HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1884-5-8, Page 2eleaselesessereeeseeeseeeae
LOT 'OR A WOMAN.
BY NO AGNES FI.EIIING,
'Fenlon ox..
Silent .arid. True," " Mari Mar-
riage," One Nealit''s Mystery,"
&o., c�4.
PAST I.
In' alloe eyes sl"e is the sweetest lady
that I ever looked on."
err•crr Al-
it is Rauch too tine to go in."
" I am not aware of having , said so,"
Shortly; "" on the contrary, I am going
t7 aliaest irumeaiately—Vino 1" abrupt.
ly .
" Yes, aunt,"
" When did you hear from your
friend --what isltds name? Farrar,"
" Paul Farrar 2" surprised. " Oh,
not for ages. Not since that time,
years ago, when he wrote to know
Mr. Vane Valentiuo pulls himself up
short. "If that girl night be christen-
ed," Is what ho was going to say. But
madam. ;mows nothing of that, and it is
one of the easee where ignorance is
:r" site: says; sharply; " fruish
your sentence. Siuee when ?"
" Not for years. He isin Russia; got
en alp] eintruent of some laud in St.
Petieeburg. and naturally, moving about
a, e ,. el ways ere." in a slight tone of
ere -eine... for .Mr. \'aleutin(' floes not
,like a nomadic existence ; " it is not
iii eiy wt should keel) up a very brisk
reps epondeuee. Besides, I hate letter.
exiting,"
a Indeed'." sarcastically; „since
mien 2 I 5hiir:lal lima imagine it, see-
ing tt•o voluminous epistles that go to'
Eugl :u"1 (ver~ mail 2"
I write to nay sister .Dorothea • and
my cousin C, milia, of course," rather
stiffly.
A. pause,
What is coming ? Soruethiug out of
the rout one he sees, in the furtive
glance he costo at her absorbed face.
She breaks the pause abruptly.
"Hew often do yen hear from that
That girl 2" bewildered. Do you
ateau my cousin ('needle ----„
• 1
mean," striking her stick sharply
an the ground, and pausing in her walk,
" I mean that girl you sent to Canada
with the nun Farrar, thirteen years
go."
"" Oh l" Mr. Vain. Val<rttine oatolies
hie breath. The bursting of a bomb at
his feet could warily have startled hint
more, e That. girl; Snowball Tril-
lon ?"
"If that is what the is called. I
tr,icau." with icy distinetnese, ,"my
granilaau";titer: "
Mr. vane Valentine whitens under his
lemon -hued skin; turns the livid hue of
the mooulight on the whitewashed
house -front.
" Your granddaughter!" with equal
iciness. " Who is to tell if she is your
granddaughter ? The word of the wo-
man who called herself her )notifier was
not worth much, I fancy. The :girl,
Snowball Trillon, is in Canada still,
A frigid stare follows his answer, and
Madan Valentine's "stony stares" .aro
things nob pleasant to meet. ',!`hen she
laughs contemptuously.
" This is your latest metier, is it, to
doubt her identity ? Well, I am nob
disposed to doubt it, and that I take it,
is the main point. I mean Snowball
Trillon, if you like, Where is slue in
Canards? Be more (definite, my good
Vane, if you please."
• Tho place is called St. Gildas. Site
lives, l' believe, on an island near that
town in the fainily of one Dr. Mac-
donald. "
He is recovering. The shock has
been so utterly unexpected that he has
been stunned for a moment, but his
customary cold caution is returning. He
draws a. long breath, and his pulse
quickens a little its methodical beat.
What—what does this paean ?
" Do you ever hear from her ?"
"Never directly. The money you al-
toted. for her maintenance is drawn semi-
annually by Dr. Macdonald—was drawn
two months ago, and she, was then re-
ported in the doctor's letter as alive and
well. That is all I know."
" Alive and well, slowly, gladly,
thoughtfully, "and sixteen years old, is
she not ? I wonder, I wonder," dream-
ily, "" what she is like?"
