Chicago eagle. [volume] (Chicago, Ill.) 1889-19??, 1901-08-24
CHAPTER XvI.--(ContinuedJ

triumphantly- rather blue might say.
Is there anything the matter with you!
Your face is as long as fiddle. Perhaps
II Is the sea that makes you melancholy
mot at ALL" I answered, trying to
speak briskly: 81 am an old sailor. Per
haps you will feel melancholy by-and-
by
Luckily for me. my prophecy was full
filed shortly after, for the day was rough
enough to produce uncomfortable scnsa-
tions In those who were not old sailors
like myself. My torinentor was pros
tratc to the last moment.
When we anchored at the entrance OF
the Crcux. and the small boats came out
to carry us ashore. l managed easily to
secure a place in the first and to lose
sight of her in the hustle Of landing. AS
soon as my feet touched the shore start.
cd off at my swiftcst pace for the Havrc
Gossclin.
But had not far to &c. for ut Naudin
Inn, which stands at the top Of the steep
lane running from the Creux Harbor.
saw Tardf at the door. He came to Inc
instantly, and we sat down on a low
stone wall on the roadside, but well out
Of hearing of any ears but each others.
"Tardif," I said, has mainzelle told
you her secretT'
Eyes, yes" he answered.; poor little
soul! and she Is a hundredfold dearer I"
me now than before. But nam zelle 10
not here. She is gone!"
"Gonew l calculated. I could not ut.
ter another word; but l stared at him
as IL my eyes could tear further informa-
ton from him.
YES" he said: "that lady came last
week with Miss Dobrec, your cousin.
Then mam'zellc told me all, and We took
counsel together. 1t was not safe for
her to stay any longer, though l would
have died for her gladly. But what could
be doney We knew she must 20 else
where. and the next morning ! rowed
her over to Peter.port In time for the
steamer to England. Poor little thing
poor little hunted soul:'
"Tarlif," I said, did she leave no
message for mef'
''She wrote a letter for you," he said,
"the very last thing. She did not 70 to
bed that night. neither did l. l was GO
Ing to lose her, doctor, and she had
been like the light Of the sun to me.
But what could 1 do? She was terrified
TO death at the thought Of her husband
claiming her. I promised to give the
letter into your own hands. Here II Is:
1t had been lying In his breast pocket
and the edges were worn already. lie
gave II to me lingcringly, as II 10th to
part with 1t. The tourists were coming
up In greater numbers. md I made a
retreat hastily towards a quiet and re.
mote part Of the cliffs seldom visited In
Little Sark.
There. with the sen, which had carried
her away from me, playing buoyantly
amongst the rocks, I read her farewell
letter. 1t ran thus:
my Dear Friend-I am glad can
call you my friend. though nothing can
ever come Of our riendship-nothing. fol-
We may not see one another as other
friends do. am compelled to fee away
again from this quiet, peaceful home,
where you and Tardif have been 10 good
to me. l began TO feel perfectly safe
here, and all ut once the refuge fails
me. 1t breaks my heart, but must 60
and my only glndness Is that II will be
good for you. BY ana by you will forget
me, and return to your cousin Julia, and
be happy just M you once thought you
should be--ns you would have been hui
for me. You must think of me as one
dead. am quite dead-l0st to you.
'Good-by, my dear friend; good.by
good-by! OLIVIA"
The last line was written In Il shaken
irregular hnnd, and her name was hall
bl0tted out, us IL Il tear had fallen upon
II. ! remained there alone on the wild
and solitary cliffs until 1t was time I,
return to the steamer.
Tardif was waiting FOR me ut the en-
trance OF the little tunnel through which
the road passes down to the harbor. Ii
did not speak ut FIRST. but he drew Ou,
OF his pocket IN old leather pouch filled
with yellow papers. Amongst them In,
u long curling trcss Of shining hair. IL,
touched It gently Us II 1t had feeling ant
consciousness.
"You would like to have 1t, doctOrf' III
said.
"Ay," l answered, and that only.
could not venture upOn another word.