- 4;
a
=\¥

 

 

ET ee

 

 

 

Fepruary 21, 1874,]

 

CELLES AND BERAUX.

 

 

 

desks,
stuffed,

The paintings on the walls drew her atten-
tion most strongly. She thought she would
never tire of looking at them.

She was gazing, rapt, at a fine landscape
representing an opening in the woods, with a
foaming stream dashing down the hillside, and
a beautiful arbor beside the plashing water. In
the arbor a young girl reclined with a youth
on the turf. at her feet. . He held a book open,
but his ardent gaze was fixed on the maiden’s
faees.

‘A pretty scene, is it not?’ said a voice near
her. ‘Said to be one of Poussin’s; but I hardly
believe it.”

Alida started and turned quickly in no slight
trepidation. She saw beside her the young
man she had seen for an instant the afternoon
previous.

“Pray pardon me for frightening you, Miss
Barrett,” said the young man,

As he saw her glance at the door, which he
had closed as he came in, he perceived that she
meditated flight.

“The fact is,” he continued, ‘I am very
glad of this opportunity of speaking to you.”

“To me, sir?’ repeated the girl, still tremb-
ling from agitation.

“Yes. ‘I have to apologize. I ought humbly
to ask your forgiveness; and I do so. You
must have thought me the worst of savages
when I met you the other day.”

“Oh, no—sir—” the girl began. She’ was
eager to find an opportunity of leaving the
‘room.

“As soon as I heard you had become my
mother’s guest, I sought an opportunity of
asking your pardon for my seeming rudeness,”

Pride came to Alida’s aid. She would not
appear in false colors.

““T am not the guest of Mrs. Burke,” she said,
with a simple dignity bordering on hauteur,
“‘T am only her seamstress,”

She looked more beautiful—so thought Leon
Burke—as she made this disclaimer than if she
had asserted her right to reign in all the splen-
dor of fashionable extravagance.

“You must nevertheless allow me, Miss Bar-
rett,” returned Leon, ‘‘ to solicit your forgive-
ness.”

“You are very kind, sir.
ing to forgive.”

“You will forget my folly, then?”

“T have not thought of it, I assure you.”

“Thanks. I hope then, you will suffer me
to have the privilege of a stranger, to be freed
from disfavor or prejudice.”

Alida knew not what to say. It was so new
to her to be addressed. with this sort of defer-
ence. ‘

“You were looking at this painting. Permit
me to show you an undoubted Salvator Rosa,
one of the choicest gems in my father’s collec-
tion,”

He led the way to the end of the library and
drew aside the curtains shading the bay-win-
dow. The light fell on a large painting, in
dark, mellow tints, that occupied the entire
space between ceiling and floor. The deep,
rich. glow of coloring, the exquisite finish of
detail with the grandeur of harmony in the
outlines, strongly impressed the girl, ignorant
as she was of the rules of art, and unable to
define her own sensations.

Leon Burke explained the admirable points
in the Italian landscape, and gave a slight
sketch of the peculiar genius of the artist.

Then he turned to other paintings, and
showed the beauties of each. Alida listened
with parted lips and fascinated gaze, finding in
his explanations a reason for the awe that had
filled her soul at the sight of these wonders.

Presently he threw open a door, which
opened into a small boudoir, richly furnished,
and looking on the garden in the rear.

“There are some pictures here worth atten-
tion,” he said, ‘‘of a different sort. You may
like to see them.” “4

The room was hung with portraits; in differ-
ent dresses; some old-fashioned, like the cos-
tumes of a bygone century; others in the be-
coming styles of modern life.

“These are family portraits,” he observed,
‘‘of my father’s ancestors and relatives, with
one or two of Mrs. Burke’s.. You must know
we claim descent from the old cavaliers of
Charles Stuart’s time.” :

The poor girl colored as she thought how lit-
tle she knew of that or any other period. She
was familiar, however, with the outlines of
history, and had an idea how far back was the
reign of the merry monarch.

