AROUND THE YULE-LOG.
Lottie's radiant face at supper, in contrast with her clouded one
at dinner, again puzzled certain members of the household; and De
Forrest, to his disgust, learned that while he slept she had again
been with Hemstead. He resolved on sleepless vigilance till the
prize was secured, and mentally cursed the ill-starred visit to
the country over and over again.
Bel was cool and cynical outwardly, but was really perplexed as
to what ought to be done. With all her faults she had a sincere
affection for her friend, and was shrewd enough to perceive that
this affair with Hemstead promised to be more serious than Lottie's
passing penchants had been previously. But with her usual weakness
and irresolution she hesitated and waited, Micawber-like, to see
what would "turn up."
The impression grew on Mrs. Marchmont that Lottie was fascinating
her nephew; and yet just how to interfere she did not see. It was
rather delicate business to speak, with nothing more tangible than
what she had yet seen. That Lottie herself was becoming sincerely
attached to a young man of Frank's calling and prospects, could
not occur to a lady of Mrs. Marchmont's ideas of propriety and the
fitness of things. It was only Lottie's "inveterate disposition
to flirt." As to Lottie's "moods and emotions," she smiled at them
with cool indifference, as far as she noticed them at all. "Young
people pass through such phases as through the measles," she was
accustomed to say.
Addie was too much wrapped up in herself to think particularly
about others.
Save by queer little chuckling laughs, which no one understood, Mr.
Dimmerly gave no sign that he noted any thing unusual going on.
Besides, Lottie was very circumspect when in the presence of others,
and Hemstead unconsciously followed the suggestion of her manner.
Thus even lynx-eyed Bel could seldom lay her finger on any thing
and say, "Here is something conclusive."
But if ever there was an earthly elysium, Hemstead and Lottie
dwelt in it during the remainder of that week. Not that they were
much together, or had much to say to each other by word of mouth.
Scarcely another opportunity occurred for one of their momentous
private talks, for De Forrest's vigilance had become sleepless
indeed.
Besides, Hemstead was shut up in his room most of the time, engaged
on another sermon. For Dr. Beams was ill, and the student had been
asked to preach again. He gladly complied with the request, for he
was most anxious to correct the dreary impression he had made on
the previous Sabbath. Lottie, too, was much in her room, at work
on something which no one was permitted to see. But little was
thought of this, for the house was full of the mystery that always
prevails just before Christmas. Every one was cherishing innocent,
and often transparent, little secrets, which were soon to be proclaimed,
if not on the "house-top," on the tree-top of the fragrant cedar
that had already been selected and arranged in the back parlor,
suggesting to all the blessedness of both giving and receiving.
Yet, while seemingly separated, what moment passed when they were
not together? How vain was De Forrest's vigilance!--how futile
were Mrs. Marchmont's precautions! Lottie was the muse that sat at
Hemstead's side; and every time he lifted his eyes from the paper
his vivid fancy saw her face glowing like the sunset, and beaming upon
him. She inspired his sermon. Unconsciously, he wrote it for her
alone, letting her need and spiritual state color the line of thought
which his text naturally suggested; and a fresh, hope-imparting
Christmas sermon it promised to be,--a veritable gospel. He
was unconsciously learning the priceless advantage to a clergyman
of pastoral visitation; for, in discovering and meeting the needs
of one heart, nearly all are touched,--so near a kinship exists
throughout humanity.
As Lottie stitched away at an odd bit of fancy-work--very different
from any thing that had ever taxed her dainty skill before--strange
gleams flitted across her face. At times her eyes would sparkle
with mirth as she lived over scenes in which the student was ever
the chief actor; and again she would grow pale, and her breath come
quick and short, as her fancy portrayed him--when in the darkness
he could not have been seen by human eyes--far out amid the ice
upon the river. Then again her face would grow comically pitiful,
as she murmured: "I could have brought him to quicker than uncle.
I could have given him a stimulant more potent than the forty-year-old
brandy of which uncle is so proud. I've found out my power over
him."
