Shoshone journal. [volume] (Shoshone, Idaho) 1884-1931, 1897-12-17
CHAPTER XIn.-CCoNTlNUED.)

d.
Emile carefully examined the door
and then went outside, and streweG
leaves around the trunk of the tree, K
hide the traces of the frequent ap-
,proach that night. Leaving all things
as natural looking as possible, he came
down to the lower room, where Felicie
had retreated.
She looked up anxiously in his face
viii they discover us, Emile?'
Il think not, my child. We must
manage without fire, till their watch
is removed. But we can do that well
enough; we are provisioned for six
months, at least. There are several
casks Of water upstairs, and the spring
Is not far distant; l can easily replen-
ish them at night"
How exhausted you must feell
Take some of the wine, beg you"
Perhaps l had better; dare not go
to sleep until after the visit to the
woods, for may hear important plans
discussed. After that I must sleep,
for l believe it is week since 1 have
nearly daybreak now; l brought a
basket Of provisions from the chateau,
thinking they might please you. best;
pray take what refreshment you can,
for we must not have another patient.
Poor fellow he is in complete stupor
seems to be all we can do now; and be
sure and care for YOURSELF
"The poor chateau" murmured Fee
licie, sinking YEARLY into a chair, and
for the first time throwing off the
heavy black cloak.
The bridal dress, rent and soiled,
and in several places crimsoned with
the blood of her father, came to view
The thought of the tender maternal
care which had arranged every fold
with such proud and loving hands, of
the woeful tragedy which had met her,
instead of the bridal service, was too
oyerpowering, and it rushed suddenly
upon her.
She fell back fainting. Emile caught
her in his arms, and while the tears
poured over his cheeks, used every eff
fort to revive her. For time it
seemed to him he was to be left with
two corpses on his hands, for the youth
scarcely stirred, and Felicie lay cold
and breathless in his arms.
But the latter at length gasped, and
in few moments opened her eyes
He laid her tenderly upon the pile of
blankets brought from the chateau,
and gave her spoonful after spoonful
of wine.
you deserve better behavior" said
she, feebly; 81 did not mean to yield
to my feelings, but the sudden remem-
brance of my desolation swept aside |
all my fortitude'
You have been brave and courag- |
eous, my child; 1 can admire, but not |
blame your noble efforts. All, Feliciei |
If l allow myself to recur to the |
thought that she is gone, my strength
gives way-but for the present we
must not dwell upon it. Dearest one,
your grief is mine; for her sake you
would be the most precious thing left
n the world, even if your own merits
lid not win my esteem. The chateau
S gone, they are gone, too, for the
1rief day of life; thank Heaven, not for
he eternal ages Will you consent to
,ut away your identity as the daughter
# the Count Languedoc? Will you
Idopt me for a father, brother, uncle,
whatever you like, and take a new
lame? l think the sooner you use
-ourself to it, the safer it will be when
t becomes necessary" said Emile,
emily.
Tell me what you wish, and that is
nough for me-"
Your name shall be Chlotilde;
ad sister once whose name was
you shall be for the time
Reinard; and as my
Dung friend yonder, if he RECEIVERS,
ill be likely to be awkward and en-
in your presence, knowing
our rank, 1 particularly request that
e shall believe you my sisters child.
GU will become somewhat used to the
anne, l hope, before you venture into
le world. And now / must listen to
le doings without; lie still and rest {
le patient will not stir for many l
ours, and doubtless it is the best
ling-kindly nature will recuperate c
lie palsied brain with the sweetest of
aims, untroubled Sleep