FOOTPRINTS; OR, STOLEN AWAY.

Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4592, 22 September 1883, Page 1

FOOTPRINTS; OR, STOLEN AWAY.

[An, Original Stoet.] CHAPTEE YL—(Continued). THE CONFESSION.

"Though convinced far positive proof I of my perfidy, and broken-hearted, weak, and suffering,- she steadily refused Di Courcy's pleadings, and bravely straggled on for the sake of hejr-rhiy. " Daring her illricss her little means bad become well nigh expended. I had basely squandered all her fortune, and she was obliged to work for her livelihood. When she was scarcely recovered ihe accepted an offer from a hdy who had admired her patient, expressive beauty, and became daily governess to two little children. She was obliged to leave little Inez in charge of a faithful none* who had tended her since her birth, while ahe punned her daily avocation ; and this Di Courcy knew, so resolved upon a method of wreaking his revenge upon this alreadj tortured victim of misplaced affection. He used every means in bis power to harass and annoy my poor wife, then finding all his threats and arguments of no avail, he seemingly relented, and became once more only the courteous gentleman. He became a frequent visitor at JSurse Anna's cottage, and took great pains to ingratiate himself in her favor. " He would play with little Inez for hours, daily bringing her presents of fruit, or pretty Swiss toys, and telling her wild, weird stories ot that land of ioeand glacier. "One day (it was on a festival, and the peasantry were all dressed in gala clothes, while the scene was further enlivened by the number of pretty sleighs that flitted hither and thither across the ice, and the merry jingle of their silvery bells) Di Courcy persuaded Nurse Anna to allow him to take Inez a short ride in a pretty sleigh be had brought for her—the child added her. innocent pleadings—and in • moment of weakness the nurse (who could not understand my wife's antipathy to the handsome stranger) consented, wrapped the child in its furs, and folding her in a fond embrace, allowed the * kind gentle* man ' to place her in the handsome sleigh, and glide away to the music of the stiver bells that jingled on the horses harness. , " Merrily the child laughed and clapped her little hands with glee, as they shot away over the snowy surface of the , glistening ice. i " The hours rolled on, darkness came, i the nurse grew anxious, but Di Courcy returned not, and when the hapless young mother came to see her child she found her not. Nor to this day bath she been seen by old Nurse Anna. "My poor wife knew too well whose hand had struck this cruel blow, even before she received an anonymous letter* stating ' that if she would accede to his request and leave Switzerland with him her child should be restored.' " Every means were taken to find the lost darling, but hhe could not be traced further than Geneva, and the brokenhearted mother waited anxiously for further tidings. "In her extremity she began to pen a letter of earnest entreaty to her faithleaa husband, to return and aid her in her search for her child, but this last draught of sorrow proved too much for the overhardened heart, and eren as she traced my name on the tear-blotted page, she fell back in Nurae Anna's arms. She had burst a blood Teasel, and before medical aid could be procured her beautiful spirit had passed away. „. . * **#'** " I heard of this as I was hnrryinf home to my father's faaeral, tad rilled with remorse and shame, I hastened bsjtk

to Sausanne, arriving just in time to see the remains oi my martyred wife laid in their last resting place. " Of the child I could hear nothing, though I offered handsome rewards for her recovery,. and I hare thought since that Di Courcy must hare taken her to a French Convent, representing her as an orphan, of whom he was the guardiaD. After a while, I decided to return here once more, and with hitter shame, and sorrow tell out all my sin to you, my pure lost love. ' " Alas, that I should- meet yottr father in the saloon yonder, whither I had gone in the frantic hope of hearing of Di Courcy's whereabouts, and that be should have been told of my perfidy by one of Di Courcy's fellows; and oh !—my heart's life! -you know too well what followed." He ceased speaking, and fixed his despairing gaze upon Inez, who sat still and motionless as marble. One moment she looked at him with such a depth of reproach and anguish in her beautiful eyes that he never could forget, then, with one low heart-rending cry, she sank in a death like swoon at his feet, V Alas ! and have I slain thee too with my hapless love, Inez, sweet angel. I would' have died for thee, and I have stricken thee, even unto death!" cried <■ Ferdinand in, an agony of self reproach. Jfndeed those lovely features were o'er spread with such a rigid pallor, that it was hardly possible to determine the nature of sudden Seizure which had been the ,'WS«tr of 'the mental excitement for tht ■^■Ffew honflf. ' .:. ' fc£ ' J^CarefuUy * j&e attendants bpre|^he" form to m;#hch in the *Bjofl§ng: prdom,san4^nie^pummoriedF#rdin|md's '£ . •!•;",' /' That woWfay,sad now/enough .td'tfo, for . I?^rdinand^s§VK»rent excitement /.wM^foi:\Qyfjt ia i '?)s%: i M&j>eT6 prpstratipj»,yj&'#.evi---dent t^fe4e»|fjjo' fever,. v whjle Ik^ Lady ;^,^lißZ-liKyjMaWry dangeTQUS&bnditiori;.,<--'s.'s'£s■fcbph fe%t ■■ th? coflMuenDes of skt* .it were w#l(^ki she i*t»tdd. '. property and her jewels, remained to the orphan Inez, who.Jstow^ver, was at present quite, unable to comprehend her loss, having never once <rescprefed consciousness sincoiier sudden sejrure,-«fter listening to Ferainand's sorrowful confession. Miguel Siriglio waited upon the , Countess, as the supposed hostess of his young kinswoman, to explain all matters relatiog to her affairs, and entreat her .kindly interest, which indeed was already Wnfreely given. , , - The Countess, who had heard certain |^ rumors respecting the lovely sufferer, and Ifchad also, learned, more from her son's ravings, of the tender position . she held in his affections, and the consequent sorrow for his perfidy, became very anxious .concerning poor Inez, and promised to: protect and befriend her until „ she should,be perfectly recovered, aad , bring her with all care to Saville as soon as Ferdinand's case should permit them • to travel. If indeed he should not even now succumb beneath the bitter ,conse* ... quences of his fatal folly.