Then her face would light up with exultation as she exclaimed, "O,
it's grand to have such power over a strong, richly-endowed man,--to
be able to move and play upon him at your will by some mystic
influence too subtile for prying eyes to see. I can lift him into
the skies by a smile. I can cast him into the depths by a frown.
If I but touch his hand, the giant trembles. He would be a Hercules
in my service, and yet I've got him just there"; and she depressed
her little thumb with the confidence of a Roman empress desiring
to show favor to some gladiatorial slave.
Then her face would change in quick and piquant transition to the
expression of equally comic distress, as she sighed, "But, alas!
where am I? Right under his big thumb, whether he knows it or not.
How it all will end I dare not think."
When her jewelled watch indicated that the time for dinner or supper
was near, she would make the most bewitching of toilets, and laugh
at herself for doing so, querying, "What is the use of conquering
one over and over again who is already helpless at your feet?"
And yet the admiration of Hemstead's beauty-loving eyes was sweeter
incense than all the flattery she had ever received before.
And what hours of dainty, ethereal banqueting were those prosaic
meals in Mrs. Marchmont's dining-room! The corpulent colored waiter
served the others, but airy-winged love attended these two, bearing
from one to the other glances, tones, accents, of the divinest
flavor.
De Forrest noted and chafed over this subtile interchange. Bel
and Mrs. Marchmont saw it also, and Mr. Dimmerly's queer chuckling
laugh was heard with increasing frequency. But what could be
done? Lottie's and Hemstead's actions were propriety itself. Mrs.
Marchmont could not say, "You must not look at or speak to each
other." As well seek to prevent two clouds in a summer sky from
exchanging their lightnings!
Hemstead was in a maze. The past and the future had lost their
existence to him, and he was living in the glorified present. He
no more coolly realized the situation than would one in an ecstatic
trance. In one sense he verified the popular superstition, and was
bewitched; and, with the charming witch ever near to weave a new
spell a dozen times a day, how could he disentangle himself? He was
too innocent, too unhackneyed, to understand what was going on in
his own heart.
The days and the hours fled away until Saturday--the day before
Christmas--came. By noon Hemstead had finished his sermon, and
Lottie had completed her mysterious fancy-work; and both were ready
for the festivities of Christmas eve.
Mr. Dimmerly was a great stickler for the old English customs, and
always had the yule-log brought in with great ceremony. With his
own hands he suspended the mistletoe from the chandelier in the
hall, which he always obtained from Dimmerly Manor in England.
Lottie, without thinking, stood beneath, watching him, when, with
a spryness not in keeping with his years, he sprang down and gave
her a sounding smack in honor of the ancient custom.
"There," said he, "that pays me for all my trouble and expense. But
you will get another kiss here, that you will like better, before
I take the mistletoe down."
"Well, uncle," said Lottie, laughing and rubbing her tingling
cheek, "I hope it won't be such an explosion as yours was, or it
will alarm the household."
"Be careful, or it may attract more attention than mine"; and he
departed with his queer chuckling laugh.
Lottie looked after him with sudden intelligence, and asked herself,
"Now what does he mean by that? Does he suspect anything?"
At the dinner-table Mr. Dimmerly indulged in a long homily on
the importance of keeping up old customs, and ended with a sly,
significant glance at Lottie, which brought the color into her face.
But during the afternoon she foiled all the devices of De Forrest
to get her under the mistletoe bough, and yet with such grace that,
however disappointed, he could not become angry. As for Hemstead,
he was fat too diffident to attempt any such strategy, much as he
would have liked to solemnize the venerable rite.
And so at last Christmas eve came; and with it a few guests.
Harcourt and Miss Martell had been specially invited; for the fact
of their engagement had become known at once, and Mrs. Marchmont
hastened to assure them, by this invitation, that she had no regrets
or resentment. Not for the world would she have Miss Martell imagine
that any maternal projects had been frustrated.
Harcourt, grateful for all the kindness he had received at Mrs.
Marchmont's, induced Alice to accept; and so their illumined faces
were added to the circle that gathered around the yule-log in the
large dining-room, that had been cleared for games and dancing.
