The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 7, 1904, Page 4

though decorously, amused, in a way which might have led to a conjecture that the refrain bore some distant ref- erence to his master’s eccentricity of temper. At first he chuckled softly, but at the final iteration of “Chain de Lion Down” burst into outright laugh- ter. “Honey, my Law!” “But yo' pa de 'celv mighty proud er you!” “Proud of me!” She turned to him in astonishment. Nelson’s laughter increased. “Hain't be jass de ’ceivin'dest man! Yessuh, he de sot-uppest man in dis town ccunt what you done Jast night. What he say dis mawn’', dat jass his way!” Ah, no!" sald Betty, sadly. “Yes'm! He proud er you, but he teahbul mad at dat man. He hain't mad at you, but he gotter cuss some- body! Jass reach out fo' de nighes’ he kin lay han’s on, an’ dis mawn’ it hap- pen soze it were you, honey. Uhuh! You oughter hearn him las’ night when he come home. Den it were me. Bless God, I ain’t keerin’. He weren’'t mad at me, no mo'n’ he were at you. He jass mad!" Miss Betty looked at the old fellow keenly. He remained, however, appar- unconscious of her scrutiny, and jed himself with preparations for ving the tray. “Nelson, what is the quarrel be- tween my father and Mr. Vanrevel?” He had lifted the tray, but set it down precipitately, bending upon her a surprised and sobered countenance. “Missy,” he said, gravely, “dey big trouble "twix’ dem two.” “I know,” she returned “What is 1t?” “Wha’ fo' you ax me, Missy?’ “Because vou're the only one I can esk. I don't know any one here well enough, except you.” Nelson's lips puckered “Mist’ Vanrevel vote Whig; ag'in Texas.” “Well, what if he 157" “Yo' pa mighty strong fo' Texas.” “Is that all?” “No'm, dat ain't hardly de beginnin’. Mist’ Vanrevel he a Ab'litionist.” “Well? Won't you tell me?” “Honey, folks roun’ heah mos’ on ‘em like Mist’ Vanrevel so well dey ain't hold it up ag'in him—but, M ef dey one thing topper God's worl’ yo' pa do desp'itly and contestably despise, hat cuss, an’ outrageously "bominate wuss'n a yaller August spiduh it are a Ab'li- tionist! He want stomple 'em eve'y las’ one under he boot-heel, 'cep'n dat one Mist’ Crailey Gray. Dey’s a considabul sprinklin’ er dem Ab'litionists ‘bout de kentry, honey:; dey's mo’' dat don’ know w'ich dey is; an’ dey’s mo’ still dat don’ keer. Soze dat why dey go git up & quo'l twix’ yo’ pa an’ dat man; an’ ‘range to have 'er on a platfawm, de yeah 'fo’ de las’ campaign; an’, suh call de quo'l ‘a debate; an’ all de folks come in f'um de kentry. an’ all de folks in trwn come, too. De whole possetucky on 'em sit an’ listen. Fus’ yo’ pa talk; den Mist’ Vanrevel, bofe on 'em mighty cole an’ civilized. Den yo' pa git wo'm up, Missy, like he do, se he so useter have his own way; ’tain’t his fault, he jass cain’t help hollerin’ an’ cussin’ if anybody ‘pose him; but Mist’ Vanrevel he jass as suvvige, but he stay cole. w'ich make yo' pa all de hotter. He holler mighty strong, Missy, an’ some de back ranks ‘gun snickerin’ at him. Uhuh! He fa'r jump, he did; an’ den bimeby Mist' Vanrevel he say dat no man oughter be given de pilverige to sell another, ner to wollop him wid a black- snake, whether he 'buse dat pilverige er not. ‘My honabul ’ponent,’ s's he, ‘Mist’ Carewe, rep'sent in hisself de ‘ristocratic slave-owin’ class er de Sauf, do’ he live in de Nawf an’ 'ploy free labor; yit it sca’'sely to be b'lieve dat any er you would willinly trus’ him wid de powah er life an’ death ovah yo' chillun, w’ich is virchously what de elave-ownah p'sess.’ “Missy, you jass oughter see yo' pa den! He blue in de face an’ dance de quadrille on de boa'ds. He leave his cha’h, git up, an’ run ’cross to de odder side de platfawm, an’ shake he fis’ ovah dat man's head, ~n’ screech out how it all lles dat de elaves evah ‘ceive sich treatment. ‘Dat all lies, you pu'juh!” he holler. ‘All lles, you misabul thief,’ he holler. ‘All lies, an’ you know it, you low-bawn slandah’ an’ scoun'le!” “An’ wid dat Mist' Vanrevel, he laff in yo' pa face, an’ tuhn to de crowd. he did, an’' say: ‘You reckon dat if dish yuh man a slave-ownah, an’ a slave had anguhed him as I have an- guhed him to-night, does any