Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 7, 1897, Page 2

C ONDEMNED thes pe CHAPTER XXVI—(Continued,) “I thank you, sir. Allow me to pre- sent to you my young friend, Mr. Wel- by Dunbar, an English gentleman, lately resident in Pa The captain and the young stranger bowed and shook hands as though they bad never met before. The min- ister. apparently, believed that they mever had. After a little desultory conversation, nothing to do with this story, ter pleaded an engagement, and withdrew, leaving Mr. bowed Dunbar alone with the capt: “And now, sir,” said the latter, “I must apologize for the rudeness of my speech to you, when your extreme re- semblance to my nephew led me to ‘mistake you for that young gentleman, and to suppose him to be playing off a joke at my expense.” “No such apology was necessary, sir, believe me,” replied the young man, with a bow. “You mentioned to me th: called on important busi k how I can serve you? ou, §) Only the most im- iness could have warranted me in pressing my visit at perhaps an inconyenient moment. “Neyer mind that! What's done is done, and can’t be undone ,even when it is murder! By missing the train L have missed the boat to Fuljoy’s Isl sand, where my children are pining for my presence, and there will not be an- other for four day: “I am extremely sir; and yet, so vitally imports s my business, that I fear I must still have pressed my visit, even had I known it to be so inopportune.” “By the Lord Harry, I admire your frank even more than [ do your modest urance! But this business, 2 lose his train, and, more than and be detained from days to hear it, even nothing whatever to him— at you had ss. May I so important that an old gentlen must what is it I have ofg the Princ ome to you, sir on the part Marqui De Glacie—born Astrea Caracciolo.” Marquise — who? Princess — what? Say that over again!’ said the captain, in an accession of excite- ment “I came to you, sir, on the part of » la Marquise De Glacie, born nee: AY a Cariccolo!” repeated the young man, gravely writing herself id the captain, with growing agitation. “Cert sir; that, at least, is the mane t the foot cf my page of instructions.” “And did Madame De Glacie ever, ev- er—but go on!” you had better tell me what she would have of me!” gasped the old man, ‘breathless with emotion, and wiping his flushed and perspiring he would have only her Mademoiselle Astrea De Glacie,” swered Mr. Dunbi “There! I kaew it! or something v , claimed the captain, falling back in his chair overcome with the contending passions of joy and grief—joy to hear that all his pre-visions to Astrea’s rank were confirmed, grief to hear that in copsequence he might lose her for- ever. Then, having struggled with his emo- tions and gained a degree of compos- ure, he continued, in a calmer voice: “T always felt in m heart that the little child, whose instincts led her to my door, was other than she seemed. Those instincts were always so delicate! She did so shrink from all © surroundings of her life! and tried, with all her baby might, to escepe from them, and she did escape from them by coming straight to me! rattled, too, in broken melo- ench and half-English, of a u, and a grand-pere and a flag- ! I took her to my heart of hearts, and cherished her as though she had been my own and only child. She became the light of my eyes, the life of my heart, the angel of my home! She called herself Daney—the name given her by her rude foster-parents. Accident made known to me another mame. I found among the rubbish of the cottage that had been occupied by the people, the lid of what had once been a strong casket. The plate of this lid bore the rame of Astrea De Glacie, and when I had my darling christened -and confirmed, I gave her that name, hoping that, even if it were not her -own, it might some day at least be the m s of discovering her friends.” ‘And so, indeed, sir, it proved; al- though we often wondered that the wretches who kidnapped her had not taken the precaution to change her mame.” “You see that they did; they called her Jane or Janey, and claimed her as their offspring. And “her melodious baby lips softened that into Daney, which is her pet name, even to this day. But pray tell me how it hap- pened that the name Astrea De Glacie guided her friends to me?” “You were in Paris with the young lady last year.” s I took her there on purpose; introduced her into society cn purpose; so that her name, which I knew to be one of the noblest in France, might at- tract the attention of her friends, if indeed she had any. I never told her story, because so little of it as was known to me indicated an origin so humble, that to have it known would have injured her position in society. I ‘therefore introduced her to our minis- ‘ter’s family, and, through him, to the -elite of Paris, as my ward, Mademot- selle De Gla