Beadle's Dime Library No. 316 — page 19: what you’re looking at

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

a ee a = —_— Theodore—Theodore what, pray? You give me your name in bits as children give away confec- tions.’ ‘“‘T)Oyley,” he answered, hesitating. What other name knew he to give her in answer to her question? ‘‘] knew they were the Count and Countess D'Oyley, for such my father introduced them; but l asked expecting you to give some otber name; certainly concluding that both from bis and her appearance you must be an adopted son. Theodore could not help observing her counte- nance with the momentary suspicion that sbe knew the truth. Butit was frank and ingenu- one: It was natural she should suppose as she id. ““ How did you suspect I was their son?’ he asked, with interest. ‘‘T beard the countess address yuu as such, when you—” Here she paused, looked at him embarrassed, and then added, “‘after you were taken ill.” Theodore saw at a glance, from her hesitation and manner, that she suspected his ‘ illness’ in- volved some mystery. For an instant sbe be- lieved she knew its true cause, But on reflec- tion, he felt this could not be. ‘‘ Besides,” said he, ‘‘ would she, believing me one of Lafitte’s party, thus pleasantly converse with me, with- out any explanation? still it is evident she looks upon me as if interested in me beyond that which I fear! While she speaks—while she laugbs—I can discern beneath her words and musical laughter, a concealed sadness!” It was very true. Emma McDonald was a person of ardent feelings and impulses, She was generous and noblein character; and where she felt interested, ber whole nature went with her enlisted feelings. Sbe had from the first— at a glance—felt awakened in her bosom an in- terest in Theodore, no other person had ever the power to produce. Then his sadness—his an- guish—his efforts to conceal some inward power of sorrow—and finally bis outcry, charged with the tone of exquisite suffering—mental NoT bodily! the whispered words of the countess! the constrained air of the count; added to his being one of the bandsomest and most interest- ing young men she had ever seen, all con- tributed to strengthen in her being, ber first feeling of tender interest, till it partook of the most lively and touching character. ‘The countess is not ray nother,” answered Theodore, ‘‘laman orphan, and am, as you suspected, only their adopted child. But,” he added, with tenderness and affectionate emo- tion, that elevated his heart high in her opinion —already full partial, ‘‘she is to me all a mo- ther—all a sister could be! I can never repay their goodness and love.” The feeling with which he uttered this, gave a new interest to his countenance, It deepened in her bosom the interest she felt for him. ‘‘You are not then a Frenchman,” she said earnestly; ‘‘you speak English without any foreign accent.” ‘No, lady, I am J believe an Englishman.” ‘‘An Englishman! my countryman,” she re- peated wit manifest pleasure, and a glow en- riching her cheek, “‘T believe so,” he ec'd sadly, ‘Relieve? Do you not know then?” ‘No, Miss McDonald. There is an uncer- tainty involving the past in relation to my birth-land and even my parents, that casts a gloom over all my life.” On hearing these words, she regarded him for one instant with deep sympathy mingled with surprise and curiosity. @ melancholy tone in which he spoke, the gentle sadness that fell over his countenance, made her feel sad in turn. Tears came irresistibly to her eyes, and she dropped them and strove to crush them beneath the lids ere they gusbed forth and he should see them. But be discovered her emotion, and from her bright tears a light was reflected upon his heart like summer sunshine. It was as if a star had shone out amid the storms upon the mari- ner’s eye. He knew that her tears were with him in his sorrow; and this sweet consciousness communicated to his whole being a bappiness so eee that he could have answered ber tears with tears, : ‘Miss McDonald,” he said taking ber band, which trembled in his grasp, but was not with- drawn, ‘** ygne interest in me—an orphan—an unknown! moves me deeply. Accept my gratl- tude. Receive all that my heart has to offer in return!’ He pressed her hand upon his beart as he spoke, with an action at once so graceful, and so full of respect and tenderness, and tben re- leasing it, that the most fastidious maiden could not have heen offended. It was the eloquent cect of sudden, deep, natural emotion. Emma McD »nald was far from taking offense. The pulsations of her heart vibrated like the chords of a harp, giving out music when the tones of another isstrument sweep byintheair. The tbrobbing of bis heart had communicated, as it were, to ber band, giving harmony of feelirg with him to her whole being. She held her cyes downward, Her temples glowed with rich liiood, while her bosom beaved and ber whole form was moved with the effect of feelings new Lafitte’s Lieutenant. ee and delightful. One idea filled her soul! She felt that she loved, and, perhaps, was beloved! Happy thought! exquisite consciousness to her who has first experienced the sensation—a sen- sation that seems to her to be born rather of heaven than of earth! Love hath a language that love only can in- terpret! Theodore for a moment conceived that be had given displeasure by his act. Buia second glance at her face—at ber emotion, ten- der, not resentful, partly reassured him. ‘*Pardon me, Miss McDonald,” he said, be- tween joy and timidity, “if I have been so un- fortunate as to offend you,” “You have not cfferded me,” she saidina low tone without raising her eyes. The music of her voice thrilled to bis soul, He gazed steadily upon her with a look of the most tender interest—of the profoundest rever- ence that love ever regarded the idol of his wor- ship. At this instant her eyes were upraised irresistibly, Their glances encountered! their souls met! and both read the secret of each other’s hearts. The hand he had released was again raised, and this time pressed to his lips. At this crisis the step of some one descending into the cabin, caused them both to assume, in- stinctively, an air of indifference. It was the countess. The very effort to conceal betrayed them. Their cold and indifferent manner was too formal to be natural, and through this the countess at once discovered that there had been pay Dh of the heart and feelings between them! his conviction gave her joy. She knew that Theodore was in himself worthy of any wo- man’s love; and she felt that to have bis heart interested in so lovely a person as Miss McDon- ald would draw him out from himself and his sad thoughts! ‘‘T have come down to take leave of you, my dear Miss McDonald,” said the countess extend- ing her hand with peculiar grace and frank- ness, ** And are you going so soon?” she asked, half- turning toward Theodore, and then checking her look to fix it on the face of the countess. “The brig is already getting under way, and will in a few moments descend the river. I trust, my dear Theodore, that you are quite recovered,” ‘*Oh, quite, mv dearest mother,” he answer- ed, regarding Miss McDonald with an ex- pression of perfect happiness. The count and General McDonald now re- appeared, the former to take leave of Miss cDonald, ‘T trust, sir, you are better,” said General McDonald, with much courtesy mingled in his affectionate inquiry. ‘IT feel perfectly well, sir,” answered Theo- dore; ‘‘and extremely regret that I should have been the cause of anxiety to any one present.” His glance involuntarily sought that of the daughter. “The brig is now in motion, sir, and we should be happy to have you remain on board a mile or two,” continued the general. ‘‘The current is very strong to pull back against, sir, and my mother, the countess, may endanger ber health by remaining out late upon the water,” **T hope we shall meet again, sir.” “‘It would afford me the highest happiness, to have the privilege,” said Theodore, warmly. While he was conversing with him, General McDonald did not. once take bis gaze from bis face which be was scanning with the closest ob- servation, He suddenly addressed him: ‘Have you ever been in England, young gentleman? Pardon me the abruptness of my inquiry.” ** Not since I was a child, sir,” answered Theo- dore, hesitatingly completing the sentence, General McDonald regarded him a moment attentively, and then shook his head and turned away with a very thoughtful expression of countenance, The count and countess now took leave of Miss McDonald, who accompanied them to the dck. The anchor was alread up, and the boat’s crews were abead in the first and second cutter, pulling her out into the stream. De- clining the renewed invitation of thse general and Captain Stewart to remain on board, the former assisted the countess into the boat along- side, and the count shaking hands with Captain Stewart followed. Theodore lingered a mo- ment by the funeral canopy. It was to take leave of Miss McDonald. His band held hers for an instant. _ Farewell. Shall I be remembered?” he said, in a low, trembling tone. ‘‘Do not ask me,” she said, with feeling. ** We MUST meet again!” “*Do you desire it?’ ** Yes—ch, indeed, yes!” she answered, fer- vently, ‘Then we shall shortly see each other, I shall visit England!” he said, with a smile full of hope, ** Soon?” “In a few weeks, if possible.” “You will not forget me?’ sbe cried, with singular earnestuess, | “can forget you only with the oblivion of my being.” eee SF TCC 19 Their hands lingered in the farewell that both now uttered in a tone of painful earnestness, and the next moment Miss McDonald turned away and descended into the cabin; while Theo- dore, with a heart full of grief and joy mingled, hastened to the gangway to get into the boat, which was waiting alongside, As Theodore placed bis band upon the polished head of the brass stanchion, to which the men- rope was attached, he felt a slight touch upon the wrist, It was the captain of the gun-brig. ‘‘Excuse me, sir,” he said bluntly, yet with respect, *‘ but you will relieve my eel, of greet perplexity by telling me where we have met before. For the life of me I can’t make out your signals, though 1 am confident we bave sailed in company at some time or other.” The clear light of the moon, which illumin- ated the deck of the brig, fell upon the brown, weather-beaten features of the British sea- officer, and Theodore fully recognized him as the captain in command of the Sleuth Hound in ber action with the Gertrude, He did not tremble. He did not change countenance. He bad anticipated possible recognition, and had nerved himself for it. His love—the recollec- tion of ber be bad just taken leave of, made him resolate and selt-possessed. Witb a calm — dignified manner and a courteous smile, he replied: “Possibly, monsieur may have met me in Cuba.” “That may be. But when or where is the puzzle.” But he received no further reply. Directly on answering, Theodore had waved his hand lo bim, and with a bow, as if nothing more was ‘xected from him, stepped into the boat. General McDonald, who still stood in the boat, shook him by the hand as be was leaving it, and said: ‘Can you tell me if we have ever met before to-night?’ ‘*Not that I am aware, sir,” answered Theo- dore, with surprise. ‘Then I can’t account for it,” he said, as if to his own thoughts. Amid the farewell wishes of the officers cn deck, the barge of the count shot away from the brig’s side, and moved rapidly toward the point where his carriage stood in waiting, while the brig with her boats glided with slow motion from the anchorage toward the middle of the broad, shining river. ** Did you hear that question of General Mc- Donald, countess?’ naked Theodore. ‘‘I was just musing upon it. I have seen him regard you stealthily to-night several times. ‘* This has not escaped me,” said the count. ‘‘ And what can you suppose is the cause?” asked Theodore with earnestness. | ‘That he has seen some one who strikingly resembles you,” answered the countess, * Perhaps,” exclaimed Theodore, eagerly, balf rising from his seat, ‘‘ perbaps my father! ora brother! Why did I not ask him?’ ‘*Do not be sanguine, Theodore, It is bareiy possible that ke TKe have seen some relation of your blood—don’t leap from the boat!—whom you resemble, But you may also look like some one he has seen who is in lio Way connected with ou. You should hang no hope on a question ike that!” ‘* You still believe, mv friends, more than you speak out,” answered Theodore with emotion. ‘* You fear to encourage me in my wishes and hepes in this matter, lest I should fall back broken down by disappointment!” ‘‘T must confess, dear Theodore,” said the countess, ‘‘I did hope for a moment: but I feel on reflection, there is no ground for it.” “I wish the question of the captain of the brig bad no meaning deeper than that of the general, if I must give up the expectation I[ was about to fix upon hisinquiry. He recog- nized me as I was leaving the brig.” The count and countess both started with ex- clamations of surprise. ‘*He asked me when I came over the side, Ae we had met, as it puzzled him to recol- ect. “What danger!” cried the countess. ‘“ Al- phonse, urge on the rowers to the utmost speed, that we may reach the carriage! may re- =— and pursue. What reply did you give m ‘That perhaps we had met in Cuba; and without waitirg for any further qnestioning I got into the boat; when General McDonald put the same question to me.” “Ob, my dear friend! my son! what peril has surrounded you to-night,” exclaimed the countess. ‘* While Captain Lennox was so loudly and indignantly relating bis story of an engagement with Lafitte, and described yon, T — so that I nearly lost my self-posses- sion “He has, then, not recognized you fully?” asked the count with interest. ‘No, he recollects my countenance as i do his. He cannot tell when he has met me!’ ‘*May he never recollect,” prayed the cour- tess on her bands and fooking fervently upward, ‘Bend to your oars,” said the count, ,iving EOomicbooks (E()