The Argosy — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

A Romance of the Cloister. 125 is it not strange that parents can so give up their children? It all comes back to me as if happening yesterday. Robed in bridal white, myrtle blossoms in my hair, veiled and gloved, I stood at the grat- ing, myself calm as we made our adieux, all the rest weeping, my poor old Alsatian nurse, Lisbeth, sobbing as if her heart would break. But even that did not move me. I felt so sure in thus breaking every natural tie, trampling underground every natural feeling, that I was fulfilling a Heaven-sent mission ; answering—oh! the irony, yes, I can say it to you, the blasphemy of the phrase—a Divine call.” She turned towards him, her pathetic eyes still wet with tears, no reserve possible in this sudden outburst of long pent-up emotions. ‘Better far become a peasant’s wife, share the burdens of daily life with an honest man like yourself than be doomed to such a fate. But do not let me talk of it any more. Put other thoughts into my head.” Distractions were not wanting. ‘The long glad day seemed almost interminable, each hour of blissful experiences, many rolled into one. How fair showed this Jura world in early summer. Against the turquoise sky rose ridge upon ridge of bright green larch trees ; be- tween the narrow combes or close-shut valleys trended many a crystal stream; whenever they rested in sunny glade, Etiennette made sweet Alpine posies, the small purple clematis, the lily of the valley, the sky-blue hepatica carpeting the way. If they overtook a timber cart, the good-natured mountaineers offered them a seat, themselves afoot always as they guided their team round the sharp precipices. Or a trader bent upon purchasing local wares, spectacles at Morey, tops and pipe handles at St. Claude, would take them upon his light cart, shortening for them many a mile. Etiennette’s gentleness and look of fragility, Elie’s chivalrous care of her, won the sympathy of all. “The lass is weary and very pale; will she have a drink of wine?” said one. | ‘Here, my girl,” said another filling her hands with ripe cherries, try and put them in your cheeks.” Little kindnesses and courtesies were thus showered upon them as they went. When night came they were far away from the cloister, but farther still from their destination. They rested at a little way- side inn on the borders of a pine-forest, beyond that dark rim the shining, silvery peak of Mont Blanc. IV. TOWARDS evening on the fourth day of their travels, the Chateau Grandial was indeed reached. Etiennette’s cheeks flushed with pride as they came in sight of the lordly pile towering over a pro- vince. Crowning an eminence, its terraces commanded a view of the entire Morran—granite peaks, dimpled valleys, curling rivers, smiling hamlets, all lay outspread as in a map. This perfect specimen of medieval architecture, not debased for feudal purposes, a nobleman’s connicaookKks (SO