McClure's magazine

^

/66

JOHN C. CALHOUN.

Fronl a carbon reproduction by Sherman and McHugh of an original daguerreotype owned by Peter Gilsey, Esq.,

New York.

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McCLURE'S MAGAZINE

ILLUSTRATED

PUBLISHED MONTHLY

Volume VIII
NOVEMBER, 1896, to APRIL, 1897

THE S. S. McCLURE CO

NEW YORK AND LONDON

1897

Copyright, 1896, by
THE S. S. McCLURE CO.

Copyright, 1897, by
THE S. S. McCLURE CO.

Contents of McClure's Magazine.

VOLUME VIII.
NOVEMBER, 1896, TO APRIL, 1897.

PAGE

ALMA-TADEMA AND HIS HOME AND PICTURES. Ethet. Mackenzie McKenna.

Jllustraicd. 32

APPEARANCES. A Poem. Robert Browninc, 401

ATLANTIC CABLE, THE MAKING AND LAYING OF AN. Henry Muir. Illustrated. 255
BATTLE, THE, OF THE SNOW-PLOWS. A True Story of Railroading in the Rocky

Mountains. Cy Warman. Ilhistrated 92

BELL-BUOY, THE. A Poem. Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated . 364

BETHLEHEM. S. S. McClure. Illustrated 183

BIBLE, THE MAKING OF THE. H. J. W. Dam. Illustrated 331

BOWERY REGIMENT, IN A. The Story of my First Command. Capt. Musgrove Davis.

Illustrated. • ■ 245

"CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS." A Story of the Grand Banks. Rudyard Kipling. Il-
lustrated 17, 165, 222, 341, 424, 521

CAROL, A. William Canton • ■• "o

CHRISTMASTIDE, in the FIRST. A Poem. By Harriet Prescott Spofforo. Il-
lustrated ••■ ^21

CLEAR MIDNIGHT, A. A Poem. Walt Whitman 556

CLEMENS, SAMUEL L. ("MARK TWAIN"), AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF.. 382

DAGUERREOTYPE, THE, IN AMERICA. Mrs. D. T. Davis. Illustrated... 3

FARTHEST NORTH, THE. An Account of Dr. Nansen'.j Adventures and Achievements.

Cyrus C. Adams. Illustrated 99

FICTION : Short Stories.

ASPIRATIONS-EXPLANATIONS. Anthony Hope. Illustraiea 85

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS." Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated T40

DAVIDSON, DR.. HOW HE KEPT HIS LAST CHRISTMAS AT DRUMTOCHTY. Ian Mac-

LAREN. Illustrated • "4

DERELICT " NEPTUNE," THE. Morgan Robertson. Illustrated 278

DIAMONDS, HERR DOLLE'S. Herbert Keen. Illustrated 57

DOMSIE, THE RETIRING OF. Ian Maclaren. Illustrated 550

"EMILY BRAND," THE STRANGE STORY OF THE. Andrew Hussey Allen. Illustrated 483

ENGINEER CONNOR'S SON. Will Allen Dromgoole. Illustrated 355

HOME-COMING, THE, OF COLONEL HUCKS. William Allen White 326

HUERFANO BILL, THE BANDIT. Cy Warman. Illustrated 443

KING OF BOYVILLE, THE. William Allen White. Illustrated 321

LADY, THE, IN THE BOX. Clinton Ross. Illustrated 43i

MY UNWILLING NEIGHBOR. Frank R. Stockton. Illustrated i54

OF THIS GENERATION. Henry Seton Merriman. Illustrated ' i75

PITY, THE, OF IT. Mrs. J. H. Riddell. Illustrated 2"

SPELLBINDER, THE. Octave Th.a.net 529

TWO MODERN PRODIGALS. James F. McKay. Illustrated 69

FRANKLIN, AN UNPUBLISHED LIFE PORTRAIT OF. Charles Henry Hart. Il-
lustrated 459

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN. W. P. Trent 273

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN, FIFTEEN LIFE PORTRAITS OF. With Notes and Intro-
duction. Charles Henry Hart 263

GENERAL MANAGER, THE, AND THE GHOST TRAIN. A True Railroad Story.

Cy Warman. Ilhistrated 539

GRANT AT WEST POINT ; THE STORY OF HIS CADET DAYS. Hamlin Garl.a.nd.

Illustrated 195

GRANT IN THE MEXICAN WAR. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 366

iv CONTENTS.

PAGE

GRANT'S HORSEMANSHIP. A\ Ixcidext. CArx. Alfred M. Fuller . 501

GRANT'S LIFE IN MISSOURI. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 514

GRANT'S QUIET YEARS AT NORTHERN POSTS. Recollections of Grant at
Sacket'i's Harbor, Detroit, and on the Pacific Coast. Hamlin Garland. II-

lustrated 402

GRANT, ULYSSES, THE EARLY LIFE OF. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 125

GREENLAND WHALER, LIFE ON A. A Record of Personal Adventures in the

Arctic Seas. A. Conan Doyle. Illustrated 460

HAMILTON, ALEXANDER. The Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge 502

HAMILTON. ALEXANDER, AND HIS \VIFE ; LIFE PORTRAITS OF. AVith Intro-
duction and Notes. Charles Henry Hart 507

HOME FROM THE CITY. A Poem. Hamlin Garland 96

INQUISITION, THE. A Poem. William Canton 181

IRESON, SKIPPER, A NOTE ON. Capt. John Codman 45S

KIPLING AS A POET : THE LAUREATE OF THE LARGER ENGLAND. W, D.

Howells 453

LINCOLN'S NOMINATION IN i860, THE STORY OF. Based on the PersOxNAL
Reminiscences of Men who were Instrumental in Securing it. Ida M. Tarbell.

Illustrated 43

LINCOLN, AN UNPUBLISHED LETTER BY. Regarding his Defeat by Douglas in

1858 • • • 313

McKINLEY, NANCY ALLISON: A PORTRAIT 457

McKINLEY, WILLIAM: A PORTRAIT 456

MADONNA AND CHILD. Reproduction of a Painting by Josephine Wood Colby.

Illustrated 1 1 1

" MARTHA WASHINGTON " CASE, THE. Lida Rose McCabe. Illustrated 236

MAKERS OF THE UNION, THE.

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN. W. P. Trent 273

HAMILTON, ALEXANDER. The Hon. Henrv Cabot Lodge 502

WASHINGTON, GEORGE. W. P. Trent 309

MEN, THE, IN THE RANKS. From the Note-book of an Old Soldier. ^I.\jor

Philip Douglas 537

NOVEL-WRITING, A NOVELIST'S VIEWS OF. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. Illustrated. 77
PAINTING, A CENTURY OF : RECENT DECORATIVE ART. Will H. Low. Il-
lustrated 472

PSALMS, A NEW RHYTHMIC VERSION OF. Clifton Harby Levy. Illustrated..... 362

RAILROAD DOG, A. A True Railroad Story. Cy Warman. Illustrated 542

RAPPAHANNOCK, THE SONG OF THE. The Real Experience in Battle of a Young

Soldier of the Army of the Potomac. Ira Seymour. Illustrated 314

ROBIN ADAIR: THE STORY OF A FAMOUS SONG. S. J. Adair Fitz-Gerald 361

ST. IVES. The Adventures of a French Prisoner in England. A Novel. Robert

Louis Stevenson. Chaps. I. -IV 393, 493

SHERMAN, GENERAL : A SERIES OF UNPUBLISHED LETTERS 546

SNOW-PLOWS, THE BATTLE OF THE. A True Story of Railroading in the Rocky

Mountains. Cy Warman. Illustrated 92

STANTON, A NIGHT WITH, IN THE WAR OFFICE. General John M. Thayer.

Illustrated 438

"SON, THOU MUST LOVE ME." A Poem. Paul Verl.aine. Illustrated. 471

TELEGRAPHING WITHOUT WIRES. A Possibility of Electrical Science. H. J. W.

Dam. Illustrated 3S3

VIERGE, DANIEL, THE MASTER ILLUSTRATOR. Personal Impressions of the

Man and His Art. August F., Jaccaci. Illustrated 413

WASHINGTON, AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF. Charles Henry Hart. Il-
lustrated "2

WASHINGTON, GEORGE. W. P. Trent 309

WASHINGTON, THIRTY LIFE PORTRAITS OF. With Introduction and Notes.

Charles Henry Hart 291

WHAT WILL TIME GIVE ? A Poem. Gertrude Hall 442

WILD NIGHT, A, AT WOODRIVER. A True Railroad Story. Cy Warman. Illustrated. 543

ST, IVES.

THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH PRISONER IN ENGLAND.

By Robert Louis Stevexson,
Author of ''Treasure Island," "Kidnapped," etc.

CHAPTER I.

A TALE OF A LION RAMPANT.

T was in the month of May, 1813, that
I was so unlucky as to fall at last into

times so obliging as to have me join him
at the meal. Chevenix was his name. He
was stiff as a drum-major and selfish as
an Englishman, but a fairly conscientious
pupil and a fairly upright man. Little
did I suppose that his ramrod body and
the hands of the enemy. My knowledge frozen face would, in the end, step in be-
ef the English language had marked me tween me and all my dearest wishes; that
out for a certain employment. Though I upon this precise, regular, icy soldier-man
cannot conceive a soldier refusing to incur my fortunes should so nearly shipwreck!
the risk, yet to be hanged for a spy is a dis- I never liked, but yet I trusted him; and
gusting business; and I was relieved to be though it may seem but a trifle, I found
held a prisoner of war. Into the Castle of his snuff-box with the bean in it come very
Edinburgh, standing in the midst of that welcome.

city on the summit of an extraordinary For it is strange how grown men and
rock, I was cast with several hundred seasoned soldiers can go back in life. So
fellow-sufferers, all privates like myself, that after but a little while in prison,
and the more part of them,, by an acci- which is after all the next thing to being
dent, very ignorant, plain fellows. My in the nursery, they grow absorbed in the
English, which had brought me into that most pitiful, childish interests, and a sugar
scrape, now helped me very materially to biscuit or a pinch of snuff become things
bear it. I had a thousand advantages. I to follow after and scheme for!
was often called to play the part of an in- We made but a poor show of prisoners.

