NOBLE AS LAST; OR, The Headsman of Rouen.

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Issue 3006, 12 February 1881, Page 5 (Supplement)

NOBLE AS LAST; OR, The Headsman of Rouen.

AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE. RY NATHAN D. TJENER. CHAPTER V. THE HERMIT OP THE GLEN. The good Father of the Black Grotto was an eccentric character who at odd intervals occupied a large cave, which he had fitted up for a habitation, in one of the wild glens peculiar to the country skirting the Norman capital to the north, and about a mile from it. He was simply a hermit, not a priest, and no one apparently knew whence he came or how he got there. Among the ignorant, he was accounted a magician, as a matter of course. But his unpretentious wisdom and the known benevolence of his character more than counteracted the mystery surrounding him, and he had come to be sought by people of all degrees in trouble, for consolation and advice. He was a very tall man, with bright eyes and flowing white hair and beard, and was never seen in any other attire than a long, loose dress of coarse gray material. On a certain afternoon he was sitting meditatively at the door of his cavern, when two horsemen came riding along the w r ild and rocky path that led to it. The heavily Blouched hats and closely-muffled chins of both indicated a desire for disguise and concealment, but no sooner had the foremost and superior horseman dismounted, and rather hesitatingly approached, than the hermit pronounced his name. " Welcome, my Lord Viscount de Chanzy," said he, gravely. "I have been expecting you." " My disguise avails me little then," said Bertrand, in surprise. "It seemed to answer in the city, too. No one suspected my identity at the little inn where I put up, and where I readily secured a lad to guide me to the outskirts of your wild retreat, good father." " Met you with no one at the entrance of this glen ?"

" Ay; a dozen men-at-arms, or more, who seemed to guard it jealously." " Only to prevent the unattended egress of one who now is hero, however," said the hermit. " They dare not hinder any one that would approach.''';.- ■ - " Excellent father!" said the young noble, drawing nearer 5. "you, who know so much, must know full well the object of my visit here. First then, pray tell me —" " The name of your unknown benefactor you would say?" interrupted the hermit quickly. "It cannot be." "But he has loaned me money which I am ready and anxious to return to him." "His wealth is vast, and he can wait."

"But I am Tinder the gravest of obligations to him. I come of a proud race, Mon sieur le Bon Pere—"

" And for that reason you must learn humility," again interrupted the hermit, impassively. " Your unknown friend will reTeal himself in good time —if at all. In the meantime, lam his agent. Follow me." .He arose and entered his cave. Bertrand motioned his page to remain where he was with the horses, and followed, with a rapidly beating heart, for he anticipated direct intelligence from Gabrielle. The cave was much more spacious and extensive than an outsider would have conjectured. The hermit led the way through a large outer grotto, which appeared to be fitted up with scantiness and severity suitable to a true anchorite's tastes, and then by a long, rough-walled passage, or tunnel, to a narrow door that closed the end of it. A dimlyburning iron lamp, suspended from the craggy roof, afforded only sufficient light to indicate the way. The hermit touched a secret spring, which caused the door to swing noiselessly open. A charming interior was partly disclosed — an inner grotto, gorgeously tapestried and furnished, which was plentifully illuminated by the blessed sunlight itself, softly filtering in through little, close-barred loopholes at the sides.

Tho hermit stepped to one side of the passage, and motioned his visitor to enter. Suspicious as well as mystified, notwithstanding the inviting interior, Bertrand could not refrain from laying his hand upon his sword as he obeyed ; but an exclamation of joyful astonishment burst from him as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

