A Double Life Part 10

He put a worn letter into her hand, and with a beating heart Helen read:

"Ariel is dead. Let her rest in peaee, and do not pursue me any longer, unless you would drive me into my grave as vou have driven her.

RALPH MARCH."

A little paper, more worn and stained than the other, dropped from the letter as Helen unfolded it, and seeing a woman's writing, she asked no permission, but read it eagerly, while Southesk sat with hidden face, unaware that he had given her that sacred farewell.

"Good-by, good-by," it said, in hastily-written letters, blurred by tears that had fallen long ago. "I have obeyed my father to the last, but my heart is yours for ever. Believe this, and pray, as I do, that vou may meet again your Ariel."

A long silence followed, for the simple little note had touched I Ielen deeply, and while she could not but rejoice in the hope which this discovery gave her, she was too womanly a woman not to pity the poor child who had loved and lost the heart she coveted. As she gently laid the letter back in Southesk's hand, she asked, turning her full eves on his, "Are you sure that this is true?"

"1 cannot doubt it, for I recognise the writing of both, and I know that neither would lend themselves to a fraud like this. No; I must accept the hard truth, and bear it as I can. My own heart confirms it, for every hope dies when I try to revive it, and the sad belief remains unshaken" was the spiritless reply.

Helen turned her face away, to hide the pa.s.sionate joy that glowed in it; then, veiling her emotion with the tenderest sympathy, she gave herself up to the sweet task of comforting the bereaved lover. So well did she perform her part, so soothing did he find her friendly society, that he came often and lingered long, for with her, and her alone, he could talk of Ariel. She never checked him, but listened to the distasteful theme with unwearied patience, till, by insensible degrees and unperceived allurements, she weaned him from these mournful reminiscences, and woke a healthier interest in the present. With feminine skill she concealed her steadily- increasing love under an affectionate friendliness, which seemed a mute a.s.surance that she cherished no hopes for herself, but knew that his heart was still Ariel's. This gave him confidence in her, while the new and gentle womanliness which now replaced her former pride, made her more attractive and more dangerous. Of course, the gossips gave them to one another, and Southesk felt aggrieved, fearing that he must relinquish the chief comfort of his solitary life. But Helen showed such supreme indifference to the clack of idle tongues, and met him with such unchanged composure, that he was rea.s.sured, and by remaining lost another point in this game of hearts.

With the summer came an unconquerable longing to revisit the island. Helen detected this wish before he uttered it, and, feeling that it would be vain to oppose it, quietly made her preparations for the sea-side, though otherwise she would have shunned it, fearing the old charm would revive and undo her work. Such visible satisfaction appeared in Southesks face when she bade him good- by for a time, that she departed, sure that he would follow her to that summer haunt as to no other. He did follow, and resolving to have the trial over at once, during their first stroll upon the beach Helen said, in the tone of tranquil regard which she always used with him: "I know you are longing to see your enchanted island again, yet, perhaps, dread to go alone. If it is so, let me go with you, for, much as I desire to see it, I shall never dare to trespa.s.s a second time."

Her voice trembled a little as she spoke - the first sign of emotion she had betrayed for a long time. Remembering that he had deceived her once, and recalling all he owed her since, Southesk felt that she had been very generous, very kind, and grat.i.tude warmed his manner as he answered, turning toward the boats, which he had been eyeing wistfully: "How well you understand me, Helen. Thank you for giving me courage to revisit the ruins of my little paradise. Come with me, for you are the only one who knows how much I have loved and lost. Shall we go now?"

"Blind and selfish, like a true man," thought Helen, with a pang, as she saw his eye kindle and the old elasticity return to his step as he went on before her. But she smiled and followed, as if glad to serve him, and a keen observer might have added, "patient and pa.s.sionate, like a true woman."

Little was said between them as thev made the breezy voyage. Once Southesk woke out of a long reverie, to sav, pausing on his oars: "A year to-day since I first saw Ariel."