The officers had been all offered their pa-
role, and had taken it. They lived mostly
in suburbs of the city, lodging with mod-
est families, and enjoyed their freedom

terpreter, whether of orders or complaints,
and thus brought in relations, sometimes
of mirth, sometimes almost of friendship,
with the officers in charge. A young lieu-
tenant singled me out to be his adversary and supported the almost continual evil
at chess, a game in which I was extremely tidings of the Emperor as best they might,
proficient, and would reward me for my It chanced I was the only gentleman
gambits with excellent cigars. The major among the privates who remained. A
of the battalion took lessons of French great part were ignorant Italians, of a regi-
from me while at breakfast, and was some- ment that had suffered heavily in Catalo-

Coovri?ht, 1806, by the S. S. McC'.ure Co.

393

394

ST. IVES.

nia. The rest were mere diggers of the'
soil, treaders of grapes or hewers of wood,
who had been suddenly and violently pre-
ferred to the glorious state of soldiers.
We had but the one interest in common:
each of us who had any skill with his fingers
passed the hours of his captivity in the
making of little toys and articles of Paris s
and the prison was daily visited at certain
hours by a concourse of people of the
country, come to exult over our distress,
or — it is more tolerant to suppose — their
own vicarious triumph. Some moved
among us with a decency of shame or sym-
pathy. Others were the most offensive
personages in the world, gaped at us as if
we had been baboons, sought to evan-
gelize us to their rustic, northern religion
as though we had been savages, or tor-
tured us with intelligence of disasters to
the arms of France. Good, bad, and in-
different, there was one alleviation to the
annoyance of these visitors; for it was the
practice of almost all to purchase some
specimen of our rude handiwork. This
led, amongst the prisoners, to a strong
spirit of competition. Some were neat of
hand, and (the genius of the French being
always distinguished) could place upon
sale little miracles of dexterity and taste.
Some had a more engaging appearance;
fine features were found to do as well as
fine merchandise, and an air of youth in
particular (as it appealed to the sentiment
of pity in our visitors) to be a source of
profit. Others again enjoyed some ac-
quaintance with the language, and were
able to recommend the more agreeably to
purchasers such trifles as they had to sell.
To the first of these advantages I could
lay no claim, for my fingers were all
thumbs. Some at least of the others I
possessed; and finding much entertain-
ment in our commerce, I did not suffer my
advantages to rust. I have never despised
the social arts, in which it is a national
boast that every Frenchman should excel.
For the approach of particular sorts of
visitors, I had a particular manner of ad-
dress and even of appearance, which I
could readily assume and change on the
occasion rising. I never lost an opportu-
nity to flatter either the person of my
visitor, if it should be a lady, or, if it should
be a man, the greatness of his country
in war. And in case my compliments
should miss their aim, I was always ready
to cover my retreat with some agreeable
pleasantry, which would often earn me the
nameof an " oddity " or a " droll fellow."
In this way, although I was so left-handed

a toy-maker, I made out to be rather a
successful merchant; and found means to
procure many little delicacies and allevia-
tions, such as children or prisoners de-
sire.

I am scarce drawing the portrait of a
very melancholy man. It is not indeed my
character; and I had, in a comparison with
my comrades, many reasons for content.
In the first place, I had no family; I was an
orphan and a bachelor; neither wife nor
child awaited me in France. In the second,
I had never wholly forgot the emotions
with which I first found myself a prisoner;
and although a military prison be not alto-
gether a garden of delights, it is still pref-
erable to a gallows. In the third, I am
almost ashamed to say it, but I found cer-
tain pleasure in our place of residence:
being an obsolete and really mediaeval for-
tress, high placed and commanding extra-
ordinary prospects not only over sea, moun-
tain, and champaign, but actually over the
thoroughfares of a capital city, which we
could see blackened by day with the
moving crowd of the inhabitants, and at
night shining with lamps. And lastly,
although I was not insensible to the
restraints of prison or the scantiness of
our rations, I remember I had sometimes
eaten quite as ill in Spain, and had to
mount guard and march perhaps a dozen
leagues into the bargain. The first of my
troubles, indeed, was the costume we were
obliged to wear. There is a horrible prac-
tice in England to trick out in ridiculous
uniforms, and as it were to brand in mass,
not only convicts but military prisoners
and even the children in charity schools.
I think some malignant genius had found
his masterpiece of irony in the dress which
we were condemned to wear: jacket,
waistcoat, and trousers of a sulphur or
mustard yellow, and a shirt of blue and
white striped, cotton. It was conspicuous,
it was cheap, it pointed us out to laughter
— we, who were old soldiers, used to arms,
and some of us showing noble scars — like
a set of lugubrious zanies at a fair.

The old name of that rock on which our
prison stood was (I have heard since then)
the " Painted Hill." Well, now it was all
painted a bright yellow with our costumes;
and the dress of the soldiers who guarded
us being, of course, the essential British
red rag, we made up together the elements
of a lively picture of hell. I have again
and again looked round upon my fellow-
prisoners, and felt my anger rise, and
choked upon tears, to behold them thus
parodied. The more part, as I have said,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

395

were peasants, somewhat bettered perhaps
by the drill-sergeant, but for all that un-
gainly, loutish fellows, with no more than
a mere barrack-room smartness of address:
indeed, you could have seen our army no-
where more discreditably represented than
in this Castle of Edinburgh. And I used
to see myself in fancy, and blush. It
seemed that my more elegant carriage
would but point the insult of the travesty.
And I remembered the days when I wore
the coarse but honorable coat of a soldier;
and remembered farther back how many of
the noble, the fair, and the gracious had
taken a delight to tend my childhood. . . .
But I must not recall these tender and
sorrowful memories twice; their place is
farther on, and I am now upon another
business. The perfidy of the Britannic
government stood nowhere more openly
confessed than in one particular of our
discipline: that we were shaved twice in
the week. To a man who has loved all his
life to be fresh shaven, can a more irritat-
ing indignity be devised ? Monday and
Thursday were the days. Take the Thurs-
day, and conceive the picture I must pre-
sent by Sunday evening! And Saturday,
which was almost as bad, was the great
day for visitors.

Those who came to our market were of
all qualities, men and women, the lean and
the stout, the plain and the fairly pretty.
Sure, if people at all understood the
power of beauty, there would be no prayers
addressed except to Venus; and the mere
privilege of beholding a comely woman is
worth paying for. Our visitors, upon the
wdiole, were not much to boast of; and
yet, sitting in a corner and very much
ashamed of myself and my absurd appear-
ance, I have again and again tasted the
finest, the rarest, and most ethereal pleas-
ures in a glance of an eye that I should
never see again — and never w^anted to.
The flower of the hedgerow and the star
in heaven satisfy and delight us: how much
more the look of that exquisite being who
was created to bear and rear, to madden
and rejoice, mankind!

There was one young lady in particular,
about eighteen or nineteen, tall, of a
gallant carriage, and with a profusion of
hair in which the sun found threads of gold.
As soon as she came in the courtyard (and
she was a rather frequent visitor) it
seemed I was aware of it. She had an air
of angelic candor, yet of a high spirit;
she stepped like a Diana, every movement
was noble and free. One day there was a
strong east wind; the banner was strain-

ing at the flagstaff; below us the smoke of
the city chimneys blew hither and thither
in a thousand crazy variations; and away
out on the Forth we could see the ships
lying down to it and scudding. I was
thinking what a vile day it was, when she
appeared. Her hair blew in the wind with
changes of color; her garments moulded
her with the accuracy of sculpture; the
ends of her shawl fluttered about her ear
and were caught in again with an inimita-
ble deftness. You have seen a pool on a
gusty day, how it suddenly sparkles and
flashes like a thing alive? So this lady's
face had become animated and colored;
and as I saw her standing, somewhat in-
clined, her lips parted, a divine trouble in
her eyes, I could have clapped my hands
in applause, and was ready to acclaim her
a genuine daughter of the winds. What
put it in my head, I know not; perhaps
because it was a Thursday and I was new
from the razor; but I determined to en-
gage her attention no later than that day.
She was approaching that part of the
court in which' I sat with my merchandise,
when I observed her handkerchief to escape
from her hands and fall to the ground;
the next moment, the wind had taken it up
and carried it within my reach. I was on
foot at once: I had forgot my mustard-
colored clothes, I had forgot the private
soldier and his salute. Bowing deeply, I
offered her the slip of cambric.

"Madam," said I, "your handker-
chief. The wind brought it me."

I met her eyes fully.

" I thank you, sir," said she.

" The wind brought it me," I repeated.
" May I not take it for an omen? You
have an English proverb, ' It's an ill wind
that blows nobody good.' "

" Well," she said, with a smile, " ' One
good turn deserves another.' I will see
what you have."

She followed me to where my wares
were spread out under lee of a piece of
cannon.

"Alas, mademoiselle!" said I. "I am
no very perfect craftsman. This is sup-
posed to be a house, and you see the
chimneys are awry. You may call this a
box if you are very indulgent; but see
where my tool slipped! Yes, I am afraid
you may go from one to another, and find
a flaw in everything. ' Failures for Sale '
should be on my signboard. I do not keep
a shop; I keep a Humorous Museum." I
cast a smiling glance about my display
and then at her, and instantly became
grave. "Strange, is it not," I added.

