Connecticut western news., 1890-02-19
VOL. XIX.

again the sweet face, the flowing hair, the white bosom, the snowy hand, its fingers holding rose. I rushed to meet her. I pressed kiss upon those hands. He'd her forward. Ispoke to her-not in my own language. Ispoke in French. l told her that from that moment I was her slave, and she wept; and l led her to the spot where the horses stood saddled and bridled, and we rode away, the moon shining down upon us, her eyes turned always upon my face.
 Out of this dream I was awakened | with a:stsrt.s Itwas still: night. The room was dark. Itwas all foolish dream, but felt guilty and remorse- full. Somehow it seemed that my con- science was troubled, and I found it impossible to sleep, for long time. At last, in thesgray dawn, I once more lost consciousness. Again slept; again dreamt. ~
 l was standing in the midst of lovely park. The branches were bare, the brown leaves Lay scattered at my feet, Opposite me stood tall man, with . high nose and siern gray eyes. He was armed with sword. So was I. Two other gentlemen stood near us. Another stood little aloof. Once more I was not myself, but the Count Jouvin. %
 We were evider tly fighting a duel, this gray-eyed Englishman and l. I did not desire to xiii him, but he evil | l. fn <oly lsfo For a long while I merely defended myself. At last such conduct became impossible. One of us mus be wounded. Human nature forbade further forbearance. My sword en- tered his body, and he fell backward upon the ground. -. E.. saw the blood drip from the point of my blade as l witl.drewit. 1 heard my second mutter, ell est mort" and I heard the Erglishman whisper, tsDoctor, is he dead?"
 turned towards the doctor, saw for 8 moment his grave, square face, and then awoke.i 1 was the Count Henri Jouvin of the past icentury no longer. I was once more myse,f-Robin Raw den, an American, on 8 visit to his English relatives; and there was a polite knock at the door, and calm English servant brought my aunt's love, and had I slept vel, and bre k fast would te-ready in half an hour. | When I had dress d, had still an uncomfortable memory of my dream. as of thing that had actually happen I ed. I could not quite believe. in my own identity, and I still felt an odd tenderness for the girl in the old pie ture. I looked at it long and earnestly, and it smiled upon me.
 | "You are, doubtless, my grandmoth- er's great-grandmother," said, look ing back oyer my shoulder; "but l do believe pve fallen in love with you." ----'------.-
 Then went down stairs to be well comed by prim old gentleman, who announced himself as my uncle, and two old ladies in high lace caps, who were my aunts. They wore kind, hospitable, cheery. They asked loving questions about my father, and they | bragged little about eur good old | family as to one as proud of it as themselves, and all the while the gray eyed officer stared sternly down upon me from his tarnished frame on the oak panelled wall. At last it was im- possible to avoid speaking of him. | "This is an ancestor of mine, SUD- pose, sir?" I said to my uncle.
 "Yes, Robin," replied he. "Yes, yes; that was Col. James Rawden."
 "He doesn't look cheerful" said I.
 ssHe must have been avery unhappy man," said my uncle. "Of course, as you may guess, he lived two hundred yearssago, and he died in a duel."
 "A duel?" I cried.
 "Priscilla," said my Aunt Deborah, "the gentlemen will excuse us."
 arose aud opened the door for the two ladies. When had closed it my
 uncle went on:
 "Yes, Robln, this long gone ancestor of ours died in a duel. It seems that he cold and stern to win her love. She, remember, was not of our blood. Her picture hangs over the mantle piece in the room you slept in. Perhaps you remarked it? She eloped with French nobleman. Col. Rawden followed him and fought him. The Frenchman killed him. It's sad story. She must have been 8 pretty girl, and he fine,
 brave fellow, but it all went wrong, somehow. Yes, yes. and though it is
 SO long ago, one feels sorry for it yet"
 "Yes," said I, still repulsed by the cold, gray eyes of the picture, though tried to soften my heart to it; "and,
 of course, no one knows the name of l hn Erov,ohnoon so ago."
 "The Frenchman was the Count Henri Jouvin," said my uncle. "Why,
 my dear nephew. you look ill.,"
 felt i'll, but gave no explanation.
 But I did not speak of my mothers aristocratic ancestors during my visit
 to my fathers relatives; and 10 this day I shudder when recall my strange dream. Coupling it with my likeness to the Count Jouvin, the sense of ident-
 ity with him which I felt even on awakening, and the passion with wh' oh
 the beautiful picture on the wall of my ancestral mansion inspireI me, ask myself if there can be any truth in the fancy some have entertained that one soul sometimes inhabits more than one Douy. IOE II Coulu AdFo AditH II . this, I. should believe that I, Robir !, Rawden, was once no other than the ! Count Henri Jouvin, and l do not re spect that fellow, and am not pleased !, with the idea. t The Sea Novelit t.
 t'How came you, Mir. Russell" asked, writes an interviewer of Mir | w Clark, Russell chow came yOu ,