"A year to-day since you told me that vour fate was to come to you out of the sea," and Helen sighed involuntarily as she contrasted the man before her with the happy dreamer who smiled up at her that day.

"Yes, and it has come even to the hour when all was to be won or lost," he answered, little dreaming that the next hour was to verify the prophecy more perfectly than any in the past.

As they landed, he said, beseechingly: "Wait for me at the lighthouse; I must visit the chasm alone, and I have no desire to encounter Stern, if I can help it."

"Why not?" asked Helen, wondering at his tone.

"Because he loved her, and could not forgive me that I was more beloved than he."

"I can pity him," she said, below her breath, adding, with unusual tenderness of manner -"Go, Philip; I know how to wait."

"And I thank you for it."

The look he gave her made her heart leap, for he had never bent such a one on her before, yet she feared that the memory of his lost love stirred and warmed him, not a dawning pa.s.sion for herself, and would have wrung her hands in despair could she have known how' utterly she was forgotten, as Southesk strode across the cliffs, almost as eagerly as if he knew' that Ariel waited for him in her nest. It w as empty; but something of its former beauty had been restored to it, for the stones were gone, green things were struggling up again, and the ladder was replaced.

"Poor Stern, he has repented of his frantic act, and tried to make the nest beautiful again as a memorial of her," thought Southesk; and descending, he threw himself down upon the newly-piled moss to dream his happy dream again, and fancy Ariel was there.

Well for him that he did not see the wrathful face that presently peered over the chasm's edge, as Stern watched him with the air of a man driven to desperation. The old hatred seemed to possess him with redoubled violence, and some new cause for detestation appeared to goad him with a hidden fear. More than once he sprang up and glanced anxiously behind him, as if he was not alone; more than once he laid his sinewy hands on a ponderous stone near by, as if tempted to hurl it down the chasm; and more than once he ground his teeth, like some savage creature who sees a stronger enemy approaching to deprive him of his prey.

The tide was coming in, the sky was over-cast, and a gale was rising; but though Southesk saw, heard and heeded nothing about him, Stern found hope in the gathering storm; for some evil spirit seemed to have been born of the tempest that raged within him, and to teach him how to make the elements his friends.

"Mr. Southesk."

Philip leaped to his feet as if a pistol had been fired at his ear, and saw Stern standing beside him with an air of sad humility, that surprised him more than the sight of his grey hair and haggard face. Pity banished resentment, and offering his hand, he said, with a generous oblivion of their parting words - "Thank you for the change you have wrought here, and forgive me that I come back to see it once before I go away for ever. We both loved her; let us comfort one another."

A sudden color pa.s.sed over Stern's swarthy face, he drew a long breath as he listened, and clenched one hand behind him as he put the other into Southesk's, answering in the same suppressed tone and with averted eyes - "You know it, then, and try to submit as I do?"

Philip's lips were parted to reply, but no words followed, for a faint, far-off sound was heard, a woman's voice singing - "Oh, come unto the yellow sands!"

Southesk turned pale, believing for an instant that Ariel's spirit came to welcome him; but the change in Stern's face, and the look of baffled rage and despair that played up in his eyes, betrayed him. Clutching his arm, the young man cried out, trembling with a sudden conviction - "You have lied to me; she is not dead!"

What pa.s.sed in Sterns heart during the second in which the two stood face to face, it would be impossible to tell, but with an effort that shook his strong body, he wrenched himself away and controlled his desperate desire to send his rival down the gulf. Some thought seemed to flash across him, calming the turbulence of his nature like a spell; and a.s.suming the air of one defeated, he said slowly - "I have lost, and I confess, I did lie to you, for March never sent the letter. I forged it, knowing that you would believe it if I added the note Ariel left for you a year ago. I could not give it to you then, but kept it with half the lock of hair. You followed them, but I followed you, and more than once thwarted you when you had nearly found them. As time pa.s.sed, your persistence and her suffering began to soften March; I saw this, and tried to check you by the story of her death."