CHAPTEK VII. NO FOOTPBINTB. For many weeks Inez lay ill, sick almost unto death, and when at last she recovered consciousness, and slowly realised the great sorrow, that had overwhelmed., her like.a mighty tempest, she became as one . who lias been allowed a brief glimpse of earth's brightest joys, only to be suddenly thrust back into the very bitterness of sorrow. When she arose from her couch; some fifteen weeks after her father's death, she was but the shadow of her former loveli« ness, the bloom had faded from her cheek, the lustre from her eye, and it seemed ■ that joy had fpr ever fled from that loving, trusting heart. first they dared not tell her that the "TSiUl^lady who visited her daily, and ' spokeMijfg'ch tender, loving, words, soothing her trotttgled heart with all a mother's gentle sympathy,, was the Countess Di ! Eau Cruass,Hhe mother'of her faithless lover. - She did Dot comprehend the extent of her loss for some weeks, as every care had been taken to surround her with familiar objects, and her own maid, Catalina, bad been engaged by the Countess to attend > upon her young mistress. . " Nothing more can be done," said the physician, " change of scene might prove beneficial, but who can minister to a mind diseased?" and,though Inez never murmured, but patiently obeyed the directions and injunctions of the physician, she f rallied not. from her excessive de* pression,, nor^did she manifest the slightest^ interest in fhe future circumstances. / Meanwhile Ferdinand had so far recovered as to b#able to pour out all fee ' sad story of his sin into his Brother's patient ear, and entreat her to befriend the innocent suffering Inez, whose fair life had. been .blighted by his sin. The Countess was too grateful for this little •respite to upbraid or reproach him, for too well she knew that only for a "little while." could she retain her idolised handsome son, whose , follies she had always excused, whose sin she had always covered with her tendereßt love, and perhaps mistaken devotion. . .Sorrowfully enough, his mother had /flwtfded to his request; ','that he might. be taken home," that among the fragrant 6rangd groves and graceful pimentoes, amid the floral beautieß and loyely scenery of his native landj'he might bw*tfce ;<mt , the last remnant of bis wasted ;hfe, tlmt jnight have beenjonobly spent* .r & ■

