[Illustration: THE RENDEZVOUS.
_From the Painting in the Salon by_ E. L. LABITTE.]
[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.--NO. 984.] NOVEMBER 5, 1898. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
"THE NIGHT COMETH."
Heard ye the heavenly voice?
Solemn and deep, its warning soundeth near,
Falling like thunder on the careless ear,
Bidding the heart of humble faith rejoice:--
"Arise! and list not idly to my strain,
Fulfil your task while daylight may remain,
For the Night cometh on!"
Oh! while the morning hour
Of life is yours, upon the youthful brow
Be the pure seal of Heaven imprinted _now_!
Oft the "Great Reaper" culls the early flower.
But not untimely culled, to whom 'tis given
To show how brightly shines the light of Heaven
Through the Night coming on!
Oh! sound of joy to him
Who "the good fight" hath fought, and on the field,
So hardly won, may slumber on his shield,
Looking to Heaven, while Earth around grows dim.
Tracing his Saviour's footsteps to the tomb,
He sees no cause of fear, no shade of gloom,
In the Night coming on.
May we, too, see the light,
Shining beyond the darkness that we fear,
And tread the path, whereon its radiance clear
Shall guide our footsteps, if we walk aright.
Be ours to labour on, in humble trust
To share the blest repose that waits the just,
When the Night cometh on!
[Illustration: HOME TO FOLD.]
_All rights reserved._]
"OUR HERO."
A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.
BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the
Dower House," etc.
CHAPTER VI.
Three or four more days of strain, and then the abscess in the ear
broke, causing speedy relief. The first thing that Roy did was to fall
into a profound sleep, which lasted some hours.
When he woke up, feeling markedly better, his murmur was for "Den!" as
usual; and since no reply came, he said "Den!" more loudly.
Then he took a good look round. The light from the window was getting
dim, and the pain in his ear was gone. He saw Denham near, leaning
back in the only pretence at an easy-chair which the room could boast
of. Ivor's head was resting against the wall, and he seemed to be in
a heavy slumber. Boys of twelve or thirteen are not always thoughtful
about other people; but an odd feeling came over Roy, as he noted the
fine-looking young soldier in that attitude of utter weariness. All
these days and nights of his illness he had actually never once seen
Ivor asleep until now.
"He must be tired, I'm sure," Roy said aloud. "But I think I'm hungry.
I wish he would wake up."
The room door opened very slowly and softly, and Roy's eyes grew round
with astonishment. Nobody entered this infected place except the doctor
and the old Frenchwoman in the mornings, and the latter always got away
as fast as she could. This new-comer seemed to be in no hurry. She
stepped inside, closed the door, and advanced towards the bed. There
she stood still to look at Roy; and then she turned to gaze pityingly
at Ivor.
Roy stared hard, fascinated. She was quite a girl, perhaps two or
three years older than Polly. She was very slight, with a plain
neatly-fitting dress. The lighted candle in her hand threw a strong
glow upon her face. It was a particularly sweet face, delicate and
gentle; and it would have been exceedingly pretty, but for the very
evident ravages of a long-past attack of small-pox. There were no
"pits" on her skin, but a certain soft roughness characterised the
whole, as if, once upon a time, it had been covered with pits. Now it
was pale, and the features were even, while short black hair curled
over a wide forehead, and the dark eyes were full of an intense
sadness. Even Roy could not but see that great sadness. As he looked at
her she looked at him, and then she sighed.
"Pauvre petit!" she said softly.
She came close to the bed, and Roy put out his hand, only to snatch it
back.
"Oh, I mustn't; I forgot. Den told me I must not touch anybody except
him, not even that ugly old woman who comes in, because I'm all
small-poxy, you know. And oh! I'm so thirsty. I wish he would wake up."
"Pauvre enfant!" She went to the table, and brought back a glass of
milk, which she held to his lips. Roy drank eagerly. Then she smoothed
his bed-clothes, and put his pillow straight.
"But you oughtn't to be here, you know; you might catch it," Roy's weak
voice said. "Den would tell you to go. Can you talk English? I only
know a wee bit of French."
"Yes; I can talk English." She said the words in foreign style, with
a slow distinctness and separation of the syllables, but with a pure
intonation. "I learnt English in your country. Yes, I have been there,
for three, four years. Monsieur votre frère--your brother--il a l'air
d'être très fatigué."
"Den isn't my brother. He's only--he's just Den, you know. Captain
Denham Ivor, of His Majesty's Guards. He hasn't been to sleep for ever
so long, and that's why he's tired. My ear has been so awfully bad, oh!
for days and days. And I couldn't get to sleep, and Den was always by
me--always."
The girl left Roy, and went closer to the sleeping man. He remained
motionless; his arms loosely folded; a slight dew of exhaustion upon
the brow; the face extremely pale. She sheltered the light from his
eyes with her hand, and looked steadily. Then, turning away, she began
putting things straight in the room. A few womanly touches altered
wondrously the aspect of the whole. Roy lay and watched her.
"What's your name?" he asked. "Are you M. de Bertrand's daughter? I'm
deaf in one ear still, so please don't whisper."
"No; I am Lucille de St. Roques. M. and Mme. de Bertrand are my good
friends." She flushed slightly. "They are my best friends in all Paris."
"And do you live here?"
