Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-07-07


ceptance of this life now afforded to me?"
Something in her tone and manner sent
shock through the young's mans breast:
Within the past few minutes there had
| come upon him the sweet rich and yet sad
dening experience of love and loss. Before
him sat the fairest and loveliest apparition
that had ever blessed his vision. In his
heart she had set the fountains OF spring 10
! fowing-the song and the bloom to gusn-
| ing. The old old story of the sudden COM
| ing of passion and the sudden realization OF
its hopelessness had been told once more be-
tween the soft pulses of the sub-tropic breeze.
| He bowed his head until his dark forehead
touched the plume of his hat which rested
| on his knee. For one moment he gave way
to selfishness, and the thought swept through
his mind that he might have his own way
with fate.
"I am sorry to have panied you," said
Pauline presently. II owe my life to you,
and fear that have appeared ungrateful.
Pray forgive me-"
Her words sounded to him like the rebuke
of an angel He looked up and said, as if
in self-deiense:
"You owe me nothing but execration. 1t
was / who sunk the vessel which was bear
| ing you to your lover. 1t was who de-
prived you OF more than life. Oh, Madem-
oiselle, Mademoiselle."
He checked himself with great effort and
rising stood before her quite calm but pale,
his eyes burning almost fercely, his sun
burnt cheeks showing the lines of suppressed
but almost over powering emotion.
"You did but your duty; have thought
all about it,, she said, "and ] do not blame
you for it: but / am no prisoner of war, be-
ing nothing but a poor girl whom fate has
cast into your hands, wherefore it seems to
me that you might let me 60 in all honor"
81 would not hold you one moment" he
exclaimed quickly. "You are as free as I
am; but there is no possible way for you to
pass from her to Mobile. The thought is
and not to be dreamed of"
No interview ever was more depressing
and unsatisfactory to the parties holding it.
Pauline felt that it ended all hope, at least
tor the present, and she lay upon her couch
disheartened and purposeless. Cortes went
away thoroughly wretched and at war with
himself. He was in love with Pauline; his
warm, arrogant Spanish nature had broken
the bounds at once and now there was no
limit to the passion that possessed him; but
his chivalrous sense of honor, though over
whelmed, was immovable. The impression
haunted him that, for the reason that Pauline
was in his power, he ought to free her, and
because of his love for her he ought to re-
store her to her lover. 1t was well to harbor
these sentiments, but what lover could act
upon them?
days and weeks passed by, during which
Cortes brooded over the situation. Now
and again he resolved that he would at
tempt to send Pauline to Mobile by some
clandestine method, but as often he remem-
bered his duty as a soldier. The French at
Mobile were the very incarnation of all that
was hated by the Spaniards at Pensacola,
and to do any kind act for one of them was
repugnant to every pulse in true Spanish
soldiers veins. Doubtless the young Cap
tain's passion for his fair captive made this
repugnance all the more fierce and bitter,
for the thought of resigning that captive to
the arms of Louis Doucet, of the hated
French garrison, was the refinement of tor
ture Still he acknowledged in the deepest
caves of his breast that duty of the highest
and most sacred sort demanded that he
should never rest until Pauline de la
Chasie and Louis Doueet, separated by him,
should be united by him. 1t is easy to see
how, ordinarily, a struggle of this sort
would end Love, extol it as we may, is the
hot-bed of certain kind of unconquerabie
selfshness. Rare indeed are the instances
where love has been selfsacrifcing enough
to turn over to its rival the object of its de-
sire. There were moments when Cortes
would have made the sacrifice, and at all
times he tortured himself between the flame
of passion and the hot iron of conscience;
but he was human, ne found excuses for
faltering and hesitating, nay even for what
appeared to him harmless deception.
Almost every day he found time to see
Pauline and to offer her some delicate at
tention. Meantime as the summer passed
away Indian couriers began to bring word
of preparations going forward among the
French at Mobile for an expedition against
Pensacola.
'I have not doubt that Bienville will at
tack us soon," said Cortes one morning in
September.
'And he will take the town, and them
exclaimed Pauline, clasping her hands and
flushing suddenly.
She was sitting by the window. Return
ing health had made her form and her face
doubly beautiful in the eyes of the young
officer.
"But he will not take the town." he re-
sponded. ''Our force is very strong and our
fortifcations and fleet are far superior in
guns and effectiveness to anything he can
bring against us. No, we will destroy him,
almost entirely"
mo. nol'' cried Pauline, "the French are
always victorious. Are you sure they will
come? Oh, but pray that they will and
then 1 shall be freel They will destroy
you"
Cortss smiled, but there was q deadly
pang behind that smile.
You. You will i'll be be disappointed, dis Mad
Pauline saw the smile, and instantly a
fash of indignant resentment made her
cheeks burn.
"When my people come" she said, 81
shall see how you will destroy them"
1--WE are nearly 2,0O0," remarked he,
still curling his lip little, ''and they are
scarcely 800, Indians excepted. tell you
that they can do nothing, absolutely moth
ing"
Pauline sprang to. her feet.
You do not want me to be Tree I" she
cried, her voice rich with passionate accusa-
tion.
He arose and looked down at her with a
curious mixture of tenderness and harshness
in his face. At that moment he realized
how fully he had determined that this girl
should never go away from him. What
would life be worth without her? Who
was Louis Doucet, that he should hold the
exclusive right to such a prize? Would
not the water of the gulf be now rolling over
her if he, Cortez, had not saved her How
ungrateful she was
Pauline, looking steadily into his eyes,
read his thoughts. She saw the change in
his features and manner, any felt that all
hope was gone.
"And not long ago you said that you
would give your life to help me r. she
cried, bitter contempt ringing through her
trembling voice.
81 did say that; yes, and spoke truly" he
replied, almost fercely. "Even now, Mad
emoiselle," and here his face swe]led with
the pressure of violent emotion, "even now
1 would sacrifice more than life. I would
cast away honor for you"
He did not wait to hear what she would
say In response to this but turned and left |
her with almost rude abruptness.
CHAPTER I'LL
The 18th day of September, 1719, dawned
on the bay of Pensacola with q slight fog, |
dim and gray, hovering over the water and |
fringing with fantastic trailing festoons the |
shores of the island. The fort on the hill |