Leon went on, describing the pictures, and
mentioning the peculiar character of each sub-
ject. He stopped before a portrai ... the cor-
ner. k

“This face ought to be familiar to you,” he
said, smiling.

It was that of a very young girl, whose
bright. beauty was absolutely startling. She
was dressed in the style in vogue some twenty
years before. Her golden brown curls elus-
tered thickly around a forehead white as mar-
ble, and the complexion, was of rare. purity,
like a roseleaf shaded with white and delicate
carmine. The full red lips. were parted in a
smile that added witchery to her loveliness.
She held a bird of brilliant plumage, perched
on her white finger, to which she seemed to be
talking.

“The portrait might have been taken for
yourself, Miss Barrett,” said the young man,
looking at her with respectful admiration.

Alida’s face flushed the deepest crimson.
She—resemble this. glorious painting! She
fancied for an instant that he was laughing at
her. But he went on to point out the likeness,
and she could not help acknowledging its reality.
Could. it be that she would be like that fairy
vision, in a similay cress?

The chairs were, of green leather and

But I have noth-

i
)
oe

 

Leon, saw, her embarrassment, and did not
linger over the portrait. He led the way back
to the library.

“Some of the best pictures in the collection,”
he observed, ‘‘are in the picture gallery up-
stairs. My mother will give you the key; it is
opened only at certain times, and there are
some fine specimens of statuary. Are you fond
of sculpture?”

The girl replied, timidly, that she had seen
very little either of statuary or painting.

“You have a natural taste, I can see that,”
observed the young man. ‘ You may be an
tartist without knowing it. It takes cultiva-
ion to develop that sort of thing.” fi

“ Cultivation !” the girl murmured, involun-
tarily. Had she not sighed all her life for
such a privilege ¢

Leon heard her, and divined her thoughts.

““How charming it would be,” he said to
himself, “to teach so a lovely a pupil.” The
refinement of an elevated nature breathed in
all she looked or spoke.

He then opened one or two of Audubon’s
volumes, containing pictures of different varie-
ties of birds, and placed them on the stand, so
that the leaves could be turned easily.

Alida was in raptures. So absorbed was she
in examining these beautiful copies of nature,
that she forgot to notice her companion, who
had retreated to.one.of the.windows, and was
gazing at her with a passionate admiration he
would not have ventured to express to her.

 

CHAPTER XII.
EASY SERVICE.

THE door opened, and a gentleman whom
Alida judged to be Leon’s father, entered. She
noticed at the shy glance she ventured, the
family likeness; but the elder wore on his face
marks of care, and his dark face was lighted
by eyes in which a gleam of. restlessness was
habitual.

At the sight of him Alida turned from her
occupation, closing the folio, and glided toward
the-¢oor. She felt as if discovered: in some
stolen pleasure. .

“Stay, Miss—do not let me.startle you—”
said Mr. Burke, courteously.

“You were looking at these volumes of
Audubon, They are worth seeing. Allow me,”
and he opened one of them. ‘Here are some
different specimens.”

Then he noticed his son, who stood in the win-
dow. partially hidden by the curtain, and look-
ing out.

‘‘Leon,” he said, crossing to him, ‘if you
know this young lady, pray introduce me.”

It was plain that hegtook her for a guest.

The young man performed his task with the
grace of one used to the amenities of society.

‘‘Miss Barrett—permit me—Mr, Burke—my
father.”

The stately master of the mansion bowed, his
surprise at seeing a stranger blended with un-
affected admiration. of her singular beauty.
Alida, on her part, only meditated retreat,

“T think the butler said breakfast was
ready,” observed the elder Burke. ‘‘ Where is
Clara ?”

~“T have not seen her this morning,” replied
Leon. a2

‘¢ Ah, here she comes ! Good-morning my lit-
tle rosebud.”

‘‘Good-morning, dear papa !” was the reply,
as a young lady plainly dressed, entered the
room, and gave a hearty kiss to her father.