396

ST. IVES.

" that a grown man and a soldier should
be engaged upon such trash, and a sad
heart produce anything so funny to look
at?"

An unpleasant voice summoned her at
this moment by the name of Flora, and
she made a hasty purchase and rejoined
her party.

A few' days after she came again. But
I must first tell you how she came to be so
frequent. Her aunt was one of those ter-
rible British old maids, of which the world
has heard much ; and having nothing
whatever to do and a word or two of
French, she had taken what she called an
"interest in the French prisoners." A big,
bustling, bold old lady, she flounced
about our market-place with insufferable
airs of patronage and condescension.
She bought indeed with liberality, but her
manner of studying us through a quizzing-
glass, and playing cicerone to her follow-
ers, acquitted us of any gratitude. She
had a tail behind her of heavy obsequious
old gentlemen or dull, giggling misses, to
whom she appeared to be an oracle.
"This one can really carve prettily: is
he not a quiz with his big whiskers?"
she would say. " And this one," indicat-
ing myself with her gold eyeglass, " is, I
assure you, quite an oddity." The odd-
ity, you may be certain, ground his teeth.
She had a way of standing in our midst,
nodding around, and addressing us in
what she imagined to be French: '' Bienne,
homines! (a va bienne?" I took the free-
dom to reply in the same lingo: ''Bienne,
femftte! (a va couci-couci tout (Tmeme, la
bourgeoise !'' And at that, when we had
all laughed with a little more heartiness
than was entirely civil, " I told you he
was quite an oddity! " says she in triumph.
Needless to say, these passages were be-
fore I had remarked the niece.

The aunt came on the day in question
with a following rather more than usually
large, which she manceuvred to and fro
about the market, and lectured to at rather
more than usual length and with rather less
than her accustomed tact. I kept my eyes
down, but they were ever fixed in the same
direction, quite in vain. The aunt came
and went, and pulled us out, and showed
us off, like caged monkeys; but the
niece kept herself on the outskirts of
the crowd and on the opposite side of the
courtyard, and departed at last as she
had come, without a sign. Closely as I had
watched her, I could not say her eyes had
ever rested on me for an instant; and my
heart was overwhelmed with bitterness and

blackness. I tore out her detested image;
I felt I was done with her for ever; I
laughed at myself savagely, because I had
thought to please; when I lay down at
night, sleep forsook me, and I lay and
rolled, and gloated on her charms, and
cursed her insensibility, for half the night.
How trivial I thought her! and how trivial
her sex! A man might be an angel or an
Apollo, and a mustard-colored coat would
wholly blind them to his merits. I was a
prisoner, a slave, a contemned and des-
picable being, the butt of her sniggering
countrymen. I would take the lesson; no
proud daughter of my foes should have
the chance to mock at me again; none in
the future should have the chance to think
I had looked at her with admiration. You
cannot imagine any one of a more reso-
lute and independent spirit, or whose
bosom was more wholly rnailed with patri-
otic arrogance, than I. Before I dropped
asleep, 1 had remembered all the infamies
of Britain and debited them in an over-
whelming column to Flora.

The next day, as I sat in my place, I be-
came conscious there was some one stand-
ing near; and behold, it was herself! I
kept my seat, at first in the confusion of
my mind, later on from policy; and she
stood and leaned a little over me, as in
pity. She was very still and timid; her
voice was low. Did I suffer in my cap-
tivity ? she asked me. Had I to complain
of any hardship ?

" Mademoiselle, I have not learned to
complain," said I. "I am a soldier of
Napoleon."

She sighed. " At least you must regret
La France,'" said she, and colored a little
as she pronounced the words, which she
did with pretty strangeness of accent.

" What am I to say ? " I replied. " If
you were carried from this country, for
which you seem so wholly suited, where
the very rains and winds seem to become
you like ornaments, would you regret, do
you think ? We must surely all regret!
the son to his mother, the man to his
country; these are native feelings."

" You have a mother ? " she asked.

" In heaven, mademoiselle," I an-
swered. " She, and my father also, went
by the same road to heaven as so many
others of the fair and brave: they followed
their queen upon the scaffold. So, you
see, I am not so much to be pitied in my
prison," I continued; " there are none to
wait for me; I am alone in the world.
'Tis a different case, for instance, with yon
poor fellow in the cloth cap. His bed is

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

397

next to mine, and in the night I hear him
sobbing to himself. He has a tender char-
acter, full of tender and pretty sentiments;
and in the dark at night, and sometimes by
day when he can get me apart with him,
he laments a mother and a sweetheart.
Do you know what made him take me for
a confidant ? "

She parted her lips with a look, but did
not speak. The look burned all through
me with a sudden vital heat.

" Because I had once seen, in march-
ing by, the belfry of his village! " I con-
tinued. " The circumstance is quaint
enough. It seems to bind up into one the
whole bundle of those human instincts that
make life beautiful, and people and
places dear — and from which it would seem
I am cut off! "

I rested my chin on my knee and looked
before me on the ground. I had been
talking until then to hold her; but I was
now not sorry she should go: an impres-
sion is a thing so delicate to produce
and so easy to overthrow! Presently she
seemed to make an effort.

" I will take this toy," she said, laid
a five-and-sixpenny piece in my hand, and
was gone ere I could thank her.

I retired to a place apart, near the ram-
parts and behind a gun. The beauty, the
expression of her eyes, the tear that had
trembled there, the compassion in her
voice, and a kind of wild elegance that
consecrated the freedom of her move-
ments, all combined to enslave my imag-
ination and inflame my heart. What had
she said? Nothing to signify; but her
eyes had met mine, and the fire they had
kindled burned inextinguishably Jn my
veins. I loved her; and I did not fear to
hope. Twice I had spoken with her; and
in both interviews I had been well in-
spired, I had engaged her sympathies, I
had found words that she must remember,
that would ring in her ears at night upon
her bed. What mattered if I were half
shaved and my clothes a caricature ? I
was still a man, and, as I trembled to re-
alize, she was still a woman. Many waters
cannot quench love; and love, which is
the law of the world, was on my side. I
closed my eyes, and she sprung up on the
background of the darkness, more beauti-
ful than in life. "Ah!" thought I, " and
you too, my dear, you too must carry away
with you a picture, that you are still to be-
hold again and still to embellish. In the
darkness of night, in the streets by day,
still you are to have my voice and face,
whispering, making love for me, en-

croaching on your shy heart. Shy as your
heart is, it is lodged there — / am lodged
there; let the hours do their office — let
time continue to draw me ever in more
lively, ever in more insidious colors. " And
then I had a vision of myself, and burst
out laughing.

A likely thing, indeed, that a beggar
man, a private soldier, a prisoner in a yel-
low travesty, was to awake the interest
of this fair girl! I would not despair; but
I saw the game must be played fine and
close. It must be my policy to hold my-
self before her, always in a pathetic or
pleasing attitude; never to alarm or startle
her; to keep my own secret locked in my
bosom like a story of disgrace, and let
hers (if she could be induced to have one)
grow at its own rate; to move just so fast,
and not by a hair's breadth any faster,
than the inclination of her heart. I was
the man, and yet I was passive, tied by the
foot in prison. I could not go to her; I
must cast a spell upon her at each visit, so
that she should return to me; and this
was a matter of nice management. I had
done it the last time — it seemed impossi-
ble she should not come again after our
interview; and for the next I had speedily
ripened a fresh plan. A prisoner, if he
has one great disability for a lover, has yet
one considerable advantage: there is
nothing to distract him, and he can spend
all his hours ripening his love and prepar-
ing its manifestations. I had been then
some days upon a piece of carving, no
less than the emblem of Scotland, the
Lion Rampart. This I proceeded to fin-
ish with what skill I was possessed of; and
when at last I could do no more to it
(and, you may be sure, was already re-
gretting I had done so much), added on
the base the following dedication:

A LA BELLE FLORA

LE PRISONNIER RECONNAISSANT

A. D. St. Y. d. K.

I put my heart into the carving of
these letters. What was done with so
much ardor, it seemed scarce possible
that any should behold it with indiffer-
ence; and the initials would at least sug-
gest to her my noble birth. I thought it
bet'ter to suggest; I felt that mystery was
my stock-in-trade; the contrast between
my rank and manners, between my speech
and my clothing, and the fact that she
could only think of me by a combination

398

ST. IVES.

of letters, must all tend to increase her in-
terest and engage her heart.

This done, there was nothing left for
me but to wait and to hope. And there
is nothing farther from my character: in
love and in war, I am all for the forward
movement; and these days of waiting
made my purgatory. It is a fact that I
loved her a great deal better at the end
of them, for love comes, like bread, from
a perpetual rehandling. And besides, I
was fallen into a panic of fear. How, if
she came no more, how was I to continue
to endure my empty days ? How was I to
fall back and find my interest in the ma-
jor's lessons, the lieutenant's chess, in a
twopenny sale in the market, or a half-
penny addition to the prison fare ?

Days went by, and weeks; I had not the
courage to calculate, and to-day I have
not the courage to remember; but at last
she was there. At last I saw her approach
me in the company of a boy about her own
age, and whom I divined at once to be her
brother.

I rose and bowed in silence.