er you b'lieve dat dat slave wouldn’ be tied up an’ whipped tell de blood run, an’ den sole down de rivuh to-morrer? “Well, sub, co’se mos’ on, 'em b'lieve same as yo' pa; but dat sutney fotch ‘em, an’ win de debate, 'case dey jass natshully lay back an’' roah, dey did, Missy; dey laff an’ stomp an’ holler tell yo' could a hearn 'em a mild away. AR’, honey, yo' pa’d a millyum times druther Mist' Vanrevel'd kilt him dan tuhn de laff on him. He'd shoot a man, honey, ef he jass s'picion him to grin out de carnder his eye at him; an’ to stan’ up dah wid de whole county fa'r roahin’ at him—it's de God’s mussy he did’n have no ahms wid him dat night! Ole Mist’ Chen’eth done brung him home, an’ yo’' pa reach out an’ kick me squah’ out’'n de liberry winder soon’s he ketch sight er me!” The old man's gravity gave way to his enjoy- ment of the recollection, and he threw back his head to laugh. “He sho’ ald, honey! Uhuh! Ho. ho, ho! He sho’ did, honey, he sho’ did!” Nevertheless, as he lifted the tray again and crossed the room to go, his solemnity returned. “Missy,” he said earnestly, “ef dat young gelmun fall in love wid you, w'ich I knows he will ef he ketch sight er you, lemme say dis, an’ please fo' to ba’h in mine; better have nuttin’ do wid him ’tall, fo' he own sake; an’ "bove all, keep him fur *way f'um dese p'emises. Don’t let him come in a mild er dis house.” he 'dest man! -claimed, He entl quietly. solemnly. but he THE SAN Z A “Nelson, was that all the quarrel be- tween them?” ~Blessed Mussy! ain’ dat enough? Ef dey’s any mo' I ain’ hearn what dat part were,” he answered quickly, but with a dogged tightening of the lips which convinced Miss Betty that he knew very well, *“Nelson, what was the rest of it?” “Please, Missy, I got pack yo' pa trunk; an’ it time long ago fer me to be at my wu'k.” He was half out of the door. “What was the rest of {t?” she re- peated quietly. “Now, honey,” he returned with a de- precatory shake of his head, “I got my wu'k ’tend to; an’ I ain’t nevah ax no- body what ’twas, an’' 1 ain’'t goin' ax ‘em. An’ lemme jass beg you foller de ole man's advice; you do de same, 'case nobody ain’t goin’ tell you. All I know is dat it come later and were somep'n bout dat riprarin Crailey Gray. Yo' pa he sent a channelge to Mist' Van- sevel, an’ Mist’ Vanrevel 'fuse to fight him 'case he say he don’ b'lieve shootin’ ¥0' pa goin' do yo' pa any good, an’ he still got hope mekkin' good citizen outer him. Dat brung de laff on yo' pa ag'in: an’' he ‘clare to God ef he ketch Vanrevel on any groun’ er hisn he shoot him like a mad dog. 'Pon my livin' soul he means dem wuds, Missy! Dey had hard ’nough time las’ night keepin’ him fum teahin’ dat man to vieces at de flah. You mus' keep dat young gelmun 'way fum heah!” “He came home with me last night, Nelson: I told father so.” “Yes'm. Yo' pa tole me you say dat, but he reckon you done it to mek him madder, ‘case you mad, too. He say he done see dat Crailey Gray comin’ ’long de hedge wid you.” “He was mistaken, it was Mr. Van- revel.” Nelson rolled his eyes fervently to heaven. “Den dat yofig man run pintedly on he death! Ef you want keep us all dis side er de Jawdan Rivuh, don’ let him set foot in dis neighbo’hood when yo' pa come back! An’, honey—" his voice sank to a pene- trating whisper—"“fo’ I do a lick er wu'k I goin' out in de stable an’ git down on my knees an’ retu'n thanks- giving to de good God ’'case he hole Carewe street in de darkness las’ night This was the speech he chose for his exit, but, after closing the door behind him, he opened it again, and said, cheerfully: “Soon’s I git de trunk fix f’ yo' pa, I bring 'roun’ dat bay colt wid de side- saddle. You better set 'bout gittin' on yo' ridin’-habit, Missy. De roads is mighty good dis sunshiny wedduh.” “Nelson 2" “Yes'm.” “Do you think such an attack as father had this morning—is—danger- ous?” He had hoped for another chance to laugh violently before he left her, and this completely fitted his desire. “Ho, ho, bo!" he shouted. “No'm, no, no, honey! He jass git so mad it mek him sick. Yol couldn’ kill dat man wid a broad-ax, Missy!" And he went down the hall leaving the reverberations of his hilarity