•' Mademoiselle de Montfort herself was seated upon a divan, reading. She started up at his entrance, and her exclamation seemed but an echo of his joy as she advanced timidly to meet him, and then suffered herself to he gathered in his arms. The door swung shut, and the anchorite ■was left standing alone in the passage. The glimpse that he had obtained of the lovers' meeting had wrought a frightful transformation in him. In spite Of his snowy locks and beard, his eyes blazed with jealous fury, his features were distorted, and fierce tremors seemed to overpower him. He pressed his clenched hands to his temples, and seemed disposed to dash his head against the rocks. ■_ Partly recovering himself, howeyer, he regained the outer grotto, and began to pace its floor with feverish' strides. " Does she, indeed, love him, then ? he muttered hoarsely. "Nay, it cannot bet there's madness in the thought! She cannot have yet felt real passion—she but admires the youth—regards him as her sole release from old De Coucy's arms—flies to him as to a lesser evil from a greater! Did she know more of the world—had she seen other and superior men—Oh, I must be calm! S'death! it rends my heart to see her thus to think of her in any arms but those— but those which never, never can enfold her! I must be brave—must suffer still; it is tho expiation I have set myself!" Strange words and thoughts, indeed, from suoh an°anchorite, from one so venerable and benevolent of look and mien! Yet what can fathom or circumscribe the varied emotions, contradictions, hopes, aspirations, and despair of that strange instrument, the human heart ? The Good Father of the Black Grotto gradually grew calmer and more collected.

At last, when a glance at a rude timepiece hanging upon the wall of his retreat apprised him that he had been pacing tho floor for half an hour, he returned, to the door of the inner grotto with his passive gravity of demeanor perfectly restored.

He first knocked warningly upon the door, and then touched the spring that caused it to open. Not a tremor of emotion did his face betray, though he saw the lovers seated side by side upon the divan, clasping each other's hands.

"My lord, the period permitted for your interview is expired," he said, abruptly. "Go at once, and do not tarry. Mademoiselle's attendants will be at the mouth of the cave inquiring for her in five minutes. You, my lord, will quit the glen by the path to the left. One more interview will be permitted you —to-morrow at this hour—when all your arrangements must be completed. Away!" Bertrand arose, as if to plead for a few more blissful minutes, but there was something so stern and uncompromising in the hermit's manner that he reluctantly desisted.

" Until to-morrow then, my life, my joy!" he murmured, raising the hand of his betrothed passionately to his lips.

Upon the hermit motioning him to depart, Bertrrnd attempted, in the fullness of his gratitude, to take his hand also,, but the former drew himself up to his full height, and put his hands behind his back. "It is not necessary, my lord ; lam but the agent of your unknown friend, who is also mine," said he, again imperatively signing him to depart. "Adieu, then, since I must needs obey !" cried Bertrand, throwing a last burning glance at Gabrielle as he disappeared. Mademoiselle de Monfort remained upon the divan, with her eyes cast down, and the blushes suffusing her cheeks. The Good Father of the Black Grotto had been her confidant almost from her childhood ; but she was # little ashamed at his having witnessed her meeting with her lover. "Is all arranged, then, my daughter?" said the hermit, seating himself at her side with an assumption of fatherlines3 in his manner whhose well-guarded undercurrent of passion she was far from suspecting. " Yes, Good Father, or will bo, thanks to thee!" she murmured. " Ah, how good thou art to me!"

" I would feel better deserving of thy thanks, my child," said the hermit, in guarded tones, "if I felt that this noble youth, who is to rescue thee from hateful tyranny and wrong, possessed thy heart as well as thy esteem." " Doth he not so?" she cried, looking up in much surprise. "Nay, let me ask that," exclaimed the hermit, with even more constraint. " Dost really love the young viscount ?" " Have I not every reason to ? Is he not noble, brave, devoted, admirable ?"

" Answer my question : dost love him ?" " He is to be my rescuer and my husband, dear Good Father ; I like him better than any man I've ever met." " My question : dost love him ?" " Not as he loves me, perhaps," said Gabrielle, at a loss to account for the intense manner and voice of her questioner. " But given, as we maidens are, in betrothal when but children, what do we know of love before our marriage ? 1 suppose it all comes afterwards, does it not?"

