Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 44, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 November 1894 — Silence [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Silence

By Miss Mulock

CHAPTER 11-Continwe<l. He did not wish it at all: he would Infinitely have pre'erred French. He thought that language, as she spoke it, in tones lower and softer than he had ever heard before, sounded like the tongue of the angels. And when, in the duet, after Mile. Reynier had sung a few bars, there broke in, like a lark in the dusk of the morning, a clear, fresh soprano, tho very voice he had heard behind him in church, Roderick felt himself literally trembling. He was impressionable, it was true —almost as much so as a woman; there was a deal of the woman in him for all his manliness —rather, I should say, with all his manliness, since the (rest woman has always somewhat of a man's strength, the noblest man a woman’s gentleness: but no impressionability could account lor the delight—nay, the ecstasy—with which he listened to tae song. It was not much of a song—the girl’s voice made it all: but when it ceased he awoke, as out of a dream, and iooked round as for something he had been in search of all his life long. “Mamma,” she i-aid, still in French, and cree ing, French-girl fa-hion, close to her mother’s side, “I shall ve ve y happy to speak English tq monsieur, whom I think I have seen before—on the Terrasse at Berne today. It is he, mamma, who, as I told you, did us the honor to be so charmed with our beaptiful mountains.” Then she, too, had observed him. But she had come home and told the Incident at once to her mother. He now could not have told it to any mortal soul. “It is mademoiselle who honors me by even a pa sing remembrance,” answered Roderick, striving hard to infuse into his blunt speech —how rude and blunt it seemed—even a tithe of her gracious courtesy. “May I claim you as a country-woman? Your father was Englsh?” “No, Scotch. There is a difference, is there not? though I fail to make mamma understand it. Papa was a Highlander.” She baid this in English, speaking slowly, hut with great purity and correctness, pronouncing all tier “h s” and “th’s.”

“Mademoiselle has a perfect accent; she must, of course, have visited our country,” said Roderick, eagerly. “No; I have never left my mountains. I am entirely S viss; only papa used sometimes to talk to mo of Scotland and tell me 1 lookei almost like a Scotch lassie. Do I?” “Heaven forbid:” the renegade was near exclaiming but contented himself by explaining in a very eccentric and confused manner that she had certainly the fair hair and blue eyes of the North. “So had papa; but he was little, and I am tall—very tall—for a Swiss girl. That w*as why he thought I resembled the girls of his country, and especially a cousin he had whom he loved—liked —is not that the right English word? —very much. But here lam going on, talking of ourselves and our affairs, which is to y impolite, you know. But we are always so glad to meet any English person, mamma and I; I mu-t go and tell her. She will be so pleased that you think me a iitt e —just a little —like papas countrywomen.” He would have told her that the thing she was most like was an angel, but of course such a point-blank truth was quite impossible, and, besides, she had already iiown away on her invisible wings and hid herself among the crowd oi ordinary girls. There was nothing for him, poor man! but to go and make love, or rather politeness, to her mother, with all the skill and the best French of which ho was capable. “Mademoiselle has a most beautiful 7oice and sings charmingly,” said lie at last. “Ah, monsieur is too kind. But indeed it is true. And she does eterything charminglv. if a mother may loe pardoned for saying so. But she is the last of seven, and her father is dead. We are alone together, she and I.” Then suddenly changing into brightness, “Perhaps monsieur is of a numerous family?” “No, I have only three sisters, and my father too is coad —my dear father!” “Ah!” with a quick intuition: and after a glance at his face, a kindly hand was laid on the young man's arm. “But monsieur has his mother still living? an t a happy woman in possessing him is Madame : pardon, but I did not catch the name.” “Jardine —Roderick Jardine.” The Swiss lady drew back with a surprise th the could not have failed to observe, bad he not been wholly preoccupied in the difficult task of trying at once to 1 e polite to her a d to see and hear all that was pass ng at the far end of the room. “Madame, I percieve your daughter is going to sing again, and I am so fond of music. May Igo and listen.-” He was off as if there were wires to his feet. Poor fellow! It was a very bad case, hut not the first, nor probably the last, that has happened in this woi’ld. However, he maintained his composure very creditably, talked courteously to all the Demoiselles Reynier at oi.ee. turned over their pages, exa r.ined their music, French. Italian and German, and at last, lighting upon an English song, he asked if any of them sung it. The girls all shook their merry heads, pointing to the one whom he had not addre sed, scarcely even glanced ht, though he knew exactly how she looked, sitting there at the piano with her blue eyes cast down, and a faint color, like a China rose, on her soft cheek. “She sings it; ask her.” “Will mademoiselle do mo that honor.-” said Roderick, quite humbly, feeling more timid than he ever lelt in his lile. “It is written for a tenor voice, monsieur. 11 i not a young ady's song.” “Vet I have often heard young ladies sing it, and very badly, too”—remembering how he had hated it at Richerden dinner-parties. “Perhaps I also with an amu ed look which he answered by another. “1 will try my best.” It was a simple litt'e song: most people have heard it “done to death” in many a drawing-room—"My gueen.” This girl sung it in her pretty foieign English—not broken English, but of course with a slight accent, which rather increased the charm—sung it, •ot impetuously, but with a tender re-