" This is my brother, Mr. Ronald Gil-
christ," said she. "I have told him of
your sufferings. He is so sorry for you! "

"It is more than I have a right to ask,"
I replied; "but among gentlefolk these
generous sentiments are natural. If your
brother and I were to meet in the field, we
should meet like tigers; but when he sees
me here disarmed and helpless, he forgets
his animosity." (At which, as I had ven-
tured to expect, this beardless champion
colored to the ears for pleasure.) "Ah,
my dear young lady," I continued, "there
are many of your countrymen languishing
in my country, even as I do here. I can
but hope there is found some French lady
to convey to each of them the priceless
consolation of her sympathy. You have
given me alms; and more than alms — hope;
and while you were absent I was not for-
getful. Suffer me to be able to tell myself
that I have at least tried to make a return;
and for the prisoner's sake deign to ac-
cept this trifle."

So saying, I offered her my lion, which
she took, looked at in some embarrass-
-ment, and then, catching sight of the dedi-
cation, broke out with a cry.

" Why, how did you know my name ? "
she exclaimed.

"When names are so appropriate, they
should be easily guessed," said I, bow-
ing. " But indeed there was no magic in
the matter. A lady called you by name
on the day I found your handkerchief,

and I was quick to remark and cherish
it."

"It is very, very beautiful," said she,
"and I shall be always proud of the in-
scription. Come', Ronald, we must be
going." She bowed to me as lady bows
to her equal, and passed on (I could have
sworn) with a heightened color.

I was overjoyed; my innocent ruse had
succeeded; she had taken my gift without
a hint of payment, and she would scarce
sleep in peace till she had made it up to
me. No greenhorn in matters of the
heart, I was besides aware that I had
now a resident ambassador at the court
of my lady. The lion might be ill chis-
elled; it was mine. My hands had made
and held it; my knife — or, to speak more
by the mark, my rusty nail — had traced
those letters; and simple as the words
were, they would keep repeating to her
that I was grateful and that I found her
fair. The boy had looked like a gawky
and blushed at a compliment; I could see
besides that he regarded me with consid-
erable suspicion; yet he made so manly a
figure of a lad, that I could not withhold
from him my synipathy. And as for the
impulse that had made her bring and in-
troduce him, I could not sufficiently admire
it. It seemed to me finer than wit and
m.ore tender than a caress. It said (plain
as language), "I do not, and I cannot,
know you. Here is my brother — you can
know him; this is the way to me — follow
it."'

CHAPTER II.

A TALE OF A PAIR OF SCISSORS.

I WAS Still plunged in these thoughts
when the bell was rung that discharged
our visitors into the street. Our little
market was no sooner closed than we were
summoned to the distribution and received
our rations, which we were then allowed
to eat according to fancy in any part of
our quarters.

I have said the conduct of some of our
visitors was unbearably offensive; it was
possibly more so than they dreamed — as
the sight-seers at a menagerie may offend in
a thousand ways, and quite without mean-
ing it, the noble and unfortunate animals
behind the bars; and there is no doubt but
some of my compatriots were susceptible
beyond reason. Some of these old whis-
kerandos, originally peasants, trained
since boyhood in victorious armies, and
accustomed to move among subject and

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

399

trembling populations, could ill brook
their change of circumstance. There was
one man of the name of Goguelat, a brute
of the first water, who had enjo3'ed no
touch of civilization beyond the military
discipline, and had risen by an extreme
heroism of bravery to a grade for which he
was otherwise unfitted, that of marechal
des logis in the twenty-second of the line.
In so far as a brute can be a good soldier,
he was a good soldier ; the cross was on his
breast, and gallantly earned; but in all
things outside his line of duty, the man
was no other than a brawling, bruising, ig-
norant pillar of low pothouses. As a gen-
tleman by birth and a scholar by taste and
education, I was the type of all that he
least understood and most detested; and
the mere view of our visitors would leave
him daily in a transport of annoyance,
which he would make haste to wreak on
the nearest victim, and too often on my-
self.

It was so now. Our rations were scarce
served out, and I had just withdrawn into
a corner of the yard, when I perceived him
drawing near. He wore an air of hateful
mirth; a set of young fools, among whom
he passed for a wit,, followed him with
looks of expectation; and I saw I was
about to be the object of some of his in-
sufferable pleasantries. He took a place
beside me, spread out his rations, drank
to me derisively from his measure of
prison beer, and began. What he said it
would be impossible to print; but his ad-
mirers, who believed their wit to have sur-
passed himself, actually rolled among the
gravel. For my part, I thought at first
I should have died. I had not dreamed
the wretch was so observant; but hate
sharpens the ears, and he had counted our
interviews and actually knew Flora by her
name. Gradually my coolness returned to
me, accompanied by a volume of living
anger that surp^-ised myself.

"Are you nearly done?" I asked.
" Because if you are, I am about to say a
word or two myself."

"Oh, fair play!" said he. "Turn
about! The Alarquis of Carabas to the
tribune."

" Very well," said I. "I have to inform
you that I am a gentleman. You do not
know what that means, hey ? Well, I will
tell you. It is a comical sort of animal;
springs from another strange set of crea-
tures they call ancestors; and in common
with toads and other vermin, has a thing
that he calls feelings. The lion is a gen-
tleman: he will not touch carrion. I am

a gentleman, and I cannot bear to soil my
fingers with such a lump of dirt. Sit
still, Philippe Goguelat! sit still and do
not say a word, or I shall know you are a
coward; the eyes of our guards are upon
us. Here is your health!" said I, and
pledged him in the prison beer. " You
have chosen to speak in a certain way of a
young child," I continued, "who might
be your daughter, and who was giving
alms to me and some others of us mendi-
cants. If the Emperor" — saluting — "if
my Emperor could hear you, he would
pluck off the cross from your gross body.
I cannot do that; I cannot takeaway what
his Majesty has given; but one thing I
promise you — I promise you, Goguelat,
you shall be dead to-ni"ght."

I had borne so much from him in the
past, I believe he thought there was no
end to my forbearance, and he was at first
amazed. But Y have the pleasure to think
that some of my expressions had pierced
through his thick hide; and besides the
brute was truly a hero of valor, and loved
fighting for itself. Whatever the cause, at
least he had soon pulled himself together,
and took the thing (to do him justice)
handsomely.

"And I promise you, by the devil's
horns, that you shall have the chance! "
said he, and pledged me again; and again
I did him scrupulous honor.

The news of this defiance spread from
prisoner to prisoner with the speed of
wings; every face was seen to be illumi-
nated like those of the spectators at a horse
race; and indeed you must first have tasted
the active life of a soldier, and then
mouldered for a while in the tedium of a
jail, in order to understand, perhaps even
to excuse, the delight of our companions.
Goguelat and I slept in the same squad,
which greatly simplified the business; and
a committee of honor was accordingly
formed of our shed-mates. They chose
for president a sergeant-major in the
Fourth Dragoons, a graybeard of the
army, an excellent military subject, and a
good man. He took the most serious
view of his functions, visited us both, and
reported our replies to the committee.
Mine was of a decent firmness. I told him
the young lady of whom Goguelat had
spoken had on several occasions given me
alms. I reminded him that, if we were now
reduced to hold out our bancs and sell
pill-boxes for charity, it was something
very new for soldiers of the Empire. We
had all seen bandits standing at a corner of
a wood truckling for copper halfpence, and

400

ST. IVES.

after their benefactors were gone by spit-
ting out injuries and curses. "But,"
said I, " I trust that none of us will fall so
low. As a Frenchman and a soldier, I
owe that young child gratitude, and am
bound to protect her character, and to
support that of the army. You are my
elder and my superior, tell me if I am
not right."

He was a quiet-mannered old fellow,
and patted me with three fingers on the
back. " C'est bien, mo7i enfant," says he,
and returned to his committee.

Goguelat was no more accommodating
than myself. " 1 do not like apologies
nor those that make them," was his only
answer. And there remained nothing but
to arrange the details of the meeting. So
far as regards place and time, we had no
choice; we must settle the dispute at
night, in the dark, after a round had
passed by, and in the open middle of the
shed under which we slept. The question
of arms was more obscure. We had a
good many tools, indeed, which we em-
ployed in the manufacture of our toys; but
they were none of them suited for a single
combat between civilized men; and, being
nondescript, it was found extremely hard
to equalize the chances of the combatants.
At length a pair of scissors was unscrewed ;
and a couple of tough wands being found
in a corner of the courtyard, one blade
of the scissors was lashed solidly to each
with resined twine — the twine coming T
know not whence, but the resin from the
green pillars of the shed, which still
sweated from the axe. It was a strange
thing to feel in one's han.d this weapon,
which was no heavier than a riding-rod,
and which it was difficult to suppose would
prove more dangerous. A general oath
was administered and taken that no one
should interfere in the duel nor (suppose
it to result seriously) betray the name of
the survivor. And with that, all being then
ready, we composed ourselves to await
the moment.

The evening fell cloudy; not a star was
to be seen when the first round of the night
passed through our shed and wound off
along the ramparts; and as we took our
places, we could still hear, over the mur-
murs of the surrounding city, the sentries
challenging its furthe'r passage. Leclos,
the sergeant major, set us in our stations,
engaged our wands, and left us. To avoid
blood-stained clothing, my adversary and
I had stripped to the shoes; and the chill of
the night enveloped our bodies like a wet
sheet. The man was better at fencing

than myself; he was vastly taller than I,
being of a stature almost gigantic, and
proportionately strong. In the inky black-
ness of the shed, it was impossible to see
his eyes; and from the suppleness of the
wands, I did not like to trust to a parade.
I made up my mind, accordingly, to
profit, if I might, by my defect; and as
soon as the signal should be given, to
throw myself down and lunge at the same
moment. It was to play my life upon one
card: should I not mortally woiind him,
no defence would be left me. What was
yet more appalling, I thus ran the risk of
bringing my own face against his scissor
with the double force of our assaults, and
my face and eyes are not that part of me
that I would the most readily expose.