"Not the master passion—not perfect, idolizing, passionate, and holy love in all it« fullness !" said the hermit, drawing a long breath of relief, and controlling his voice with more difficulty. "That, in woman, must precede a wedlock to endure for ever." " Alas! such love, then, I have never known," said Gabrielle, with a little sigh, as of regret, " although I may have fancied it at times —a vaguely-imaged rapture quite beyond my comprehension. Butthen," she added, looking up brightly, "BertrancVs love for me is so apparent, so engrossing, it causes me a pleasure but to contemplate it." " Adieu, my daughter," was the hermit's only response, as he arose and motioned her toward the door.

"Your blesssing, Good Father," said Gabrielle, crossing her hands tipon her breast ancl bending her head, which he just touched with his finger-tips.

"Remember always, child, that my blessing is never sacred like a priest's," said he, coldly, "but only expressive of my humble good will. Far be it from me to arrogate a privilege which but belongs to those ordained of heaven."

" So thou hast often said to me before, dear Good Father," murmured the young girl, gently. " But I ever crave, even as I hope to deserve, the fond well-wishing of such wise souls as thine. Adieu!"

He followed her to the outer door, where Colestine, her old nurse, was waiting to receive her; ancl two of the Count de Montfort's retainers were also standing a little apart. They uncovered respectfully as the hermit's tall figure filled the doorway of the cave; for he was generally respected and venerated, if not a little feared.

On the following day, at the same hour, the lovers had another interview. Whatever of mingled raptures it may have contained, or whether of transports on one side and complacency on the other, shall be as sacredly veiled from tbe reader as the one of the preceding day. Suffice it to say that, when the hermit again interrupted the lovers, Bertrand joyfully announced that the plan of elopement had been definitely arranged.

The Baron de Coucy would arrive at the Chateau de Montfort on that same evening, accompanied by a small train, and, tired out with his long journey, would probably retire early to a long rest full of radiant dreams anticipative of the succeeding morn, which had been fixed upon as the time of his marriage with Gabrielle. The latter, under pretense of weariness, was likewise to to seek her couch at an early hour. But at midnight she was to arise, secretly quit the castle, in Celeatine's company, ancl make the best of her way to the Black Grotto, which was less than a mile from the castle, and where her lover would await her with ah tho means nesessary for a speedy flight tt Malmaison. There they were to be married at once, after which it was their intention to seek Burgundy in disguise, where D( Chanzy had no doubt that his proffered al j legiance and service would be cheerfully

accepted by the reigning duke. The hermit listened to all these details without excitement, for he had himself suggested them to Mademoiselle de Montfort beforehand, as pertaining to a plan that promised the greatest success, attended by least danger. " It is well," was all the comment that he vouchsafed. " Depart thou first to-day, my daughter. Celestine already awaits thee at the door, to say that the attendants are more impatient of delay than usual. Linger not, and Heaven grant that all may prosper." He touched his forehead, as was his wont, and she was about to depart, when Bertrand again seized her in his arms in a farewell transport of hope and triumph. "Begone this instant!" cried the hermit, in a strangely hoarse and choking voice, while lie abruptly turned away from witnessing the embrace. " Delay a moment longer and I renounce you both!" " One more moment for one last kiss, one last embrace!" exclaimed Bertrand, too enraptured to resent or even notice the angry, abrupt tone of the injunction. " Adieu, then, beautiful, adorable, Gabrielle! Adieu until to-morrow —until we meet to part no more!" Gabrielle succeeded in breaking from his embrace, and disappeared, with many blushes.

" Tarry here a little ere thou dost rejoin thy page, my lord," said the hermit, in his usual tone, as he sank into a seat. "Excellent man! noble benefactor!" cried Bertrand, throwing himself upon one knee and seizing the hermit's hands, in spite of efforts made to prevent him ; what do I not owe to you ? What am I still destined to owe to you ? If you do, indeed, but act for another —for tne mysterous benefactor whom I must never know —let me thank and bless you in his place ! Ah ! if you but knew— Ha! what is this ? You are discovered, sir! you masquerade your goodness, but in vain !"

He had caught sight of a ring—a peculiar, cross-shaped setting of blood-red stones, upon the third finger of the anchorite's left hand, which he had not perceived at their first meeting — which he now fastened his eyes upon with joyful intensity. "The very ring that blazed upon the finger of my rescuer six weeks ago!" cried the viscount again. " Confess yourself the same, sir, who sent me first his purse, then his sword, and now the means to win the idol of my heart! You see you are discovered !"

