LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1484, 18 November 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

PROUD PEARL'S CAPRICE.

By the Author of 'Jennie of "the

Prince's/" 'Won!'&c.

(Concluded.) Chatter 111. —In the Countess' Boudoir. There is terrible trouble and confusion in the house of macUme la comtesse the morning after ball. Victor has gone. He has fled from his'house in the early dawn, and has left only a few lines addressed to his mother. Tne note runs thus: ' Mother, forgive me. I dared not to speak to you before I left, for you would have bid me stay! Pray do not seek me; it is my earnest wish not to be found, and I shall take every precaution against discovery. My resolve is to quit the life of luxury and idleness I have hitherto led. I feel that my better self is getting ignobly lost. I must wo'k—must learn to assert myself Thus and thus only can I honor the woman who has promised (when such success is ach.eved) to be my wife I have loog loved Pearl Turquand, and all my hopes of happiness centra in her. When lam gone, dear mother, love her for mo, this I pray of both you and of Inez —dear gentle sister Inez Yon have both reason to be proud of my Prarl. For she will give you cause to be proud of your son. as it is sh« who has raised the spirit of emulation within mo ; and I mean to prove myself worthy of the love of the three best women in the world, whom I leave under this roof to night.' Roused to unknown fury by the passion of motherlv love and despair, by wild auger against Pearl and wilder fears for htr flr-t----born, madame la comtesse summons ' Miss Turqnand.' 'You have lived with nay daughter and been her constant companion, Pearl,' says the comtesse, striving fiaid to speak calmly, considerately ' I believe, I hope I have never failed in my duty towards you the pleasant du f y of a hostess towards an honored guest. Is that so ?' Grave'y sweet Pearl bows her head. Her heart is heavy within her, and her cheeks, her very lips, are pale; but her voice does not tremble as she replies—- ' No lady could have treated a trusted friend Avith mora uniform courtesy and kindness, madame, than you have iuvariably shown to me. Believe me, I am deeply grateful.' Her humble tone, her downcast looks, exasperate the comtesse, and arouse a feeling of bnrning anger in her maternal bosom. Her usually palo face flushes hotly as she cries—' And do you dare to speak to me of trust and gratitude, wretched, miserable girl you, who have broken my heart ? You, who have stolen my beautiful boy from me ? You, who have crept with your sly looks and your sly words into his lower nature and made yourself mistress there ? That is the empire you have obtained. Truly a cause for pride ! Do not dare to answer me ! I thought. I could bring myself to speak quietly to you —to you. But nature will assert; herself the mother's nature—and you shall be punished. I will punish yon, and you shall Buffer —if you can suffer ! To think that I, his most unhappy mother, should stand here to be defied by you—you pale-faced girlby you, who have robbed me of my son—my joy—my pride. Whe'e has he gone? Where have you bid him go ? You know his secret —he has trusted it to you, for you have driven him away, while I, his mother, am left desolate, in utter ignorance of what has become of my son. Oh 1 it is hard—too hard.'

«Indeed, madamo I know nothing, truly nothing. Your son honored m« too much He sought to mike me his wife, and I, intensely ptoud of him, for him, besought him to distinguish himself, to win a name to ' • Enough ! cruel, cruel girl. Perhaps you cannot realise the awful thing you have done. You have ruined my peace of mind ; you have robbed me of my joy, my hope and pride, for you have sent him to his death ! ' 'God forbid !' cried the girl, and a gleam of terror dilated her eyes.

• Pearl, you must have some pity, some feeling f-r me. Oh! tell me where he has gone ! Let me go after him, kneel to him, pray him to come back, even a 3 I now implore you ; I implore you! If you have given him your promise to keep his intentions secret, brevk that promise, break it for his mother's sake Pearl, let us go together to pray him come back.' Her haughty spirit was quelled, and the wretched mother, forgetful of all but her love and her fours for her boy, actually knelt a suppliant at the feet of trembling Pearl.

' I will give you my true word, I know nothing, absolutely nothiug, of your son's movements,' say* Pearl in utter orstcrnation. 'We parted last night without hissaying one word to me bevond his expressed intention of earning distinction for himself. He vowed ho would win a name apart from his title, and prove his manhood among men. Those were his words. How he has gone, or where, I cannot tell you. for I do not know.'