serve, her China roses slowly growing into crimson ones as she did it, till at last she seemed to forget herself in the song When and how shall I earliest meet her? What are tho words that she first will say? By what name shall I learn to irreet her? I know not now; It will come some day. With this self-same sunlight shining upon her. Shining down on her rlnelets’ sheen She Is standing somewhere: she I will honor— She that I wait for—my queen, my q leen! • ••••• I will not dream of her tall and stately; She that I lcve may be airy aud light. I will not say she must speak sedately; Whatever she does. It will sure bo right. She may be humble or proud, my lady, Or that sweet calm which Is just between: But, whenever she comes, she will find me ready To do her homage —my queen, my queen! But she must be courteous, she must be holy. Pure, sweot and tender, the girl I love. Whether her birth be humble or lowly I care no more than the angels above. And I’ll give my heart to my lady’s keeping. And ever her strength on my own shall lean; And the stars shall fall and the saints be weeping. Ere I cease to love her—my qucei, my queen! “Thanks,” said Roderick, in English. It was a mere word, scaicely audible, the briefest and most oommonplace acknowledgment, yet it seemed to imply the gratitude, the benediction .of a lifetime, given from the man to the woman whom he at once recognizes as the woman sent by heaven (if he has eyes to see and strength to accept and hold her) to be to him his “helpmeet,” his joy, his crown, and his salvation. The feeling was so sudden, so solemn, so overpowering that he never attempted to fight against it. Without another word he withdrew from the group—from her, even: indeed, it seemed easier to watch her from a distance than to speak to her—and waited till the mother and daughter should retire, when he was determined to find out from M. Reynier all about them. As this moment—it was almost ridiculous he actually did not know their names. Another half hour—spent Roderick scarcely knew how, except that he was talking to half a dozen people and watcuing one other person all the while—and he saw them retire; passing him with the usual distant bow. He had half extended his hand, English fashion, but happily drew it back in time. “Au revoir, monsieur,” responded the mother, with a courteous smile; but the daughter merely bent her head without a word. "A charming pair,” observed Mme. Reynier, after they were gone. “My husband thought you would like to meet them. Mademoiselle speaks English so well.” “Perfectly.” “And yet she has never quitted Switzerland. Her father lived in the very heart of the Alps; a most learned and amiable man, but eccentric. He left them poor. She is obliged to teach —to give music lessons—this dear Mademoiselle Silence.” “What did you say? What is her name:* cried Roderick, feeling all tue blood rushing to his heart—to his face. “It is an English name. I will call my daughter to pronounca it Euglish fashion.” And with an amazement that even amounted to awe Roderick discovered that tnis girl—the first girl in all his life who had won from him a second thought—was his cousin; very distant, but still a cousin, and another Silence Jardine. In his quixotic search he had done nothing—had almost forgotten what he meant to do; yet here was all done for him. With a feeling as of a man pursued by fate—blind, irresistible. and yet most blessed fate —he, without' asking a single question more, got away as soon as he could. Once outside that doer and away from everybody’s sight, he rushed 'almo t, staggering as he went, down to the water-side, and spent an hour there, walking wildly to and fro in the moonlight - the wonder,u<, sweet moonlight, bright as day—which poured itselt in silver glory over the smooth lake and the sleeping town.