“She started at the sight of a stranger.

“This is a visitor of your mamma’s—whom
neither of us have seen before,” said her father,
with cordial politeness. ‘‘ Miss Barrett—this is
my daughter—Clara Burke.”

Alida felt sadly embarrassed, when Clara
held out her hand in courteous greeting. But
she summoned her self-possession, and only a
hightened color showed her uneasiness.

The butler appeared in the hall.

“Now, young ladies, will you lead the way
in to the breakfast-room ?” said, the father.
Clara took the stranger’s hand to conduct her,
but Alida drew back,

“Mrs. Burke will be wanting me,” she said.
‘*T will go up to her.”

“You will not find her awake yet,” replied
Miss Burke. ‘‘ Come in with us.”

“You are mistaken,” said the girl, blushing,
and still holding back.. “IT am the new seam-
stress; my place is up-stairs.”’

Clara pitied her bashfulness. It was not un-
common for the lady of the: house, to have her
employees, if respectable in appearance, at
meals with her family, when there was no com-
pany.

“You must go in with us to breakfast,” she
urged, linking her arm in the stranger’s. ‘“‘ You
will get used to mamma’s ways: she is hardly
ever awake before ten o’clock. She would pre-
fer in the meantime to have you made comfor-
table.”

Her gentle kindness, and a smiling welcome
from Clara’s father restored the girl’s com-
posure at once, She went with them into the
cosy breakfast-room, on one side of the great
dining-room.

It was more simply, though richly furnished,
and the table looked gorgeous in. silver plate
and Sevres porcelain. The butler was in at-
tendance, and placed a chair promptly for. the
new-comer.. She sat at Clara’s right hand.
The coffee was poured out by the servant, and
handed to each person,

It, was a new situation for the humble girl,
but she was soon at ease. The host showed
her particular attention. A variety of cold
meats, with cold roast turkey and the remains
of a venison pie, were on the side-table, and
were offered; but Alida. partook sparingly of
everything. The coffee, made in the French
style, was delicious, and she took a second

1 Gap,

*

She did not join in the conversation, and
the rest seemed to appreciate.and respect. her
wish to remain silent. But when breakfast!
was over, and the gentlemen had retired to the
library, Clara began to talk in a more familiar
strain, as if glad to find, a listener of her
own age.

““You will have nothing to do for at least an
hour and a half,” she said, ‘for mamma does
not like to;be disturbed, She has not slept
well since—the ‘accident’—you know, I sup-
pose you heard of that?”

“TI knew that she had been hurt, and that
her arm and shoulder were wounded,”

“Did you not know that it was an attempt
to kill her?”

“Do you really think so?”

“We are sure of it!”

““By the man who was arrested and sent to
prison?”

‘“Who else could it have been? The man
was.a perfect stranger, and presented himself
at the house without an invitation. Nobody
knew him in the city. He had the assurance
to ask to be introduced to mamma, and took
her away from the lighted rooms into the con-
servatory.”

‘Why should he want to harm her?”

“How can I tell? Perhaps to get money.
She had on some valuable diamonds, and he
could have robbed her of these and got away
before being found out, if the knife-stroke, as
it penetrated her shoulder, had not been turned
aside by her corset.”

Alida shuddered. ‘TI thought Mrs. Burke—”
she began, then,suddenly remembered. that she
was to keep silence concerning the confidence
that had been reposed in her, and. especially
her visit to the suspected prisoner.

“What will they do to the man?” she asked
at length,

‘Nothing at all, I suppose.” Nobody saw
him strike the blow, and they could not prove
the assault. My father is very merciful, and
thought the poor creature insane, so he would
not appear against him. The talk was of shut-
ting him up as a lunatic, but I hear they have
discharged him,”

The young lady then offered to show Alida
over the rooms of the house generally used as
state or company rooms, and the conservato-
ries, graperies, etc. ,

Two hours were consumed in this survey,
and in the picture-gallery, and then the young
seamstress declared it was time to go for work,

By this time the two girls were on the fa-
miliar footing of friends, Clara thought her
companion ‘‘ perfectly lovely, so different from
other sewing-girls,” and. Alida’s soul was ex-
panding with glimpses of a new social world
that seemed Elysium to her fancy.

