as he was putting the last touch to the picture, and when she recognized her own sweet face, it was with a little cry of surprise and a delightful blush that she turned quickly and quietly to leave the place. But the cry, though small, was loud enough to attract Archie’s attention, and be- fore she could get away their eyes had met. There are supreme moments in the lives of every one—that is, every one who is not an idiot or a fool—in which, for good or for evil, the entire character of one's life and current and being are changed; one moment in which a man’s, or woman's future destiny, be it for happiness or sorrow, is finally, instantaneously and irrevocably fixed. That moment had oc- curred, if a moment can be said to occur, in the lives of these two young people of whom we are writing; and they knew it. In her he recognized the author of the pic- ture, and in Aim she recognized the author of the sketch which gave it completion and point, and, in a dim, half-unconscious sort of way, each recognized in each the other’s lover. As usual in these cases, the lady was first to recover, “You here, and painting!” she exclaimed. “Why, I thought you city gentlemen were inva- riably late risers. And, now that I look at it— (meaning the sketch)—how can I thank you sufficiently for investing my poor attempt with so much life and beauty ?” “With beauty—yes,” replied Archie, “ but not beauty of my creation”—looking into her face with a glance full of suppressed passion and meaning—“Had I known who the artist was I should have left the picture untouched.” “Then am I heartily glad you did not know its author; but, now that I look at it again, I think you have made one great mistake.” “« Mistake—in what ?” “In your choice of a heroine; besides, the accompaniments are not complete.” “ How?” “The lady ought to havea pipe in her hand, as I have, and present it to the youthful novel- reader, as I do—now.” . Saying which the speaker, with an indescrib- ably comic little curtsey and smile, presented Archie with his own identical pipe, which he had so recklessly thrown away, and which, at her suggestion, Alister had recovered. ‘The presentation completed the young fel- low's discomforture, but he made a brave rally, and had begun to thank her for the trouble she had taken, when Mile, Thollier, the French governess, suddenly interrupted the conversa- tion. With a little start of affected surprise she turned to leave, but Miss Macdonald was too quick for her. “Good morning, Mademoiselle; I did not know you were an early riser; there seems to be no end to your accomplishments.” This she said not in the least ill-naturedly or with any touch of sarcasm; for Miss Mac- donald never was ill-natured, and, as in the case of all true women, sarcasm was foreign to her nature. Mlle. Thollier, with a little shrug of the shoulders, smilingly replied, with a quick look at Archie: “Mees Maggee, you air too gracious, My accomplishments air few, but soomtimes I do get up very much early; for I do so loov to hear zee leetle birds sing in zee morning, and to see zee sun shine upon zee waters. But that eez only in summer, when it eez warm; in winter it eez very much against me to rise early—it eez so cold.” On the previous evening Archie had been introduced to Mademoiselle in that sort of casual way, and in the dusk, that leaves little impression on one; but now that he saw her in the bright sunlight of this magnificent May morning, he was considerably struck by her appearance, And no wonder. Though small—what her own countrymen would call petite—Mlle. Thol- lier was strikingly handsome, and fascinatingly graceful in manner and movement. She was a brunette, with magnificent dark eyes, whose only fault was a cold glitter which they some- times had. The daintiest suggestion of a mous- tache set off the smallest and daintiest little mouth—one of those mouths that seem always to be pronouncing, or trying to pronounce “prunes and prisms "—it is ible to con- ceive, and her hands and feet were particularly well-shaped and small. She came of an old and distinguished French stock—we are giving her own story—and by the hard necessities of fortune had been compelled to take refuge in England and earn a living as a governess. That she was handsome everybody admitted ; that she was accomplished no one could deny; and that her conversation was brilliant and her manners ladylike and fascinating, was equally indisputable. Yet, strange as the fact may ap- pear, fact it is that gentlemen fought shy of Mile, Thollier, and, with some exceptions— and Miss Macdonald was one—even members of her own sex seldom took her into their inti- macy, Perhaps the consciousness of these last. two facts had embittered her nature; certain it is they went a long way to shape and determine her action in the tragedy shortly to be fore- shadowed. She hated Miss Macdonald, though the latter was her best friend. Hated her because her beauty of person and mind and manner at- tracted all men to her; hated her, most of all, because Archie Gascoyne had been made cap- tive by her, For, though Archie himself was profoundly ignorant of the fact, Mlle. Thollier was an old acquaintance of his, and had loved him, and still did love him madly. So it came about that Mademoiselle, for once in her life, got up early; but not, as she so ingenuously observed, to hear “ zee leetle birds” and watch the break of sunshine on “zee vater,” but to watch the movements of the two young people who have figured most largely in this chapter. But, with all her cleverness—and she was clever exceedingly—Mlle, Thollier forgot that two can play the same game, and the Doctor had his suspicions, ‘She was not the only-one who had got up early that morning. CHAPTER X. Who would not a-Maying a-go When all is fun and frolic? ‘When, ‘mong the heather-covered hills, From budding sprae the lintie tills, And with her song the woodland fills, ‘Who could be melancholic? Onarriving at the breakfast table that morn- ing, Archie was surprised to find the company augmented by a new arrival in the person of Count von Frankylstein, an old friend of the Professor's. The two had met and been col- lege chums at Heidelberg, and, in answer to a long-standing and repeatedly-renewed invita- tion, the Count had at last found time and opportunity to visit his friend. By birth he was an Austrian, and, like so many of his coun- trymen, an accomplished linguist; English be- ing almost the only European language of im- portance which he could not talk fluently. In appearance the Count was a dapper, well- built, tight little man, who carried himself well on his legs, and walked with a short, jaunty, springy step. His hair, bald on the crown, was jet black, as was also his heavy moustache. Whisker or beard he had none, his face and chin being always closely shaved, His eyes were dark, bright and piercing; his nose of a slightly Jewish cast; his mouth shapely, though with that suggestion of sensuality inseparable from thick lips, and, although he was well on in middle life, his cheeks were fresh almost to rosiness, Altogether the Count was a decidedly hand- some man, and one moreover of great intelli- gence—what in this country would be called a decidedly ‘ smart” man. Of quick and impetuous temper, he yet pos- sessed a warm, loving and genial disposition, and alike in the drawing-room and on the hunting-field, Count von Frankylstein was the best of “jolly good fellows.” In his own way he was a don vivant—almost, let us confess it, a gourmand; but, in spite of his high social position and noble descent—for the Frankylsteins are among the oldest and proudest of the patrician families of Austria— in a sort of Bohemian fashion. When at Heidelberg he had easily and na- turally fallen inte the ways of the gay, young, roystering blades whose acquaintance he had made in that most picturesque of old German comicbooks.com