chaptek nr. That one hour of passionate pacing up anti d >wn under the stars seemed to have made a man of him; like the solitary vigil which the young esquires of old were leit to .-pend, previous to being dubbed knights. When he awoke, quite early, long before day-break, he was no 1 nger a dreamy boy, but a belted knight ready to go out and fight, with his lady’s token on his helm and his lady's love in his heart. “The stars shall tall and the saints be weeping Ere I cease to love her—my queen, my queen!” . He Kept humming the song to himj self in a passionate undertone all the • wav to M. Keynier’s, whither he had determined to go and explain what ' Mr. Black, in the feeblo French of his letter of introduction, had left wholly unexplained, the why and wherefore of young Mr. Jardine's visit to Switzer- | land. I How he got through that explana- | tion, as he sat face to face with the j kind old professor, in dressing-gown j and skppers, Roderick never could | tell. Nor what M. Reynier thought of j it, though he veiled his opinion in I most sympathetic politeness, and gave i at once tfhe address which the young man asked, or believed he had asked, ; in the most business-like and indiffer- | ent manner possible, j “Certainly, certainly, yes: and my ; wife and daughters shall call at once to congratulate the dear ladies on their good fortune in being discovered by so excellent a relative. Stay, perhaps monsieur would like .Madame Reynier to go in advance and break to them the good tidings? It might startle them, and Madame Jardina is in very delicate health, and they are very poor, monsieur knows?” Yes, he knew it, but he did,not take it in—no more than the young queen who, hearing her subjects lacked bread, suggested their eating cake. “I think. Monsieur Revnier,” he said, with modest hesitation. “I should like to tell them myself. It isafamLy . matter, and they would not feel my ! visit a liberty. They are my cousins, ! you see. If, with a‘sudden idea that ! almost made him srnile—if you would i kindly vouch for me that I am—well. 1 respectable, in short.” *Even if Monsieur dil not carry his letter of recommendation in his face, Mr. Black s g arantee would have been quite sufficient,” answered the professor, with grave politeness. Another time Hoderick would have laughed tj think w.iat his mother would have thought of h r son’s owing his whole credentials of chara:ter to Mr. Black the factor! but now he was

In too great baste to linger an Instant more than courte v demanded; and it seemed hours rather than minutes before. armed with M. Reynier's petit billet, he found himse’f mount'ng the long stair so like a Scotch one, only clean, tcrupulousi dean, etage after etage'. Mme. Jardine lived au qua triems. almost up to the roof of the tall house. “Are they so very poor?” he thought, with a sharp pang, lollowed by a wild delight. To come as the Deus’ ex machina—the good genius—the protecting angel—now delicious.' Ay, even though it were actual want he was about to find. But no such discovery pre-ented itself to the eyes of the young man. delicate in his ta-te-, quick, morbidly quick, to detect and revolt from anything coarse or squ tlid. A little Swiss damsel, in sabots, opened the door of the apartment and showed him into a salon very foreign, certainly: his mother would have be-n shocked at the almost carpetle s Hoor and curtainless windows: but exquisitely neat, harmonious in color, refined in arrangement. And when she entered —not madame, but mademoisel e —he felt more thau ever as if the whole thltig Were a vision of the night. She entered with a sott, silent grace, which made her Puritaniejname seem the most appropriate possible and standing still in the doorway, bowed to him in tho distant foreign way. But she spoke in English her sweet, slow, precise English, very correct in accent, though the sentences were sometimes arranged French fashion, and the “monsieur,” translated into “sir,” frequently appeared therein in a funny un-English way. “Mamma has sent me, s’ir, to present her regrets that she cannot see you.” (Ho had announced himself merely as a friend of M. Reynier’s. i “But she is suffering a little more than usual tt* day, anu she has not risen. Will you say to me that which you desired to say to her?” “T know—l feel—it is I who ought to apologize,” stammered Rode ick, feeling it absolutely impossible to face those great, blue, innocent, ignorant eyes. “But I came on business—business which could not be delayed.” Tne girl visibly shrunk. “Oh, I hope—l hope it is no more sorrow, mamma has suffered so much.” “indeed, no; quite the contrary, I trust. May I be permitted to explain?” But he could not explain. His tongue seemed to cleave to -the roof of his mouth. All his self-po-session, his good common sense, even his good manners, seemed to have fled from him. “1 am afraid—l Pardon, but if mademoiselle would condescend to take these to madame her mother,” said he, hurriedly, falling back into French, as if its formal phrases of politeness made a barrier against himself and his irrepressible agitation. She received the letter and card without looking at him or at them; he felt a slight pang in noticing that though evidently recognizing him, she showed not the slightest curiosity even to learn his name—and vanished from the salon. ITO BR CONTINUED, t