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Home My WebLink AboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1934-01-11, Page 6THURSDAY, JANUARY 11, 1034 „ || , (ll ........................ JIN.... Ill J—I...I THE EXETER TIMES-ADVOCATE Captain Midnight by L. Arthur Cunningham SYNOPSIS Yvonne Caron, one of the most beautiful ladies of early French Quebec is being forced into.mar riage with and by Simon Girard, an unscrupulous lawyer. Her brother Paul is deep in debt thro’ gambling with Girard. The cere mony, however, is interrupted by the notorious Catain Midnight, Robin Hood of the French colony, who marries Yvonne in order to save the girl’s vast estates. “yvtio—.who is there?” she called softly. From that blackness a figure of deeper blackness moved, strode eas ily towards her, black cloak swing ing lightly from broad shoulders, black tri-cornered hat in hand, and with a smile on his lips, for the up per half of his face was the mystery of a* masque. He stood before aer, took the hand she hesitantly extended to him, raised it to his lips. ‘‘I am not ontent with that, Yvon ne,” he said. His voice -was low, thrilling in its eagerness, such a voice as she had never heard, for in the chapel of Girard’s house at Charlesburg, the chapel where they two were wed, he had not spoken so. ‘‘Your lips,” he wnispered. ‘And your heart beating -close to mine.” Half-eager, half resisting, she let him, still holding her hand, draw her into the circle of his arm, his hand beneath her chin, tilted her face up until his own, masqued, looked down upon her. She gave herself then. From its stiffness her body became pliant in his arm and her lips re turned the pressure of his. Confused, with a short, husky laugh, she released herself. He smiled; she saw the luminous flash of his teeth. No relinquihing her hand he led her to a wooden bench in the shadow of a kiosk and made her sit beside him. “While the dance goes on,” he said, gazing for a moment at the myriad, twinkling lights of the cha teau in the distance. “You would not join in the revel tonight, Yvonne? Are you happier here?” “Infinitely happier,” she said, gazing down at her hand where Capain Midnight’s finger caressed the little band of gold—her wed ding ring. “But I—•! did not think you would .come to me . . .” “I could not stay away longer. It has seemed ages, ages, since last I saw you. I had to come. I would have braved any danger, take any risk to come to you, mignonne. You would not have me stay away? You did wish to see me?’ “Ah, yes. And I would have you stay with me for good. But you are so strange. I do not know your face. May I not—see it?” Captain Midnight was silent, the strong clasp of his fingers on her hand relaxed. She thought for a moment she would remove the mas que and disclose to her curious eyes1 his countenance, that she wished so much to look upon, “I cannot,” he said unhappily. “I —I dare not.” "But why? -Surely you do not mistrust me. I—I have been perhaps too unmaidenly, but I wanted to give you my lips—I did want to kiss you. Why? I know not. Un less it is that I have pictured your face in my dreams and found it fair and kindly. Is it? Would I love your face?” • Captain Midnight laughed, and there was something in his laughter that touched her heart, like a sharp, icy finger that stabbed at her heart and chilled its warmth "I do not thing you would love it,” he said slowly. “Ah, no—I fear y-ou would turn from me. Have they not told yott—(something about him you eo recklessly married! But no! They could not have told you.” Dr. Wood’s writes:- Norway Pine Syrup “Told me what? Why do you speak so strangely to me? Why cannot you tell me what others are able to? Please—please do let me see! Is it not my right to know the face of the man U—d love?” “You love.” He would have caught her to him again, would have kissed her. She evaded him. “No. I will not have it, monsieur. I have trusted you and you will not —” her tone was hurt, wondering, petulant. Caj>tain Midnight stared at the ground. “It would render you unhappy to know. Soon, despite me, you will know, Yvonne. And you will hate me, perhaps—despise me for what I have done. I hide behind a mas que. I dare not show my face—not even to you I love with all my heart and soul. It seems cowardly, my darling; but it is not—believe me, it is not. Were I to disclose myself to you, both of us would lose this wondrous happiness, the sweetness of this stolen hour, You—Yes, I am afraid you may losfe it, but I will lose it never. I will not sacrifice it.” His earnesness, his concern and the sincerity of his words touched her deeply. She laid her hand very gently on his. “Then I will not ask it again, to night, Monsieur. But-—what of the future? Are we to go on like this al ways? 