alone to rev friends the De G ten in F ence to any . But, alas! bon interests, out of favor at the em- peror’s court aad residing, therefore, far away from Paris, in parts un- known. If I had possessed any surer -claim than 4 name engraved on the old did of a casket, I might have gone in ; WEALTH. > A search of them; but, having no other, I was not Quixotic enough to under- take the adventure! Therefore, I am the more curious to know how it hap- pened, so many months after we had left Paris, that the name brought her to the notice of her family.” “Well, sir, in this way. You remem- ber that, though bearing an old French naire, the young lady was called ‘La Belle Americaine? And upon account of her marvellous beauty, her portrait was solicited by all the principal pho- tographic galleries in Paris.” “Yes; I recollect.” “And that it became a chief orna- ment and attraction at evi y photo- graphic house and show window?” “Yes; I remember; and I recollect, also, that I never would have con- sented to its so general exhibition if I had not thought to myself: ‘It may be one day seen by some friend of the De Glacies, and the family name and the family features, if she had any right to eith lead them to make inquiries, and find out all about her.’ Else, you may depend upon it, I never would have allowed my darling’s angel face to be exhibited to all the rabble of Par- is that might choose to stop and gaze upon it—no, though even queens and prince ‘s do set the example! And now I suppose it has turned out as L half-hoped, and some relative of As- trea’s has seen and recognized the name, and, perhaps, the face, if it Dears any resemblance to those of her family.” “Again you are correct in your sur- mises, sir! Madame la’ Marquise De Gk: having returned to Paris after a protracted residence in Italy, hap- pened to be promenading . upon the Soulevard-des-Italiens, when her gaze became rivetted to the photograph of a itiful girl in a show window. So ng was the resemblance of this picture to Madame De Glacie that it might have been taken for a portrait elf in her earlier youth, but for erence in the costume of twen- s since and the fashionable dress of to-day. She hurried into the shop, and her heart beat quick], S she inquired the name of the beautifu demoiselle whose photograph stood in the center of the show window.” “It is the portrait of Mademoiselle Astrea De Glacie, a celebrated beauty that turned all the heads of Tast winter. Would Madame .pessess her- self of one It v a bijou for the boudoir—that angel,” urged the polite shopman, “Madame could not reply at once. Ifer breath was gone. She was sutfo- cating. The name uttered was that of Madame’s only child( a lovely little daughter, sole heiress of her large es- tates both in France and Italy, and who had been stolen by gipsies some thirteen years befere. The shopman, seeing Madame near fainting, gave her a chair and a glass of water. When she had recovered her yoice she in- quired: ‘“Who, then, was this Mademoiselle Astrea De Glacie? “‘She was the ward of an American gentleman. I know ne more, madame, except that she was the furore of Paris last winter. If Madame is interested, she might obtain further information from the American minister,’ replied the salesman. “Madame thanked the young man, murchased a dozen copies of the beau- tiful picture, sent the obliging shop- man out to call a hackney-coach, en- tered it, and drove at once to the Ameri n Legation. She was so for- tunate as to find Mr. Armfield within. Of him she made inquiries. And he promptly gave her all the information he possessed—namely, that Mademoi- selle De ie was the adopted child of Captain William Fuljoy, of Fuljoy’s Island, in the State of ryland, U. S. A.; but that he understood her to be of French descent; and that certainly Captain Pulj while in Paris with ii rd, had made very diligent in- after the family of De Glacie; t no one appeared tc have given ny accurate or satisfactory in- formation. “Madame then gave her reasons for making these inguiries—telling our minister of the little daughter stolen from her by gipsies some thirteen years before—and of her firm belief that this young lady was that daugh- ter. “And you may judge, sir, that Mr. Armfield listened with deep interest to this story of a mother’s woes, “*And you never discovered a clew to her fate until to-day? he inquired, “‘Never, Monsieur. We, indeed, traced the wretches from our chateau in Normandy to the town of Calais— thence across the channel to Dover, to London; but in the wilder- s of London we lost them! Adyer- tisements offering large rewards, were iaserted in all the English and Conti- nental papers, and the detective po- lice, both of Paris and London, were heavily feed; but all in vain! no in- telligence of the lost child reached up! Three of this fruitless search com- pleted my despair. I left the chateau in Normandy, the scene of my happy married and maternal life; the scene, also, of my sorrowful bereavement of both husband and ehild (for my hus- band, Monsieur, had died but a few weeks before my child disappeared), and I retired to my castle in Italy, there to wear out, in the home of my girlhood my widowed and childless existence. Yes, Monsieur, at twenty- fiye—tor I was even a few weeks younger than that—life had become a weary burden! the world a barren waste! Thirteen years have passed sin then, and now againI find my- self in Paris, brought hither by busi- ness connected with my French es- tates. I pass up the Boulevarde-des- Italienes. I glance up at the windows of “Disderi.”’ My glance is instantly arrested by the portrait. Bt my daugh- ter; for, Monsieur, I feel assured that she is my daughter. I hurry into the shop and ask whose likeness that is, and in reply I hear the name of my daughter! So, Monsieur, there ecan be no doubt of, the fact, can there?’ I should think not, Madame, was | the reply of our minister. i “‘And where, then, has gone Mon- sieuc le Captaine Fuljoy?’ “Back to America, Madame.’ “*Ah! miserable mother that I am— almost a stranger in Paris, enfeebled by long suffering, and not knowing ioe to turn for counsel!’ moaned the | ““Take courage, Madame. Con: yourself fortunate in having teat ered that your long-lost daughter is still living; that she has been carefully brought up by an excellent man; and that her beauty, genius and goodness make her an ornament of the best soci- ety and honor to her kind guardian, and will make her, Madame, a sweet omfort to yourself, said Mr. Arm- field, “Yes, but mon Dieu! after thirteen years of loss, to have found her and lost her again in an hour! To discov- er her portrait and her name! to rusty here to get her address! and to ex: pect to meet her in a day! and to be told that she is three thousand miles away in some remote province of North America! Miserable mother that Tam! ‘Nay, Madame, this is morbid! Yow are happy to have discovered your daughter! happier still to have found her the angel that she is—for I can speak from certain knowledge, haying known Mademoiselle de Glacie during the whole period of her residence in Faris, nnd to hey extreme resemblance: to yourself, Madame, [ can bear testi- mony,” said Mr. Armfield. “And what, then, would you advise me to do first, Monsieur? she inquired, in eager haste. “‘Ingage a steamer that i passage in the first Is for America, and go to Captain uljoy immediately on your arrival. So you will quickly em- brace your daughter. You have, with- out doubt, Madame, some male rela- tive who will gladly accompany you? “*Ah, no, Monsieur! I have no one but the younger brother of my late husband, he that is the present Mar- quis de Glicie. He lives at the chateau in Normandy. He inherited not only | the title and estates of his elder brother, but also a large funded prop- erty that would have been Astr had she aot been lost and considered dead for so many ye: We are bad friends, Monsieur de Glacie and my- self! I could not ask him to aid me in this search! said the widowed mar- quise. ‘hen, Madame. I still eonnsel you to take a passage in the first steamer that sails for New York. Take with you, as agent, some lawyer who un- derstands both the laws ef France and America.” “*Aht Monsieur, where am I to tind such an one? 1, who am a stranger in Paris, should not know where to look.” *: ame, I can recommend you young man who has studied in one of the best law schools in the world, at the University of Cambridge; who has also spent many years in America, but who has passed the last few years in Paris.” “And here, sir, our minister kindly named your humble servant,” said Mr. Dunbar; then continuing his nar ive, he added: “Madame de Glacie took his advice, glad, in her state of mental and bodily weakness, to find some wise counsel- lor to guide her. I was preseented to her by Mr. Armfield. And being even then on the point of returning te Amer- ica, the country of my adoption, I very gladly undertook to accompany her. Our minister wes about the same time unexpectedly recalled home, and lecame our fellow-passengers to New | here, upon our arrival, yester- ng, we took the express train hington, believing Fuljoy’s Isl- and to be most easily reached from this city. “We arrived here last night, and came to this hotel. Madame de Gla- cie, greatly fatigued with her long journey, retired to bed at once; while I went into the bar-room, to make in- quiries as to the best way of getting to 's Island. n I learned, urprise and pleasure, that Cap- uljoy was stopping at this e as it was, I think T should | have intruded on you, sir, but, upon in- quicy, I found that you had gone to the theater, But this morning, as soon as I had learned that you had break- fasted, I ventured to present myself.” During