" And what then, my lord ?" coldly replied the hermit, rudely snatching his hand away, and disdainfully rising. "Do you know more of me than you did before ?" " What! will you still leave me in obscurity ?" "My lord, the coast is clear, and your page awaits you, was the freezing reply. " But my honor—my gratitude !" " I care for neither, my lord j my service to you is an expiation." And the young noble, more curious and more mystified than ever, had to submit to being politely but peremtorily bowed out of the cavern.

CHAPTER VI. TATHEK AND DAUGHTER.

The visits of Mademoiselle de Montfort to the Good Father of the Black Grotto had excited no suspicion of her real motives in making them, the guard of retainers that had latterly accompanied her to the entrance of the hermit's glen having merely been an extra precaution on the part of her father against any chance risk of her being carried off, or attempting her own escape from the compulsory wedding, which was known to be so distasteful to her.

Upon her return to the chateau from this last visit, she f ouud that the Baron de Coucy had already arrived. The preparations for the wedding had been going on for a number of days, and there was now additonal bustle incidental upon the reception of the aged bridegroom; who was accompanied by a smaller and selector train than on the occasion of his previous visit- He was, however, said to have brought with him an immense sum of money, from the sale of one of his minor estates which had been effected at Paris; and, among the simple inhabitants at the castle, this circmstance was an effectual makeweight against the comparative deficiency of his personal following. Dreading even one more meeting with the baron, Gabrielle at once sought her chamber by a private door and staircase, and prevailed upon her maid and nurse to make her excuses from attending the feast of that evening under pretence of nervous disorder. Her request was acceded to, at the request of the prospective bridegroom himself, who was indulgent enough to ascribe her indisposition to excess of maidenly coyness and reserve which he could not but approve for the time being. So Gabrielle had her will for once at last.

She took her supper alone, and then retired early, Celestine, who occupied an adjoining room, promising to arouse her at midnight for tho contemplated flight. In the mysterious hush of that lonely hour, Celestine duly entered the demoiselle's chamber, and was surprised to find it empty. The bed and room had the appearance of having been vacated but a few moments before, and, not doubting that the absence was only temporary, though unaccountably ill at ease, the nurse completed her own preparations, and sat down to await her young mistress's return. In the meantime, Gabrielle, more disturded in her rest than she had hoped for, had arisen and dressed herself shortly before the entrance of her nurse. She then went to the place where she was accustomed to keep her dead mother's jewels, which were her own private property, and which she had determined to take with her in her flight, as tho only dowry which she could be able to bring to her lover. To her astonishment md grief, they had disappeared. The receptacle in which they had been jealously 'cept, but which sho had not inspected for several days, was vacant. A hasty search >f every other drawer, box, shelf or cranny wherein she might have placed them by iccident, or carelessness, failed to bring them to light.

They were gone!

Then her astonishment changed to natural and pardonable resentment as she divined, which she speedily did, that her avaricious sire lia&- secretly abstracted them, and concealed them in his own room, either with the intention of including their valuation in the marriage settlement that he had agreed to make upon her, or of dispossessing her of the gems altogether. The conduct of the Count de Montfort toward his daughter had never been such as to foster either her love or her gratitude. Now her only sentiments for him were those of contempt ancl anger. The proud and stubborn spirit which she had inherited from him, in default of the darker and more ignoble qualities that had failed in the transmission, was doubly supported by a sense of outrage and indignant shame. " What is my own is mine, and I will not be defrauded of it!" she muttered, resolutely ; and —just a moment before Celestine entered her room to find it deserted—she passed out of the door, swiftly but noiselessly threading the outer corrider toward her father's chamber.

That chamber opened on the corridor midway between her own door, which was at the rear extremity, and the door of the state bedchamber, or chief guest's room, at the corridor's other end, in which the Baron de Coucy had been accommodated. Gabrielle perceived that her father's roomdoor was ajar, which emitted a ray of light.