'That cannot be. It is im possible. Preposterous. If I am your wife—and I am your wife— “God grant you may never regret it, That moment—at Charlesburg —it was too great, too wondrous, too much like a chance at attaining heaven—I could n-ot think, nor would I stop to think, of what I was doing, of what those few words said by the monk meant to you and to me. I only prayed that for you It might mean happiness—the great est of your life, even while, at that instant,, I saw no hope of giving you that happiness—” “But now—is there hope? Why not give up this strange life -of yours? Why not go away—and take me with y-ou?” He shook his head regretfully. “I am a prisoner,” he said. “A prisoner of the masque. That is why. iSome day there may be re lease for me—soon or late, I do not know. And there may be only the release that is no release—” “Do not—! Please do not speak like that. Your name—I do not know it—not even your name.” “They have not told you that? It is known to many -of them and I shall leave it for their telling if you will permit me. I am sorry—sorry that I must deny your every ques tion. When you know the truth you will understand better. And I pray you will forgive me—not hate me." “I could not hate you. But life is lonely for me here. I thought—I hoped that yotir—your coming might mean release from the emnui, the dreary procession of days. I sup pose I should be thankful that, at least, it has freed me from the un welcome advances of a man I des pise. But, if you are not here to protect me—to some or them, you see, the fact that I am wed means little—,” “You have been annoyed then— by someone other than this man Gir- ard. Tell me, Yvonne!” Captain Midnight’s voice had the' chill of -steel and his came to rest,' in a lightning emotion, on the hilt > of his sword. “I should not speak of it,” -She re gretted now that she had ■ spoken. “But his man—his name is Jean Pierre Martel—” “Martel. A rouge. A swashbuckler par excellence! But who am I to talk j However, tell me of him. He has given you some insult, my sweet?” Her Little Girl Had a Bad Cold cough so hard at night she could hardly get her breath. . I tried everything I thought would improve her, but to no avail, until I saw where Dr. Wood’s Norway Syrup was good for cold ailments. After giving her two bottles she was greatly improved. I am never gency”' Woods in the house in cases of emer- Pnce, 35c a bottle; large family size, 65c, at all drug by fhe MbUm It was good to hear the jealous concern, the anger in his voice— good to feel that he would protect her, that he was jealous of her. And it would not hurt Jean Pierre Martel to know that there was one even stronger than he wao would look out for her well-being and let no harm come to her. “Last night, very late,” she said hesitantly, striving to put into her voi-ce a bit more of anger and out rage than she felt. “I heard some one at the garden gate, I had been sitting up, waiting for Paul, my brother. I came into the garden and I reached the gate right there —” She indicated the spot. -Captain Mirnight’s eyes—slits in 'the black masque, -were fixed or. hers—” a man vaulted over the fall,” I thought it was my brother. Before I learned otherwise he had taken me in his arms and—and kissed me—” “Diable!” Captain Midnight’s teeth ehut with a clicking sound and the word was hissed through them. “I—I slapped his fa-ce for it, told him he was a cad—” “Of the lowest order,” muttered Captain Midnight. “It is enough, Yvonne. You have told me enough. This man has presumed to take that which is mine, and he shall pay. I swear to you he shall pay for this that he has done. Before another sun has set I will cross ewords with him—I will kill him!” “No! Oh, no—you must not—” “But yes! .Surely you are not con cerned for this smiling rouge, Yvon ne? It is all he deserves. He knew you were mine— my bride, whom I had scacely kissed myself. Yes, it shall be done—” “But—but he is a great swords man—"She told herself now it was concern for Captain Midnight’s safe ty that had caused her to ’express alarm, to cry out, almost, with fear at the prospect of a duel. “He was he greatest swordsman in France, they do say, and he may—may kill you and it would be my fault—” “He -cannot kill me,” said Captain Midnight with a curt laugh. “I am as great a swordsman as he is. Do not fear for me, Yvonne—I shall avenge this insult—’• “But—but I do not want you to! I am afraid. Please—please you must not—” “I have told you,” he said stern ly, “that it shall be done. This up start will plague no longer.” “Oh!” She twisted her fingers nercously, distraught at the storm she had awakened in her strange lover. “I do not want you to. 1—<1 won’t have it, I tell you. If you fight with him, kill him on my account, I’ll have nothing more to do with you—” She stopped herself abrupt ly, aware that there could be only one interpretation put upon her present concern. “So!” said Captain Midnight, ris ing, flicking his gauntlet against his hand. “You do not want him to suffer? Strange—I thought you hated him for his temerity. It seems, milady, that your concern is as much for this idle scamp, this tavern brawler and tremendous lover, as it is for the man you have married. Do you, then, love this Martel? Is your liking for him ’’lfidden under this feigned despising?’ “No! No! You insult me. I do hate him—but I would not see him killed, just because he took a kiss from me—” “Men have been punished with death for deeds for less presumptu ous. I thought you were different from others of you -sex—stay! I am too harsh. I am sorry. But if he annoys- you again, promise me you wi'l let me know. The next time, I assure you, I will not be stayed by your generosity, your mercy towards him. If he dares to touch you again dares to kiss those lips that are mine none—I will put an end to him. I (promise you that my lips will know no others than yours—ever—-and now—farewell.” He bent over her hand for an in stant; then drew her again to him, kissed her lightly. “One thing,” he said, as an after thought. "If ever you have urgent need of me, do this that 1 tell you. By the windmill on the road to Sil- lery, there is an oak, white and gnarled, that was riven by lightning. It is hollow, Often, in the night, I pass that way and every time I pass I slml loofc within. If I find a rose, of the softness and color of your cheek, there among the dead leaves, I will come to you, my love.’ Breathless, eyes clu oded with glamour, with the magnetic wonder of him, Yvonne stood and watched him scale the wall. For an instant silhouetted against the stars he turned his head, wafted with his fingers a kiss to her; then dropped from eight into the quiet lane out side. Yvonne stirred from her trance, as one stirs from sleep and an opiate dream. “A rose, she whispered, of the softness—and color—of my cheea' — The following afternoon, quite late Yvonne went riding. She was weary of her voluntary seclusion and Cap tain Midnight’s visit had made life brighter, had srengthened her in her strange alliance and she was quite prepared now to stand whatever .teasing or derision that might come her way. She had a husband and ob viously he loved her—which was al most as much as one expected of a husband. And this love-affair was much more to her liking than, say, the prosaic union of Zephie Martin with Fernand Lachance, the corn dealer or that of Madeline de Varin with the notary, Alaric Proust. Al ready, Zephis had two roly-poly young Martins. Ah, yes-—Yvonne, thinking of that, frowned and ad dressed her horse, Luitpoldel, who perked up his ears most interestedly Thus on the road to Sillery— “No doubt it is dull to have a man always at your side. At times it must tire one. But here I am, a bride of a week, and I have seen my husband only for a fraction of an hour—and then I did not really see him. It is the other extreme. Why, if he were a sailor even, I should see more of him. But then—there must be some reason, some good reason, that keeps him at his hazardous calling. He is a bold man. For Jean Pierre Martel, of whom the universe appears to stand in awe, he had only -contempt. It was all I could de to dissuade him from crossing swords with Martel. Not that I did not think my—my husband would be the victor, but—why, was it I for bade him to quarrel? Ah, I do not know, one does so many things with out knowing the reason for them. But why do you stop here then?” Here was the Inn of the Fox; and Luitpoldel, who, more sane perhaps than humans, had his reasons for doing things, recalled that there was a long wooden trough under a shady elm, into which poured water that was sparkingly clear and cold, and that once he had been presented -with two apples by the innkeeper’s wife. Yvonne remembered that here one might have delicious spice-cakes and good cider, the one made by stout Louise Villoneuve, the innkeeper’s wife; the other by her equally stout husband, Alyre. So she left Luitpoldel to drink his fill of the clear water and wait pa tiently for apples, while she went in to the inn-yard, -carelessly swinging her riding-crop, a lithe, bright-eyed, figure in her brown riding habit and shiny brown boots which she tapped smarty now and then with her crop. Four horses, expensively saddled and well groomed and finely bred, stood at the hitching bar, switching away with impatient whiskings of their tails the flies that buzzed in the warm summer air, where sounded, too, the deeper bourdon of the honey bees that hovered around the gay blooms of lupin and zinnia, and snap-dragon that grew luxuriantly in the inn-garden and mingled their fragrance with -the sunlight. In the bright little parlor of the inn was a party of four—and one of thejtour was Jean Pierre Martel. It. was he Yvonne saw, first and she knew he had watched her arrival from from the window by which he was sitting; with him were Melusine d’Artois, whom she knew only very slightly; a Colonel Monard and his wife, whom she knew even lees well. Of Museline, to be sure, i»he had heard—as who in Quebec heart not ?•.