" Allez ! " said the sergeant-major.

Both lunged in the same moment with
an equal fury, and but for my manoeuvre
both had certainly been spitted. As it
was, he did no more than strike my shoul-
der, while my scissor plunged below the
girdle into a mortal part; and that great
bulk of a man, falling from his whole
height, knocked me immediately senseless.

When I came to myself, I was laid in my
own sleeping-place, and could make out in
the darkness the outline of perhaps a
dozen heads crowded around me. I sat
up. " What is it ? " I exclaimed.

"Hush!" said the sergeant-major.
" Blessed be God, all is well." I felt him
clasp my hand, and there were tears in his
voice. " 'Tis but a scratch, my child;
here is papa, who is taking good care of
you. Your shoulder is bound up; we have
dressed you in your clothes again, and it
will all be well."

At this I began to remember. " And
Goguelat ? " I gasped.

" He cannot bear to be moved; he has
his bellyful; 'tis a bad business," said the
sergeant-major.

The idea of having killed a man with
such an instrument as half a pair of scissors
seemed to turn my stomach. I am sure
I might have killed a dozen with a firelock,
a sabre, a bayonet, or any accepted weap-
on, and been visited by no such sickness
of remorse. And to this feeling every
unusual circumstance of our encounter, the
darkness in which we had fought, our
nakedness, even the resin on the twine,
appeared to contribute. I ran to my fallen
adversary, kneeled by him, and could only
sob his name.

He bade me compose myself. " You
have given me the key of the fields, com-
rade," said he. " Satis rancune ! "

APPEARANCES.

40 T

At this my horror redoubled. Here
had we two expatriated Frenchmen en-
gaged in an ill-regulated combat like the
battles of beasts. Here was he, who had
been all his life so great a ruffian, dying
in a foreign land of this ignoble injury
and meeting death with something of the
spirit of a Bayard. I insisted that the
guards should be summoned and a doctor
brought.

" It may still be possible to save him,"
I cried.

The sergeant-major reminded me of our
engagement. " If you had been wounded,"
said he, " you must have lain there till the
patrol came by and found you. It hap-
pens to be Goguelat — and so must he!
Come, child, time to go to by-by." And as
I still resisted, " Champdivers! " he said,
" this is weakness. You pain me."

" Ay, off to your beds with you! " said
Goguelat, and named us in a company
with one of his jovial, gross epithets.

Accordingly the squad lay down in the
dark and simulated, what they certainly
were far from experiencing, sleep. It
was not yet late. The city, from far below
and all around us, sent up a sound of
wheels and feet and lively voices. Yet
awhile and the curtain of the cloud was
rent across, and in the space of sky between
the eaves of the shed and the regular out-

line of the ramparts a multitude of stars
appeared. Meantime, in the midst of us
lay Goguelat, and could not always with-
hold himself from groaning.

We heard the round far off; heard it
draw slowly nearer. Last of all, it turned
the corner and moved into our field of vis-
ion: two file of men and a corporal with a
lantern, which he swung to and fro, so as
to cast its light in the recesses of the yards
and sheds.

"Hullo!" cried the corporal, pausing
as he came by Goguelat.

He stooped with his lantern. All our
hearts were flying.

" What devil's work is this ? " he cried,
and with a startling voice summoned the
guard.

We were all afoot upon the instant;
more lanterns and soldiers crowded in
front of the shed; an officer elbowed his
way in. In the midst was the big, naked
body, soiled with blood. Some one had
covered him with his blanket; but as he
lay there in agony he had partly thrown
it off.

" This is murder! " cried the officer.
" You wild beasts! you will hear of this
to-morrow."

As Goguelat was raised and laid upon a
stretcher, he cried to us a cheerful and
blasphemous farewell.

{To be continued.')

APPEARANCES.

By Robert Browning.

And so you found that poor room dull,
Dark, hardly to your taste, my dear?

Its features seemed unbeautiful:

But this I know — 'twas there, not here,

You plighted troth to me, the word

Which — ask that poor room how it heard.

II.

And this rich room obtains your praise
Unqualified — so bright, so fair.

So all whereat perfection stays?

Ay, but remember — here, not there.

The other word was spoken! Ask

This rich room how you dropped the mask

492

THE STRANGE STORY OF THE ''EMILY BR AND."

November, however, she sailed from this
port, with a miscellaneous cargo, for Lis-
bon, taken out by Captain James Blaisdel,
who had been in our em|3loy for many
years, and who had commanded her on
her two preceding voyages.

" Among her crew was a Swede or Nor-
wegian of the name of Peterson, a gigan-
tic, ill-favored fellow, who had been in-
jured in our service some time before by a
fall from the rigging, in which he sustained
a severe contusion of the brain. For sev-
eral months he lay in the hospital here, in
what was believed to be a hopeless condi-
tion of imbecility; but finally, having re-
covered, or apparently recovered, he
applied for a berth on the ' Emily Brand.'

"On the eleventh of December we re-
ceived news by cable from Mr. Riggs, the
mate, of the death of Captain Blaisdel and
the man Peterson. On the twenty-sixth a
letter came, giving the particulars, which
were briefly as follows: About the eighth
day out from New York Peterson devel-
oped symptoms of a relapse of his disease
(caused by the fall), which seemed, how-
ever, to affect his mind only with a sort
of intermittent stupor. He exhibited no
signs of mania or violence, and was capable
of performing his light duties about one
half the time. He was accordingly not
confined, and the master did what he could
for him, treating him with the utmost kind-
ness, and advising him to lay off from his
work. This he did for several days, but
apparently without beneficial effect.

" On the night of December 5, Mr.
Blaisdel turned in at eight bells (twelve
o'clock). The weather was clear, the wind
over the port quarter, and the moon lighted
up the deck. The vessel was then about
latitude 38° north, longitude 17° west, near
the point at which you picked her up. Just
before two bells (one o'clock) the man at
the wheel saw Peterson, whom he recog-
nized by his great size, cross the deck
amidship to the starboard rail and throw
something into the sea. On being hailed
by this man, Peterson went aft, and said
that he had thrown a pair of old shoes over-
board. He was in his stocking feet.

"In the morning the master failed to
appear, and after waiting a reasonable
time the steward knocked at his door. Re-
ceiving no response, he called Mr. Riggs,
the mate, who entered the stateroom and
found it empty. The berth had not been
occupied. When after a search it became
evident that the captain could not be
found, Miller, the man who had taken the
wheel at midnight, told the mate of Peter-

son's appearance and his conversation with
him. Peterson was sent for, and found in
his bunk, apparently sleeping. He was
aroused; and brought on deck in a very ex-
cited condition, and on being interrogated
by Mr. Riggs he became incoherent and
violent. Tiie mate thereupon ordered two
of the men to seize him; but as they ap-
proached to do so, he eluded them, and
darting to the vessel's side, went over-
board. They put her about and lowered a
boat immediately, but he was never seen
again. It seems clear that in a fit of in-
sanity he murdered the captain and threw
his body into the sea during the night.
How this was accomplished no one knows,
for no noise was heard, nor were any traces
of violence found about the vessel.

" On her present voyage Mr. Riggs,
the former mate, went as master of the ves-
sel. He was, I believe, thirty-six years
of age, married, and had one child — a little
girl of five or six years. It is our custom
to allow our masters to purchase an inter-
est in the vessels they command, and Mr.
Riggs and his wife owned two-sixteenths
of the ' Emily Brand.' • He was a man of
the highest character and thoroughly com-
petent to go as master. On this last voy-
age his wife and child accompanied him.

" I cannot form the slightest conjecture
concerning the strange disappearance of
poor Riggs and his family, with all on
board, and I have but little belief that they
will ever be heard of again."

From this letter it became evident that
the skeleton found up in the between-
decks space was that of Captain James
Blaisdel, with whose name the initials en-
graved in the ring corresponded.

The remains thus identified were interred
at Gibraltar.

Some hope of the rescue of the casta-
ways was for a time entertained, as it was
learned that the boat (the brigantine had
but one) in which they were presumed to
have left the vessel was a life-boat, new,
light, and incapable of sinking. Moreover,
it was known that they could not have en-
countered any bad weather for many days
after parting from the " Emily Brand."
Accordingly the widest publicity was
given to the fact of their having disap-
peared, and for more than a year the civil-
ized world was searched throughout with
all the facilities at the disposal of our own
government and that of England, upon
the chance that they had made some land
or been picked up by some passing vessel.
But no trace of the life-boat or of any of
its occupants was ever discovered.

ST. IVES.
THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH PRISONER IN ENGLAND.

By Robert Louis Stevenson,

Author of " Treasure Island," " Kidnapped," etc.

[BEGUN IN THE MARCH NUMBER.]

CHAPTER HI.

j\IAJOR CHEVENIX COMES INTO THE STORY,
AND GOGUELAT GOES OU I".