In spite of the incongruous elements composing that circle, it
made, with the crackling fire playing on happy faces and Christmas
decorations, a pretty picture,--one that might convert a pagan into
willingness to honor the chief Christian festival.
After some old-fashioned country dances--through which even Hemstead
had been induced to blunder, to Lottie's infinite delight--they sat
down to nuts, apples, and cider. Billets of hickory were piled
higher than ever against the great yule-log; and never did the
sacred flame light up fairer and happier faces than those of Alice
Martell and Lottie Marsden. And yet they were as different as could
be. One was the lily, and the other the rose. Harcourt and Hemstead
also looked as if some angelic messenger had brought them "tidings
of great joy."
Harcourt and Alice sat together; but Lottie, with seeming
perverseness, got as far away as possible. But it was only seeming,
for she sat where she could look Hemstead full in the face, and,
with her brilliant eyes, indulge in love's mystic telegraphy without
restraint.
Now was the time for Mr. Dimmerly to shine out; and he proposed that
some one should begin a story, and carry it forward to a certain
point, then stop abruptly, while some one else took it up for a
brief time, when, in like manner, it would again be dropped that
another might continue it, so that each one who was willing might
have a chance to contribute.
"You commence, Mr. Harcourt," said Mr. Dimmerly.
After a preface of hemming, the young man said: "Once upon a time,
in a village in the south of France, it was arranged that there
should be a general fete and dance on the village green the afternoon
before Christmas. Little Ninon was a peasant's daughter, and she
was only fourteen. If she were petite, she was also piquant and
pretty--"
"Very good, very good," cried a chorus of voices; and a round of
applause stimulated the narrator.
"Until this occasion, Ninon had always been kept at home as a
child; but, after interminable coaxings, she obtained her mother's
permission to go to the fete. Now her mother was a widow, and
it so happened that she could not go with her daughter, and after
she had given her consent had not one whom she could send with her
child as a protector. But Ninon was in such glee that her mother
had not the heart to take back her promise.
"'Now, mother, tell me what shall I say when the boys, and perhaps
some of the very young men, ask me to dance with them?'
"'Say, I'm only a little child who have come to see. Go thy ways.'
"'But suppose they don't go their ways,' pouted Ninon.
"'Go thine then, and come home.'
"'Now, mother dear, am I not almost old enough to have a lover?'
"'Lover indeed! Silly child, but yesterday I rocked thee in the
cradle there. I'm a fool to let thee go.'
"Then Ninon, in fear, kept still, lest her mother should change
her mind, a thing which women sometimes do, even in France--"
"Now I protest against innuendoes," cried Lottie. "It is the
Frenchman, as it is man all over the world, who changes his mind.
Adam first said he wouldn't eat the apple, and then he did!"
"Where's your authority for that?" said Harcourt.
"It's in the Bible," answered Lottie, stoutly; at which there was
a great explosion.
"Miss Marsden equals modern commentators in amplifying the text,"
laughed Hemstead.
"Well," persisted Lottie, "if it isn't just so written, I know
enough of human nature to be sure that that was just how it happened."
"On with the story!" cried Mr. Dimmerly. "Come, Miss Martell."
"The afternoon of the fete came," said Alice, "and Ninon's mother
was depressed with a boding of evil.
"'Whom shall I send with thee, my child? My heart fails me in
sending thee alone.'
"'Little brother Pierre shall go with me,' said Ninon. 'He's an
odd child, and talks to the saints and angels more than to us. If
he goes with me, the saints will take care of us both.'
"This seemed to strike the mother as true, and she was comforted;
and the pale little boy, with large, spiritual eyes that appeared
to look into the other world, took his sister's hand without even a
smile flitting across his sad face; and they started for the fete.
"Now, Miss Marchmont," said Miss Martell, with a graceful inclination
to Addie.
"And the pale little boy, with big, owl-like eyes," continued Addie,
flippantly, "stalked along as if going to a funeral, while Ninon
tripped and danced at his side. But soon the young girl's steps
grew slower and slower, and her face thoughtful, and she began to
question her mother's words,--that she was too much of a child
to have a lover; and by the time she reached the village green she
gave her pretty head a toss as she said, 'We'll see about this.