—,and it was quite in keeping with her idea of Jean Pierre Martel that he should be with this flamy, doll faced Parislenne of so many loves. The gentemen rose from their chairs at her entrance. There was gladness in Jean Pierre’s dark grey eyes. The women looked at her with curious smiles and Madame Monard asked her if she would join, them . "I thank you, but I am on my way to Sillery,” said Yvonne, looking only at the Colonel's lady, conscious all the while of Jean Pierro’s intent and eager eyes—as if he bogged- her to give him the largoseo- of just one smile. "I am only Mopping for a moment.” It's for Children's Coughs and Colds As well As your Own Mother, don’t worry when the children have a bad cough or cold—just give them BUCK- LEY’S MIXTURE mixed with «;qual ptjrra of honey. One pleasant little dose will give im mediate relief. Two doses ate oftpn all that are needed to end a bad colcj. Buckley’s is absolutely safe for the smallest child, but so supremely good that it will banish the toughest adult cough or cold and it’s simply wonderful for ’flu or bronchitis. Refuse substitutes. Buckley’s is sold everywhere. Yvonne, a whit confused, a trifle regretful that she had entered -the Fox, seated herself at a little table remote from them and nibbled at the spice-cake that the good Alyre had brought to her, and sipped the sweet rich cider. (She did not glance at the company across the room; she could hear the murmur -of their voices and knew their conversation had been less subdued before she icame. She knew -too, that Jean Pierre was so seated that he gazed directly at her profile. -She was in dignant. Perhaps he would boast to these persons that he had kissed her since she was wed; perhaps not making it clear that she was no willing party to the kiss. A shadow moved across the pol ished surface of the pinewood table. Yvonne, startled, looked up. 'It-was Melusine d’Artois. Yvonne had never spoken with her before. She was older than Yvonne. .She was lovely, in a too flawless, too artific ial way. Her skin was dead white and powdered and at the corner of her ripe red lips was a tiny black' beauty-patch; her vividly blue, ex pressionless eyes were long-lashed, slightly almond shaped. They had no warmth and the smile on her parted lips had something feline about it. “I do not like to intrude,” she J said, taking the stool opposite Yvon ne, watching Yvonne with those eyes thait were like windows with blue blinds drawn hard down behind them. “But I did so wish to speak with you. Just plain curiosity, you know, about ,the woman, who in a manner, has one what I always wish ed to d-o.” Yvonne’s amazement was greater than the resentment that Melusine’s insolent, drawling tone aroused in her. “What do you mean? What have I done—?” “You have become his bride—is it not so? Ciel-! Is it really true, what they say, that you married him without knowing his true identity? But you would not have seen—” “It is true. But how much of what you -call the true identity of her husband does any woman know? It was enough that he seemed strong and honest—and kind. You do not appear ?to be kind Mademoiselle d' Artois. Or did you cross over to me here just to hurt me?” “Hurt you?” Melusine laughed. “I could not hurt you more than you will be hurt. I will tell you who this man is you so romantically and blindly wed—'faith, his was by far the better of the bargain, sweet Black Eyes—his name is St. Hilaire —-Laurent Lemoine St. Hilaire—” Yvonne stared into ithe shaded eyes, and, oddly enough, the first ■thought that struck her was that Melusine was not real, was just a doll that talked and said only things like this. -St. Hilaire—St, Hilaire!— “I have 'heard of him,” said Yvon ne. The revelation of Captain Mid night’s identity had no significance whatsoever for her. She felt no better informed that before about her husband. This meant nothing. “And yes, I think I did see him once at Montmorency. He was with you mademoiselle—naturally one cannot see any other planet • clearly when the sun is out.” Melusine stiffened. ‘ Yvonne could almost see sharp claws crooking tensely, almost hear a feline hiss of rage. “You should,” retorted Melusine, “have observed him very closely at the time, my dear; you should have studied his handsome face and en graved his image on your heart. For now he only a masque—you have him, but you do not know what yOu have—■” "Ait least I have him and it seems that the loss of him has hurt you. Or is it the loss or the fact that another succeeded where you tailed? I have learned ‘■■o many things today. I had always believed that no man could resist your beauty; It is Indeed flat tering to know that the one who could -is my husband.” "Yon little fool—-” “It Is my painful charge,” inter rupted Jean Pierre’s voice, “to In trude on this pleasant tete a-dote,”1 (Continued next week; Twenty-five dollars will bo given In prizes to the readers of the Tlmos- Advoeate who renew their suhecrlp- tions this month, dee ftdvt, on an other page, | Qtye Sorter Stniea-AiiiHiratr ' Established 187-3 and 1887 Published every Thursday morning at Exeter, Ontario SUBSCRIPTION—??•00 per year In advance. RATES—Farm or Real Estate toy sale 50c. each insertion for firm four Insertions. 25c. each pubaer quent insertion. Miscellaneous ar ticles, To Rent, Wanted, Lost, or Found 10c. per line of six word*, Reading notices lQc. per line. Card of Thanks 50c, Legal ad vertising 12 and 8c. per line. In Meinoriam, with one verse 50o. extra verses 25c. each. 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