be- hind him. The purpose of his visit had been effected, for, when Miss Betty ap- peared upon the horse-block in her green habit and gauntlets, she was smiling; so that only a woman—or a wise old man—could have guessed that she had wept bitterly that morning. She cantered out to the flat open country to the east, where she found sott dirt roads that were good for the bay colt’s feet, and she reached a cross- road several miles from town before she was overcome by the conviction that she was a wicked and ungrateful girl. She could not place the exact spot of her guilt, but she knew it was there, somewhere, since she felt herself a gullty thing. For the picture which Nelson had drawn rose before her: the one man standing alone in his rage on the plat- form, overwhelmed by his calm young adversary, beaten and made the butt of laughter for a thousand. Her father had been in the wrong in that quarrel, and somehow she was sure, too, he must have been wrong in the “per- sonal” one as well; the mysterious diffi- culty over Fanchon’s Mr. Gray, who had looked so ashamed last night. ‘What feud could they make over him, of all people in the world? He*looked strong enough to take care of his own quarrels, even if he was so rigorously bound by Fanchon’s apron-strings when it came to a word with another girl. But the conclusion that her father had been in error did not lessen the pathetic appeal of the solitary figure facing the ridifnle of the crowd. She felt that he always honestly believed himself in the right; she knew that he ‘was vain; that he had an almost mon- strous conception of his dignity; and, realizing the bitterness of that public humiliation which he had undergone, she understood the wrath, the unspeak- able pain and sense of outrage, which must have possessed him. And now she was letting him go forth upon & journey—his way beset with the chances of {llness and accident— whence he might never return; she was letting him go without seeing him again; letting him go with no word of farewell from his daughter. In brief, she was a wicked girl. She turned the colt’s head abruptly to the west and touched his flanks with her whip. So it fell out that as the packet foamed its passage backward from Ca- rewe’s wharf into the current, the own- er of the boat, standing upon the hur- ricane deck, heard a cry from th shore, and turned to behold his daughter dash down to the very end of the whart on the well-lathered colt. Miss Betty's hair was blown about her face; her cheeks were rosy, her eager eyes sparkling from more than the hard riding. “Papa!"” she cried, “I'm sorry!” She leaned forward out of the saddle, VEZZY, = N extending her arms to him appealingly in a charming gesture, and, absolutely ignoring the idlers on the wharf and the passengers on the steamer, was singly intent upon the tall figure on the hurricane-deck. ‘Papa—good-by. Please forgive me!” “By the Almighty, but that's a fine woman!” said the captain of the boat to a passenger from Royen. “Is she his daughter?"” . “Please forgive me!" the clear voice came again, with its quaver of en- treaty, across the widening water; and then, as Mr. Carewe made no sign, by ward or movement, of hearing her, and stood without the slightest alteration of his attitude, she cried to him once more: “Good-by!" 3 The paddle-wheels réversed; the boat swung down the river, Mr. Carewe still standing immovable on the hurri- cane-deck, while, to the gaze of those on the steamer. the figure on the bay colt at the end of the wharf began to grow smaller and smaller. She was waving her handkerchief in farewell, and they could see the little white speck in the distance, dimmer and dimmer, yet fluttering still as they passed out of sight round the bend nearly three-quarters of a mile below. CHAPTER IX. THE RULE OF THE REGENT. Betty never forgot her first sight of the old friend of her family. Return- ing with a sad heart, she was walking the colt slowly through the carriage- gates, when an extravagantly stout lady, in green muslin illustrated with huge red flowers,.came out upon the porch and waved a fat arm to the girl. The visitor wore a dark green turban and a Cashmere shawl, while the ex- panse