THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 229, 31 January 1885, Page 1

THE SPECTRE OF THE STRAND.

A TALE OF THE DAY,

BY J. GEEVILLE BUENS,

Chapter II

Eight years have passed since the death of Colonel De Mouvrier, during- which time his lovely Adcle has been the wife of Andre Marquor. De Monvrier's mortal remains were scarcely laid away in their last resting-place before the worthy foster-bi'other insisted, with a threatening brow, that Adele should immediately make arrangements to leave Arras s (where he was still liable to be arrested) and ' reside with him at Paris. From the moment the law gave Marquer the right to call himself Adele's husband his affections seemed to undergo a perfect revulsion, and instead of the Avarm, enthusiastic lover which she had fondly imagined she would find in him, she discovered that he was a drunkard and a gambler, too much steeped in selfishness to allow him to bestow a thought on any but himself — a man, in short, who would sacrifice both soul and b.ody for the gratification of his brutal and degraded passions. His object in marrying her, he often openly boasted, was merely to enjoy securely and independently the accumulated wealth which had been bequeathed to her by her father and by her late husband, and he frequently used to threaten that if she were not obedient to him in all things he would jjauperize her, aoid leave her to the mercy of the cold Avorld. Like, all bad men avlio find themselves suddenly in the possession of AA r ealth and power Avhich their evil actions have enabled them to acquire and usurp, Marquer early commenced to look around to discover who could possibly deprive him of his wealth. His greedy eyes fell upon the defenceloss child of the man whose death he had assisted to compass — that benefactor Avho had rescued him from the scaffold ! " Curse that young spy !" he once ejaculated to Adele, when the delicate and sensitive child Avalked meekly and silently into the drawing-room. " What brings him here ? Why do you not send him to the poor-house ? He doesn't belong to us !" "Go to your OAvn room, Evremond ; Ido uot wish to be disturbed," said Adele, Avith a quivering lip, indicative, not of any feeling of affection towards her innocent offspring, but of half - repressed revengeful passion towards her tyrannical husband. " But, mamma, it is so lonesome, so quiet, so terrifying," pleaded little Evremond in piteous accents, accompanied by a look as full of meaning as a mature person could command. He AA'as, in fact, a man in mental development, though only a child in years. He had passed most of his short life in the character of a prisoner condemned to solitary confinement, hiding in all kinds of out-of-the-Avay j places in that big, rambling house, so as to avoid the scowling eyes of his stepfather and the repulsive coldness of his marblehearted mother. He had learned somehoAv, j four years ago, to z'ead. Bebe, the pretty milliner, who used to come often to visit the housemaid, her sister, had given him I an insight into the letters of the alphabet, and Avhen scoavls had groAvn blackest, and Evremond' s heart j>alpitated most Avith a presentiment that the vials of Avrath Avere soon to be poured upon his unprotected head, he had hastened with some beloved book to his own room, and cowering down breathless, had read about children who Avere beloved by their mothers and protected from the brutality of human But his mind had noAv exps|[||||. beyond this slavish, iinquestionirigii|p||fiiescence. He had learned that he woulcl" some time grow up to be a man, and possibly live to deal out punishment to those who treated him ill, and* a spirit had grown insensibly.

impelled him to openly question, and even to stubbornly rebel. "Go to your own room, you young devil ? " exclaimed Marquer, striking his fist upon the drawing-room table, upsetting in his wrath a costly flower vase, which broke with a crash; "and don't leave it until you're sent for ! " The child's gaze drooped beneath the frown of his step-father, in whose eyes the glare of murder seemed to dance. He turned as if to go, but nature asserted itself, and with a low, smothered gasp he fell at his mother's feet. "Mamma, let me stay with you — only a little time !" he cried. " Jeanettee has gone out ; and the house is so still, and I am so afraid of the ghosts ! " "Ghosts! There! do you hear that?' sneered Andre, darting a significant glance at his wife, who echoed the word tremulously. " Ghosts ! " "Yes, mamma — pray don't beat me! The ghost always comes now Avhen I am alone. The big, tall, dark gentleman often comes and holds out his hands to take me away with him ! " The beautiful poisoner gave a slight scream. Was there any truth in the child's statement ? Did the spirit of the dead father really hover round his poor neglected I orphan ? Or had the overwrought brain of the child pzctuz-ed too vividly the lineaments of a parent he might have heard of but whom he had never seen. Adele quickly recovered her composure. " Evremond, it is very naughty of you to talk of such things, and I shall send Jeanette away in the morning for putting such nonsense into your head! !Now go to your room immediately !" " Oh, please — please, mamma, I daren't go I I'm afraid ; and don't send Jeanette away, or I shall die !" '• Do you hear, you young scoundrel? Are you going, or must I compel you to go ?" cried Marquer, starting to his feet, and paleing with rage. But the child, diregarding his mother's efforts to free his hands from the skirt of her dress, clung with the incredible strength that despair gives, until Andre Marquer rushed forsvard and struck him down insensible with his clenched fist. " My chilrl ! You've killed him!" shrieked Adele, as with the concentred energy of a python she stood erect and shielded her prostrate boy. The situation was a critical one, and the scene which the three actors presented in that now silent room was awful in its dramatic realism. The features of husband and wife remained fixed as if cut in marble. Long and searchingly they gazed at each other, as if mentally wondering weather it had now come to " war to the knife." Adele' s countenance was a picture of conscious guilt, of fear, and of desperation ; that of Marquer was wrinkled with a sneer that mocked and dared and accused all at the same moment. "You cruel monster!" said Adele, with terrible slowness and distinctness. "Why did you strike the child .w hard ? V Marquer still smiled his demoniacal leer. Yet he was visibly agitated. The fear of consequences had for a moment crept into his bosom. " What is it to be ? " he asked, with assumed calmness. "I believe I have killed him ! See ; the blood gushes from his nostrils ! " The mother gave a stifled sob, and lifted the inanimate body upon the damaskcovered couch. A fast- discolouring bruise near the temple marked the spot .where the cruel hand had descended. '^" *' Andre Marquer," she cried, in agitated accents, "have a care! I am not to be treated with impunity. You know that I Henceforth never lay your hand in curse or

blessiug upon that boy ! Already he has been injured too much and too long ! You comprehend me ? Never ! "