Mother doesn't know everything.'"
"Now, Bel."
"But poor little Ninon," said Bel, "soon became sadly bewildered,
for there were so many people all talking at once, and they pushed
against and jostled her as if she were very small and insignificant
indeed, and she began to think that her mother was right, and that
she was only a child; and she grew frightened and wished herself
at home again. But she kept fast hold of the hand of her brother
whom the saints loved, and felt that as long as he was with her she
was safe. Finally they were pushed and jostled to a quiet nook on
the edge of the green, under a tree, and here they sat down. Soon
the dancing commenced, and Ninon amused herself by criticising
the people and making remarks to her brother about their dress and
manner. But he did not seem to hear her, and his eyes were fixed on
the sky, as if he saw more that was wonderful there than she upon
the village green."
"Mr. De Forrest, you next."
"But as Ninon sat there smiling and talking more to herself than
to her queer little brother, who didn't listen, the young men began
to notice her, and to nudge each other and ask who she was; for in
truth she reminded every one of a half-blown rose. But no one knew
who she was, and no one had ever seen her before. Then the handsomest
young man in the village--indeed he was the one at whom all the
girls were setting their caps--stepped forward and took a deliberate
survey, and soon was convinced that, among all the village maidens,
there was not a face as fair as Ninon's. And while he looked at her
Ninon from under her long lashes as intently watched him. At last
the young man made up his mind, and said to himself, 'I will be
her lover for this afternoon,' and in a manner that was the very
embodiment of grace, he stepped up to her and said, 'My pretty
maiden, wilt dance with me?'"
And De Forrest bowed to Lottie to continue. It was strange how the
foolish little story was gaining the breathless interest of all
present--all the more because each one was unconsciously coloring
his bit of the mosaic with his own individuality. Lottie's manner
by no means tended to allay this interest as she began her part
of the impromptu tale. She was a natural actress, and, for the
moment, became little Ninon. The scene had grown actual to her vivid
fancy, and by some process that cannot be explained she impressed
it upon the minds of the others as real. They saw the crowded
village green, the petite maiden and her weird brother sitting upon
its edge, as she began.
"And Ninon shyly raised her dark eyes to the face of the handsomest
young man of all the village, at whom the girls were setting their
caps, and said, a trifle coldly, 'I am only a little child who has
come to see. Go thy ways.'
"And the handsome young man stalked away, haughty and offended; and
the youth of the village nudged each other and smiled and wondered
and said, 'She must be a princess in disguise, or she would dance
with him whom all the girls covet.' So no one else would venture
to speak to her. But Ninon for a while was content to be left alone
to watch all the funny people and their funny ways. She didn't see
any one with whom she wanted to dance.
"At last she became conscious that one who seemed a stranger like
herself was watching her, and she began to look curiously at him.
At first she did not like his looks at all, His dress was very
plain,--not a bit smart and gay like that of the other young men.
Besides, he was so tall and grave; and once, when some one said a
rude word to him, his eyes were so fiery that Ninon was afraid of
him. But a moment later, when his eyes rested on her, they became
so kind and gentle that she wondered how it could be. Then she began
to grow sorry for him because, like herself, he was a stranger and
had no one to talk to. But he seemed in quest of some one, for he
would look all around among the people; but soon his eyes would
come back and rest wistfully upon her face, as if she were the one
he was looking for after all. This puzzled Ninon greatly, and she
asked herself, 'Now can it be that I am the one he's looking for?'
At last it seemed that the stranger wished to speak to her, but
hadn't the courage, and this amused Ninon vastly. Twice he advanced,
faltered, and then retreated. Ninon was convulsed with laughter and
whispered, 'O Pierre, isn't this the funniest thing that ever was
in this great world? That big man there is afraid of me,--little
Ninon.'
"Then she saw that he thought she was laughing at him, and that he
had straightened himself up stiff and haughty and had looked the
other way. But he couldn't keep looking the other way very long,"
Lottie said, with an indescribable air that brought out a round of
applause; "and when he timidly glanced towards her again she gave
him such an encouraging smile that he came at once to her side and
said, 'Little sister, wilt walk with me?'
