CHAPTER XXXI

THE MYSTERIOUS MEETING.

After more than a fortnight spent in the highlands of Scotland, Jerome

passed hastily through London on his way to the continent.

It was toward sunset, on a warm day in October, shortly after his

arrival in France, that, after strolling some distance from the Hotel

de Leon, in the old and picturesque town of Dunkirk, he entered a

burial ground--such places being always favorite walks with him--and

wandered around among the silent dead. All nature around was hushed in

silence, and seemed to partake of the general melancholy that hung over

the quiet resting-place of the departed. Even the birds seemed imbued

with the spirit of the place, for they were silent, either flying

noiselessly over the graves, or jumping about in the tall grass. After

tracing the various inscriptions that told the characters and

conditions of the deceased, and viewing the mounds beneath which the

dust of mortality slumbered, he arrived at a secluded spot near where

an aged weeping willow bowed its thick foliage to the ground, as though

anxious to hide from the scrutinizing gaze of curiosity the grave

beneath it. Jerome seated himself on a marble tombstone, and commenced

reading from a book which he had carried under his arm. It was now

twilight, and he had read but a few minutes when he observed a lady,

attired in deep black, and leading a boy, apparently some five or six

years old, coming up one of the beautiful, winding paths. As the lady's

veil was drawn closely over her face, he felt somewhat at liberty to

eye her more closely. While thus engaged, the lady gave a slight

scream, and seemed suddenly to have fallen into a fainting condition.

Jerome sprang from his seat, and caught her in time to save her from

falling to the ground.

At this moment an elderly gentleman, also dressed in black, was seen

approaching with a hurried step, which seemed to indicate that he was

in some way connected with the lady. The old man came up, and in rather

a confused manner inquired what had happened, and Jerome explained

matters as well as he was able to do so. After taking up the

vinaigrette, which had fallen from her hand, and holding the bottle a

short time to her face, the lady began to revive. During all this time,

the veil had still partly covered the face of the fair one, so that

Jerome had scarcely seen it. When she had so far recovered as to be

able to look around her, she raised herself slightly, and again

screamed and swooned. The old man now feeling satisfied that Jerome's

dark complexion was the immediate cause of the catastrophe, said in a

somewhat petulant tone,--

"I will be glad, sir, if you will leave us alone."

The little boy at this juncture set up a loud cry, and amid the general

confusion, Jerome left the ground and returned to his hotel.

While seated at the window of his room looking out upon the crowded

street, with every now and then the strange scene in the graveyard

vividly before him, Jerome suddenly thought of the book he had been

reading, and, remembering that he had left it on the tombstone, where

he dropped it when called to the lady's assistance, he determined to

return for it at once.

After a walk of some twenty minutes, he found himself again in the

burial-ground and on the spot where he had been an hour before. The

pensive moon was already up, and its soft light was sleeping on the

little pond at the back of the grounds, while the stars seemed smiling

at their own sparkling rays gleaming up from the beautiful sheet of

water.

Jerome searched in vain for his book; it was nowhere to be found.

Nothing, save the bouquet that the lady had dropped and which lay

half-buried in the grass, from having been trodden upon, indicated that

any one had been there that evening. The stillness of death reigned

over the place; even the little birds, that had before been twittering

and flying about, had retired for the night.

Taking up the bunch of flowers, Jerome returned to his hotel.

"What can this mean?" he would ask himself; "and why should they take

my book?" These questions he put to himself again and again during his

walk. His sleep was broken more than once that night, and he welcomed

the early dawn as it made its appearance.

Clotelle: A Tale of the Southern States · 第 31 / 35 章