the narrative eof Mr. Dunbar, the captain had listened with profound attention and without once interrupt- ing him. At is close, he sighed and said: “And so my little Daney springs from the princely house of Caraccio- lo on her mother’s side, and from the nobie one of De Glacie on her father’s? Well, I am not much surprised, after i No, young nap, Iam not! Some- thing of this sort my heart had always | prevised! thouzh not, perhaps, that she was of so very high rank. The chateau she vaguely reiuembered, poor chila, was, i suppose, that one in Nor- mandy; and the grand-pere, whose vis- it was always honored with such par- ade of servants and flying of flags, was doubtles: "7 “The Prince C sir” “And—Madame ‘a Marquise De Gla- cie, the mother of my little Daney, is actually upder this very roof?’ said the captain, more as if speaking to himself than as addressing an observ-' ation to his visitor. Mr. Dunbar bowed assent, adding: “As soon as Madame has left her chamber will inform her of your prov- idential »resence im the house, and bring you to an interview with her; but :vay I inquire when we can see Mademoisell: De Glacie?” “Mademoiselle De Glacie is—But I had ketter reserve that information for her mother’s hearing, that being hey 1ight——Mademvpiselle De Giacie is quite well, and is at present staying at F'uljoy’s Island. We can see her as soon as we can travel down there.” At this moment a servant rapped, and inquired if Mr. Dunbar was in Captain Fuljoy’s room, and receiving an answer in che affirmative, said that Madame De Glacie, Faving risen and breakfasied, desired to see Mr. Dun- bar in her parlor, The young lawyer immediately arose, bowed to the cap- tair ard retired. The captain remained in deep and not altogether pleasant thought for some fifteen or twenty minutes, at tle end of which the door opened and Welby Dunbar reappeared, saying: “I have advised Madame of your presence here. She will be glad to see you at your earliest convenience, in her private apartments.” savio Caracciolo--yes, “Oh, I will go now,” said the cap- tain, rising to follow his couductor. CHAPTER XXVII. The young man bowed and led the way up stairs to the floor above, and to a spacious and elegantly furnished front parlor, where, recliningin a large arm-chair near a front window, sat Madame De Glacie, a fair-thaired, faded, graceful woman, dressed in deep mourning. “Madame, I have the honor to pre- sent to you Captain William Fuljoy, of tLe Isle——Captain Fuljoy, Madame Ia Marquise De Glacie.” said Mr. Dun- bar, formally introducing the parties, The honest old sailor bowed down to the toes of his boots. 4 The marquise arose and curtesied gravely. Their eyes met, and the lady, with an effusion of gratitude, sudden- Ty held out her hand, exclaiming: “Monsieur le Captaine, we must not meet as strangers; I owe you more than life; the preserver of my dear ehild for so many years! how am I to repay you?” Down went the captain’s brows again to his toes. in acknowledgment to this compliment. “Be seated, Monsieur, I pray you, and tell me hew I can adequately prove my gratitude for your so great goodness?” said the lady, reaching out her hand and drawing a chair close to her own. “Madame, you owe me no dest of gratitude. The sweet society of my little Da , I mean your little girl. was @ great happiness to me—a great happiness that I can only regret as having been enjoyed at the cost of so i said the captain, in much pain to you! a grave, tender, respectful tone, as he took the indicated seat by the lady. “Pain! Ah! heaven knows how in- tolerable were my sufferings! Daily, weekly, monthly, yearly, for so many weary years, to weep her loss. to yearn for Ifer presence, and to fear for her fate! to follow her in sick imagina- ticn through all the varied scenes of wart, woe, perhaps. also, wickedness, to which her wandering life would lead her. To lie awake night after night for years and years, praying that she might be dead and safe!—-Ah! think how a mother’s heart must be wrung before she can pray for the death of her child! But, to judge how I have suffered, Monsieur, look upon me” ie captain turned a_ reverential nce to the lady’s face for a moment sl y tis past, Madame, and you a young, with maay years of life before you, to be brightened by the love of your good and beautiful “And that I sfill have that that my child nas been preserved to me, and that she is good and beanti- ful, } owe to you, Morsieur! Oh! how shall I rep T would, with my “Madame; I am an old man, looking for all future rewards to heaven alone. And in this case, I repeat to you, you owe me nothing! I have been more than repaid in the delight I have taken from the society of my little D: > your little girl, I mean! And I ought, rather, to beg you to forgive me for being (unconsciously) so happy at the expense of your sorrow!” “Monsieur, your