"A happy thought struck Ninon. Her mother had said she was too young
to have a lover, but nothing had been said against her having another
brother. So, with conscience clear, she whispered, 'Sit still here
till I come back '; and the little boy sat still, looking up into
the sky, while Ninon let the tall stranger take her hand and lead
her away. But his eyes were so gentle and true that she lost all
fear and asked, 'Why do you call me sister?'
"'Perhaps you can tell me,' he said. 'I came here an utter stranger,
and I looked all around among the people, and their faces were
strange, and it seemed to me that they ever would be strange; but
when I saw your face you appeared to belong to me. I think we must
be related.'
"'I never saw you before,' said Ninon, shaking her head.
"'I've seen you in my dreams all my life,' he replied, looking at
her so earnestly that the color deepened on her cheek.
"'I never heard anything so queer in all my life,' said Ninon.
"'You have much to learn,' said the stranger.
"'Yes,' said Ninon, humbly; 'as mother says, I'm only a little
child.'
"'You are not a little child; you are a beautiful maiden, Ninon,'
said the stranger, earnestly.
"'Nonsense!' she said blushingly. 'I'll never be that.' But she
liked to hear him say it, nevertheless," Lottie added with an accent
that again brought out a round of applause.
"I'm taking too much time," Lottie said, deprecatingly.
"Go on, go on," was the unanimous cry; and her little brother Dan,
who had dropped nuts and apples and was leaning open-mouthed on her
knees, said, "Lottie, if you don't go on, I'll do something dreadful."
So Lottie continued: "And the tall stranger smiled down upon her
and said, 'Violets are my favorite flower, and you are a modest
little violet.'
"'Now you are wrong again,' said Ninon; 'violets are a pale blue
flower, and my cheeks are burning so oddly--I never had them do so
before. I know I look like the peonies in the cure's garden.'
"'You look like the sweetest rose in the cure's garden.'
"'Is that the way big brothers talk to their little sisters?'
"'That is the way I talk to you, and I'm in earnest.'
"'How do little sisters treat a brother as big as you are?'
"'Well, for one thing, they kiss them.'
"'That's queer,' said Ninon, innocently. 'I should think it would
be just the other way.'
"'Now I think of it, you are right,' and the stranger gave her a
kiss that set every nerve tingling.
"'How odd!' she exclaimed, half-frightened, half-delighted. 'Pierre
sometimes kisses me, but I never felt that way before.'
"'And big brothers take their little sisters in their arms and lift
them over the rough places, as I do.'
"And he carried her over a low stone wall that separated them from
a shadowy grove.
"'O, how nice!' sighed Ninon, complacently; 'I've always had to
get over the rough places by myself before.'
"'You will no longer,' said the youth, as they passed under the low
branches of a sheltering tree. 'O Ninon, as innocent as beautiful,
can you not see that I am not your brother, but your lover?' and
he threw himself at her feet.
"But Ninon clasped her hands in the deepest distress, and cried,
'O, why did you say that? You might have been my brother as long
as you chose. But mother says I can have no lover,--that I am only
a child'; and like a startled fawn she fled from him, and, a few
moments later, panting and breathless, was sitting again beside
her strange little brother, who was still looking into the sky as
if he saw a vision.
"The young stranger followed sadly, thinking how he might still
win her, and teach her that she was no longer a child. Ninon soon
became more composed, and looked around as if she would like to
see him again. As at a distance he watched her from under his bent
eyebrows, a happy thought struck him, and he said, 'I'll teach
her that she is a woman'; and, stepping forward, he singled out a
neglected village maiden, who seemed ready for a little attention
from anybody, and whirled her into the dance. Ninon, to her dismay,
saw the arm of her whilom brother and lover encircling another girl,
while she, apparently, was forgotten. She could scarcely believe
her eyes. She looked at him fixedly, the picture of reproach, but
he never seemed to look towards her. Surprise, resentment, grief,
followed each other upon her fair face, like clouds passing over a
sunny landscape. At last she buried her face upon little Pierre's
shoulder, and sobbed, 'He may be my lover, or anything else, if he
will only leave that hateful minx and come to me once more.'