"Thank G.o.d I came, else I should never have recovered her. Give her up, Stern; she is mine, and 1 claim her."

Southesk turned to spring up the ladder, with no thought now but to reach Ariel; Stern arrested him, by saying with grim reluctance - "You'll not find her, for she will not come here any more, but sit below by the basin where you saw her first. You can reach her by climbing down the steps I have made. Nay, if you doubt me, listen."

He did listen, and as the wind swept over the chasm, clearer and sweeter came the sound of that beloved voice. Southesk hesitated no longer, but swung himself recklessly downward, followed by Stern, whose black eyes glittered with a baleful light as they watched the agile figure going on before him. When they reached the basin, full to overflowing with the rising tide, they found the book her lover gave her and the little comb he knew so well, but no Ariel.

"She has gone into the cave for the weeds and sh.e.l.ls you used to like. I'll wait for you; there is no need of me now."

Again Southesk listened; again he heard the voice, and followed it without a thought of fear; while Stern, seating himself on one of the fragments of rock cleared from the nest, leaned his head despondently upon his hand, as if his work was done.

The cave, worn by the ceaseless action of the waves at high tide, wound tortuously through the cliff to a lesser opening on the other side. Glancing rapidly into the damp nooks on either hand, Southesk hurried through this winding pa.s.sage, which grew lower, narrower and darker toward the end, yet Ariel did not appear, and, standing still, he called her. Echo after echo caught up the word, and sent it whispering to and fro, but no human voice replied, though still the song came fitfully on the wind that blew coldly through the cave.

"She has ventured on to watch the waves boil in the Kelpie's Cauldron. Imprudent child, I'll punish her with a kiss," thought Southesk, smiling to himself, as he bent his tall head and groped his way toward the opening. He reached it, and looked down upon a ma.s.s of jagged rocks, over and among which the great billows dashed turbulent and dark with the approaching storm. Still no Ariel; and as he stood, more clearly than ever sounded her voice, above him now.

"She has not been here, but has climbed the Gull's Perch to watch the sky as we used to do. I have wasted all this time. Curse Stern's stupidity!"

In a fever of impatience he retraced his steps, stopping suddenly as his feet encountered a pool which had not been there when he came.

"Ah! the tide is nearer in than I thought. Thank heaven, my darling is not here!" he said, and hurried round a sharp corner, expecting to see the entrance before him. It was not there! A ponderous stone had been rolled against it, effectually closing it, and permitting only a faint ray of light to penetrate this living tomb. At first he stood panic-stricken at the horrible death that confronted him; then he thought of Stern, and in a paroxysm of wrath dashed himself against the rock, hoping to force it outward. But Stern's immense strength had served him well; and while his victim struggled vainly, wave after wave broke against the stone, wedging it more firmly still, yet leaving crevices enough for the bitter waters to flow in, bringing sure death to the doomed man, unless help came speedily from without. Not till the rapidly advancing tide drove him back did Southesk desist; then drenched, breathless and bruised he retreated to the lesser opening, with a faint hope of escape that way. Leaning over the Cauldron, he saw that the cliff sunk sheer down, and well he knew that a leap there would be fatal. As far up as he could see, the face of the cliff offered foothold for nothing but a bird. He shouted till the cave rang, but no answer came, though Ariel's song began again, for the same wind that brought her voice to him bore his away from her. There was no hope unless Stern relented, and being human, he might have, had he seen the dumb despair that seized his rival as he lav waiting for death, while far above him the woman he loved unconsciously chanted a song he had taught her, little dreaming it would be his dirge.

