The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1879-05-19

The wine fell into it, clearly, transparent
ly, heavily, but still and cold as death. There
was no sparkle, no cheap ebullition, no evan
escent bubble! Yet it was so clear that but
for its faint amber tinting, the glass seemed
empty. There was no aroma; no ethereal
diffusion from its equable surface. Perhaps
it was fancy, perhaps it was from nervous
excitement, but slight chill seemed to radi
ate from the still goblet and bring down the
temperature of the terrace. Mr.. Clinch and
his companion both shivered.
But only for moment Mr.. Clinch raised
the glass to his lips. As he did so, he re-
membered seeing distinctly, as in picture
before him. the sunlit terrace, the pretty girl
in the foreground, an amused and interested
spectator of his sacriligious act; the outlying,
ivy-crowned wall, the grass-covered ditch,
the tall factory chimneys rising above the
chestnuts, and the distant poplars that
marked the Rhine.
The wine was delicious. Perhaps trife,
only trife heady Mr.. Clinch was con-
scious of a certain eXaltation. There was,
too, half smile upon the girls lip, and
roguish twinkle in her eye as she looked at
him. Archness was certainly becoming to
her.
DO you find the wine good?' she asked.
Fair enough, warrant, said Mr.. Clinch,
gravely, but methinks It's nothing com
PttiSd WIN lllC ucCldI lIldG grows upOll lllOSc
rosy lips. Nay, by st. Ursula, swear ito
Scarcely had the unfortunate man uttered
this solemnly ridiculous speech than he was
convinced of its absurdity. He would have
given worlds to recall it. He knew he must
be intoxicated. That the sentiment and Ian
guage were utterly unlike him, and insulting
to the girl he was miserably aware; that he
did not even know exactly what it meant, he
was also hopelessly conscious of. Yet feel
;,,fr oil hi aha e
pearing before her as man who had lost his
senses through single glass of wine, never
theless he rose awkwardly, seized her hand,
and through sheer force drew her toward
him and kissed her. With an exclamation
that was half a laugh and half a cry, she fled
from him, leaving him staggering alone on
the terrace.
For moment Mr.. Clinch supported HIM
self against the window, leaning his throb-
bling head on the cold glass. Shame, morti-
ication, a hysterical, half consciousness of
his righteousness, and yet strange, unde-
fined fright through all, by turns possessed
him. Was he ever before guilty of such per-
feet idiocy? Had he ever before succumbed
in this way? Was it possible that he, Mr..
James Clinch, the coolest head at a supper
party, he the American who had drunk
Frenchman and Englishman under the table,
could be transformed into a sentimental.
high-fown idiot by a single glass of wine?
He was conscious, too, of asking himself
these very questions in stited sort of rhet-
oric, and of rising brutality of anger that
he could with difficulty suppress Suddenly
everything swan before him, and he seemed
to lose all consciousness.
But only for moment. The next instant
with a strong effort of his will, he seemed to
recall himself, his situation, his surround
ings, and above all, his appointment. He
hurriedly descended the terrace steps, and
before he well knew how, found himself
again on the road. Once there his faculties
returned in full vigor. He was himself He
strobe briskly forward toward the ditch he
had crossed only few moments before, but
was suddenly stopped. TWAS filled with wa
ter! He looked up and down, it was clearly
the same ditch, but flowing stream thirty
feet wide, now separated him from the other
bank.
The appearance of this unlooked-for OBJ
stacle made Mr.. Clinch doubt the complete
return of hisreason. He accordingly stepped
to the brink to battle his head in the stream
and wash away the last vestiges of his pota-
tons. But as he approached the placid
depths and knelt down, he again started
back, and this time with a full conviction of
his own madness. For reflected from it's
mirror-like surface was figure he could
scarcely call his own, although here and
there some trace of his former self still lin
gered.
His close-cropped hair, trimmed a la mode,
had given way to long curling locks that
dropped upon his shoulders. His wet mus
tache was frightfully prolonged, and curled
up at the end stiffiy; his piccadilly collar had
changed shape and texture, and reached
mass OF lace to point midway of his breast.
His boots-why had he not noticed his boots
before? These triumphs of his Partisan boot
maker were changed to hideous leathem
cases that reached halfway up his thigh
In place of his formal high silk hat, there
lay upon the ground beside him the awful
thing he had just taken off-a mass of thick
ened felt, flap, feathers and buckle, that
weighed at least stone.
A single terrible idea now took possession
OF him. He had been done, taken in, sold,
trightfully. He saw it all. In state of in
toXlcatlon he had lost his way, had been
dragged into some vile den, stripped of his
clothes and valuables and turned adrift up
on the quiet town in this shameful masquer-
AIDE. How should he keep his appointment?
How should he see that the police were duly
informed of this outrage upon stranger and
an American? How establish his identity?
Had they spared his papers? He felt fever
Ishly in his breast-ah! his watch! Yes,
watch, heavy, jewelled, and, by all that was
ridiculous, five others! He ran his hands
into his capacious trunk hose. What was
this? Brooches, chains, diamond crosses,
finger rings, one large Episcopal one, ear
rings, and a handful of battered gold and sill |
yer coins. His papers, his memorandums,
his passport, all proofs Of his identity were
gone! In their place was the unmistakable |
ominium gatherum of some accomplished |
knight OF the road. Not only was his per-
sonality, but his character gone forever!
1t was part of Mr.. Clinchs singular ex-
perience that this last stroke of ill-fortune
seemed to revive in him something of the |
brutal instinct he felt moment before. He |
turned angrily about, with the intention of |
calling some one, the first person he met, to |
account. But the house that he had Just |
quilted was gone! The wall! All! there it |
was-no longer purposeless, intensive, and |
ivy-clad, but part of the buttress of another |
massive wall that rose into battlements above |
him. Mr.. Clinch turned again, hopelessly. |
toward Sammtstadt; there was the fringe of |
poplars on the Rhine; there were the outlv-
ing fields, Lit by the same meridian sun; but |
the characteristic chimneys of Sammtstadt |
were gone. Mr.. Clinch was hopelessly lost!
The sound of horn, breaking the still
ness, recalled his senses. He now, for the
first time, perceived that little distance be-
low him, partly hidden in the trees, was a
queer, tower-shaped structure, with chains
and pulleys, that in some strange way re-
called his boyish reading. A drawbridge
and portcullis! And in the battlement fig
IRE in a masquerading dress, as absurd as his |
own, fourishing banner and trumpet, and
fTVinO TO attract his attention