“Tf you have time early this evening,” said
Miss Burke, ‘“‘come to my room, and I will
play and sing for you. Are you fond of
music?”

How fond the poor girl’s. sparkling eyes and

her timid words, -

Alida was. graciously received by Mrs.
Burke, and proyided with abundance. of work
in refitting dresses and repairing torn laces.
The lady was. ple&sed to-hear that she had
breakfasted with the family, and said she
wished her to do so in future. The ladies
would, lunch together; Miss. Barrett should
have dinner in the housekeeper’s room; for
Mr. Burke or Leon usually brought gentlemen
to dine, and they had company in the evenings;
often an impromptu dance, or a jovial assem-
‘blage of young people, who enlivened conver-
sation with games, as well as music. ;

It was a delight to Alida to listen to thi
music, ;

So.far was she from a desire to mingle in the
society for which she felt herself, wholly unfit-
ted, that no persuasion could induce her to join
the circle eyen on stormy evenings, when they
had few visitors. But she could hear the sing-
ing and playing from Mrs. Burke’s dressing-
room, She would listen for hours, till called
to read to the lady, who grew to be very fond
of hearing her voice, and having the girl about
her. ‘
So it came about that at the end of the week
instead of being turned off, as Lottie had pre-
dicted, her engagement was renewed. indefi-
nitely.

The girl went, at Mrs, Burke’s desire, to give
up her little room, paying the rent up to the
day; and removing what things she had left
there: These were very few, for she had, re-
plenished her simple wardrobe with two plain
dresses—a, brown merino and a dark red cash-
mere, the gift of her employer. Clara had
added several sets of linen collars and cuffs,
some embroidered and some plain,

In one of these visits, she encountered Mrs.
Jackson, as she was leaving the house, and had
to submit to a torrent of questions, :

Well—to be sure! it was a change for a poor
girl, who could hardly earn by her needle the
rent of .a garret-room, to live with grand
ladies, and have time to read books, and listen
to music, and go out to drive, and make up
new finery for herself! How long did she sup-
pose it was going to last? Why didn’t she set
herself to studying—with all the books and the
music—and make herself fit for a teacher; and
then she might have a school, or sing in con-
certs? Or why didn’t she learn to paint, like
Charlotte Le Brun? By the way, that young
lady was offended that she had not been asked
to visit her at ‘‘ West End.” Was the girl
going to cut her old friends? etc.

“By no means,” Alida answered. “I came
in hopes of seeing Lottie to-day. Please to
give her my love, Mrs, Jackson.”

“(And tell her to come and see you? You
might invite both of us to take tea, at least, or
see the flowers. Everybody visits the gardens

 

and conservatories of rich people.”

speaking face declared, more eloquently than |

 

“Tam only a seamstress, and I cannot ask
my friends to visit me,” said Alida, Mrs, Jack-
son gave a sniff of incredulity.

‘Maybe you'll find no better than us, after
all!” she sneered.‘ Well, if you’ve a chance,
you might recommend me as a modiste. I
should like a fashionable connection. You
know I was the means of gétting you the situa-
tion. Don’t forget that.”

“‘T will not forget it, Mrs. Jackson; and |
will speak of you whenever I have an oppor-
tunity.”

She profited by one hint, and she spent much
of her time—for she had plenty of leisure—
in reading books from the library. History
and biography especially engaged her atten-
tion. She took her meals with the family,
except dinner, and learned to feel at ease,
though she never mingled in the general con-
versation.

Leon came into the library, late one after-
noon, when she had gone for a book. He
brought the steps, and got it for her from one
of the upper shelves.

“Why do we never see you in the evenings,
Miss Barrett?” he asked.