of her skirts was.nothing short of magnificent; some cathedral dome seemed to have been misplaced and the lady dropped into it. Her outstretched hand terrified Betty: how was she to approach near enough to take it? Mrs. Tanberry was about sixty, looked forty, and at first sight you might have guessed she weighed nearly three hundred, but the lightness of her smile and the actual buoyancy which she somehow imparted to her whole dominion lessened that by at least a hundred-weight. She ballooned out to the horse-block with a billowy rush somewhere between bounding and soar- ing; and Miss Betty slid down from the colt, who shied violently, to find her- self enveloped, in spite of the dome, in a vast surf of green and red muslin. “My charming girl!” exclaimed the lady vehemently, in a voice of such husky richness, of such merriment and unction of delight, that it fell upon Miss Betty's ear with more of the quality of sheer gayety than any she had ever heard. “Beautiful child! What a beautiful child you are!" She kissed the girl resoundingly on both cheeks; stepped back from her and laughed and clapped her fat hands, which were covered with flash- ing rings. “Oh, but you are a true blue beauty! You're a princess! I am Mrs. Tanberry—Jane Tanberry—young Janie Tanberry. 1 haven't seen you since you were a baby and your pretty moth- er was a girl like us!"” “You are so kind to come” said Betty, hesitatingly. “I shall try to be very obedient.” “Obedient!” Mrs. Tanberry uttered the word with a shriek. “You'll do nothing of the kind. I am the light- mindedest woman in the universe, and any one who obeyed me would be em- broiled in everlasting trouble every sec- ond in the day. You'll find that I am the one that needs looking after, my charmer!” She tapped Miss Betty's cheek with her jeweled fingers as the two mounted the veranda steps. “It will be worry enough for you to obey yourself; a body sees that at the first blush. You have conscience in your forehead and rebellion in your chin. Ha, hw, ha!"” Here Mrs. Tanberry sat upon and oblit- erated a large chalr, Miss Carewe tak- ing a stool at her knee. “People of our age oughtn’'t to be bothered with obeying; there’ll be time enough for that when we get old and can’t enjoy anything. Ha, ha!” Mrs. Tanberry punctuated her obser- vations with short volleys of husky laughter, so abrupt in both discharge and cessation that, until Miss Betty be- came accustomed to the habit, she was apt to start slightly at each salvo. “I had a husband—once,” the lady re- sumed, “but only once, my friend! He had ideas like your father's—your father is such an imbecile!—and he thought that wives, sisters, daughters, and such like ought to be obedient; that is, the rest of the world was wrong unless it was right; and right was just his own little, teeny-squeeny preju- dices and emotions dressed up for a crazy masquerade as facts. Poor man! He only lasted about a year!"” And Mrs. Tanberry laughed heartily. “They have been at me time and again to take another.” She lowered Rer voice and leaned toward Betty con- fidentially. “Not I! I'd be willing to engage myself to Crailey Gray (though Crailey hasn’'t got round to me yet), for I don’t mind just being engaged, my dear; but they’ll have to invent some- thing better than a man before I marry any one of 'em again! But I love 'em, I do, the charming Billies! And you'll see how they follow me!” She patted the girl's shoulder, her small eyes beaming quizzically. “We'll have the gayest house in Rouen, lady- bird! The young men all go to the Ba- reauds’, but they'll come here now, and we'll have the Bareauds along with ’em. I've been away a long time, just fin- ished unpacking yesterday night when your father came in after the fire— ‘Whoo! what a state he‘wu in with that devilish temper of his! Didn't I snap him up when he asked me to come and stay with you? Ha, ha! I'd have come even if you hadn't been beautiful; but I was wild to be your playmate, for =2 FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. I'd heard nothing but ‘Miss Betty Ca- rewe, Miss Betty Carewe’ from every- body I saw, since the minute my stage came In. You set 'em all mad at your ball, and I knew we'd make a glorious house-full, you and I! Some of the vagabonds will turn up this very even- ing, you'll see if they don't. Ha, ha! The way they follow me!