great goodness ren- ders all reply impossible. I will say no more, except to entreat you to speak to me of my child,” said the lady. “You wish to know the history of adoption of her?” inquired the cap- m, I do,” answered the lady. ‘The okt man “began at the begin- ning,” and told the lady all the partic- ulars of his first acquaintance with little Daney, his subsequent adoption of her, his happy companionship with her, and so forth, up to the time of his taking her to Paris, on the specula- tion of finding some clew to her friends, ‘Then the captain paused in embarra ment. He was the most modest of all bashful old bachelors; he blushed to speak to a fair woman of love, court- ship and marriage; he dreaded, espe- cially, to inform this mother of the wedding of her long-lost, lately-found Caughter; and so, in the midst of his narrative, he ‘suddenly fell silent. “Monsieur has something that he hesitates to say to me? Alas! does any misfortune lurk behind my coming happiness? Is it well with my child?’ said the marquise, anxiously. “Oh, yes, Madame; it is very well with her; extremely well, indeed; she is very happy; especially happy; both she and the colonel; for do they not call a newly-married bride and groom, par excellence, ‘happy? ”” “‘Newly-married? bride? groom? Monsieur, do you mean to tell me that my daughter is—wedded?” “Madame!” exclaimed the distressed old man, with the blood rushing to his cheeks and the tears to his eyes—“Ma- | dam, I beg your pardon, on my knees, for marrying my little Da: I mean your accomplished daughter, to my nephew, without your consent. But, just think, Madame, I knew nothing of your existence, ignerant recluse that I was, and, therefore, I could not apply to you for your sanction of the nup- tials. I beseech you to pardon me!” The marquise gazed with surprise, compassion and admiration upon the simple, sensitive, earnest old man. She generously swallowed the sobs of ma- ternal sorrow that arose when she found it would not be a maiden daugh- ter she would clasp to her bosom; and took the captain’s hand, earnestly ex- claiming— “Excellent old friend! Do not mis- take surprise for disapprobation, or, still worse, for reproach! What! re- proach you for the crowning act of your goodness? You adopted, brought up and educated my lost child, and you completed your work of god-like beneficence, by giving her in marriage to the most honorable among men! for such, Monsieur, her bridegroom must be—being your aephew!” “Madame,” said the relieved and de- lighted captain, “he is a well looking young dog, without any reproach to his name; he comes of a good family; holds the rank of a colonel in our army, and, lastly, he is devotedly at- tached to my little Daney; but still, Madame, no social position, not worthy to match with the daughter of the Marquis De Glacie.” “But pardon me, Monsieur, he is; he must be—being your nephew! And now to speak of my daughter—when and where was she married?” “At St. John’s church, in this city, five begs ago.” i: where is she new?” “At the isle, with her husband, spending the honeymoon. “And when can I see ler?” “Madame, ff any other had asked that question, I must have answered, ‘Not possibly for five days, for it will be four days before the next boat leaves Baltimore for the isle; but your natural impatience has so stimu- lated my inyention, that I have hit up- on a plas by which you may see her sooner.” es “Ah! how, Monsieur?” “kt you feel able to undertake a long ride, we can hire a carriage and a pair of horses, and travel by land to Corn- port, which we ean reach in two days. At Cornport we can hire a boat that will take us to the isle in two hours!” “Ah! Monsieur, how good you are!” “Good? who? I? Why, I am the most selfish old eurmudgeom im exist- ence! I mentiom this plan. because I am as impatient to see my little Da- ney as you, Madame, are te embace ; your accomplished daughter.” “You are all disinterested! goodness, Monsieur; and no one shall say: other- wise in my hearing: without contradic- tion. But now, ol!’ let us start at once! “But Madame will require: some hours to pack?” suggested the: captain. “Not am hour! mot a moment! [ have a few necessaries not yet un- packed from a traveling bag: they will suffice. But, M :eur, forgive met! I do wrong to hurry you. You will have: some preparations to make for your-— self,” said the lady,. deprecatingly: “Nothing of the sort, Madame, I am an old salt, who could fit out for the Indian voyage in half an hour:. As it is, I ve my portmanteau already packed, having beem on the eve of starting for the island! when. tlie visit of your lawyer caused me to lbse my train, and consequently to lose the only boat that will go for four days. And row I am yery glad we thought of the land journe said the captain, rising and standing up, as if silently asking leave to withdraw. hen, Monsieur, I