She stealthily peered into the room. A taper was burning upon the massive table that stood in the centre ; but the curtains of the couch on the opposite side of the room were closely drawn, as though vailing the slumber of the usual occupant. Not a sound was to be heard but a faint, dripping noise as of trickling water in a corner between the foot of the bed and the wall standing at right angles with the corridor, in which she knew was stationed a marble lavatoire and bath.

Ascribing this sound to the leaking of one of tbe vessels placed there, she cautiously entered the room, and went directly toward the table, in one of whose drawers she felt certain she would find her missing jewels. Upon nearing it and the light, however, she started back, barely repressing an exclamation of astonishment.

The top of the table was covered with bags of money, two or three of which had burst open, to the revelation of their glittering golden contents.

At a loss to account for the presence of this great treasure—a greater she knew than her father had ever possessed before, —and also experiencing a thrill of nameless, illdefined fear, Gabrielle stooped, and, opening the drawers beneath one by one, for they were not locked, swiftly and silently examined their scanty contents, but without finding the object of her search. She stopped, listened and reflected. Not a sound but the faint trickling in the lavatoire ; not even a sleeper's breathing.

Renewed resentment took the place of fear and indecision. Her father had feloniously deprived her of her own property; why should she not repay herself from this heap of royal treasure, whose very existence he had meanly kept her in ignorance of, while everlastingly enjoining upon her the strictest and most humiliating economy and impressiner henrith a fictitious Impoverishment of his resources ? Besides, deprived of her jewels, would she not be burdened by shame in seeking the arms of her betrothed without a sou?

The thought was maddening; her inde cision lasted but an instant.

She hastily snatched one of the bags of gold, ancl was hurrying out of the' room to rejoin Celestine, and hasten her flight. The sound of something falling from the table to the floor caused her to turn. A dagger had lain on the edge of the table, in the shadow of the treasure heap, and in seizing the topmost sack she had caused it to fall.

Obedient to a fatal but ungovernable impulse, she picked it up with her disengaged hand, and held it to the light. Both blade and hilt were covered with fresh, warm blood ; the dagger had evidently wrought a murder but a few moments before.

She was horrified, appalled ! The dagger seemed to cling to her fingers ; she could not let it fall, but could only hold it aloft, gazing at it with starting eyeballs, while clutching the bag of gold with the other hand, as if petrified. A muttered curse—a curse as if ground and gnashed out through a fiend's set teeth —aroused her to the conscioxisness "of a nearer and deadlier fear than the nameless one that had begun to freeze her heart.

She turned her eyes toward the lavatoire, whence the sound had proceeded.

They met her father's, which glared at her with a sullen, baffled, cunning hate. The trickling sound of water was explained. He 'was but half dressed, and was bending over a marble basin in the shadow, stealthily cleansing the ruddy marks of assassination from his ensanguined hands.

She srcw it all with electric rapidity and clearness. Her own father, the Count de Montfort, had murdered his sleeping guest, the Baron de Coucy, for his treasure ! They remained regarding each other, speechless and motionless, for some moments; the daughter with wide-staring, horrified, accusing eyes, the sire with a glance in which resentment at detection, fear of betrayal, and a sudden hope of fixing the responsibility else-where, were struggling for dominant expression.

The spell that bound them both was suddenly broken by aloud cry of horror from the guest's room—probably that of a valet who had just discovered the murder of his master. It was echoed by another and yet another —it was taken up by other voices. In au incredibly brief space of time the cry of " murder! murder !" went ringing through the chateau, and the long corridor began to echo with hurrying footsteps. Suddenly realising the position in which she found herself, but still unconsciously holding both the money and tho weapon, Gabrielle started at the same time to flee and to brand the assassin with his crime.

But the Count de Montford forestalled her both in voice and wit.

