The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1886-08-29


touched reach of salt water, an exchange OF eye
beams. and then follows a world of bliss crowded
| into dream.
After that day Toulme crused for that lovely
| prize, and, shy as the maiden was, somehow her
| stancb little craft fell often in his way.
1 All love-stories are alike and they are all de-
| licious. Hearts are blown together by all sorts
of winds, but the contact is ecstatic in every in
| stance. The older grows the story, the deeper
becomes its passionate hold upon the great heart
| of the world
/ Toume and Anas became lovers before they
/ knew that it was a renewal of the Shakspearean
/ story-bAfore she dreamed that he was Romeo
or he suspected that she was Juliet-yet so it
was, the children of the rival households had ex-
| changed hearts.
/ Old Tete-chauve shook his big bald head and
| looked gloomy, when, by chance, he discovered
! how matters stood He felt at once how terrible
| might be the end, and, although his kind heart
warmed toward the sweet young girl, he could
not help wishing that his master had never seen
| her.
/ When at length Toulme found out who his
| sweetheart was it was too late for him to turn
| about She held him fast in her lovely net, lost
| beyond hope of escape. AS for Anas Coup
/ COURT, she scarcely startled by the discovery
| that she loved Toulme De Blieu 1t was enough
| for her happiness that she loved him and that he
/ loved her. There was no room for an. ther
| passion. sentiment, or experience; her hea was
| full.
| Day after day they met out on the watsr and
lasbing their little sloops together drifted side
/ by side, rocking on the gentle waves and con-
/ versng in the low, soft tones of love. Always
| somewhere between them and the horizon flut-
/ tered the white wings OF the two birds 1t was
| good omen, they argued, this apparition of
/ pair of birds, pure white and inseparable as the
| hearts of true lovers, always fitting around or
before them. Thus the time went by sweetly
| enough for the furtively happy lovers until at
| last they were betrothed.
! Then Jacques Coupcourt came home when
least expected, and. indeed, when least needed.
| He had had hard time of it after his shipwreck,
| and he was but the mere shadow Of himself,
| scarcely recognizable by his mother and wholly
| a stranger to Annals, when he stood upon the
threshold of the old house by the blue gulf-sea.
| But Jacques Coupcourt had lost none of the spir-
| it of his fathers. He rubbed up the rusty old
| pistols and put the Coupcourt knives in shining
order. The feud must go on to the end
| Tete chauve, when he found that his yonng
master breeding the thought of renewing
| the feud. grew melancholy and silent. He had
no more stories to tell, no more songs to sing.
| True, he did not abandon his ''quills," but the
| notes he piped from that rude syrnx were as
| doletul as the tremulous voice of the swamp
| screech-owl. His whole soul had become alb
| sorbed in his young master, and the thought OF
| any harm Detailing him was the most distress
/ ing that could come to Tetechauve.
| Toulme de Bleu wofully tormented by
| the predicament in. which he now found himself.
| He very much desired. in pursuance of the FAM
/ lily habit. to kill this last remaining male Coup
| court, but he we'll knew that to do it to lose
| Anais forever. He found that his mother was
| very anxious that he should abandon the feud
/ and abandon Anais as WELL In his distress he
| went to old Tete-chauve for advice.
| Poor old negro. he did not know what to say.
| For once in his life he was without expedient
| in the face of an exigency. He stood with his
/ head-that smooth old head with its halo of
| white wool-bowed in perplexity and silence.
| Toulme turned away.
/ hat 6ov Ioan hall In InnO
| bitter conference with his sister Anais. She
| pleaded with him eloqrently tenderly, earnestly
| for some promise of safety for her lover but in
| vain Jacques was inexorable. He denounced
| her as traitor to her family-a disgrace to the
/ Coupcourt name, and left her in bitter despair.
About this time great excitement arose among
the negroes on both estates on account of certain
| sights and sounds in the swamp attributed to
revival Of activities by the spirit of the original
Loup-garou. Indeed the ghost of The slave muir
| dered SO long ago was seen, pine-knot in hand,
| and strange cries had been heard
| Tete-chauve was exceedingly disturbed and
begged Toulme to cease going into the swamp
| TO hunt deer and turkey; but, of course, the
| young man gave no heed to the Negroes fears.
Possibly Tete chauve, knowing that Jacques
Coupcourt was also shooting in the swamp had
| more dread of the two huntsmen meeting than
| of any danger to his young master from Loup-
/ garou Still superstition was ingrained SO deep
in his nature that nothing short of serving Toul-
/ me could have induced him to cross the limit of
/
| alive to the great risk his master was taking.
| The many tragedies in which the De Blieus and
the Coupcourts had been chief actors were not
so far in the past that Tete-chauve's memory
| was not full of them.
One day Jacques was wandering in the swamp
| with gun his shoulder darkly busyng him
| self with those thoughts of vengeance which
| lately had occupied the whole of his mind. Sud
denly in obscure way, he became aware
| that he was being followed steathily by some
| light-footed, wary being. He turned about but
saw no one. Again and again this happened.
| Jacques was a man of strong nerves. and,
| although he could not help thinking Of the le-
| gend of Loup- garou, he felt quite sure that no
| spirit. but a being of flesh and blood, was dog
ging his footsteps. He tried many shrewd
turns to outwit and discover his pursuer, all to
| no avail.
| 1t was in the midst Of this curious experience
| that the eyes of Jack Coupcourt fell upon
| Toulme De Blieu a little way off in the swamp.
/ Instantly the devil of murder took full possess
| ion of Jacquess heart and he forgot everything
| in the desire to slay his enemy He deliberately
| raised his gun, but before he could fire, Toulme
had disappeared Keen hound, Jacques
| glided forward in noiseless, eager pursuit.
Again and again he caught glimpse of his en-
/ envy through chance riffs in the dense foliage.
| But even during this exciting hunt he all the
| time conscious of footsteps behind him. Perhaps
| this sense of being pursued by an invisible per
| son urged him on more rapidly and fiercely Be
| this as 1t may, he eprang along through the
| swamp with burning eyes and iercely-hissing
| breath.
| At last the opportunity came and his gun was
| leveled Toulme was all unconscious of his dan
| ger, standing with his back to the assassin, and
| but a rod or two distant.
| Then came a great hoarse cry. that went bel
lowing through the swamp accompanied by the
| sound Of crushing blow.
Toulme turned just in time to see Jacques
Councourt fall headlong, while dark. skulking
| fgare gded away into the densest cover of
!, brake. The sight was so unexpected and so
strange that some time passed before Toulme
| could could collect himself and hasten to the
| stricken man who lay limp and still upon the
| ground. He stopped and gazed into the face of
| his enemy. 1t was white and calm. Something
in those fnely-cut features reminded him of
Anais, and there came rush of emotion
i l.. L. L. Ill