Left alone, Helen entered the lighthouse, and looked about her with renewed interest. The room was empty, but through a halfopen door she saw a man sitting at a table covered with papers. 1 le seemed to have been writing, but the pen had dropped from his hand, and leaning back in his deep chair he appeared to be asleep. His face was turned from her; yet when she advanced, he did not hear her, and when she spoke, he neither stirred nor answered. Something in the att.i.tude and silence of the unknown man alarmed her; involuntarily she stepped forward and laid her hand on his. It was icy cold, and the face she saw had no life in it. Tranquil and reposeful, as if death had brought neither pain nor fear, he lay there with his dead hand on the paper, which some irresistible impulse had prompted him to write. Helen's eye fell on it, and despite the shock of this discovery, a single name made her seize the letter and devour its contents, though she trembled at the act and the solemn witness of it.

"To Philip Southesk: "Feeling that mv end is verv near, and haunted by a presentiment that it will be sudden - perhaps solitary - I am prompted to write what 1 hope to sav to you if time is given me to reach you. I hirty years ago your father was mv dearest friend, but we loved the same beautiful woman and he won her, unfairly 1 believed and in the pa.s.sionate disappointment of the moment 1 swore und ing hatred to him and his. We parted and never met again, for the next tidings I received were of his death. I left the country and was an alien for years; thus I heard no rumor of your birth and never dreamed that you were Richard Marston's son till I learned it through Ariel. Her mother, like yours, died at her birth. I reared her with jealous care, for she was my all, and I loved her with the intensity of a lonely heart; you came; I found that you could make her happy. I knew that my life was drawing to a close; I trusted you and I gave her up. Then I learned your name, and at the cost of breaking my child's heart I kept my sinful oath. For a year you have followed me with unwearied patience; for a year Ariel's fading youth has pleaded silently, and for a year I have been struggling to harden myself against both. But love has conquered hate, and standing in the shadow of death I see the sin and folly of the past. I repent and retract my oath, I absolve Ariel from the promise I exacted, I freely give her to the man she loves, and may G.o.d deal with him as he deals with her.

RALPH MARCH, JUNE----- "

There the pen had fallen, blotting the date; but Helen saw only the last two lines and her hand closed tighter on the paper as if she felt that it would be impossible to give it up. Forgetting everything but that she held her rivals fate in her grasp, she yielded to the terrible temptation, and thrusting the paper into her bosom glided away like a guilty creature to find Southesk and prevent him from discovering that the girl lived, if it was not too late. He was nowhere to be seen, and crossing the rude bridge that spanned the chasm she ventured to call him as she pa.s.sed, round the base of the tall rock named the Gull's Perch. A soft voice answered her, and turning a sharp angle she came upon a woman who sat alone looking down into the Kelpie's Cauldron that foamed far below. She had half risen with a startled look at the sound of a familiar name, and as Helen paused to recover herself, Ariel asked half imploringly, half imperiously, "Why do you call Philip? Tell me, is he here?" But for the paper in her breast Helen would have answered no, and trusted all to chance; now, feeling sure that the girl would keep her promise more faithfully than her father had kept his oath, unless he absolved her from it, she answered: "Yes, but I implore you to shun him. I Ie thinks you dead; he has learned to love me, and is happy. Do not destroy my hope, and rob me of my hard-won prize, for you cannot reward him unless you break the solemn promise you have given."

Ariel covered up her face, as if confessing the hard truth, but love clamored to be heard, and, stretching her hands to Helen, she cried: "I will not come between you; I will keep my word; but let me see him once, and I will ask no more. Where is he? I can steal a look at him unseen; then you may take him away for ever, if it must be so."

Trying to silence the upbraidings of her conscience, and thinking only of her purpose, Helen could not refuse this pa.s.sionate prayer, and, pointing toward the chasm, she said anxiously: "He went to the place you made so dear to him, but I do not see him now, nor does he answer w hen I call. Can he have fallen down that precipice?"

Ariel did not answer, for she was at the chasm's brink, looking into its gloom with eyes that no darkness could deceive. No one w as there, and no sound answered the soft call that broke from her lips, but the dash of w ater far below. Glancing tow ard the basin, with a sudden recollection of the precious book left there, she saw, with wonder, that the stone w here she had sat was gone, and that the cavern's mouth was closed. Stern's hat lav near her, and as her eve fell on it, a sudden horror shook her, for he had left her, meaning to return, yet had not come, and was now here to be seen.