" She is sixteen years old," coldly
"of her looks I know nothing, nor ot-
her."
"It is my wish then," says Madre
fie l$t
ing. I1
rarat deal. 1
u t too long.
. ." 1?" ieging
•it . a-lt1'ori-
. ,,.., ;or ltl i,t u, :nation
ty.ley ;Led
ae1100..... .r ai*;c ii:.l in
1' c n , • i ark. 1 'i:'•" eyes,
;We. i,,u. t dnc , u . and so
of he • iia r. .3,;"
)
" 0; . In "t1 t Anything e1..
T «race r wiser :"
"To-ni" ht1 or to -morrow. as you
please. 'fell !fire to send the .photo-
graph without fail. I am curious to
see what she is like. Tell him to• an-
swer at once—at once 1''
"You shall be obeyed. Now wl,iat the
devil," says Mr. Vane Valentine to him-
self, "does this mean 2"
/It 'means no good to him ; that at
least is •oertain. For a long time,
hour after hour, that night, he sits
smoking cigars,at his open window, and
gazing blankly at the fair . southern
moon. He must. obey; there is no help
for that. If balked in the slightest de-
gree, this headstrong, foolish, ridiculous
old lcinsworeau of his ie capable of going
in person, before another month is over
liar venerable head, straight to :St.
Glides, and seeing for herself: Tho only
wendaelisebeing curious on this subject
at all, ellat she has not done so already.
There still one hope, Thegirl may
not in; , a> way, supposing her even to
be Lila aughter, resemble the late
George Valentine. Like mother :ike
son,thinks Mr. Valentine, savagely
biting the top of a fresh cigar, as if it
were madam's head --a precious pair o!
fools both! In point of fact, he is cer-
tain, although he has never seen George
Valeutine,nor even a pictureof hiin,tllat
she does not resemble him. But if this
old lady, falling into her dotage, no
doubt, should fancy a resemblance, and
be besotted enough to send for her, and
try to put her in bis place; Mr. Valen-
tine e7presses, his feelings justhere by a
deep oath, ground out between fiercely
closed teeth, When it comes to that
let them look to it! He is not to be
whistled clown the wind, after all these
years, as his idiotic old relative shall
find to her cost 1
But he writes the letter, a slow and
labored bit of composition; and as, he
writes a cold, cruel, crafty senile dawns,
Inman diabolips.lical fashion. around his hard,
" If the answer this, if they send the
photograph after this, then," the senile
intensities as he folds and seals the
epistle, ": if that girl has the spirit of s
vvorna, she will fling this letter into the
fire, and seam an answer, per return
post, that will effectually cure xnadaua
of herr folly.
Now Mistress Snowball Trillon, or
Darlores Macdonald, as you please, has,
as we know, the spirit of many worms ;
has a pride and a temper, alas 1 frilly
equal to Mr. Vane Valentine's own.
Dr. Macdonald, profoundly surprised,
deeply hurt, and a little disgusted with
the writer, puts the precious epistle
without a word into her hands, and the
blue eyes ilashliglrtningfires of wrath as
site reads.
"It is rather, rather offeusive," the
gentle old doctor says. "Yon need not
send the photograph if you like, Snow-
ball my dear."
For a moment a sterna seenasimtniueut
in the flushed cheeks and flashing eyes,
then a wicked smile dawns on the rosy
young month, a. sparkle that forbodes
badness to come creeps into the azure
orbs, and quite quenches the fires of
wrath,
"" oh ! 1 don't mind," site says cheer -
felly. "A little, impertinence more or;
less, what (:nes It signify? Beggars
mustn't be choosers. I'll send it. V rite
the letter, and when it is ready T'll slip
the photo in, and row myself over to
St. (Alibis this very afternoon and post
it."
" By retur,. Mail, don't you See," he
nays.