"The tall stranger saw her drooping head, and quickly led his partner
out of the dance and bowed himself away, leaving her bewildered,--so
quickly had he come and gone.
"Ninon looked up, but he was nowhere to be seen, and the 'hateful
minx' stood alone. Suddenly a voice that had grown strangely familiar
said at her side, 'May I be thy lover now?'
"'Thou art false,' she said faintly.
"'Never to thee, Ninon. My thoughts were with thee every moment
since thou so cruelly left me. Do you not see why I sought another
maiden? I wished to teach you that you were no longer a child, but
a woman. I am your lover. Your heart has already claimed me, and
these jealous tears prove it.'
"'Well, then,' said Ninon, shyly smiling again, 'if my heart has
gone to you, and I half believe it has, I must follow my heart';
and she put her hand in his."
Loud and long was the applause that greeted Lottie's conclusion.
Dan executed a miniature breakdown as an expression of his feelings,
and it seemed as if Mr. Dimmerly's chuckling laugh would never
cease. De Forrest looked uneasy, and Hemstead was in a trance
of bewildered delight. Alice and Harcourt exchanged significant
glances, but upon the faces of Mrs. Marchmont and Bel were traces
of disapproval.
"Now, uncle," cried Lottie, "it's your turn. I have given you
COMEDY; we shall expect from you high tragedy."
The word "comedy," as Lottie here used it, jarred unpleasantly on
Hemstead's ear, and the thought crossed Harcourt's mind, "Can she
be leading Hemstead on in heartless jest, as we proposed at first?
How I have changed since that day! and I was in hopes that she had,
too, somewhat."
But Mr. Dimmerly had taken up the thread of the narrative where
Lottie had dropped it.
"Ninon," he said, "lived a long while ago, and did not properly
refer the tall stranger to her mamma. A trysting place and time were
agreed upon, and the mysterious stranger in green, who was apparently
a forester, said that he had a deer to kill before nightfall; and,
raising her hand to his lips, departed. Ninon sat a long time,
lost in a maze of thought, and then, in the twilight, roused the
rapt child from his visions, and they started for their home. But
villainous faces had hovered on the outskirts of the village green,
and ill-omened eyes had marked the beauty of Ninon and the spiritual
face of her brother. At that time there was in France a terrible
monster, known as Giles de Laval, whose emissaries were ever on
the alert for such victims. It was this cruel man who suggested
to Perrault his world-renowned story of Barbe-bleu, the Blue-Beard
that Dan there knows all about. Well, when Ninon and her little
brother were passing a thicket but half-way home, two masked men
sprang out upon them, and, stifling their terror-stricken cries,
carried them to a distance from the highway. They then bound
bandages firmly over their mouths, and lifted them on their horses
and galloped away and away, till poor Ninon felt that she could
never find her way home again, even if she had a chance. Soon the
shadowy walls of a great castle rose before them, with a single
light in a lofty tower. The feet of the iron-shod horses rang on
the draw-bridge, which rose after them, and then Ninon knew they
were prisoners. At first they were shut up in a dungeon that was
perfectly dark, for their cruel jailer knew the overpowering effect
of such rayless gloom. But strange little Pierre said that the place
was brighter than the sun, and that lovely faces were smiling at
him. Ninon, however, saw nothing, and it was dark indeed to her,
and she sobbed bitterly, and called on her mother and lover for
help. But only stony-hearted Laval and his accomplices heard her
girlish voice. A bell in one of the towers slowly tolled out eleven
o'clock. A little later the door of their cell opened, and light
streamed in. Two men in hideous masks seized them, and carried
them up and up, till Ninon, in horror, thought that they were to
be thrown from the top of the tower. But worse than that awaited
them; for soon they entered a large circular room, in which, on a
sort of throne, sat a dreadful-looking man, clad in sable. He had
human form and features, but reminded one of the more disgusting
kind of wild beasts. His eyes were small, piercing, and malignant,
but his face was large, sensual, devilish, and poor Ninon lost
hope from the moment she saw him. She instinctively felt that to
sue for mercy from such a monster would be worse than vain. She
had lost hope utterly. She and her mother had been mistaken. The