"Have you seen Stern?" she asked, grasping Helen's arm, with a face of pale dismay.

"I saw him climbing the ladder, as if he was going to bind up his hands, which were bleeding. He looked wet and wild, and, as he did not see me, I did not speak. Why do you ask?"

"Because I fear he has shut Philip in the cave, where the rising tide will drown him. It is too horrible to believe; I must be sure."

Back she flew to the seat she had left, and flinging herself dow n on the edge of the sloping cliff, she called his name till she was hoa.r.s.e and trembling with the effort. Once a faint noise seemed to answ er, but the wind swept the sound away, and I lelen vainly strained her ear to eatch some syllable of the reply. Suddenly Ariel sprung up, with a cry: "He is there! I see the flutter of his handkerchief! Help me, and we will save him."

She was gone as she spoke, and before Helen could divine her purpose or steady her own nerves, Ariel was back again, dragging the rope ladder, which she threw down, and began to tear up the plaid on which she had been sitting.

"It is too short, and even these strips will not make it long enough. What can I give to help?" cried Helen, glancing at the frail silks and muslins which composed her dress.

"You can give nothing, and there is not time to go for help. I shall lengthen it in this way."

Tying back the hair that blew about her face, and gathering the rope on her arm, Ariel slid over the edge of the cliff, and unstartled by Helen's cry of alarm, climbed with wary feet along a perilous path, where one mis-step would be her last. Half way down a ledge appeared where a tree had once grown; the pine was blasted and shattered now, but the roots held fast, and to these Ariel hung the ladder, with a stone fastened to the lower end to keep the wind from blowing it beyond the opening. Straight as a plummet it fell, and for a moment neither woman breathed; then a cry broke from both, for the ropes tightened, as if a hand tried the strength of that frail road. Another pause of terrible suspense, and out from the dark cave below came a man, who climbed swiftly upward, regardless of the gale that nearly tore the ladder from his hold, the hungry sea that wet him with its spray, the yielding roots that hardly bore his weight, or the wounded hands that marked his way with blood, for his eyes were fixed on Ariel, and on his face, white with the approach of a cruel death, shone an expression brighter than a smile, as he neared the brave girl who lent all her strength to save him, with one arm about the tree, the other clutching the ladder as if she defied all danger to herself.

Kneeling on the cliff above, Helen saw all this, and when Southesk stood upon the ledge, with Ariel gathered to the shelter of his arms, her heart turned traitor to her will, remorse made justice possible, love longed to enn.o.ble itself by sacrifice, and all that was true and tender in her nature pleaded for the rival who had earned happiness at such a cost. One sharp pang, one moment of utter despair, followed by utter self-forgetfulness, and Helen's temptation became a triumph that atoned for an hour's suffering and sin.

What went on below her she never knew, but when the lovers came to her, spent yet smiling, she gave the paper to Southesk, and laid her hand on Ariel's head with a gesture soft and solemn, as she said, wearing an expression that made her fine face strangely beautiful: "You have won him and you deserve him; for you are n.o.bler than I. Forgive me, Philip; and when you are happiest, remember that, though sorely tempted, I resisted, hoping to grow worthier to become your friend."

Even while she spoke he had caught the meaning of the paper, and Ariel guessed it from his face before she, too, read the words that set her free. But her tears of joy changed to tears of grief when Helen gently broke to her the sad fact of her father's death, trying to comfort her so tenderly that, by the blessed magic of sympathy, all bitterness was banished from her own sore heart. As they turned to leave that fateful cliff, Stern confronted them with an aspect that daunted even Southesk's courage. Calm with the desperate calmness of one who had staked his last throw and lost it, he eyed them steadily a moment; then with a gesture too sudden to be restrained, he s.n.a.t.c.hed Ariel to him - kissed her pa.s.sionately, put her from him, and springing to the edge of the cliff, turned on Southesk, saying in an accent of the intensest scorn, as he pointed downward to the whirlpool below - "Coward! you dared not end your life when all seemed lost, but waited for a woman to save you. I will show you how a brave man dies." And as the last words left his lips he was gone.