™ Mrs. Tanberry was irresistible; she filled the whole place otherwise than by the mere material voluminousness of her; bubbling over with froth of non- sense which flew through the house, driven by her energy, like sea-foam on a spring gale, and the day, so discord- antly begun for Miss Betty, grew musi- cal with her own laughter, answering the husky staccato of the vivacious newcomer. Nelson waited upon them at table, radiant, his smile like the keyboard of a surreptitious double- shuffle and followed by the cachinna- ting echoes of the vain Mamie’s recep- tion of the visitor's sallies, which Nel- son hastily retailed in passing. Nor was Mrs.Tanberry’s prediction al- lowed to go unfilled regarding the ad- vent of those persons whom she had d&ignated as vagabonds. It may have been out of deference to Mr. Carewe's sense of decorum (or from a cautious regard of what he was liable to do when he considered that sense out- raged) that the gallants of Rouen had placed themselves under the severe re- straint of allowing three days to elapse after their introduction to Miss Carewe before they *pald their re- spects at the house”; but. be that as it may, the dictator was now safely un- der way down the Rouen River, and Mrs. Tanberry relgned in his stead. Thus, at about 8 o'clock that evening, the two ladies sat in the library en- gaged in conversation—though, for the sake of accuracy, it should be sald that Mrs. Tanberry was engaged in conver- sation, Miss Betty in giving ear—when their attention was arrested by souhds of a somewhat musical nature from the lawn, which sounds were immediately identified as emanating from a flute and violin, Mrs. Tanberry bounded across the room like a cyclone, and, dashing at the candles, “Blow 'em out, blow 'em out!" she exclaimed, suiting the action to the word in a fluster of excitement. “Why?"” asked Miss Carewe, startled, as she rose to her feet. The candles were out before the question. “Why!"” repeated the merry, husky voice in the darkness. “My goodness, child precious, those vagabonds are here! To think of your®never having been serenaded before!" She drew the girl to the window and pointed to a group of dim figures near the lilac bushes. “The dear, delightful vagabonds!” she chuckled. *“I knew they'd come! It's the beautiful Tap- pingham Marsh with his fiddle, and young Jeff Bareaud with his flute, and '‘Gene Madrillon and little Frank Chen- oweth with thin Will Cummings to sing. Hark to the rascals!” It is perfectly truthful to say that the violin and flute executed the prel- ude, dnd then the trio sounded full on the evening air, the more effective chords obligingly drawn out as long as the breath in the singers could hold them in order to allow the two fair auditors complete benefit of the har- mony. They sang “The Harp That Once Thro' Tara's Halls,” and followed it with “Long, Long Ago.” “That,” Mrs. Tanberry whispered, be- tween stifled gusts of almost uncon- trollable laughter, “is meant for just me!"” “Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,"” entreated the trio. “I told 'em plenty!” gurgled the en- livening widow. “And I expect be- tween us we can get up some more.” “Now vou are come my grief is re- moved,” they sang. “They mean your father is on his way to St. Louis,” remarked Mrs. Tan- berry Let me forget that so long you have roved, Let me believe that you love as you love Long, long ago, long ago. “Applaud, applaud!” whispered Mrs. Tanbery, encouraging the minstrels by a hearty clapping of hands. Hereupon dissension arose among the quintet, evidently a dispute in regard to their next selection; one of the gen- tlemen appearing more than merely to suggest a solo by himself, while the others too frankly expressed adverse opinions upon the value of the offering. The argument became heated, and in svite of many a “Sh!” and “Not so loud!” the {ll-suppressed voice of the intending soloist, Mr. Chenoweth, could be heard vehemently to exclaim: “I will! I learned it especially for this oc- casfon. I will