'" And I hope he'll like ane when leo
sees me," thinic:r Miss: Trillon, going up
to hetmaiden bower under the caves
"
" but T neer Itaraesed by doubts,"
She takes from e (drawer a couple of
photographs, tinted, and, as works of
art, worthy of commendation. They
represent a young person in the striking,
not to say staining, dress of a rieauei+tere
•-a short petticoat of brilliant dye,
baggy trousers, a blue blouse, a red cap
sot rakishly on one side of the head, a
little wino barrel slung over the shoulder,
pistols in the belt, two little Bands
thrust there also, a smile of unutterable
sauciness on, the face. And the young.
person is Snowball ! As a picture,
nothing can be more effective; as a por-
trait of a stately old lady's grand-
daughter, nothing could well be more
reprehensible. Last winter some cha-
rades were acted at the house of Mlle.
Innocent° 1)escreeux ; Snowball appen c.
ad in one of them as a r'ivandicre, and.'
the brother of Mlle. Inuocente, a, photo.
graph ?artist, had been charmed, and in-
aisted on immortalizing her in the dress
nest day. The photographs have since
lain here, too outra to bo shown; and it
is one of these under which she pertly
writes, " a rotre service, monsieur," and
dispatches to Mr. Vane Valentine.
The interval between sending and
receiving is about eight days, and eight
more anxious and uncomfortable days
Mr. Valentine never remembers to have
spent. What is in madam's mind ?
What does she mean? Why does she
want the photograph? What change
of dynasty does this forebode ? Does
sloe, can she, mean for one moment to
throw Lim overboard for this upstart?
Does she dream he will permit it ? Is
he a puppet, to be taken up and played
with awhile, and then thrown aside as
the whim seizes her ? He will show firer
whether be i5 or not.. Let her expose
her tend; and then hQ tell balk her new
game. '
Meantime there is nothing to be done
hut wait, and waiting is, he finds, the
hardest work in the world.
She, too, is waiting. Tho subject is
never resumed; it is the " lull before the
storm. Is it to bo a drawn battle be-
tween these two proud, unbending
people from thenceforth ? It all depends
on this girl, this gauche, unformed girl
of sixteen. If the photograph should by
any chance resemble ever so little that
dead George—well, if it does, and she
takes the girl up, she shall seed
It eornee, the letter with the Canadian
poetmar1., end something ]card within.
rix, natal s',takec as heopens it, and
!he'cgrte drops nat.'
It is a moment before he can summon.
monition enough to take it up, but he
toes at last, and then-- !
The letter is from Dr. Macdonald ; 'h
is brief, civil, but cool. Mlle. Trillon is
well, is quite happy, has been well and
carefully educated, and has no desire
whatever to change her home.
He incloses her photograph, by which
Mr. Valentine will see she is also en-
tremely pretty; and ho is his respect-
fully, Angus Macdonald.
Madam 'Valentine is in her sitting.
room. A storm of wind and rain is
sweeping over the fair landscape, and,
blotting it out.
She sits watching it drearily, when
Mr. Vane Valentine, with a more assured
Ilook and step than he Lias used of late,
comes into the room, an open letter in
his`band.'
"It is the letter from Canada, and
the picture," he sayer, ,
He lays both in het lap.
His face is in good order, but there is
aai imperceptible thrill of triumph in
his tone,
He does not go, be stands and waits.
A slight flush rises to ber face, but
she moots his look with one of frigid
reserve,
" Well?" she she says, inquiringly..
"Will you be good enough to open the.
letter ? The photograph is inside."
" At my leisure, I will retain the
picture, You aced. not take the trouble
to wait 1"
It is a curt dismissal; a flush of angor
rises over his sallow face.
He has ]toped to see her face when
first she glances at the audacious photo,
graph. He is destined to be disappoint-
ed. Bat he knows the look of angry
aurprise and disappointment that will
follow, all the same. Without a word
Ito goes.
Then, with fingers that shako with
eagerness, she snatches the picture out,.
looks at it, drops it with an exclamation
of anger, amaze, dismay..
What .1 another dancing girl 1 A.
juvenile copy of the bold, blue-eyed cir,
nus woman, who had confronted her
that September afternoon, thirteen years
age,
And what outrageous costume is this ?
what defiant smile ? what pert words
Written underneath ?