Years have pa.s.sed since then; Ariel has long been a happy wife; Philip's name has become a household word on many lips, and Helen's life has grown serenely cheerful, though still solitary. But so the legend runs: Stern yet haunts the island; for the light-house keepers tell of a wild and woeful phantom that wanders day and night among the cliffs and caverns by the sea. Sometimes they see it, in the strong glare of the lantern, leaning on the balcony, and looking out into the night, as if it watched and waited to see some ship come sailing by. Often those who visit the Kelpies Cauldron are startled by glimpses of a dark, desperate face that seems to rise and mock them with weird scorn. But oftenest a shadowy shape is seen to flit into the chasm, wearing a look of human love and longing, as it vanishes in the soft gloom of Ariel's nest.

Taming a Tartar

CHAPTER I.

Dear mademoiselle, I a.s.sure you it is an arrangement both profitable and agreeable to one, who, like you, desires change of occupation and scene, as well as support. Madame la Princesse is most affable, generous, and to those who please her, quite child-like in her affection."

"But, madame, am I fit for the place? Does it not need accomplishments and graces which I do not possess? There is a wide difference between being a teacher in a Pensionnat pour Demoiselles like this and the companion of a princess."

"Ah, hah, my dear, it is nothing. Let not the fear of rank disturb you; these Russians are but savages, and all their money, splendor, and the polish Paris gives them, do not suffice to change the barbarians. You are the superior in breeding as in intelligence, as you will soon discover; and for accomplishments, yours will bear the test anywhere. I grant you Russians have much talent for them, and acquire with marvelous ease, but taste they have not, nor the skill to use these weapons as we use them."

"The princess is an invalid, you say?"

"Yes; but she suffers little, is delicate and needs care, amus.e.m.e.nt, yet not excitement. You are to chat with her, to read, sing, strive to fill the place of confidante. She sees little society, and her wing of the hotel is quite removed from that of the prince, who is one of the lions just now."

"Is it of him they tell the strange tales of his princely generosity, his fearful temper, childish caprices, and splendid establishment?"

"In truth, yes; Paris is wild for him, as for some magnificent savage beast. Madame la Comtesse Millefleur declared that she never knew whether he would fall at her feet, or annihilate her, so impetuous were his. moods. At one moment showing all the complaisance and elegance of a born Parisian, the next terrifying the beholders by some outburst of savage wrath, some betrayal of the Tartar blood that is in him. Ah! it is incredible how such things amaze one."

"Has the princess the same traits? If so, I fancy the situation of companion is not easy to fill."

"No, no, she is not of the same blood. She is a half-sister; her mother was a Frenchwoman; she was educated in France, and lived here till her marriage with Prince Tcherinski. She detests St. Petersburg, adores Paris, and hopes to keep her brother here till the spring, for the fearful climate of the north is death to her delicate lungs. She is a gay, simple, confiding person; a child still in many things, and since her widowhood entirely under the control of this brother, who loves her tenderly, yet is a tyrant to her as to all who approach him."

I smiled as my loquacious friend gave me these hints of my future master and mistress, but in spite of all drawbacks, I liked the prospect, and what would have deterred another, attracted me. I was alone in the world, fond of experiences and adventures, selfreliant and self-possessed; eager for change, and anxious to rub off the rust of five years' servitude in Madame Bayard's Pensionnat. Phis new occupation pleased me, and but for a slight fear of proving unequal to it, I should have at once accepted madame's proposition. She knew everyone, and through some friend had heard of the princess's wish to find an English lady as companion and teacher, for a whim had seized her to learn English. Madame knew I intended to leave her, my health and spirits being worn by long and arduous duties, and she kindly interested herself to secure the place for me.

