THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 228, 24 January 1885, Page 1

THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND.

A TALE OF THE DAY.

BY J. GKEVILLE BUMS,

Chapter I.

"lis well nigh fivo-and-sixty years since Evremond De Mouvricr, the hero of this story, opened his eyes for the first time upon the world. This event, it was remarked at the time, took place exactly five days after birth. He was apparently in no hurry to take his first peep at the actors among whom he was called on to play so important a part, having perhaps been in some unaccountable manner apprised of the fact that he was about to receive a by no means hearty welcome. At any rate, there he is : a perfect little mite, in a perfect maze of long clothes, lying perfectly motionless in the arms of a honielyfeaturod maiden rejoicing in the name of Jeanette, who smiles in a motherly sort of way upon him, and at whom he gazes in placid, philosophic wonderment. "Pretty dear!" murmurs the nurse, kissing his eyelids. "Innocent, harmless thing! However they can be so cruel as to hate you / don't know; but they do hate you. little darling, they do. Ah, you may open your little gems of light blue eyes and wink at me, as if to say, '/ know all about it;' but it's true, cherub, and you know nothing about it yet — >wf yd. Poor darling! only wait till you giow up, that's all! Bless you, I don't think you'll ever survire it, though. It'll be a deal better for you if you die young, like my brother Jacques, with the whoopingcough, and go to the angels, where there's no whooping-coughs or measles." 1 The good nurse was prophetic in her musings as far as they went, but how immeasurably she fell short of the reality in her most grueful anticipations this, narrative will show. Upon the birthday of Evremond de Mouvrier (which event occurred in a cottage omec, situated in the suburbs of the town of Arras, in Normandy) there had likewise been performed a burial — Evremond's father having that morning been laid away among the ashes of his forefathers. Guillame Napoleon l)e Mouvrier had been one of France's bravest and most chivalrous soldiers under that quondam idol of French ?nilit<iire.«, the great Bonaparte. It was in Arras, his native town, whilst quelling some disorders there, that he first met the only woman he ever loved, and whom he used to call his " lovely Adele." There was a mystery enveloping this brighteyed blonde which he never could solve, but, to the hour of his death, he believed in her and loved her with a doting fondness. 'Twas a strange circumstance that made them acquainted with each other. A riot had occurred in the town, and the ringleaders, with several prominent followers, had been arrested. Several of De Mouvrier's soldiers had been shot dead, many more wounded, and the guillotine or life-long labour at the Bagnes was the punishment which awaited the ringleaders in order to serve as a terrible example. Early on the morning of the trial, De Mouvrier, who was chief in command, Avas informed that a young lady desired the honour of an audience with him. The officer replied testily that he could not be seen. '" " Let her forward in writingjjhe particulars of her business, and I BhaJ»w|nd to it in due course." iHfflHr He had scarcely spoken*^|Een a tumult of voices was heard outside the door, and a girl of almost dazzling- beauty, her light golden hair flying in gorgeous disorder over her shoulders, rushed into the room, evading a soldier who endeavoured to stop her, and fell upon her knees at the feet of De Mouvrier. weeping bitterly. She wrung her hands and sobbed out

pitoously, "Mercj-, Monsieur le Capitaine — mercy !" " What is the meaning of all this?" cried Colonel De Mouvrier, surveying with suspicion the sergeant and the soldiers, who respectfully stood awaiting orders. " Who's the sen+ry on duty ?" "I regret to say, Colonel." replied the sergeant, humbly, " that Gaudet, the sentry, permitted this young woman to approach him, because she professed to be desirous of asking a question. When he turned for a moment to see that no one else was near, the girl rushed past him, and, although according to orders he called out that he would fire, she continued to run across the courtyard like a deei-. lie will be reprimanded, Colonel : but, as lie says, suddenly remembering his own sister, he grounded his musket." _ '■ Oh. please don't punish the sentry, Monsieur De Mouvrier!" the weeping girl pleaded, in moving accents. " 'Twas not Ms fault : it was mine alone. He never saw me before, I am sure ; and he has a good heart, and is a brave man, and if he was captain he would, I am sure, release him, my poor Andre. Will you not release him, monsieur ? You must, or I shall die here at your feet !" De Mouvrier frowned as terribly as the veriest fiend on earth ever frowned on woman, before or since. " Leave the room !" he roared to sergeant soldiers. '' Standing gaping there ! I might have been assassinated long before any one of you could have prevented it ! Place another sentry on duly, and send Gaudet here under arrest. Let the guard wait outside. This matter will have to be enquired into at once. (Jo!" There is no doubting the fact that Colonel De Ivxouvrier did inquire into the cause of the young lady's grief most patiently and searchingly, for when Gaudet, the sentry, related his experiences of his expected reprimand, he used to tell it thus : — " Colonel Dc Mouvrier. after I had stood quite fifteen minutes trembling with anxiety under arrest (Tor I would sooner face a blazing battery than the gallant colonel when lie was angry), 1 say, Colonel Mouvrier opened the door himself, and in a stern voice, but with a most serene countenance, called out, ' Let Prisoner Gaudet enter.' vi Upon entering, there sat young miss smiling through a couple of tears — there wasn't more that one in each eye, I'll swear — and they were tears of joy. " ' Gaudet,' she began, quite pertly. "But Colonel De Mouvrier stiffened up a little and interrupted her. '• ' When next you are placed on sentry, my man, beware of permiUing young ladies to approach you too closely, particularly whilst the populace is in such :i state of ferment. Miss here has obtained your pardon, after a considerable amount of opposition on my part, as you may guuss^ Conduct the young lady to the gate.' " The next morning four citizens who had taken part in the riots were shot. Two were sentenced to ten years' service in the galleys? One only was discharged with a severe repri " maud. That young man was doomed by a strange fatality to be the assassin of his benefactor and the remoseless enemy of Evremond, his only son ! Shortly after the foregoing incident, Colonel De Mouvrier and Adele Lablanche, daughter of a retired baker, and the pretty blonde whoso charms had saved her sweetheart from the guillotine, were joined in the bonds of matrimony. This was the price of De Mouvrior's interposition. Adele's father and mother had then been dead three years, and she was living at this time under the guardianship of an elderly lady who had known the family from her birth. She had, in fact, not a single, relative alive with the exception of Andre Murquer, the youthful ringleader in the riots at Arras, who boasted of being the foster brother of Adele, and \vho° had anxiously wished to alter the relationship to that of her husband.