Alida replied, frankly, that it would neither
be agreeable ‘to her feelings nor-proper for her
position, to join the drawing-room circle.

“But, we are often alone, and you like
music, I will give you some of my best airs,
and I have some from the last opera worth
hearing,” said the young man,

“T hear you sing very often, Mr. Leon,”
answered the girl, ‘‘ from my sewing-room,”

“Tf you would enliven me with your pres-
ence,” he answered, gallantly, ‘‘I should do
much better.”

The girl looked grave at this speech, uttered,
as it was, with the full, deep intonation of
sincere feeling. Leon saw that he had gone
too far.

“You have a more heartfelt appreciation of
music,” he said, ‘“‘than many who profess to
understand it scientifically. After all, it is the
heart, not, the brain, we want to touch with
music. I should value your approval, there-
fore, far beyond that of cold connoisseurs.”

“T do not see how that can be, sir,” returned
the girl, coldly. ‘I am entirely ignorant, and
my being pleased with a thing I know nothing
about, is no test of its excellence.”

“Do you forget, Alida,” said the young man,
his face kindling, ‘that music professes to
speak, from soul to soul, in a higher language
than that we use conventionally to express our-
selves? May it not communicate between your
heart and mine without words? Tam sure of
it! Tam sure of it! When you are near me I
have a new inspiration! I can sing with more
feeling; my spirit is elevated. How I wish I
could make you understand this!”

Alida made no reply, but moved toward the
door, He laid his hands on hers to detain her,
while his eyes looked into her own with an
expression that terrified her.

“Do not go; I hardly ever see you. At least,
tell me if [have offended you, Alida?”

‘You have not offended me, But I must
go.” Her hand was on the knob of the door.

‘And may we not see you this evening? I
will send Clara to fetch you.”

*‘T-can not come, Mr. Leon.» Your sister
knows how I feel about it, and so does Mrs,
Burke.”

“Why not. come? Do you suppose our friends
who fill the drawing-room are in any way your
superiors? There is not one among the young
ladies who can compare with you in beauty,
Alida.” :

“Mr, Leon—”

“Tn beauty or in delicate refinement, or in
any thing that makes a woman. lovely!” cried
the young man, impetuously, trying to. take
her hand again, But she drew it away quickly.

“You should not speak so to me, Mr, Leon,”
she said, her soft blue eyes filling with tears.
“T am but a poor girl, and have to earn my
living by work; you should treat me with re-
spect.”

*“ By Jove! who dares say Ihave not the
deepest respect for you, Miss Barrett?”

“Tam glad of that. Please to let. me pass!”

“But you think too humbly of yourself.
Would you not come into the drawing-room, if
my mother asked you as a favor?”

“No, sir. It is not my proper place.”

“You are proud, Alida.” "

“Too proud to be an intruder; that is all.”

Again she essayed to pass, and this time he
made way for her, only holding out his hand in
token of reconciliation and good-by. ¥

She placed hers within it. Tt was closely
clasped in both Leon’s, and once more his eyes
were fastened ‘on hers with the magnetic,
passionate gaze from which she shrunk in wun-
speakable consciousness,

How she escaped and got outside the doors
She could never tell. But the next instant ghe
was flying like a frightened bird up the stairs.
She never checked her speed till she reached
her own chamber, and when she flung the door
to, she locked it after her. Then she threw
herself upon the lounge, and buried her face in
the cushions. ;

What could she have done, that a sense of
guilt should thus overwhelm her? a feeling that
she had been false. to the trust reposed in her;
that she had received to her bosom a treacher-
ous foe, that would destroy her peace!

. (To be continued.)

 

 

Wuar is virtue? To.a student who put this
question to the late Archibald Alexander, his
simple and admirable reply was, ‘Virtue .con-
Sists of the performance of our ‘duty in the
several relations that we sustain in ‘respect to
ourselves, to our fellow-men, and to God, as
Tnown from reason, conscience and revela-

4
eeeddle