' Then you defy me and refuse me, is that so? ' cries the comtesse fiercely. ' Indeed madame, I do neither.' ' • hall I tell you where you have driven him ? He had been talking to you during that lengthened absence from the ball-room, lie was pale and Hurried on his return. I eaw it. Ah me, how little I guessed the truth ! Then he entered into an animated discussion with my old friend the general, who left immediately after. _ Victor conveyed to me the gene™ 1 ' 8 parting words, and told me that the v-fant old soldier intended starting for P*" 1 * afc daybreak. Thither, no doubt in ~' mo ig aorj l° disguise, Victor has fow-:? .. (rgnoble? impossible, savs Pearl, raising ,ier head for the first time dining this painful interview. 'Do you roaiiy believe mio, madame ? '

'I am convinced of it,' says the comtesse, 1 and this is your doing. Now, I think it will scarcely be necessary for me to point out to you, after what has occurred, that my roof can shelter you no longer, I'ear I Tnr quand. 1 hope, I pray, I shali never have to look upon your face again.' 'J will leave you this day, nudame.' ' Yes, go, now, at once, it is tee least you can do.'

Pearl makes an attempt to touch the comtease's hand, which is hastily withdrawn. Then poor Pearl, with bent head and tcarfillcd eyes, makes her way to the door. On the threshold Inez meets her. ' You will not leave rao, Pearl ? You will not forsake me ahc? Victor loves you! 1 Jove you both, dearly. Let us wait for him together. p, Q my sister still, as you havo over b? C n. and who i Victor returns lis- will draw loving lie between uh closer dill.' So apeak,. Inez, and layiug her bauds caressingly on the shouldeis of Pearl seeks to detain her.

'lnez/ my daughter,'{cries the comtesse, I have bidden the false girl go. Do not attempt to detain her. She and I can breathe the same air no longer.' With a stifled cry, the comtesse sinks back in her chair, half closing her eyes. Inez flies to her mother in tender compassion. Pearl goes from the room, and a little time after from the house.

Chapter IV.-Before Paws.

It is midnight. Such a night! The ground frozen hard as iron, every sound, every movement reverbera ing with a metal i lang through the cold stillness. The sky has been showing a brooding ominous blackness for hours past, if only that threatening snow would begin to fall. Any change must be for the better ; any down-coming, any drops, be they of hail or snow, must bring less cruel bitterness into that cutting, biting air. Outside the walls of Paris, the brave " Oarde Nationale "is on the watch. Here and there camp-fires are crackling and blazing, and attracting as closely as possible to their welcome warmth such of the men as dare leave their appointed beat. Those soldiers who have been on outpost duty for the last twelve hours, keeping incessant and wearisome watch, have now stretched themselves wearily enough on the bosom of mother earth. She is a cold unnatural mother to night, and gives but scant welcome to her over-wrought children. To a stranger there is something appalling in the great boom of iron messengers that send startling reminders of their hideous power through the silent night. But to those watchers without the gates, the horrid sounds become familiar by perpetual repetition, and Monts Valerien and Bicetre may send forth their deadly minute messages of massacre unheeded. . . .

Neither the boom of the guns nor the heavy breathing of his wearied companions, who are lying asleep in the cold without tent or other shelter appear to disturb the meditations of a young sentinel, who steadily continues to step to and fro on his limited beat. His heavy grey coat is closely buttoned up to the chin, his small kepi is pressed well down over his forehead, but his fair hair, curly in spite of its close clipping, peeps out underneath. No head-gear could possibly hide or disguise the straight outline of profile, or the cle»r gaze of those blue eyes, which had been to that young soldier's mother the most welcome and beautiful sight in the world—the sight for which she is now longing and praying—how wearily !

