The tribune. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1875-04-28


employed by us; he is under our protec-
ton. Touch him if you dare"
At this moment the driver, with q
flourish of bravado, began to cast aside
his sheep-skins, tossed on the snow one
after another his heecy coverings, and
stood before them slender girl, her
head raised dauntless, her dark eyes
flashing, her lips curled with scorn.
The young American turned pale in
his astonishment. The exclamation died
upon his lips, "Reva !"
"Shc is mine already" shouted the
rulfian, whom the girl in her confession
had named utterly abhorrent" He
had snatched from the hand of Berne in
that one moment of surprise and self
forgetfulness the loaded pistol, and flung
it in the snow. Revasprang forward and
seized the weapon"
"I shall defend her with my life, 1"
cried Berne, as the stalwart barbarian
closed with him in combat.
But Reva cried, "Hold Hehas said
the word truly. Ibelong to him. Take
off thy clutch, Mersnichc, from the
stranger. / am thine when my father
gives me. I am thine so soon as per-
form the task given by my father, and
bring these strangers to Kazala."
After some further parley the sledge
moved onward, driven by one of the
horsemen. Reva's abhorrent ruffian
formed with two faithful followers n
dreary escort. Reva, loosely robed in
her furs, crouched on the sledge floor
leaning her head on. " her strangers I"
knee, and weeping bitterly. In this
style the ambassadors cortegc entered
Kazala.
A night scene in tent pitched in the
spring touched Asiatic wilderness hun
manin the uniform of an American Off
Ger busy with papers at his improvised
desk; Kirghis boy noiselessly removing
officer, Hartley Berne; the Kirghis
slave, his page, his servant, his adorer,
Reva.
ambassador to continue his journey to
was not until two days journey had
that the young American discovered that
the boyish attendant furnished by his
Kirghis guide was no other than the
WIN pShttUy VI OliO uSsSiO, WIZ, WILL
art of Parisian diplomatist, had accom-
plished her will, and who, with the
impetuosity of Juliet, passionately wor-
SHIPPED him.
1t cannot be denied that there was
something in Hartley Berne's nature that
responded to the isolation and idolatry
of this desert rommce. He was not in
sensible to the charms of the beautiful
onI ol NavnrfIalaoo ha,
presence troubled him. His manner
toward her became daily more cold; his
brow darkened when she approached.
And as she had seen the meteor cool and
darken, she now saw this idol of her
heart resolve from star into stone.
This evening, as Berne bent studious-
ly over his papers, Reva, her task done,
threw herself upon pallet in the tents
shadowy recess, and pretended to sleep.
But from time to time she cast ut the
American stealthy glances. He, too,
occasionally glanced covertly at her.
Whenever he did so he sighed. At last,
sure that she slept, he drew from his
bosom gold-encnsed miniature. He
set it up before him, and as he continued
writing he gazed upon it at the close of
each paragraph or page, every time
ing, encouraging, inspiring.
At midnight an unusual sound with
out his tent arrested his attention. He
sprang up suddenly, and parting the
curtains of his tent, went out upon the
moon-lit moor.
cat last at last" said, or rather
Missed, between her closed teeth, in
Russian patois, the disguised page Reva,
as, with the coiling silentncss of SER
pent, she drew herself from the shadowy
pallet to the lighted desk" at last -
She held in her hands the miniature.
She turned toward herself the gilded
disk, but she could not interpret the en-
graved inscription, IN, an.Ore: Ger
trude Atherton." She interpreted, how
ever, with the quickness of jealousy, the
significance of the portrait.
That night Hartley Berne dreamed of
Gertrude Atherton. When morning
came his garment was not busted, his
spurs were not frightened, his repast
was not spread. His little valet, his
slave, his inamorata, had fled. He saw
her no more. Once, indeed, farther on
his journey, deeper in the south, he
spent one night in the picturesque tent
of Rights prince, and fancied, rs he
lay half sleeping, famed by salubrious
odors and soothed by the dulcet tink-
ling of q guitar, that in ono of the
glancing forms of tsso young maidens
called sisters he recognized his vanished
Reva.
Two years after Hartley Berne's adj
venturous Asiatic pilgrimage, when his
bride, Gertrude Atherton, asked-as
what woman would not-whether, in oil
his wanderings, in heart and thought he
had been true to her, he answered, with
loves enthusiasm, eyes"
And if Hartley Berne could have seen
at that moment his once passionate little
idolater, Reva, he would hardly have
known her in the sweet, satisfied wife of