T

HERE was never any talk of a recov-
ery, and no time was lost in getting

Finding the wounded man so firm, you
may be sure the authorities did not leave
the rest of us in peace. No stone was left
unturned. We were had in again and
again to be examined, now singly, now in
twos and threes. We were threatened
with all sorts of impossible severities and

the man's deposition. He gave but the one tempted with all manner of improbable
account of it: that he had committed sui- rewards. 1 suppose I was five times in-
cide because he was sick of seeing so many terrogated, and came off from each with
Englishmen. The doctor vowed it was im- flying colors. I am like old Souvaroff — I
possible, the nature and direction of the cannot understand a soldier being taken
wound forbidding it. Goguelat replied aback by any question; he should answer
he was more ingenious than the other as he marches on the fire, with an instant
thought for, and had propped up the briskness and gaiety. I may have been
weapon in the ground and fallen on the short of bread, gold or grace; I was never
point — "just like Nebuchadnezzar," he yet found wanting in an answer. My
added, winking to the assistants. The comrades, if they were not all so ready,
doctor, who was a little, spruce, ruddy were none of them less staunch ; and I may
man of an impatient temper, pished and say here, at once, that the inquiry came to
pshawed and swore over his patient, nothing at the time, and the death of
" Nothing to be made of him! " he cried. Goguelat remained a mystery of the prison.
" A perfect heathen. If we could only Such were the veterans of France! And
find the weapon! " But the weapon had yet I should be disingenuous if I did not
ceased to exist. A little resined twine was own this was a case apart; in ordinary cir-
perhaps blowing about in the castle gut- cumstances, some one might have stum-
ters; some bits of broken stick may have bled or been intimidated into an admission ;
trailed in corners; and behold! in the and what bound us together with a close-
pleasant air of the morning, a dandy pris- ness beyond that of mere comrades was a
oner trimming his yails with a pair of scis- secret to which we were all committed and a
sors ! design in which all were equally engaged.

Copyright, 1896, by the S. S. McCIure Co.

494

ST. IVES.

No need to inquire as to its nature: there
is only one desire, and only one Icind of
design, tliat blooms in prisons. And the
fact that our tunnel was near done sup-
ported and inspired us.

I came off in public, as I have said, with
flying colors; the sittings of the court of
inquiry died away like a tune that no one
listens' to; and yet I was unmasked — I,
whom my very adversary defended, as good
as confessed, as good as told the nature of
the quarrel, and by so doing prepared for
myself in the future a most anxious, dis-
agreeable adventure. It was the third
ni^orning after the duel, and Goguelat was
still in life, when the time came around
for me to give Major Chevenix a lesson.
I was fond of this occupation; not that he
paid me much — no more, indeed, than
eighteen pence a month, the customary
figure, being a miser in the grain; but
because I liked his breakfasts and (to some
extent) himself. At least, he was a man of
education; and of the others with whom I
had any opportunity of speech, those that
would not have held a book upside down
would have torn the pages out for pipe-
lights. For I must repeat again that our
body of prisoners was exceptional ; there
was in Edinburgh Castle none of that edu-
cational busyness that distinguished some
of the other prisons, so that men entered
them unable to read and left them fit for
high employments. Chevenix was hand-
some, and surprisingly young to be a major :
six feet in his stockings, well set up, with
regular features and very clear gray eyes.
It was impossible to pick a fault in him, and
yet the sum-total was displeasing. Per-
haps he was too clean; he seemed to bear
about with him the smell of soap. Cleanli-
ness is good, but I cannot bear a man's
nails to seem japanned. And certainly he
was too self-possessed and cold. There was
none of the fire of youth, none of the swift-
ness of the soldier, in this young officer.
His kindness was cold, and cruel cold;
his deliberation exasperating. And per-
haps it was from this character, which is
very much the opposite of my own, that
even in these days, when he was of service
to me, I approached him with suspicion
and reserve.

I looked over his exercise in the usual
form, and marked six faults.

" H'm. Six," says he, looking at the
paper. " Very annoying! I can never get
it right."

"Oh, but you make excellent prog-
ress! " I said. I would not discourage
him, vou understand, but he was congeni-

tally unable to learn French. Some fire,
I think, is needful, and he had quenched
his fire in soapsuds.

He put the exercise down, leaned his
chin upon his hand, and looked at me with
clear, severe eyes.

"I think we must have a little talk,"
said he.

"I am entirely at you disposition," I
replied; but I quaked, for I knew what
subject to expect.

"You have been sometime giving me
these lessons," he went on, "and I am
tempted to think rather well of you. I
believe you are a gentleman."

" I have that honor, sir," said I.

" You have seen me for the same period.
I do not know how I strike you; but per-
haps you will be prepared to believe that
I also am a man of honor," says he.

"I require no assurances; the thing is
manifest," and I bowed,

"Very well, then," said he. "What
about this Goguelat ? "

"You heard me yesterday before the
court," I began. "I was awakened
only — "

"Oh yes; I heard you yesterday be-
fore the court, no doubt," he interrupted,
" and I remember perfectly that you were
'awakened only.' I could repeat the
most of it by rote, indeed. But do you
suppose that I believed you for a mo-
ment ? "

" Neither would you believe me if I were
to repeat it here," said I.

" I may be wrong — we shall soon see,"
says he; " but my impression is that you
will not repeat it here. My impression
is that you have come into this room, and
that you will tell me something before you
go out."

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Let me explain," he continued.
"Your evidence, of course, is nonsense.
I put it by, and the court put it by."

" My compliments and thanks! " said I.

"You must know — that's the short and
the long," he proceeded. " All of you in
Shed B are bound to know. And I want
to ask you where is the common sense of
keeping up this farce, and maintaining this
cock-and-bull story between friends?
Come, come, my good fellow, own your-
self beaten, and laugh at it yourself."

"Well, I hear you go ahead," said I.
" You put your heart in it."

He crossed his legs slowly. " I can
very well understand," he began, "that
precautions have had to be taken. I dare
say an oath was administered. I can com-

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

495

prehend that perfectly." (He was watch-
ing me all the time with his cold, bright
eyes.) "And I can comprehend that,
about an affair of honor, you would be
very particular to keep it."

"About an affair of honor?" 1 re-
peated, like a man quite puzzled.

" It was not an affair of honor, then ? "
he asked.

"What was not? I do not follow,"
said I.

He gave no sign of impatience; simply
sat awhile silent, and began again in the
same placid and good-natured voice:
" The court and I were at one in setting
aside your evidence. It could not de-
ceive a child. But there was a difference
between myself and the other officers, be-
cause / kneiv my man^ and they did not.
They saw in you a common soldier, and
I knew you for a gentleman. To them
your evidence was a leash of lies, which
they yawned to hear you telling. Now, I
was asking myself, how far will a gentle-
man go ? Not surely so far as to help
hush a murder up ? So that — when I heard
you tell how you knew nothing of the
matter, and were only awakened by the
corporal, and all the rest of it — I trans-
lated your statements into something else.
Now, Champdivers, " he cries, springing
up lively and coming towards me with ani-
mation, " I am going to tell you what that
was, and you are going to help me to see
justice done — how I don't know, for of
course you are under oath — but somehow.
Mark what I'm going to say."

At that moment he laid a heavy, hard
grip upon my shoulder; and whether he
said anything more or came to a full stop
at once, I am sure I could not tell you to
this day. For, as the devil would have
it, the shoulder he laid hold of was the
one Goguelat had pinked. The wound
was but a scratch ; it was healing with the
first intention; but in the clutch of Major
Chevenix it gave me agony. My head
swam; the sweat poured off my face; I
must have grown deadly pale.

He removed his hand as suddenly as he
had laid it there.

" What is wrong with you ? " said he.

"It is nothing," said I. "A qualm.
It has gone by."

"Are you sure?" said he. " Yon are
as white as a sheet."

" Oh no, I assure you! Nothing what-
ever. I am my own man again," I said,
though I could scarce command my tongue.

" Well, shall I go on again ? " says he.
" Can von follow me ? "

" Oh, by all means! " said I, and
mopped my streaming face upon my
sleeve, for you may be sure in those days
I had no handkerchief.

" If you are sure you can follow me.
That was a very sudden and sharp seiz-
ure," he said doubtfully. " But if you are
sure, all right, and here goes. An affair
of honor among you fellows would natu-
rally be a little difficult to carry out; per-
haps it would be impossible to have it
wholly regular. And yet a duel might be
very irregular in form, and, under the
peculiar circumstances of the case, loyal
enough in effect. Do you take me ? Now,
as a gentleman and a soldier."

His hand rose again at the words and
hovered over me. I could bear no more,
and winced away from him. "No," I
cried, " not that. Do not put your hand
upon my shoulder. I cannot bear it. It
is rheumatism," I made haste to add.
" My shoulder is inflamed and very pain-
ful." He returned to his chair and delib-
erately lighted a cigar.

" I am sorry about your shoulder," he
said at last. " Let me send for the doc-
tor."

"Not in the least," said I. "It is a
trifle. I am quite used to it. It does not
trouble me in the smallest. At any rate,
I don't believe in doctors."

"All right," said he, and sat and
smoked a good while in a silence which
I would have given anything to break.
"Well," he began presently, " I believe
there is nothing left for me to learn. I
presume I may say that I know all."

" About what ? " said I boldly.

" About Goguelat," said he.

" I beg your pardon. I cannot con-
ceive," said I.

"Oh," says the major, "the man fell
in a duel, and by your hand! I am not
an infant."

"By no means," said I. "But you
seem to be a good deal of a theorist."

"Shall we test it?" he asked. "The
doctor is close by. If there is not an open
wound on your shoulder, I am wrong. If
there is — " He waved his hand. "But
I advise you to think twice. There is a
deuce of a nasty drawback to the experi-
ment— that what might have remained pri-
vate between us two becomes public prop-
erty."

"Oh, well!" said I, with a laugh;
" anything rather than a doctor! lean-
not bear the breed."

His last words had a good deal relieved
me, but I was still far from comfortable.

496

ST. IVES.

Major Chevenix smoked awhile, look-
ing now at his cigar-ash, now at me. " I'm
a soldier myself," he says presently,
" and I've been out in my time and hit my
man. I don't want to run any one into a
corner for an affair that was at all neces-
sary or correct. At the same time I want
to know that much, and I'll take your
word of honor for it. Otherwise I shall
be very sorry, but the doctor must be
called in."

