The Argosy — page 137: what you’re looking at

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

— ee eee ——<——— 122 A Romance of the Cloister. tedium of the road, he whistled in perfect time one simple air after another. By and by the sweet, bird-like notes ceased and both plodded on without a word. They had enough to think about. ‘‘ Who can tell,” reflected Elie. * Dame Fortune may at last have rapped at the door of the foundling, the nobody’s son, the castaway. I have done my best to rise in the world, but it is hard when you have no friends, no money, no name even to start with. This rich man will surely befriend his daughter’s deliverer. Who knows? Perhaps he will help me to Algérie, where I might make a man of myself.” His companion’s thoughts were far less clear and connected. Life, that is life indeed, was coming back slowly to her as to a prisoner after long incarceration. One by one, dulled senses reasserting themselves ; long-stifled volitions making themselves felt within her ‘breast. Eight years of the cloister had turned her into a living, breathing automaton—a human machine. ‘Three hours of life suf- ficed to recall the sympathetic creature—the woman. | Gradually the pure, pale light showed the lofty pine tops; twitter- ings of countless birds, lauds of the woodland, greeted the dawn. Soon the sweet spring landscape lay before them, fresh and bright as ina picture. Emerging from the wood they beheld emerald green Alp and pasturing herds ; perched here and there a rustic chalet, the cheese-maker’s home in summer. Below, a scattered hamlet, amid cornfields and vineyards ; and far away, crest upon crest of undulating forest—the pine-clad peaks of the Jura. IIl THE sun was high when Etiennette de Grandial—such was the real name of Sister Pauline—awoke from a long, heavy, dreamless sleep. What had befallen her? Where was she? The night’s adventure now came back. The flight from the con- vent ; the tramp with her sturdy champion through the pine-wood ; the butcher’s cart in which she had lain down to rest. They must have arrived long ago, for the sun now shone due south and the drive was to have lasted three hours only. She half rose from the heap of fresh straw and glanced around. ‘The cart had been drawn under a tree for coolness and quiet at some little distance from the other vehicles. Dozens were there, whilst immediately about the inn all was bustle and excitement. Far adown the street she saw above the housetops an ancient cathedral tower, and close under its walls a dazzling, bewildering scene—flags flying, glittering toy-booths and tents, with streams of country folk keeping holiday. Strains of merry music and a joyous hum of voices reached her ear. Fora while she gazed blankly, a weight oppressing her heart. She seemed to have burst the cerements of the grave, to have quitted wraiths and shadows for this living, moving company. Should she ever feel one CONNIE KS 5(eCo) =) > <u a