It was thus Pearl's lover had determined to ' distinguish' himself. Here, he believed, was a chance of winning, unknown and without the influence of h'gh-born relations, that laurel crown which he had resolved to earn, to take home and lay at the feet of the proul woman whom he loved! Tonvrrow will be his first chance. To-morrow ho goes into action, to-morrow he will strike his first blow. Fired by Pearl's ambitious words, and by the answering throb in his own breast, he will rush into the thick of the battle—dare greatest danger joyfully, likely thus to secure greatest success—and all for the sake of Pearl—proud Pearl! Oh ! she shall have cause to bo proud of him yet! Heholdsher plizhted word, and she with her own sweet lips has told him how she loved him—long ago —and she gave him her promise, and sealed it too with a kiss! —a soft, lingering, intoxicating, bewildering kiss. . . Even now his heart b«ats wildly at the delicious recollection, and the remembrance sends the blood tingling hotly through every vein. Present cold, privation, m st uncongenial compinioesh'p all arefo-g>ttcn for the time being, and Victor in imagination is once again in that shady nook behind the great fern screen in the conservatory. Close to his heart he holds the one woman he adores beyond her kin I, he feels her kisses—Pearl's kisses—for whos 1 ? caprice he ha* now proved himself willing to risk his very life. And fervently he prays, ' God bless and keep my da ling, and let me come home to her victorious !'

And in her chamber, far away over the sea, hi* mother on her knees is also praying]: ' God bless and keep my darling, and let him come back to me soon and safe.'

She little guesses, poor mother, where her curly-haired darling is at that moment; still leas does she dream of the spirit of joyful enterprise with which he intends to rush into the heat of battle to-morrow—risking his precious life, to do honor, or, rather, to satisfy the ambition of the woman he loves. Chapter V.—After the Battle. The heat of the fray is over. Under des Paladines an important sally was made, and so fierce an attack on the Prussians that it not only temporarily disconcerted their leaders, but spread alarm among the beleaguering troops. Night is creeping on, apparently willing to do her gentle share towards shrouding in darknees the horrid sights that the garish sun and the cnsply, glittering snow had made too awfully apparent daring the past ten hours. For the time being truce is proclaimed—after a fashion. The great forts have not ceased sending out their greeting of destruction, nor is there any relaxation in the preparation for further raids on the morrow. But that wild combat to which Victor had looked forward with such a spirit of ambitious enterprise had ceased. It has ended with the light of day, and how sad a day has it been fir some of the brave3t and best! Victor had rushed wildly into the thickest of the onrlcc ; he had steeled his heart with the bright thought of Pearl's steady grey eyes, and wished for nothing so much as the chance of proving himself undaunted. The ambitious intention was genuine and grand, but the carrying it out rash and reckless, and its results by no means such as the young hero had hoped for nay, reckoned on. Tn lieu of the first step towards promotion, his career has received a fatal blow at the very outset; for he now lies sick to death, faint and almost unconscious, with a deep home-thrust from a vengeful sabre in his breast. . , . At last the heavy rumble of the crossprotected ambulance smites on the ears of the wounded, who lie so wearily listeninglistening. So they have lain for hours in the enforced lethargy of agonising pain, numbed, crushed, unable to move—dying of cold, or maddened to fever, and suffering from its accompanying parching thirst. Poor Victor is beyond the hearing of any promise of relief, when suddenly there comes upon him the feeling of a horrible wrench, as ntrong arms lift him- Then he feels himself cruelly jolted, every bruised muscle shaken, every nerve in his body terribly strained. PinaUy he loses consciousness as to feeling ill or well; in a deathlike trance he lies, oblivious of all surroundings. Such a swoon truly is the greatest boon mother nature can bestow on worn-out,^suffering humanity.

Chapter Vl.—ln tjik Ward,

How grateful is the hush, the absolute rcnose, that comes to those weary soldiers, when at last they find themselves laid at rest, in the beds provided for them by kindly Samaritans in the temporary hospital for the wounded and the dying. Gentle women watch over the helpless on" with unremitting patience and r"**"° i with Unshed voice and quiet trr»f t-ney go from one couch to »nr>*J»«»"» offering comfort for the body and solace to the mind of the wounded and the dying.