sing it!” His determination, patently, was not to be balked without physical encoun- ter, consequently he was permitted to advance some.paces from the lilac bushes, where he delivered himself, in an earnest and plaintive tenor, of the following morbid instructions, to which the violin played an obligato in tremolo, #0 execrable, ond so excruciatingly dis- cordant, that Mr. Chenoweth’'s subse- quent charge that it was done with a deliberate evil intention could never be successfully opposed: Go! Forget me! Why should Sorrow O'er_that brow a shadow fling? Go! Forget me, and, to-morrow, Brightly smile and sweetly sing! Smile! tho’ I may not be near thee; Smile! tho’ I may never see th: May thy soul with pleasure shine Lasting as this gloom of mine! Mis Carewe complied at once with the request; while her companion, un- able to stop with the slight expression of pleasure demanded by the songster, threw herself upon a sofa and gave way to the mirth that consumed her. Then the candles were relit, the sere- naders invited within; Nelson bearing cake and wine and the house was made merry. Presently, the rom Virginia Bareaud, making her appearance on the arm of General Trumble, Mrs. Tan- berry led them all in a hearty game of blind-man’s bluff, followed by as hearty a dancing of Dan Tucker. After that YA a quadrfle being proposed, Mrs. Tan- berry suggested that Jefferson should run home and bring Fanchon for the fourth lady. However, Virginia ex- plained that she had endeavored to persuade both her sister and Mr. Gray to accompany the general and herself, but that Mr. Gray had complained of indisposition, having suffered greatly from headache on account of inhaling so much smoke at the warehouse fire; and, of course Fanchon would not leave him. (Miss Carewe permitted herself the slight-st shrug of the shoulders.) - So they danced the quadrille with Jef- ferson at the piano, and Mr. Marsh performing in the character of a lady, a proceeding most unacceptable to the general, whom Mrs. Tanberry forced to be his partner. And thus the evening passed gayly away, and but too quick- ly, to join the ghosts of all the other evenings since time began; and each of the little company had added a cheerful sorite to the long row of these varied shades that the after years bring to re- visit *us, so many with pathetic re- proach, s0 many bearing a tragic bur- den of faces that we cannot make even to weep again. and so few with simple merriment and lightheartedness. Tap- pingham Marsh spoke the truth, indeed, when he exclaimed in parting, “O rare Mrs. Tanberry!” But the house had not done with sere- nades that night. The guests had long since departed; the windows were still and dark under the wan old moon, which had risen lamely, looking unfa- miliar and not half itself; the air hore an odor of lateness, and nothing moved: when a delicate harmony stole out of the shadows beyond the misty garden. Low but resonant chords sounded on the heavier strings of a guitar, while above them, upon the lighter wires, rippled a slender, tinkling melody that wooed the slumberer to a delicious half wakefulness, as dreamily, as ten- derly, as the croon of rain on the roof soothes a child to sleep. Under the ar- tist's cunning touch the instrument was both the accompaniment and the song; and Miss Betty, at.first taking the music to be a wandering thread in the fabric of her own bright dreams, drifted gradually to consciousness to find her- self smiling. Her eyes opened wide, but half closed again with the ineffable sweetness of the scund. Then a voice was heard, eerily low, yet gallant and clear, a vibrant barl- tone, singing to the guitar. My lady's hair. ‘That dark delight, Is both as fair And dusk as night. I know some lovelorn hearts that beat In time to moonbeam twinklings fleet, That dance and glance like jewels there, Emblazoning the raven hair! Ah, raven hair! So dark and bright, ‘What loves lie there Enmeshed, to-night? I know some sighing lads that say Their hearts were snared and torn away; And now as pearls one fate they share, Entangled in the raven halr. Ah, raven hair, For such a plight Could you not spare One acolyte? I know a broken heart that went To