saints cared for neither little Pierre nor herself, and had left
them to fall into the clutches of this demon. She glanced slowly
around the room in the faint hope of escape, or even for the chance
of throwing herself from a window, if it were needful, in order to
escape from that horrible man. But the walls were thick. No light
came from without, but only from a great furnace, that was Strangely
constructed and made her shudder. For a long time there was perfect
silence in the dreadful place. The two masked men, grotesque and
horrible, stood near the furnace, motionless as statues. The sable
monster on his black throne watched them without moving a muscle
in his great, coarse face, only his small eyes seemed like two
scintillating sparks of infernal fire, as with a fiendish kind
of pleasure he marked the agony of Ninon. Although the young girl
instinctively gave up all hope of life, yet never had life seemed
so sweet. Its homeliest details now appeared precious, and their
poor little cottage, heaven, compared with this den of infamy. She
had just tasted the exquisite happiness of a new and before unknown
love, and now she was to die. She thought of her mother growing gray
in loneliness and grief. She thought of her lover coming eagerly
to their trysting-place; but when he should come on the morrow,
Christmas day, what would she be?--where would she be? and in her
anguish she cried aloud, and, kneeling, stretched out her hands
towards the sable throne.
"Then for the first time the coarse, thick lips of the monster
distorted themselves into a hideous grin, but otherwise he did not
move, and the awful silence continued in that chamber of death.
"Ninon put her hands to her face, to hide his ugly visage, and then
sank down in the apathy of despair.
"There was nothing in Ninon's agony that disturbed Laval.
Scarcely a night passed but some victim like herself writhed under
his remorseless eyes. Their mortal fear and sufferings were his
recreation before the sterner business of sorcery that followed;
and the more demonstrative they were in their pain, the more highly
spiced was his pleasure. At first Ninon's beautiful and expressive
face kept his whole attention; but after a time he began to note
the strange-appearing little boy who accompanied her. There was
no fear in his calm, pale face. There was no dread in his large,
spiritual eyes, that seemed to look past the monster and his thick
walls to some rare vision beyond.
"'What does the little wretch see?' he queried, for Laval, like
his age, was very superstitious.
"But Ninon must be goaded out of her apathy, or the night would
be dull; so at last the thick lips open, and the awful silence is
broken by more awful words:
"'Girl, thou who art to lose body and soul, look at me.'
"Slowly Ninon lifted her eyes to his brutal face, and gazed fixedly
as some poor little bird might look into the envenomed jaws of a
serpent. The fascination of fear was upon her. In a thick, guttural,
monotonous voice, the human beast continued: 'The devil has shown
me that there is a potent charm in thy young innocent heart, that
there are powerful spells in thy warm young blood, and that with
them I may discover untold wealth. When the bell tolls out the hour
of midnight, I shall take your bleeding heart out of your living
body, and the heart of your brother out of his body, that with them
I may decoct an essence in yonder furnace that will transmute the
basest metal into gold. Midnight is the hour, and at midnight you
shall die. Only the spell will be far more potent if you first give
yourself to the foul fiend. Therefore, repeat after me: 'I give my
soul and body to Satan.'
"Mechanically the terror-stricken girl began: 'I give--' but little
Pierre put his hand over her mouth. 'The saints forbid,' he said
quietly.
"'Seize the child; tear out his staring eyes,' shouted the monster,
savagely."
Mr. Dimmerly stopped, took off his spectacles, and coolly wiped
them as he said: "I'm through, and my part of the story is true.
This Giles de Laval, or, as he is better known in French history,
the Marshal de Retz, destroyed hundreds of children, at ages
varying from eight to eighteen, and in ways far worse than I have
described. So, Lottie, have you had enough of high tragedy?"
"O uncle!" she exclaimed, with a little impatient stamp of the foot,
"you have told us a horrible story. It must not break off in this
way, or we sha'n't sleep a wink to-night. Mr. Hemstead, you take
up the story where uncle left off, and, if possible, complete it
in a way that won't make our blood run cold."