Alas ! those brilliant opportunities that bad been idly thrown away, those precious privileges that, had been unappreciated and unimproved, those tender affections lhathad been trampled on and slighted— how they all rose before his mental vision, now, in the hours of weakness and suffering, and seemed to mock him with their silent record of the past. . . By slow and careful stages they, had arrived at Cadiz, whence they purposed returning to their home in the beautiful city of Saville. And then it was that Inez had learned the truth, and heard from the Countess' own lips the story of Ferdinand's deep repentance, and slowly ebbing life. A great wave of feeling had swept over her tortured heart when she realised that she had been under the same rodf, tended by the same loving care, watched over by the same gentle solicitude, as him whom she had been wont to set up as " an idol of fine gold, upon the hidden altar of her affections." Tenderly the Countess pleaded for her son, and ah 1 how frail were all the resolutions of that once loving heart to condemn, to banish for ever, the memory of her unhappy love. Could she forgive this bitter wrong P Could she clasp again the hand that had caused her father's terrible death ? Could, she meet that once loved gaze* and not flee in silent horror from the passion of that love that had wrecked her fair young life ? It was a severe struggle. ! The countess felt it so, and tenderly as gfjtasible she spoke of that other one who Mnfftfed even greater wrong, and of the [tittfe helpless victim of a villain's power, who had been stolen away. .And presently Inez grew more calm, and though she could not promise yet to meet! Ferdinand, she abandoned the idea ghe f at^feft time had expressed of entering a'ifiterhoodjkand spending the residue of rhif^ysfewithin the walls of a Convent. ''.. '^ijmuf a lovely day in early June, the air fragrant with the scent of many iflowe|'si as from the piazza of a pleasant ysa?;£ Ferdinand looked out upon the 'jpufden that adorned the centre of the pquare, watching the motley groups who 'Were taking their pleasure in the bright fsunshine of the Sabbath afternoon. frurses and children at play, knots of ;woihen enjoying a gossip, soldiers loung* ting'Sw|,the seetfi, and ladies passing and ; ;rep«sing from Church with fan, mantilla, atttT'prayer.booki' ,S, X Aa^Ferdjnand lay there watching the r ;he! thought of the many hel had id|ed away amid the S^n«ki»«ausements that abound in Con■tSkjjjfcnal cities, and^ejongejl to spend his jfifif anew> to live orerJißain those wasted JMJpi^ hbtTu'ttto "'himlelfjalone,'' but unto ■ SjJß(d'arid<bW fellpw^inSii&'that perchance j#hen; he "sHd^ldf'be 1 called to pass over ibat"i" Httlej spepjjt of earth that spans a fjtfti,"- he might leave' some footprints behind himf that he might at least "be Remembered for what he had done." * "And #s be. thought of all the evilhe 'had wrought, of all the sorrow he bad caused the faithful hearts that had, placed .^ir, affections in one so unworthy, his spirit.failed him, and he shrank from the presence of that Being to whom he must Yofcfn render up an account. if While he thus pondered, the Countess $Ms&7 appjoached, and laid her hand ?§lllisingly vupon his shoulder. She spoke no word; too well she knew the meaning of that far-away look in her son's eyes, and she would not break the spell that bound him to the past. It must be so. True repentance must be the outcome of heart-searchings, painful as they are healing; the soul that is chastened and smitten sore can find no relief, save in communion with the Father of Spirits, before whom no secrets are hid; but ere the healing balm can be applied, the searching, probing lance of self-accusation and heart-felt repentance must be submitted unto. The day was far advanced, the sunlight began to fade gently away, th£ groups of people were dispersed from the Square. The Countess sat beside her son's couch with an open Bible in her hand, from which, ever and anon, she read some precious word, as her son lay thoughtful and silent upon her couch. Presently he spoke, and his voice trembled with suppressed emotion as he met the calm, yet sorrowful, gaze of his mother's loving eye. " Mother," he said, " read me the parable of the 'talents,' while yet the sunlight lingers on the orange trees. I have but few more Sabbaths left me, alas, alas for the years that are gone." Tenderly the CoUntess obeyed his request, and as she read, slowly and solemnly, the tears trickled silentlj down his wasted cheek, while his frame shook with subdued emotion. A moment she paused, then turning over the. leaves of, that precious Book, the faithful mother read also the beautiful, pathetic, story of the Prodigal Son, and though her voice often faltered, and her tears flowed fast, she read it steadily through. And there in the softly falling twilight -of that Sabbath evo the sin tortured soul of another prodigal heard the sweet words of peace, and feebly, even, falteringly, laid hold of the promise, "He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." {to beContinued;)

Mb G. W. Kusden is herd at work on a revised and cheaper edition of bis "Lies about New Zealand." He "pooh 1 poohs " the idea of either Mr Bryce or any other politicians hauling him over 1 the coals for libel, and glories in having •xposed to the English-reading public " the infamies of Parihaka. Sir Arthur Gordon, of course, cordially endorses Mr Eusden's views re the treatment of the Maoris by Europeans, and recommends the." History " everywhere as a standard work on the Colony. " Yes," said an old gentleman thought- J fully, after gazing some time at the skeleton of a donkey, and Wondering at ; the structure of that despised animal, :|fwe are fearfully and .wonderfully made I" Pennsylvania's only Welsh newspaper has failed. One of the words slipped out of the forme, got entangled in the wheels, and smashed the press. HoitowAX'a Oihimjbkx ako Fiiis.—Sudden: changes of temperature eorely try all persons prone lorheumatißm, sciatica, lie doloreux, and many limilar maladies icarcely !e»B painful, though of shorter duration. On tbe first attack of stiffness or iuffering in any muscle, joint"i or nerve, recourse should immediately be had to' fomenting tbe seat o disease with hot brine and rubbing in this remarkable ointment, which will assuage tbe uneasiness of the part, subdue inflammation, and reduce the swelling. The Fills, simultaneously taken, will rectify constitutional disturbances and renew the strength. No remedy heretofore discovered has proved so effective v the Ointment and Pill* for removing gouty, rheumatio, icroiulout attacks, which afflict »\l ■ ages, and are commonly called hereditary. •i >