will not detain you; Mr. favor of ordering the carriage and take care: to have my bonnet the door;” said the ma graceful bend of the head. “And T,, Madame, will be im readiness. to attend * said the gallant old captain, bowing himself out. Mr. Dunbar followed to execute: the ady’s orders.. : When they were gone the lady called her attendant, in the adjoining cham- be ‘lise! quick! get together every- thing we may need for journey and a week’s sta try!We must start in ten minute: Im obedience to, this summons elderly French “bonne,” im a wonder~ fully high-crowned muslin cap, entered the parlor, and began hast! to gath- er the little articles that lay scattered about the room, preparatory to paek-~ fag them up. “Oh! Elise! Elise! thimk of thist In two days I shall embrace my daughter and you your nursling!” exclaimed the marquise, with delight. CHAPTER XXVIII. Money does so well lubricate al? the wheels and pulleys of civilized life, that, by its liberal application, all the arrangements for the journey were satisfactorily completed in an hour. A handsome and commodious travel- ing carriage, drawn by two streng roadsters, stood -before the door, Madame De Glacie, in a black silk dress, mantle and bonnet, attended by her maid, carrying a carpet bag, came down, and was handed into the back seat by Captain Fuljoy. Madame EL ise was placed in front of her. Cap- tain Fuljoy and Mr. Dunbar then mounted two saddle horses that were led around for the purpose, the order was given, and the carriage started, the two ¢: jers riding in attendance. It was a fine day, and the freshness of the air, the motion of the carriage, and, above all, the expectation of see- ing her daughter so exhilarated the spirits of Madame De Glacie that she became again, for the first time in many years, the gay, witty and fas- cinating Italian woman. In the inno- cent hilarity of her heart, she so often window, and so flattered and bewild- ered the honest and susceptible old sailor, that he scarcely knew whether he rode upon horseback or stood upon the quarter-deck! And ever after one of these sallies from the fair marquise, the simple old bachelor would fall back in the rear of the carriage, furiously blushing, and saying to himself— “Egad! I must remember that I am !a married man, with a wife waiting for me up in Heaven, or I'll be dashed (I was going to say) if I do not fall over head and ears in love with my little Daney’s mother before I know where I am!” “Little Daney’s mother!’ Yes, that was the charm the lady possessed for the honest old man. He “didn’t care a bodle” for the fair, graceful and witty marquise—but for his little Daney’s mother! He rode on in silence, secretly in- yoking his Mary in Heayen to aid his constancy. the Anacostian bridge crossing the Po- tomac, and_entered the old forest road ! leading through the heart of Prince | George county. Late in the afternoon they reached a small, old-fashioned inn, in the depths of the forest, where they stopped to feed the horses, dine and rest. And in the evening, as the nights were very light, they resumed their journey and traveled until mid- night, whea, having arrived at the lit- ile tower. of Chaptico, they rested until morning. At sunrise they resumed their journey, and traveled until noon, when they again paused to recruit the energies of their horses and them- selyes. And thus proceeding, by short lea and well watered country, they | reached, at the close of the second | day, the little town of Cornport. The ' captain conducted his party at once to ‘the neat little tavern of the Wheat- sbeafs, where he had the horses put up, and wh. re he secured cemfortable apartments for Madame De Glacie, while he himself went to seek a boat to convey them to the isle. In walking down the street leading to the water's edge, he met Major Burns, Throwing out both hands cordially to greet the little Irishman, he exclaimed: “Old neighbor, ahoy! where are you bound so fast? with all your sails set, Minbar, willl you do me the} horses that we shall require, and’ I will | and | shawl on by the time they will be at ; wise, with aj? | summoned the captain to the carriage | And so they passed over | stages, through a beautiful, well wood- | pand goiry at the vate of nine knots an The little major, who had been ’ rying along, uncoascious of the luin’s proximity, row started, sto; short, and gasped out in dismay— “Captain Puljoy! You itere! Good heaven!” : “\Well! I’m dashed! (I was going to say) if that is not a pretty way ip which to welcome an old triend! Why, Burns, you iook struck with consterna- tior! just as though I had caught you in some wickedaess! What ails you, man alive?” “Tien yor have not heard ? the major commenced; but he lost his voice before he vould conclude the question. “Heard waat, confound you (I was goiag te say), what do you mean?” “Oh, Fuljoy Fuljey! old fellow, what breught you ‘lown here to-day?” cried the: major. “Well! upon my soul and konor, if that is mot a pretty question to ask What brought me down here? legs to be sure!’ *or, rather, my <tyBut if you want to know mot brought me down here, why, that’s a lonzer story! My brave = Fulke and my pretty Maney could not j live longer’ without me; even though | they had each other's: company. So, | what do they do but write a pretty, | short, peremptory order for me to come dewn to them—the little despots!— there it is!” said the captain, laughiog, and thrusting into the: major’s hand the note written Dy Fuike, which he = had just drawn from: his- pocket. | Major Burns ran lis eyes ever it, | and recognized it as: tlie one which | Fulke must have written from his prison, though it dated from the isle; al o and contained no hint of the late trag- At i-events. Themajor groaned deeply as- } he returned it to the: lappy, uncon 4 sciou: , young tyrants! must ve me down directly?! couldn't live without me! Lord! Lord! how I poiled those: children;.to be sure! I should have come down by Iso enlarged my family party and de- | nined me to come down by road. ; But no more: of that at present! yow tell me where I can pick uf | boat to ta night? Ve Ine You; never was a bridegroom more anxious to greet his bride: tham I am to: embrace my little bi " say) isthe matter with you “Um-m-me! Captain, my boat is at the wharf! I will tak pu to the isle,” said the major, i¢ tone. “Thank you! thank you, heartily, old friend! But ean yow take our whole 4 party? T have a Indy, a lady’s maid, ard a gentlemam with me! an you take us all?” “Um-um um-me!! yes!” groaned the major. “Thank you, azrin! But, I s: what i the mischief ails you? ou look dread- fully ii?” “I am in pain!” gasped the mafor. “Where?” antiously inquired the captain. “Here, in the region of the beart,” | | said Major Burns, laying his hand up- on his vest. “Ob! nothing but wind! Come into the Wheatsheafs and take a mint ja- Tep!” | “Not not it is tee deep for that: it will do no zood! I will go and get the boat in readiness! Pray heaven some- | body else may tell him before I see PS } him again!” muttered the miserable ‘ litths man to nimself. “Burns looks queer! has been drinking hard covering from its effee tain, as he teok his w: inn. He stopped at the bar for a moment to give orders for @ to be prepared for the lady, aud while he stood there, these words, passing between two men who were drinking together at the other end of the bar. “eached his ears: “Oh, he did it! there is no doubt about it in the world! No one else - could have got into her chamber! And if he didn’t do it himself, what else was he doing? For, as to that me story of his being asleep in the arm- chair his dressing-toom—faugh! that an insult to our common sense! Who ‘the devil ever heard of a bridegroom going to sleep in his chair the very first night he brought his bride home? 7 ‘Tell that to the marines, if you like! but not to an intelligent jury—at least, if I were on it!” i “No!” was the reply, “for eren the magistrates couldn't help laughing when that came out—laughing in the | midst of ali that dreadful scene! No, sir! there must be some better de- i tense than that got up, or hell swing ' for it!” >» , “Hush! by George! there’s the cap- tain himself! and he has heard every worG we have said!” exclaimed the first speaker, in a whisper, that, never- q theless reached the captain’s ears as distinctly as any other portion of the I am afraid he and is just re- id the cap- \ back to the = } conversation. He was startled and surprised, and —> | made vaguely anxious about—he knew 4 not what! He felt impelled to go and ask the mea what they were talking of: but to do this he thought would be ‘rude and unjustifiable ‘the conversa- tion was evidently intended for his ‘ears, end besides, good gracious! there | were other brides and bridegrooms in | this world than the young pair his | partiality deitied! Why. then, shouid ‘everything that was said particularly concern Colonel aad Mrs. lulke Gre- ville? And the captain smiled in- wardly at his own fond egotism. | Again, the bridegroom here spoken of | Was somehow or other in fault, and S07 ‘ of course, could not have been his boy!}~ reascned the captain: but, reason as he would, there remained the unde- fined anxiety about his heart. To shake it off, he gave a particular order about tea, acd went into a private par- lor to wait watil it could be served. He was soon joiiied by Madame De Glacie, who, siaking into a chair, in- quire . : “Monsieur- will pardon the impa tience of a mother; but when. then, shall we proceed +o the isle—the bles- sed isle that uolis my daughter?’ _ , “Just as soon as the boat that I _have been so fortanate as to secure, can be prepared, Madame. time we have had tea it will, no. | be ready,” : :