serve you but as ornament. Alas! a ruby now you wear, Ensanguining the raven hair! The song had grown fainter and fainter, the singer moving away as he sang, and the last lines were almost in- audible in the distance. The guitar could be heard for a moment or two more, then silence came again. It was broken by a rustling in the room next to Miss Betty's, and Mrs. Tanberry called softly through the open door: “Princess, are you awake? Did you hear that serenade?” After a pa the answer came hesi- tatingly in a small, faltering voice: “Yes—if {t was one. I thodght perhaps he was only singing as he passed along the street.” “Aha!"” ejaculated Mrs. Tanberry, ab- ruptly, as though she had made an un- expected discovery. “You knew better; and this was a serenade that you did not laugh at. Beautiful, I wouldn’t let it go any farther, even while your father is gone. Something mijght occur that would bring him home without rning—such things have happened. Tom Vanrevel ought to be kept far away from this house.” “Oh, it was not he,” returned Miss Betty, quickly. “I. was Mr. Gray. Didn’t you—" “My dear,” interrupted the other, “Cralley Gray's specialty is talking. Most of the vagabonds can sing and play a bit, and so can Crailey, particu- larly when he's had a few bowls of punch; but when Tom Vanrevel touches the guitar and lifts up his voice to sing, there isn’t an angel in heaven that wouldn’t quit the place and come to hear him! Cralley wrote those words to Virginia Bargaud. (Her hair is even darker than yours, you know.) That ‘was when he was being engaged to her; and Tom must have set the music to ‘em lately, and now comes here sing- ing 'em to you; and well enough they fit you! But you must keep him away, Princess.” 5 Nevertheless, Betty knew the voice was not that which had bid her look to the stars, and she remained con- vinced that it belonged to Mr. Crailey Gray, who had been too ill, a few hours earlier, to leave the Bareaud house, and now with Fanchon’s kisses on his lips, came stealing into her gar- den and sang to her a song he had made for another girl! And the angels would leave heaven to listen when he sang, would-they? Poor Fanchon! No wonder she held him so tightly in leading strings! He might risk his life all he wished at the end of a grappling-ladder, dangling in a flery cloud above nothing; but when it came to—ah, well, poor Fanchon! Did she in- vent the headaches for him, or did she make him invent them for himself? If there v.s:ne person in the world whom Miss Betty held in bitter con- tempt and scorn, it was the owner of that voice and that guitar. CHAPTER X. More than three gentlemen of Rouen * by the river. / / wore their hearts In their eyes for any fool to gaze upon; but three was the number of those who told their love be- fore the end of the first week of Mr. Ca- rewe's absence, and told it in spite of Mrs. Tanberry’s utmost effort to pre- serve, at all times, a conjunction be- tween herself and Miss Betty. For the good lady, foreseeing these declarations much more surely than did the subject of them, wished to spare her lovely charge the pain of listening to them. Miss Carewe honored each of the lorn three with a few minutes of grav- ity; but the gentle refusal prevented never a swain from being as truly her follower as before; not that she re- sorted to the poor device of half-dis- missal, the every-day method of the school-girl flirt, who thus keeps the lads in dalliance, but because, even for the rejected, it was a delight to be near her. For that matter, it is said that no one ever had enough of the mere looking at her. Also, her talk was enlivening even to the lively, being spiced with sur- prising turns and amiably seasoned with the art of badinage. To use the phrase of the time, she possessed the accomplishments, an antiquated charm now on the point of disappearing, so carefully has it been snubbed under whenever exhibited. The pursuing wraith of the young, it comes to sit, a ghost at every banquet, driving the flower of our youth to unheard-of exer- tions In search of escape, to dubious diplomacy, to dismal inaction, or to wine; yet time was when they set their hearts on ‘“the accomplishments.” Miss