Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1894-02-23

merchantmen of every nationality.
strange wish. was it not?'
1t was indeed" replied, but do
you intend to make no use of all this
wealth."
No 1t was my dying mothers last
wish that should not touch it. | have
seen it but twice-Once when old Mar
tell showed me the place where he wish
ed his remains to repose after death
he was then bowed with age-again 40
years ago, when placed his dead body
on the casket of jewels in the vault.
My father had never told me the
story of his early life. 1t was only aft
er his death that learned it, and then
from old Martell Even then mother
Grieved greatly that he had told me of
the hidden treasure and babe me never
touch it. She said that in father lat
ter years he had considered it a curse.
But come, there's the tea bell. have
told YOU more than any soul on earth.
1t must have been my early friendship
for your father that impellCd me. Co
reta knows nothing of all this, and in
her presence do not refer to 1t. Poor
dear! Her father, mother and my own
dear wife died when she was but a
child.
At the tea table Coreta joined US. If
had thought her bewitChing before,
when | saw her now in her evening
dress, Il string of pearls around her snow
white neck, IL golden bracelet claspcd
round each tapering wrist, diamond
cluster sparkling mid the golden ring
lets of her hair, | thought her beauti-
full. Her maid, Arabia, attended us at
the table, and, oh. what a pleasant hour
there passed TO me. And after tea,
when the good don and | adjourned to
a neighbOring room to test cigars that
came from he knew not where, neither
their age, with Good night, senior, "
she vanished from my sight. felt that
had seen Il lovely dream and when |
had followed Pedro to Il room above,
furnished with the elegance of other
chimes than Chili-elegant mahogany,
rare lace curtains, carpets of value
rarely seen at home, each article of fur
niture dcnoting hvgOne age-and laid
my head upon the pillow it was not to
sleep, but to think of Coreta, of the don,
of the jewels beneath, Of dead Martcll,
keeping his silent vigil on the Casket,
of piracicS. and then wonder from what
CLINE came each and every article, and
when slept it was the same.
Pedro awOle me in the morning, and
after breakfast Coreta and | took
stroll ON the island. There were sur
rounding the house perhaps 10 acres of
cvo;;..i That showed luxuriant growth
OF flowers. shrubbery and vegetables
Of all descriptions. An old gardener was
working there as We passed. To our
Good morning. he muttercd some ma
tive words that | could not understand,
and his face lit up with pleasure as he
gaZcd at Corcta.
Poor old Juan, said she. AS old
as he is. he goes to every dance in Co.
quoInGo among his class. " And she
gave him Il coin.
How many people have you on the
island:" | asked.
Seven, she answered, besides
grandpa and Our servants.
found the island for the greater
part barren and rocky, with here and
there, all over it, an occasional huge
bowldcr such us have before men
toned
Its greatest length could not have ex-
cccded two miles, and its width not
moro than half as much. Nor was it
much elevated above the oceans Level,
but yet Coreta said the angricst waves
never moro than dashed their spray
half way to the house. But, senior,
she added, sometimes the roar of the
waves and the shrieking of the wind
cause me to think that our ISLAND is
trembling.
We visited the stables, where two
sleek mules and Coreta' pony were
Quartcred Then you do ride here?"
said |.
"Oh, yes" she replied, and l often
take Jock to CCQuombo for day or
two.
But what do the mules do, " asked.
"Oh. " she replied, pillow in the gar
den. and old Manuel rubs them and
feeds them.
Lucky mules, | thought.
We went back to the house and found
the don sitting out on the veranda.
"What think You of Chanson Z" he
asked.
"Chanson ?" said |.
oh, forgot, he said; you do not
yet know Yes. Chanson is the name
of our island. The word is a French
one and signifies song. You know we
have always the song of the waves.
"A very appropriate name, re-
piled.
We visited the parlOr, and if other
parts of the old mansion were furnish
ed in old time elegance here was splCn-
dor Many nations must have contrib
uted of their best, and tho ships that
were one day conveying all this ele-
gance across the ocean that never reach
ed port-where are they now? Rocking
back and forth where they have been
for perhaps Il century-deep down in
the bosom of the restless sea. COreta
played for us on a magnificent harp
but her sweet voice had more charm for
me than a thousand harps.
That day passed. Another and an
other Still the days went by, and
fingered at Chanson. Two weeks had
passed, and in that time l had learned
what it was to love. Each day would
say, Tomorrow | will go, " but when
tomorrow came would say again, TO
morrow. At last one morning Don
Ignace said: This is Il good day for a
sail. We will go to COquombo." |
know that | grew pale and trembled.
Pedro was sent to get the yacht ready.
Coreta was Informed and fastened away
to dress for the occasion. l took short
stroll up the beach. picked up a few
shells, then few flowers from the gar
den, went up to my room and got my
valise, which Pedro had brought from
Coquombo o days before. and descend
ed to the library.
Don Ignace was there; SO also was
Coreta. Why that valise?'' said he.
Observation-Disclosures, " said ], Il have
staid too long. l cannot return.
Not returnI' exclaimed both the