Victor lies at rest in one of the softest beds of the ward, set apart for dangerous pat'ents, that i«, for those whose lives are at stake. And this ward is established within the precints of an ancient royal residence, and on it 3 floor dainty satin slippers and handsome buckled shoes have danced many a stately minuet. That deadly sickness is on poor Victor still, but he is no longet faint, though he lies absolutely motionless. He now hears and heeds the various sounds about him, event as with weary eyes he notes those who pass to aud fro. and sec 3 vaguely the outlines of other sufferers as they ]io stretched on their beds of pain, to the right and let of him, and away against the further w indows.

Thus Vict r watches listlessly enough with ha I !closed lids, and presently remarks, loaning over the bed opposite told;;, the graceful .OMtiue of a woman's form, that in spite of I ""he strange Sister of Mercy garb seems to

him—homelike—familiar. He looks at the nurse with growing interest. If Bhe would but turn her head! With growing attention he opens his eyes fully now. Uh that he could really see that face! Set on such shoulders it surely must be fair! Could he raise hts head just a little? He tries to do so, but, alas! the mere attempt has made him groau ia a sudden spasm of agony. His cry of pain at once attiacts the nurse; she turns swiftly and runs to his side. Their eyes meet, :md into his comes a look of tenderness and of intense longing as he sees the love of his life once again and whispers ' Pearl.'

But her outstretched hands fall by her side helpless, as she stifles the shriek that she can scarce repress. What faint colour there was in her fair face leaves it now, and she looks as ghastly as he who lies bsfore her, her hero, her betrothed, the true love of her proud young heart.

Oh! how low has that pride laid him! With all the strength that is in her, and it is great, she conquers her trembling, overwhelming agitation, and sinks quietly on to her knees by Victor's side. She takes his weak hand in hers, and covers it with passionate kisses ; she prays with all fervour to the Father in Heaven to spare the life of this bravest and best-loved of his creatures. Then comes a sudden thought that prompts her to quick action. Help, immediate help I Victor needs the best care and instant attention. Good advice she can procure for him, and this shall be done instantly ! So Pearl goes swiftly to seek the doctor in whom she has most faith, and who has already proved himself a kind and patient friend to all who suffer, and to her who tends them. The doctor comes. He has seen Victor before, and knows well that this is a hopeless case. The kindly doctor meets the eyes of the young nurse with a wistful sadness that says more than words. This nurse has always shown an earnest devotion to the good cause, and has been unremitting in her care and attention to all the sufferers. But now there is more than ordinary anxiety in the poor girl's manner as she learns the fate of the handsome young soldier lying sick unto death before her. It is a keen feeling of personal agony that blanches poor Pearl's face, and sends that look of desperate entreaty into her eyes. ' Oh 1 save him, save him, doctor, for his poor mother's sake,' she cries with uplifted hands, while tears course freely over her cheeks.

'ls it really too late ? Cannot you send for her, my poor mother, my dear mother ?' asks Victor feebly.

'I here ia no answer. And the invalid fully understands the import of this ominous Bileuce.

' Ah!' he presently says with a longdrawn sie;h. ' Then it is too late, all too late, I feel it now. Kiss rae, my beautiful love I wished to live for you, and now I am flying—dying for you.' ' My glorious hero!' cries Pearl, the ring of passionate despair trembling in her sweet voice, 'do not say it, do not think it. Live, Victor 1 you must live, you shall live, for your mother's sake, for poor Inez, for your own heartbroken, miserable Pearl.'

•Ay, and I will,' he cries, ani with a superhuman effort raises himself and lifts the arm that is 'not maimed and puts it up to her neck. With a suddtn revulsion from agony to hope, she folds him close to her warm throbbing bosom, and kisses his hair, his brow, his lip 3 passionately, as though nhe would fill him with the vigorous current of her warm life's blood.

•My darling,' she cries, 'oh! say it again ! You will live, live to forgive me, to bless your poor mother, live to be mine—mine.'

• I will live to bless you, my beautiful Pearl, but as to forgiving you, sweetheart, what can there bo to forgive V I have loved you, I love you now, and shall—and shall "

The words come slowly, brokenly. Eis lifo's blood and breath are both failing him. 'Pearl,' he whispers, 'my darling kiss me.' Then, more faintly still, 'Myproud love —my beautiful love —and shall—for ever '

His hand holds hers closely, and his head falls heavily on her bosom. Pearl's pride, her hero, and her hope in life are dead.