Betty Carewe at her harp, ah! it was a dainty picture; the clear pro- file. with the dark hair low across the temple silhouetted duskily in the cool, shadowy room, against the open win- dow; the slender figure, one arm curv- ing between you and the strings, the other gleaming behind them; the deli- cate liftle sandal stealing from the white froth of silk and lace to caress the pedal: the nimble hands fluttering across the long strands, “Like white blossoms borne on slanting lines of rain;” and the great gold harp rising to catch a javelln of sunshine that plerced the vines at the window where the honeysuckles swung their skirts to the refrain—Iit was a picture to return many a long year afterward, and thrill the reveries of old men who were then young. And, following the light cas- cading ripples of the harp., when her low contralto lifted In one of the “old songs,” she often turned inquiringly to see if the listener liked music, and her brilliant, dark eyes would rest on his with an appeal that blinded his en- tranced soul. She meant it for the mere indication of a friendly wish to® suit his tastes, but it looked like the divine humility of love. Nobody won- dered that General Trumble should fall to verse-making in his old age. She sketched magnificently. This Is the very strongest support for the as- sertion: Frank Chenoweth and Tap- pingham Marsh agreed, with tears of enthusiasm, that “magnificently” was the only word. They came to this con- clusion as they sat together at the end of a long dinner (at which very little had been eaten) after a day's plenic Miss Carewe had been of their company, and Tappingham and Chenoweth found each his opportunity in the afternoon. The party was small, and no one had been able to effect a total unconsciousness of the maneuvers of the two young gentlemen. Even Fanchon Bareaud comprehended lan- guidly, though she was more blurred than ever, and her far-away eyes be- lied the mechanical vivacity of her manner, for Crailey was thirty miles down the river, with a fishing-rod neatly packed in a leather case. Mr. Vanrevel, of course, was not in- vited; no one would have thought of asking him to join a small party of which Robert Carewe’s daughter was to be a memeber, But it was happiness enough for Tom, that night, to lie hid- den in the shrubbery, looking up at the stars between the leaves, while he lis- tened to her harp, and borne through the open window on enchanted airs. the voice of Elizabeth Carewe singing “Robin Adair.” . It was now that the town indulged its liveliest spirit; never an evening lacked its junketing, while the happy folk of Rouen set the early summer to music. Serenade, dance and song for them, the light hearts, young and old, making gay together! It was all laughter, either in sunshine or “ by candle-light, undis- turbed by the far thunder below the southern herizon, where Zachary Tay- lor had pitched his tent, upon the Rio Grande. One fair evening, soon after that ex- cursion which had proved fatal to the hopes of the handsc .e Tappingham and of the youthful Chenoweth. it was the privilege of Mr. Thomas Vanrevel to assist Miss Carewe and her chaperon from their carriage, as they drove up to a dance at the Bareauds’. This good fortune fell only to great deserving, for he had spent an hour lurking outside the house in the hope of performing such offices for them. Heaven was in his soul and the breath departed out of his body, when, after a moment of hesitation, Miss Betty's little lace-gauntleted glove was placed in his hand, and her white slip- per shimmered out from the lilac flounces of her dress to fall like a bene- diction he thought, on each of the car- riage-steps. It was the age of garlands; they wreathed the Muses, the Seasons, and their speech, so the women wdre wreaths In their hair, and Miss Betty's that night was of marguerites. “Read your fortune in them all,” whispered Tom's heart, “and of whomsoever you wish to learn, every petal will say ‘He loves you'; none declare, ‘He loves you not!" She bowed slightly but did not speak to him, which was perhaps a better re- ception than that accorded the young man by her companion. (Continued Next Sunday.)