Upon being set at liberty, through the powerful influence of Colonel de Mouyrier, he was banished the town, under pain of imprisonment; but three weeks after the marriage he was recognised by De Mouvrier standing disguised near a church door, apparently waiting for someone. "Was that someone the fair Adele ? Events "will show. De Mouvrier immediately addressed him, and, having given him a sum of money ! sufficient to enable him to commence an honourable career elsewhere, warned him never to return to his native town or to let him see his face again. Adele, to whom he confided this circumstance, blushed and turned pale in turns, stammered out thanks, and behaved, in fact, in a most confused manner. The subject of Andre was never afterwards referred to, though the husband could not help noting that from this day his wife behaved to him in a constrained and incomprehensible fashion. She would frequently go to early service in the cathedral on week days, leaving^ De Mouvrier (who, though he had now retired from active service, had a large amount of law business to transact, and could not therefore attend with her) to remain alone until her return, which would sometimes not.be until nearly noon. ( Once he thought that his wife, who was • shortly to present him with the first pledge of their love, had become very studious, and he attempted to learn what particular branch of study she had suddenly become so passionately attached to. He did nearly obtain a glimpse of the book ; but Adele pleaded so prettily, and pouted so lovingly, and smiled so composedly, that the easyminded gentleman was soon persuaded to desist in his inquiries, mentally concluding that it was some trashy novel which lovely Adele was conning. Ah, would that it had been a good, honest novel, Colonel De Mouvrier! But, unhappily, it was not. The fair Adele had commenced to study the nature and effects of "poisons;" and, although the Colonel's grave was not actually dug at this time by the spade of the grave-digger, his last moments on earth had been accurately reckoned by his wife, and his epitaph had already been written on the gates of futurity. One Sunday morning, about seven months after his marriage, De Mouvrier complained that he felt unwell. His was an iron constitution, and he feared at that time no physical ill that flesh is heir to ; but this strange disorder, which had come upon him stealthily and insidiously, seemed now to twine about his life, and to grasp him in its invisible arms like some monster intent upon strangling him. His dear Adele was inconsolable. Much against her husband's will — he entertaining a lively antagonism to the disciples of Esculapius — she rang the bell and despatched a servant for a physician. "It is nothing, 1 ' said Doctor Blanche, soothingly, to Adele. ' ; Dyspoj)sia, probably — in fact, doubtlessly. M. De Mouvrier has led a very active life for many years. He requires more exercise. Tonics are necessary, and abstention from certain foods and liquids." Three days before the birth of Evremond — an event which, though in a most pitiable state of health, Colonel De Mouvrier was looking forward to with paternal fondness, lie went for a stroll in the park. The balmy breeze, together with the hopeful singing of the birds and the sight of the broad tracts of unbroken meadow, stretching away in the distance, seemed to revivify the veteran, and he felt as though that strength was returning which had ■enabled him so often to lead his soldiers to certain victory. Buoyant with the pride of recollection, he began to carol forth a favourite song that had often cheered his comrades round the camp-fire, when suddenly his jaw dropped, and remained fixed. A dreadful pang shot through his heart, like the thrust of a bayonet. He staggered towards a bench. A young man who had been lounging upon it started to his feet. The Colonel reeled, and fell with a groan upon the gravelled earth. His eyes opened but once. "Whose was that face that smiled down cruelly and calmly upon his death-agony ? " Andre Marquer!" he gasped. "Tell Adele" His last words on earth were spoken. (To be continued.}