"Seize her! Seize the murderess !" he shouted, in a terrible voice, and following her as she bounded out of the room and into the corridor, where she fell, half-fainting, into the arms of the horrified servants and

retainers, who were filling the passage from both sides. " Merciful Heaven! what do I see? Gabrielle —my own child—stained with blood and burdened with stolen treasure ? Ha, it blasts my eyes! What! is the poor baron murdored, then ? Has her hatred of an aged bridegroom prompted her to murder?"

"Liar and fiend!" shrieked Gabrielle, furious as well as appalled at the iniquity of these charges, the sudden development of so fiendish a plot. " I found him in his room, washing his blood-stained hands. The treasure is heaped on his table. He would fasten his crime upon me —his own daughter!" " Gag her —let me not hear her voice!" exclaimed the count, hiding his eyes with one hand, and waving the other with sad deprecation. " She raves ! I awoke to behold her piling my table with the treasure, and still holding yon bloody dagger, which even now she clasps ! Revenge, not plunder, was her motive. But oh !to think that she would try to shift her guilt upon me—her own father —the author of her being! It is too—too horrible."

Gabrielle now for the first time was conscious of carrying the money and the dagger in her hands. She cast it from her with a loathing gesture, and began a rapid, half intelligible account of what had happened ; but she suddenly paused, overcome with horror and despair at perceiving that none of those crowding around her believed what she said.

She looked appealing at the old nurse, who had also joined the throng. Alas ! Celestine's face, through all its horrified lineaments, seemed to wear a stern, accusing look.

Then, with a great, despairing cry, the unhappy Gabrielle fell insensible to the floor.

" Bear her to her room and have her closely guarded," said her father, appai-ently awaking to a stern sense of duty by a great effort. " Miserable creature ! the law must take its course. A miu'deress can claim no sympathy at my hands ; her crime must sever even ties of race and blood. But stay, some of you," he added, turning with a hypocritical start of eagerness. " Haste to the baron's chamber ; he may be but wounded!"

" Nay, my lord Count," exclaimed one of tne servants ; " the stab was- to the heart — the Baron de Ooucy is no more!"

Apparently overcome with grief, tbe count again buried his face in his hands and hurried into his room, followed by several of the servants, while the rest conveyed the insensible demoiselle to her chamber.

Celestine, who had witnessed everything like one in a nightmare, saw them place her young mistress in charge of her maid, and then stole done the private stair and out of the private door into the open air.

Then, still as one in a dream, she got out of the grounds and sped along the gloomy paths and lanes toward the hermit's glen. c<ho stumbled over stones and bushes, but kept on her way. A light was gleaming from the Black Grotto as she approached it. Jacques was standing at the door of the cave in charge of three horses ; he shrank back aghast at the frightful appearance presented by the old woman by mm. - "

Bertrand was inside the grotto in company with the good father, impatient at the unexpected delay, but still hopeful. "Ha! here they are at last!" he cried, flinging wide the door at the sound of hurrying steps without. But both he and the hermit fell back in amazement at the apparition bounding in alone before them, with her white face, disheveled hair, and staring eyes. " Speak !" cried the viscount; " Gabrielle —your mistress —why comes she not?" " Woe is me ! She'll come no more— there's murder at the castle —nothing but horror, horror!" was all that the horrified woman could ejaculated at first. . " Murder ? Is Gabrielle murdered ?" exclaimed Bertrand-

" Nay, my lord!" cried Celestine, speaking in a calmer but most hollow voice. " The Baron de Coucy has been murdered, and—and—"

Her voice seemed to choke ; her listeners seized her arms and fairly shook her. "And Mademoiselle de Montfort is the murderess !" added the old nurse, finishing her information with a long wail. " Impossible !" cried the hermit. Bertrand fixed a glaring, unreal look upon the woman's face. ' i It is a dreary jest, Celestine," he faltered. The old woman threw herself upon a bench and began to rock her body to and fro, at the same time reciting in half intelligible terms what had happened. "Horrible conspiracy!" cried Bertrand, wildly. " -Speak, Celestine —you, you at least, do not believe in her guilt ?" " I do —I must!" was the dreary, despairing answer. Bertrand staggered as if under , a blow, and then, with a loud cry, he fainted away. (TO BE CONTINUED.)