"No; I am come unexpected--quite sudden. My friends did not look for
me. When they tell me of the English boy upstairs, and of the kind
Monsieur who nurses him, then I say I will go and help. I have had the
complaint, and I do not fear."
"I wonder where your home is?" Roy said, interested.
"Ah, for that, I have not now a true home. My home was in the south of
France, but it is my home no longer. Cependant, I have kind friends
at Verdun, where I live." She laid a hand on Roy kindly, murmuring,
"Pauvre petit!"
"You don't call me 'little,'" protested the insulted Roy. "I'm nearly
thirteen; almost a man. And I am going to fight Napoleon soon. Do
you like Napoleon?" She shook her head. "That's right. Then you're
Royalist; and I am glad, for I like you, and I don't like Napoleon. I
shall soon be an officer in King George's Army. I'm going to have a
commission as soon as I'm sixteen. And then I shall be a brave soldier,
you know, like Denham. And have you a father and mother at that place,
Ver--something?"
"Verdun." Little dreamt Roy how familiar a name it would soon become
in his ears. "My father and mother, they were of the old noblesse, and
they lost their lives in the Revolution, hélas! Thirteen years ago they
were guillotined."
"Oh, I say, how horrid!" exclaimed Roy, at a loss to express the
sympathy which he really felt. "How dreadful! Why, you must have been
quite a child then."
"I was not yet eight years old. But that was in truth a terrible time.
I was in prison with them for many, many weeks, before they went out to
die."
Ivor woke suddenly, opening his eyes without warning. Then he stood up,
leaning against the solid four-poster for support, since the room went
round with him dizzily. He saw a girlish figure, and he vaguely felt
that she had no business there, but a momentary pause before speech was
necessary.
"Do not make so great haste. Will you not rest a little longer?" a kind
voice said, and a soft hand came on his wrist.
"But indeed, mademoiselle, you must go away at once," he urged
earnestly. "It is small-pox. It is----" And he tried in vain to recall
the French word, though ready enough usually in talking French. "Pray
go. You will take the infection."
"But me, I do not intend to go," she replied cheerfully, with her
pretty foreign accent. "You need not be afraid for me, monsieur. See, I
have had it. I am not in danger, not at all. You are fatigué, n'est-ce
pas? It has been a long nursing--yes, so I have heard. When did you
take food last?"
Denham confessed that he had not eaten for some time; he had not been
hungry. Well, perhaps he was a trifle _fatigué_, but 'twas nothing,
nothing at all. He was ready now for anything. If Mademoiselle would
only not put herself in danger! By way of showing his readiness, he
made a movement forward, but he was compelled to sit down, resting his
forehead on his hand. The long strain had told upon even his vigorous
constitution.
"Ah! C'est ça!" she murmured. "But you will be better, monsieur, for a
cup of coffee."
Ivor had no choice but to yield, and she moved daintily about, making
such coffee as only a Frenchwoman can, and bringing it presently to his
side.
"This is not right," he protested. "I cannot allow you to wait upon me,
mademoiselle."
She would listen to no remonstrances, however, and when he had disposed
of it, she insisted that he should lie down on a couch in the small
adjoining room, while she undertook to look after Roy. She had her
friends' permission, she said, not explaining that she had refused to
be forbidden, and Monsieur in his present state could do no more. How
long was it since he had slept? Ah, doubtless some days!
Ivor gave in, after much resistance, and in ten minutes he was again
heavily asleep, not to wake for many hours. Nature at last was claiming
her revenge.
When he woke, after five hours' unbroken rest, he was another man. Roy
seemed much better. The doctor had paid a visit and was gone; the room
could scarcely be recognised as the same; and Ivor warmly expressed his
gratitude, wondering as he did so at Lucille's look of steady sadness.
She insisted on coming again the next day, while he should rest and
have an hour's walk.
"Isn't she nice and jolly?" Roy demanded, when the door closed behind
Lucille. "I like her, don't you? She has told me lots of things
while you were asleep. Only think, her father and mother were both
guillotined. _Both_ of them had their heads cut off. And they hadn't
done one single thing to make them deserve it. They were awfully good
and kind to everybody, she says. And she was only a little girl then,
and when they were dead, somebody took her away to England, and she was
there three or four years. And then she came back to France, and she
lives with some people at a place called Verdun. She says they give her
a home, and she works for them. And she would like to go to England
again some day."
But Lucille de St. Roques had not told Roy the most recent sorrow
which had come to her. She let it out to Captain Ivor a day or two
later. Only one year before this date she had become engaged to young
Théodore de Bertrand, son of the old couple downstairs; and three
months later he had been drawn for the conscription. No use to plead
that he was practically an only son, since the second son Jacques was
a ne'er-do-well, who had taken himself off, nobody knew whither. More
soldiers were wanted by the First Consul for his schemes of foreign
conquest, and young De Bertrand had to go. Scarcely four months after
his departure, news came that he had been shot in a _sortie_ in the Low
Countries. Large tears filled Lucille's eyes, and dropped slowly.
"Ah, so many more!" she said. "Thousands, thousands, called upon to
be slain, for nothing! Not for their country, but for the ambition of
one bad man. It makes no difference, Monsieur, that they love not the
usurper. My Théodore was of the Royalist party, yet he had to go. And
the poor old father and mother--they are left without one son in their
old age!"
(_To be continued._)
SOME PRACTICAL HINTS ON COSMETIC MEDICINE.
BY "THE NEW DOCTOR."