" I neither admit anything nor deny
anything," I returned. " But if this form
of words will suffice you, here is what I
say: I give you my parole, as a gentleman
and a soldier, there has nothing taken
place amongst us prisoners that was not
honorable as the day."

"All right," says he. "That was all
I wanted. You can go now. Champ-
divers."

And as I was going out he added, with
a laugh: " By the by, I ought to apologize:
I had no idea I was applying the torture! "

The same afternoon the doctor came
into the courtyard with a piece of paper in
his hand. He seemed hot and angry, and
had certainly no mind to be polite.

" Here! " he cried. " Which of you fel-
lows knows any English ? Oh! " — spying
me — "there you are, what's your name?
You'll do. Tell these fellows that the
other fellow's dying. He's booked; no
use talking; I expect he'll go by evening.
And tell them I don't envy the feelings of
the fellow who spiked him. Tell them
that first."

I did so.

" Then you can tell 'em," he resumed,
" that the fellow Goggle — w^iat's his
name ? — wants to see some of them be-
fore he gets his marching orders. If I
got it right, he wants to kiss or embrace
you, or some sickening stuff. Got that ?
Then here's a list he's had written, and
you'd better read it out to them — I can't
make head or tail of your beastly names —
and they can answer present, and fall in
against that wall."

It was with a singular movement of in-
congruous feelings that I read the first
name on the list. I had no wish to look
again on my own handiwork; my flesh re-
coiled from the idea; and how could I be
sure what reception he designed to give
me? The cure was in my own hand; I
could pass that first name over — the doctor
would not know — and I might stay away.
But to the subsequent great gladness of my
heart, I did not dwell for an instant on the
thought, walked over to the designated

wall, faced about, read out the name
"Champdivers, " and answered myself with
the word " Present."

There were some half-dozen on the list,
all told; and as soon as we were mustered,
the doctor led the way to the hospital,
and we followed after, like a fatigue
party, in single file. At the door he
paused, told us "the fellow" would see
each of us alone, and, as soon as I had
explained that, sent me by myself into the
ward. It was a small room, whitewashed;
a south window stood open on a vast depth
of air and a spacious and distant prospect;
and from deep below, in the Grassmarket,
the voices of hawkers came up clear and
far away. Hard by, on a little bed, lay
Goguelat. The sunburn had not yet
faded from his face, and the stamp of
death was already there. There was some-
thing wild and unmannish in his smile,
that took me by the throat; only death
and love know or have ever seen it. And
when he spoke, it seemed to shame his
coarse talk.

He held out his arms as if to embrace
me. I drew near with incredible shrink-
ings, and surrendered myself to his arms
with overwhelming disgust. But he only
drew my ear down to his lips.

"Trust me," he whispered. " Je suis
ban bougre, ??ioi. I'll take it to hell with
me, and tell the devil."

Why should I go on to reproduce his
grossness and trivialities ? All that he
thought, at that hour, was even noble,
though he could not clothe it otherwise
than in the language of a brutal farce.
Presently he bade me call the doctor; and
when that officer had come in, raised a
little up in his bed, pointed first to himself
and then to me, who stood weeping by his
side, and several times repeated the ex-
pression, " Frinds — f rinds — dam frinds."

To my great surprise, the doctor ap-
peared very much affected. He noddeii
his little bob-wigged head at us, and said
repeatedly, " All right, Johnny — me com-
prong."

Then Goguelat shook hands with me,
embraced me again, and I went out of the
room sobbing like an infant.

How often have I not seen it, that the
most unpardonable fellows make the hap-
piest exits! It is a fate that we may
well envy them. Goguelat was detested
in life; in the last three days, by his ad-
mirable stanchness and consideration, he
won every heart; and when word went
about the prison the same evening that he
was no more, the voice of conversation

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

497

became hushed as in a house of mourn-
ing.

For myself, I was like a man distracted;
I cannot think what ailed me. When I
awoke the following day, nothing remained
of it; but that night I was filled with a
gloomy fury of the nerves. I had killed
him; he had done his utmost to protect
me; I had seen him with that awful smile.
And so illogical and useless is this senti-
ment of remorse, that I was ready,^ at a
word or a look, to quarrel with somebody
else. I presume the disposition of my
mind was imprinted on my face; and
when, a little after, I overtook, saluted,
and addressed the doctor, he looked on me
with commiseration and surprise.

I had asked him if it was true.

" Yes," he said," the fellow's gone."

" Did he suffer much ? " I asked.

" Not a bit; passed away like a lamb,"
said he. He looked on me a little, and
I saw his hand go to his fob. " Here,
take that! no sense in fretting," he said,
and, putting a silver twopenny bit in my
hand, he left me.

I should have had that twopenny framed
to hang upon the wall, for it was the
man's one act of charity in all my knowl-
edge of him. Instead of that, I stood
looking at it in my hand and laughed out
bitterly, as I realized his mistake; then
went to the ramparts, and flung it far into
the air like blood money. The night was
falling; through an embrasure and across
the gardened valley I saw the lamplighters
hasting along Princes Street with ladder
and lamp, and looked on moodily. As I
was so standing a hand was laid upon my
shoulder, and I turned about. It was
Major Chevenix, dressed for the evening,
and his neckcloth really admirably folded.
I never denied the man could dress.

" Ah! " said he, " I thought it was you,
Champdivers. So he's gone ? "

I nodded.

"Come, come," said he, "you must
cheer up. Of course it's very distressing,
very painful, and all that. But do you
know, it ain't such a bad thing either for
you or me ? What with his death and
your visit to him I am entirely reassured."

So I was to owe my life to Goguelat at
every point.

" I had rather not discuss it," said I.

" Well," said he, " one word more, and
I'll agree to bury the subject. What did
you fight about ? "

" Oh, what do men ever fight about ? "
I cried.

" A ladv ? " said he.

I shrugged my shoulders.

" Deuce you did! " said he. " I should
scarce have thought it of him."

And at this my ill-humor broke fairly
out into words. "He!" I cried. "He
never dared to address her — only to look
at her and vomit his vile insults! She may
have given him sixpence; if she did, it
may take him to heaven -yet! "

At this I became aware of his eyes set
upon me with a considermg look, and
brought up sharply.

"Well, well," said he. "Good night
to you, Champdivers. Come to me at
breakfast-time, to-morrow, and we'll talk
of other subjects."

I fully admit the man's conduct was not
bad; in writing it down so long after the
events I can even see that it was good.

CHAPTER IV.

ST. IVES GETS A BUNDLE OF B.\NK NOTES.

I WAS surprised one morning, shortly
after, to find myself the object of marked
consideration by a civilian and a stranger.
This was a man of the middle age ; he
had a face of a mulberry color, round
black eyes, comical tufted eyebrows, and
a protuberant forehead; and was dressed
in clothes of a Quakerish cut. In spite
of his plainness, he had that inscrutable
air of a man well-to-do in his affairs. I
conceived he had been some while observ-
ing me from a distance, for a sparrow
sat betwixt quite unalarmed on the breech
of a piece of cannon. So soon as our
eyes met, he drew near and addressed me
in the French language, which he spoke
with a good fluency but an abominable
accent.

"I have the pleasure of addressing
M. le Vicomte Anne Keroual St.-Yves?"
said he.

"Well," said I, "I do not call myself
all that; but I have a right to, if I chose.
In the meanwhile I call myself plain
Champdivers, at your disposal. It was
my mother's name, and good to go soldier-
ing with."

" I think not quite," said he; " for if I
remember rightly, your mother also had
the particle. Her name was Florimonde
de Champdivers."

"Right again!" said I, "and I am
extremely pleased to meet a gentleman so
well informed in my quarterings. Is mon-
sieur <5w;/ himself ? " This I said with a
great air of assumption, partly to conceal

49«

ST. IVES.

the degree of curiosity with which my
visitor had inspired me, and in part be-
cause it struck me as highly incongruous
and comical in my prison garb and on the
lips of a private soldier.

He seemed to think so too, for he
laughed.

" No, sir," he returned, speaking this
time in English; " I am not ' born,' as you
call it, and must content myself with dying,
of which I am equally susceptible with the
best of you. My name is Mr. Romaine —
Daniel Romaine — a solicitor of London
City, at your service; and, what will inter-
est you more, I am here at the request of
your great-uncle, the Count."

" What! " I cried, " does M. de Keroual
St. -Yves remember the existence of such a
person as myself, and will he deign to
count kinship with a soldier of Napo-
leon ? "

" You speak English well," observed my
visitor.

" I had a good opportunity to learn it,"
said I. "I had an English nurse; my
father spoke English with me; and I was
finished by a countryman of yours and a
dear friend of mine, a Mr. Vicary."

A strong expression of interest came into
the lawyer's face.

"What!" he cried, "you knew poor
Vicary ? "

" For more than a year," said I; " and
shared his hiding-place for many months."

"And I was his clerk, and have suc-
ceeded him in business," said he. " Ex-
cellent man! It was on the affairs of M. de
Keroual that he went to that accursed
country, from which he was never destined
to return. Do you chance to know his
end, sir ? "

"I am sorry," said I, "I do. He
perished miserably at the hands of a gang
of banditti, such as we call chauffeiirs.
In a word, he was tortured, and died of it.
See," I added, kicking off one shoe, for I
had no stocking; " I was no more than a
child, and see how they had begun to treat
myself."

He looked at the mark of my old burn
with a certain shrinking. " Beastly peo-
ple! " I heard him mutter to himself.

" The English may say so with a good
grace," I observed politely.