"Go then, dear mademoiselle, make a charming toilet and present yourself to the princess without delay, or you lose your opportunity. I have smoothed the way for you; your own address will do the rest, and in one sense, your fortune is made, if all goes well."

I obeyed madame, and when I w as ready, took a critical survey of myself, trying to judge of the effect upon others. The long mirror showed me a slender, well-molded figure, and a pale face - not beautiful, but expressive, for the sharply cut, somewhat haughty features betrayed good blood, spirit and strength. Gray eyes, large and l.u.s.trous, under straight, dark brows; a firm mouth and chin, proud nose, wide brow, with waves of chestnut hair parted plainlv back into heavv coils behind. Five vears in Paris had taught me the art of dress, and a good salarv permitted me to indulge my taste. Although simply made, I flattered mvself that my promenade costume of silk and sable w as en regie, as well as becoming, and with a smile at myself in the mirror I went mv w ay, wondering if this new plan was to prove the welcome change so long desired.

As the carriage drove into the court-yard of the princes hotel in the Champs Ely sees, and a gorgeous laquais carried up my card, my heart beat a little faster than usual, and when I followed the servant in, I felt as if my old life ended suddenly, and one of strange interest had already begun.

The princess was not ready to receive me yet, and I was shown into a splendid salon to wait. Mv entrance was noiseless, and as I took a seat, my eves fell on the half-drawn curtains w hich divided the room from another. Two persons were visible, but as neither saw me in the soft gloom of the apartment, I had an opportunity to look as long and curiously as I pleased. The w hole scene w as as unlike those usually found in a Parisian salon as can well be imagined.

Though three o'clock in the afternoon, it was evidently earh morning with the gentleman stretched on the ottoman, reading a novel and smoking a Turkish chibouk - for his costume was that of a Russian seigneur in deshabille. A long Caucasian caftan of the finest white sheepskin, a pair of loose black velvet trowsers, bound round the waist by a rich shawl, and Kasan boots of crimson leather, ornamented with golden embroidery on the instep, covered a pair of feet which seemed disproportionately small compared to the unusually tall, athletic figure of the man; so also did the head with a red silk handkerchief bound over the thick black hair. The costume suited the face; swarthy, black-eved, scarlet-lipped, heavy- browed and beardless, except a thick mustache; serfs wear beards, but Russian n.o.bles never. A strange face, for even in repose the indescribable difference of race was visible; the contour of the head, molding of the features, hue of hair and skin, even the att.i.tude, all betrayed a trace of the savage strength and spirit of one in whose veins flowed the blood of men reared in tents, and born to lead wild lives in a wild land.

This unexpected glance behind the scenes interested me much, and I took note of everything within my ken. The book which the slender brown hand held was evidentlv a French novel, but when a lap-dog disturbed the reader, it was ordered off in Russian with a sonorous oath, I suspect, and an impatient gesture. On a gueri- don, or side-table, stood a velvet porte-cigare, a box of sweetmeats, a bottle of Bordeaux, and a tall gla.s.s of cold tea, with a slice of lemon floating in it. A musical instrument, something like a mandolin, lay near the ottoman, a piano stood open, with a sword and helmet on it, and sitting in a corner, noiselesslv making cigarettes, was a half-grown boy, a serf I fancied, from his dress and the silent, slavish way in which he watched his master.

The princess kept me waiting long, but I was not impatient, and when I was summoned at last I could not resist a backward glance at the brilliant figure I left behind me. The servant's voice had roused him, and, rising to his elbow, he leaned forward to look, with an expression of mingled curiosity and displeasure in the largest, blackest eyes I ever met.