Is this, indeed, her grandchild ? hers ?
Does the proud Valentine blood flow in
the heart of such a frivolous creature as
this?
']tat insolence to send it, itis n direct.',
affront. And yet, what a pretty facet
What a brightly pretty, !liqueur face.
Not a bold ane either, only saucy, girl -
tee full of fun and healthful glee.
She looks at it again, reluctantly at
first, releutingly after a little, then long
end earnestly.
No, there 18 no look of George, none
w�rhatever; it is a youthful repetition of
dint outer ftce she remembers so well,
She must be very, pretty ; site aright..
with proper training, become a lovely
girl. What a wealth of rippling ring-
lets ; what charming featm ^ ; what an
exquisite (dimpled mouth 1 Only the
dress, and yetthatmigltt be only a girl'*
thoughtless joke
The letter is all that cart be desired,
formal if you will ; a trifle cold, but per-
fcctly respectful. What if Vane Valera
tine has couched his request in intpexti-
nent words --he is quite iscapable of it,
and 1 i' defiant 1 tl sent t r � 1 ct resent iu ro•
prise' ? She !tits the truth, and sus -
pacts that she hits it; relic guesses. quite
accurately, 1at her heir Isf eli
ngon
this subject,
"I will disappoint hint yet," she
thinks, vindictively, " fn epito of the
picture."
She ineets him at dinner, some hours
later, without a trace of any emotion,
except her usual severer reserve of man -
leer, and lianas him back the letter.
t" Well 2" bo ask,, wide' rather a grim.
smile. " And the picture -how do you
find that?"
" I find it a. trifle eccentric," she re-
turns, " No, James, no soup. Taken
in a fancy dress, 1 imagine. A pretty
girl, and very like her mother. Yes,
James, the rockfish," to the man -ser-
vant. " If you please, any good v aue,1,
will keep it. "
No more is said. But the edge of the
wedge is well in, and, with a feeling akin
to despair, Vane Valentine realizes that
his letter and fatal photograph aro but
the beginning of the end.
CHAPTER XVIII. -
FLYING VISIT.
An April evening. Westward the sun
is dipping in Ray Chalette its very red
face, and the cool, gegenish waters take
on roseate hues in consequence, that by
uo means belong to them. A soft, pink-
ish, windless haze, indeed, eneircles a�
in a halo bay : and town, Isle Perdrix,
and the boats of the Gaspereaux fishers,
out in force, for is not this " Gaspereaux
Month," the silver harvest of these
toilers of. the sea ? "" Ships, like lilies,
lie tranquilly" at the grimy St. Gildas
wharves ; de quaint hilly town itself
rests all )flush• in the bath of ruby sun-
light, the sound of evening bells -the
Angelus ringing out from Villa .des
Anges—floats sweetly over the hush,
until listening, you imagine yourself for
the moment in• some far-off, old-world.
city of France.
Isle Perdrix rests, like the rocky
emerald it is, in its lapis lazuli setting,
its beacon already lit, and sending its
golden - stream` of light far over the
peaceful sea.
It is at this witching hour, of an
April day, that a traveller stands on the
St. Glides shore, and waits for the
ferry -boat, to come and take him over
to- the island.
" You see, there ain't no regular ferry,
as you may say; betwixt this and "Dree
Island," the landlady explains, at the
little inn where he stops to make known
his wishes; " and there ain't no regular
traffic. There's.only-tl1e doctor's family
and old Tim, that lives on the place for
good like, and they rows . over .them-
selves when they come back and Torrid,
which is every day for that matter. We
blows a horn whenstrangers come, and
then old Tiro, if he ain't too busy, comes
across and takes ern off. .T.'ll blow the
horn for you uo11 S r."
I cnn "gall spirits from the Vasty
deep," quotes the ue:itleinan, with a
touch of humor: "heat will they come
when we call then • It's a toss up
trien whether old Tina comes or not,
madam?" .
Jest so, sir. You takes your chance.
Rut the light's lit I see, so he ain't like
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