Thus Hemstead was put upon his mettle, and soon all present were
hanging with breathless interest on his rich, well-modulated tones.
"When the monster from his sable throne uttered his merciless
mandate to tear out the eyes of little Pierre, the two grotesque
and statue-like apparitions sprang into life, and, snatching hot
irons from the furnace, rushed towards the child. Ninon gave a shriek
of terror, and sought to shelter the boy in her arms, crying,'Do
what you will with me, but spare him.' Thus again, more truly than
before by jealous tears, Ninon proved that she had become a woman."
At this sentence he was interrupted by a perfect storm of applause,
in which Harcourt led off again and again. But Hemstead drew his
inspiration from Lottie's face, and noted with a thrill of joy that
tears stood in her eyes. This was a richer tribute than he received
from all the others, and with deeper and more effective tones he
continued: "But just then the great bell began to toll out the hour
of twelve, and the demon, from his sable throne, made a restraining
gesture.
"'Naught,' he said, 'must now interfere with our high magic and
solemn sorcery. At the last stroke of the bell take their hearts
out of their living bodies.'
"Ninon sank on the floor, murmuring like a dying zephyr among the
chords of an AEolian harp, 'Farewell, mother dear. Farewell, my
lover true. I cannot meet you to-morrow at the FALLEN TREE' (here
Hemstead glanced at Lottie, whose face was instantly suffused); and
she bowed her bead upon her brother's shoulder, and sobbed aloud.
"Slowly and solemnly upon the silent night the iron tongue tolled
out the fatal moments.
"With increasing uneasiness the monster upon his sable throne watched
little Pierre, who, from first to last, had not shown a trace of
fear or trouble. Among all his victims he had never seen a child
like this, and his guilty heart began to fail him wofully.
"'He surely sees something,' he muttered, as the boy's large eyes
dilated with a wondrous awe, and his face grew luminous with a
great joy.
"The heavy vibrations of the last stroke of the bell resounded
through the silent night.
"Suddenly, with a shrill, piercing voice that went like an arrow
to the guilty heart of Laval, little Pierre exclaimed, 'It is
Christmas morn! O Ninon, look! there is Jesu, the Christ-Child, and
the Lord of all the saints. See, He is coming towards us, bearing
His cross--He is here--He is placing His pierced hands upon our
heads--we are saved'; and the child knelt reverently on the pavement,
and his sister knelt beside him.
"The monster tumbled off his sable throne and lay grovelling and
groaning upon the floor, while his terror-stricken accomplices ran
clattering down the stairs.
"Far above the tower even, Ninon thought she heard a burst of
heavenly song, while little Pierre in rapt ecstasy cried,' Listen.'
"Suddenly a clarion voice that Ninon heard most plainly, and that
thrilled her to the heart, rang up from the earth beneath.
"' Harm but a hair of their heads, and I will make you suffer the
tortures of the damned.'
"Even at their height they could hear the sound of galloping steeds.
"A dozen brave fellows swam the moat, and a moment later the
draw-bridge fell heavily, and the clangor of a hundred hoofs rang
upon it.
"Up the winding stair came the tramp of armed men. A thud and a groan
followed when any resisted. The dethroned monster lay grovelling
on the floor, not daring to move.
"Little Pierre still looked heavenward. Ninon looked towards the
door. A moment later her lover rushed in with drawn sword; and
Ninon, unharmed, with a cry of joy sprang to his heart.
"But the fire of a terrible anger burned in the young man's cheek,
and he raised his gleaming sword against Laval, who now pleaded
piteously for mercy.
"'What mercy would you have shown these children?' thundered the
youth. 'What mercy have you shown to your other innocent victims?'
and he was about to run him through when Ninon caught his arm and
cried, 'Stay, kill him not this Christmas morn in his terrible guilt.
It was Jesu who saved us; and does He not ever say, Forgive--even
our enemies?'
"Slowly she drew down the raised arm of human vengeance. She took
from his reluctant hand the gleaming sword, and returned it in its
sheath.
"And now Ninon has become more than a woman,--she is a Christian."