I found the princess, a pale, pretty little woman of not more than twenty, buried in costlv furs, though the temperature of her boudoir seemed tropical to me. Most gracious was my reception, and at once all fear vanished, for she was as simple and wanting in dignity as any of my young pupils.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Varna, you come in good time to spare me from the necessity of accepting a lady whom I like not. She is excellent, but too grave; while you rea.s.sure me at once by that smile. Sit near me, and let us arrange the affair before my brother comes. You incline to give me your society, I infer from the good Bayard?" "If Madame la Frincesse accepts my services on trial for a time, I much desire to make the attempt, as my former duties have become irksome, and I have a great curiosity to see St. Petersburg."

"Mon Dieu! I trust it will be long before we return to that detestable climate. Chere mademoiselle, I entreat you to say nothing of this desire to my brother. He is mad to go back to his wolves, his ice and his barbarous delights; but I cling to Paris, for it is my life. In the spring it is inevitable, and I submit - but not now. If you come to me, I conjure you to aid me in delaying the return, and shall be forever grateful if you help to secure this reprieve for me." So earnest and beseeching were her looks, her words, and so entirely did she seem to throw herself upon my sympathy and good-will, that I could not but be touched and won, in spite of my surprise. I a.s.sured her that I would do my best, but could not flatter myself that any advice of mine would influence the prince.

"You do not know him; but from what Bayard tells me of your skill in controlling wayward wills and hot tempers, I feel sure that you can influence Alexis. In confidence, I tell you what you will soon learn, if vou remain: that though the best and tenderest of brothers, the prince is hard to manage, and one must tread cautiously in approaching him. His will is iron; and a decree once uttered is as irrevocable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. He has always claimed entire liberty for himself, entire obedience from every one about him; and my father's early death leaving him the head of our house, confirmed these tyrannical tendencies. Io keep him in Paris is mv earnest desire, and in order to do so I must seem indifferent, yet make his life so attractive that he will not command our departure."

"One would fancy life could not but be attractive to the prince in the gayest city of the world," I said, as the princess paused for breath.

"He cares little for the polished pleasures which delight a Parisian, and insists on bringing many of his favorite amus.e.m.e.nts with him. His caprices amuse the world, and are admired, but they annoy me much. At home he wears his Russian costume, orders the horrible dishes he loves, and makes the apartments unendurable with his samovar, chibouk and barbarous ornaments. Abroad he drives his droschky with the Ischvostchik in full St. Petersburg livery, and wears his uniform on all occasions. I say nothing, but I suffer."

It required a strong effort to repress a smile at the princess's pathetic lamentations and the martyr-like airs she a.s.sumed. She was infinitely amusing with her languid or vivacious words and att.i.tudes; her girlish frankness and her feeble health interested me, and I resolved to stay even before she asked my decision.

I sat with her an hour, chatting of many things, and feeling more and more at ease as I read the shallow but amiable nature before me. All arrangements were made, and I was about taking my leave when the prince entered unannounced, and so quickly that 1 had not time to make my escape.

He had made his toilet since I saw him last, and I found it difficult to recognize the picturesque figure on the ottoman in the person who entered wearing the ordinary costume of a well-dressed gentleman. Even the face seemed changed, for a cold, haughty expression replaced the thoughtful look it had worn in repose. A smile softened it as he greeted his sister, but it vanished as he turned to me, with a slight inclination, when she whispered my name and errand, and while she explained he stood regarding me with a look that angered me. Not that it was insolent, but supremely masterful, as if those proud eyes were accustomed to command whomever they looked upon. It annoyed me, and I betrayed my annoyance by a rebellious glance, which made him lift his brows in surprise as a half smile pa.s.sed over his lips. When his sister paused, he said, in the purest French, and with a slightly imperious accent: "Mademoiselle is an Englishwoman?"

"My mother was English, my father of Russian parentage, although born in England."

I knew not by what t.i.tle to address the questioner, so I simplified the matter by using none at all.

"Ah, you are half a Russian, then, and naturally desire to see your country?"

"Yes, I have long wished it," I began, but a soft cough from the princess reminded me that I must check my wish till it was safe to express it.