The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1885-02-11

glZe, as | know | spoke hastily and
thoughuesSly, but having forgotten. l
am, OF course unable TO explain them"
said nothing. feeling uncertain
whether he was playing a deep game
with me or not.
4 know be continued. that l was
furious at hearing of Paulne's mar
rage. In her state of health Ceneri
should never have allowed it-and then,
Mr.. Vaughan, | had set my heart upon
her marrying an Italian. Had she re-
covered. my dream vas that her beauty
would win her a husband of the highest
rank"
Any reply I should have made was
. prevented by the entrance of Pauline. l
was Intensely anxious TO see what effect
J the appearance OF her SO-called brother
would have upon her.
Macari rose and stepped toward her.
Pauline" he said, do you remember
me2'
She looked at him with eyes full of
I curious wonder, but shook her head as
/ oneIn doubt He took her hand.I noticed
/ that she seemed TO shrink from him in
stinctjvelv.
/ Poor girl. poor girl" he said. This
/ is worse than | expected Mr.. Vaughan.
Pauline, it is long since we have met,
but you cannot have forgotten me-"
Her large troubled eyes were rlyeted
+ on his face; but she made no sign of
/ recognition.
said.
/ She passed her hand across her fore
head, then once more shook her head
/ Non me ric0rdo,' she murmured; then,
/ as If the mental effort had exhausted
her, sank, with weary sigh, upon a
/ chair.
/ | was delighted TO hear her speak In
/ Italian. 1t was tongue she seldom
/ used unless compelled to do so. That
/ she employed it now showed me she
| must, in some dim way, connect the
visitor with Italy. 1t was TO me new
gSam of hope.
There was another thing l noticed. ]
have said how seldom it was that Pau
line raised her eyes to any ones face;
but to-day, during the whole time
Macarl was In the room, she never look
ed away from him. He sat near her,
and after few more words to her, adj
dressed his remarks exclusively to me.
All the while IcOuld see my wife watch
ing him with an eager, troubled look;
several times, indeed, | almost persuad-
ed myself that there was an expression
of fear in her eyes. Let them express
fear, hate, trouble. even love, so long as
l could see the dawn of returning rea
son in them! | began to think that il
Pauline was to be restored, it would be
through my visitor.
So when he took his leave I pressed
him. with no assumed manner. to call
again very soon-t0-moTrow, if possible.
He readily promised to do so, and we
parted for the day.
l can hope he was as satisfied with
the result of our interview as | was.
After his departure Pauline fell into
a restless state. Several times | saw
her pressing her hand to her forehead.
She seemed unable to sit still. Now and
again she went to the window and look
ed up and down the street. l paid no
attention to her actions, although once
or twice L saw her turn her eyes toward
me with a piteous, imploring glance.
believed that something old
memory in connection with Macari-
was striving to force itself to her cloud
ed brain, and looked forward with i'm
patience to tomorrow, when he would
pay us another visit. The man had
something to get out of me, so l felt
certain | should see him again.
He came the next day and the next, |
and many other days. 1t was clear he
was determined to ingratiate me, if
possible. He did all he could to make !
himself agreeable, and l must say he
was, under the present circumstances, |
very good company. He knew, or pro-
feSSed to know, all the ms and outs of
every plot or political event of the last |
ten years, and was full Of original anec- !
dOteS and stirring experiences. He had |
fought under Garibaldi through the |
whole OF the Italian campaign. He had |
known the lnterIorOf prisons. and some !
of his escapes from death had been /
marvellous. l had no reason to doubt |
the truth of his tales, although | mis- /
trusted the man himself. Let his smile |
be as pleasant as he could make it-let |
his laugh ring naturally could not /
forget the expression | had seen on that |
face, or his manner and words on form |
er occasions.
/ took care that Pauline should al |
ways be with us. 1t was the only wish !
Of mine the poor child had ever shown |
even mute Discrimination TO comply /
with. She never spoke in Macari's |
presence, but her eyes were scarcely |
ever turned from him. lie seemed to |
have kind OF fascination for her. |
When he entered the room | could hear |
her sigh, and when he left it she breath
ed breath of relief; and every day she
grew more rsstless, uneasy, and, knew, |
unhappy. e asleart smote me as guess |
ed | was 81, oug her pain; but, at all |
cost, detet4Ained 10 persevere felt !
that the crisis of her life was fast draw |
ing near.
One evening, after dinner, as Macari
and l sat over our claret. and Pauline,
with her troubled eyes fixed. as usual,
on my guest, was reclining ON the sofa
4 little way off, he began 10 relate some
of his military adventures. How once,
when in imminent perll-hiS right arm
broken and useless at his side, his left
arm not strong enough to WELD the rifle
with the bayonet iiXed-he had taken
sthe haYOnet Off, ana holding it III his
left hand. had driven it through the
heart of an antagonist. As he described
the deed, he suited the gesture to the
word, and Selling a knife which
lay on the table, dealt downward blow
through the air at an imaginary white
coated Austrian.
| heard a deep sigh behind me. and,
turning, | saw Pauline lying with her
ewes closed. and apparently in dead
faint. l ran to her, raised her up, and
carrying her to her room, laid her on
her bed. 1t was now about nine o 'cioC k.
Priscilla happened to be out, SO | ran
| back to the dining-rOOm and babe
Macari a hasty goodnight.
Il hope there is not muchthe matter"
he said.
NO; only fainting fit. Your fierce
gesture must have frightened her"
Then | returned to my wife's bedside,
and began the usual course of restora-
tives. Yet without success. White as
statue she lay there, her soft breath
ing and the faint throb of her pulse only
/ telling that she was alive. She lay there
| without sense or notion whilst | chat
| ed her hands, bathed her brow. and en-
/ deavored to recall her to life. Even
| whilst doing so my heart was beating
! wildly. ! felt that the moment had
come: that something had brought back
! the past to her, and that the fierce rush
/ with which it came had overpowered
/ her. / could scarcely dare to put my
wild belief in words, but it was that
when Pauline again opened her eyes
/ they would shine with light which had
/ never known in them-the light of per-
fectly restored intelligence. A wild,
mad idea, but one | had the fullest faith
| in.
So it was that I did not send for a
doctor; that after awhile l gave up my
/ own attempts to awaken consciousness;
that l resolved to let her lie in that
cSlm, senseless state until she awoke of
her own accord. / took her wrist be-
tween my fingers that might feel every
beat of her pulse. | laid my cheek
against hers that l might catch the
sound of every breath-and thus Iwait-
ed until Pauline should awake, and, as
fondly believed, awake In her right
mind. -
She remained in this state for at least
an hour. 80 long that at last began
to get frightened, and think must, aft
er all, send for medical aid. Just as
was forming the resolution to do so,
noticed the beats Of her pulse grow
stronger and more rapid; l felt her
breath drawn deeper; | saw look of
! returning life steal over her face: and,
in breathless Impotence, waited.
And then Pauline-my wife-came
, back to life-she rose in the bed and
turned her face to mine; and in her eyes
l saw what, by the mercy of God, l shall
never again see therei
CHAPTER VIII.
CALLED BACK.
/ write this chapter with great reluc-
lance If / could make my tale con-