Such speeches were the coin in which I
paid my way among this credulous race.
Ninety per cent, of our visitors would have
accepted the remark as natural in itself
and creditable to my powers of judgment,
but it appeared my lawyer was more
acute.

" You are not entirely a fool, I per-
ceive," said he.

" No," said I; " not wholly."

"And yet it is well to beware of the
ironical mood," he continued. "It is a
dangerous instrument. Your great-uncle
has, I believe, practised it very much, until
it is now become a problem what he means."

" And that brings me back to what you
will admit is a most natural inquiry," said
I. " To what do I owe the pleasure of
this visit ? How did you recognize me ?
And how did you know I was here ? "

Carefully separating his coat skirts, the
lawyer took a seat beside me on the edge
of the flags.

"It is rather an odd story," says he,
"and with your leave, I'll answer the
second question first. It was from a cer-
tain resemblance you bear to your cousin,
M. le Vicomte."

" I trust, sir, that I resemble him advan-
tageously ? " said I.

"I hasten to reassure you," was the
reply; "you do. To my eyes, M. Alain
de St. -Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior.
And yet, when I knew you were here, and
was actually looking for you — why, the
likeness helped. As for how I came to
know your whereabouts: by an odd enough
chance, it is again M. Alain we have to
thank. I should tell you, he has for some
time made it his business to keep M. de
Keroual informed of your career; with
what purpose I leave you to judge. When
he first brought the news of your — that
you were serving Bonaparte, it seemed
it might be the death of the old gentle-
man, so hot was his resentment. But from
one thing to another, matters have a little
changed. Or I should rather say, not a
little. We learned you were under orders
for the Peninsula, to fight the English;
then that you had been commissioned for
a piece of bravery, and were again reduced
to the ranks. And from one thing to an-
other (as I say), M. de Keroual became
used to the idea that you were his kinsman
and yet served with Bonaparte, and filled
instead with wonder that he should have
another kinsman who was so remarkably
well informed of events in France. And
it now became a very disagreeable ques-
tion, whether the young gentleman was
not a spy ? In short, sir, in seeking to
disserve you, he had accumulated against
himself a load of suspicions."

My visitor now paused, took snuff, and
looked at me with an air of benevolence.

" Indeed, sir! " says I, " this is a curious
story."

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.

499

" You will say so before I have done,"
said he. " For there have two events fol-
lowed. The first of these was an encounter
of M. de Keroual and M. de Mauseant."

" I know the man to my cost/' said I;
" it was through him I lost my commission."

" Do you tell me so ? " he cried. " Why,
here is news! "

"Oh, I cannot complain!" said I. "I
was in the wrong. I did it with my eyes
open. If a man gets a prisoner to guard
and lets him go, the least he can expect is
to be degraded."

"You will be paid for it," said he.
" You did well for yourself and better for
your king."

" If I had thought I was injuring my
emperor," said I, " I would have let M.
de Mauseant burn in hell ere I had helped
him, and be sure of that! I saw in him
only a private person in a difficulty; I let
him go in private charity; not even to
profit myself will I suffer it to be mis-
understood."

"Well, well," said the lawyer, "no
matter now. This is a foolish warmth — a
very misplaced enthusiasm, believe me!
The point of the story is that M. de Mau-
seant spoke of you with gratitude, and
drew your character in such a manner as
greatly to affect your uncle's views.
Hard upon the back of which, in came your
humble servant, and laid before him the
direct proof of what we had been so long
suspecting. There was no dubiety per-
mitted. M. Alain's expensive way of life,
his clothes and mistresses, his dicing and
race horses, were all explained; he was in
the pay of Bonaparte, a hired spy, and
a man that held the strings of what I
can only call a convolution of extremely
fishy enterprises. To do M. de Keroual
justice, he took it the best way imaginable,
destroyed the evidences of the one great-
nephew's disgrace — and transferred his
interest wholly to the other."

"What am I to understand by that ? "
said I.

" I will tell you," says he. " There is
a remarkable inconsistency in human na-
ture which gentlemen of my cloth have a
great deal of occasion to observe. Selfish
persons can live without chick or child,
they can live without all mankind except
perhaps the barber and the apothecary;
but when it comes to dying, they seem
physically unable to die without an heir.
You can apply this principle for yourself.
Viscount Alain, though he scarce guesses
it, is no longer in the field. Remains, Vis-
count Anne."

" I see," said I, " you give a very un-
favorable impression of my uncle, the
C'ount."

" I had not meant to," said he. " He
has led a loose life — sadly loose — but he is
a man it is impossible to know and not to
admire; his courtesy is exquisite."

" And so you think there is actually a
chance for me ? " I asked.

"Understand," said he, "in saying as
much as I have done, I travel quite be-
yond my brief. I have been clothed with
no capacity to talk of wills, or heritages,
or your cousin. I was sent here to make
but the one communication: that M. de
Keroual desires to meet his great-
nephew."

"Well," said I, looking about me on
the battlements by which we sat sur-
rounded, " this is a case in which Mahomet
must certainly come to the mountain."

" Pardon me," said Mr. Romaine, " you
know already your uncle is an aged man;
but I have not yet told you that he is quite
broken up and his death shortly looked
for. No, no, there is no doubt about it —
it is the mountain that must come to Ma-
homet."

" From an Englishman, the remark is
certainly significant," said I; "but you
are of course, and by trade, a keeper of
men's secrets, and I see you keep that of
cousin Alain, which is not the mark of a
truculent patriotism, to say the least."

" I am first of all the lawyer of your
family! " says he.

"That being so," said I, "I can, per-
haps, stretch a point myself. This rock is
very high, and it is very steep; a man
might come by much of a fall from al-
most any part of it, and yet I believe I
have a pair of wings that might carry me
just so far as to the bottom. Once at the
bottom I am helpless."

"And perhaps it is just then that I could
step in," returned the lawyer. " Suppose
by some contingency, at which I make no
guess, and on which I offer no opinion — "

But here I interrupted him. " One word
ere you go farther. I am under no pa-
role," said I.

"I understand so much," he replied,
" although some of you French gentry find
their word sit lightly on them."

" Sir, I am not one of those," said I.

" To do you plain justice, I do not think
you one," said he. "Suppose yourself,
then, set free and at the bottom of the
rock," he continued, "although I may not
be able to do much, I believe I can do
something to help you on your road. In

500

sr. IVES.

the first place I would carry this, whether
in an inside pocket or my shoe." And he
passed me a bundle of bank notes.

" No harm in that," said I, at once con-
cealing them.

" In the second place," he resumed, " it
is a great way from here to where your
uncle lives — Amersham Place, not far from
Dunstable; you have a great part of
Britain to get through; and for the first
stages, I must leave you to your own luck
and ingenuity. I have no acquaintance
here in Scotland, or at least" (with a
grimace) " no dishonest ones. But farther
to the south, about Wakefield, I am told
there is a gentleman called Burchell Fenn,
who is not so particular as some others,
and might be willing to give you a cast
forward. In fact, sir, I believe it's the
man's trade: a piece of knowledge that
burns my mouth. But that is what you
get by meddling with rogues; and perhaps
the biggest rogue now extant, M. de St.-
Yves, is your cousin, M. Alain."

"If this be a man of my cousin's," I
observed, " I am perhaps better to keep
clear of him ? "

" It was through some papers of your
cousin's that we came across this trail,"
replied the lawyer. " But I am inclined to
think, so far as anything is safe in such a
nasty business, you may apply to the man
Fenn. You might even, I think, use the
Viscount's name; and the little trick of
family resemblance might come in. How,
for instance, if you were to call yourself
his brother ? "

" It might be done," said I. " But look
here a moment! You propose to me a
very difficult game: I have apparently a
cunning opponent in my cousin; and being
a prisoner of war, I can scarce be said
to hold good cards. For what stakes,
then, am I playing ? "

" They are very large, " said he. "Your
great-uncle is immensely rich — immensely
rich. He was wise in time; he smelt the
revolution long before; sold all that he
could, and had all that was movable trans-

ported to England through my firm. There
are considerable estates in England;
Amersham Place itself is very fine; and he
has much money, wisely invested. He
lives, indeed, like a prince. And of what
use is it to him ? He has lost all that was
worth living for — his family, his country;
he has seen his king and queen murdered;
he has seen all these miseries and infa-
mies," pursued the lawyer, with a rising in-
flection and a heightening color; and then
broke suddenly off — " in short, sir, he has
seen all the advantages of that govern-
ment for which his nephew carries arms,
and he has the misfortune not to like
them."

" You speak with a bitterness that I sup-
pose I must excuse," said I; " yet which
of us has the more reason to be bitter ?
This man, my uncle, M. de Keroual, fled.
My parents, who were less wise, perhaps,
remained. In the beginning, they were
even republicans; to the end, they could
not be persuaded to despair of the people.
It was a glorious folly, for which, as a son,
I reverence them. First one and then the
other perished. If I have any mark of a
gentleman, all who taught me died upon
the scaffold, and my last school of man-
ners was the prison of the Abbaye. Do
you think you can teach bitterness to a
man with a history like mine ? "

" I have no wish to try," said he. " And
yet there is one point I cannot understand:
I cannot understand that one of your blood
and experience should serve the Corsican.
I cannot understand it: it seems as though
everything generous in you must rise
against that — domination."

" And perhaps," I retorted, " had your
childhood passed among wolves, you
would have been overjoyed yourself to
see the Corsican Shepherd."

" Well, well," replied Mr. Romaine, " it
may be. There are things that do not
bear discussion."

And with a wave of his hands he disap-
peared abruptly down a flight of steps and
under the shadow of a ponderous arch.

{To be CO n tin u ed. )

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