Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1893-09-21


her white bare arm that repulsive
swing she exclaimed, Away! away!
Thou art some tiend come here to taunt
the for my ipgratitude! Away! away"
Then, as if overcome, she slowly sank
back on her pillow. But that voice! In
an instant all the labor of years was
lost-that great fabric of insensibility |
had built about me was thrown to the
ground. | was no longer cold, naughty
business man, but q youth-a lover.
The impulses Of the heart, long bound
down, suddenly burst their bonds and
iprang into new life. For years mind
had been the pilot of my craft--it had
been a wise and faithful plot-but it
never smiled never told me of hope, Of
love, of heaven-only gold, gold, gold.
But its rule was at an end. l sprang
forward to the bedside and involuntari-
" murinured, "The Countess de Van
vineauxw
THAT name? Who spoke that name?"
She started up and glared almost fiercely
at me. / could not move nor speak
only stand and gaze in turn. And now
terrible storm suddenly burst forth
as if to heighten the awful solemnity Of
the scene within. / cannot attempt to
describe it. The thunder seemed to
shake the house from its foundations;
the wind and rain as if in fiendish
mockery, beat against the single Win
dow, and anon flash of vivid lightning
lit up the dingy apartment, Still nei-
Their of its occupants moved. At length
the wild, unearthly glare of her eye
seemed to die away. l drew nearer-l
saw a tear.
Lima"
PAUL"
She was in my arms.
1t is ten minutes since wrote the last
line. | could not hold my pen-pardon
my weakness-it is many, many years
ago, but as recall that scene | cannot
keep back my struggling tears. But |
wept then, and she-Oh, heaven, spare
me from ever hearing such sobs againl
| cannot lengthen this scene; | cannot
| write how many times she besought my
forgiveness; how tearfully she told me
that she became the Countess de Vau-
vineauX not from her own free will, and
much less can l write how ioyfully
| forgot all, yet how full Of sadness and
amazement at finding her in this wretch
ed garnet. But she babe me to ask no
| questions, only pointing with a thin,
wan hand to blotted, tear stained
paper on little wooden table near the
bed. From this afterward learned the
sad cause.
Alas poor girl, she found herself the
wife of a libertine; she had learned too
well that the Frenchman loves his mis-
tress, not his wife. Sickened with her
life she left his roof scarce year be-
| fore that terrible night. Too proud to
return to her father she had sought to
support life with her own frail hands,
and that attempt had brought her to
| this. This paper she had requested her
woman to mail for America, addressed
to William Spencer Esq" etc.
But | knew none of this when | stood
beside her there, and my feelings We're
q strange mixture-pity, remorse, JOY,
love, wonderment.
| saw her strength was fast failing;
her eyes were growing dim, her lips
turned to ashen, and | rested her head
softly on my breast. Suddenly she
started up and pointed to a distant cor
ner of the room. | looked. Twas a
child-a babe IN the old gypsy's arms.
IT'S his, Paul-mine, Paul! viii you
be a father to it: Bring it here-poor
child; sweet child" 1t was laid upon
her bosom. She smiled, closed her eyes,
and thus she died. Lima was dead!
would be father to her child.
She no longer stands by the window
gazing ont upon the storm. She has
drawn close the curtain and now sits by
the cheerful CRATE yonder and ever and
anon casts wondering glance at me.
She wonders what | should be so long
! writing.
And that is Lna's child. She little
knows that l have been recording her
mothers sad fate; she little knows of
her fathers ignominious death-ouly
that call her daughter and this is her
home And now she has stolen up to
me, and placing her fair white arms
about my neck, whispers to me so sweet
ly earnest, Haven't you written enough,
father How can l resist as she leans
over and kisses this old, wrinkled fore
head? Down goes my pen.
THE END.