Rensselaer Republican, Volume 16, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 January 1884 — HELENORE. [ARTICLE]

HELENORE.

BY BELLE C. CREENE.

_ Sho cams to our door one dreary November day in a pouring rain, and bogged in broken English that wo would take her into our nervine. She belonged to a miserable French Canadian family that had, lived in the city for many years; but. shiftless and degraded as they were, it was evident, „ from the young girl’s account, that they condidered her the black sheep among them; and her mother, always harsh with her, for some reason had recently grown more so, till that morning, after an unusually cruel beating, Helonoroshe said her name was Helenore jlaldeau *had tied from under her hand, and . shaking off the dust of her native alley, wandered, she neither know nor cared whither, till hunger and fatigue led her to seek a shelter with us. Her plain and somewhat heavy face was swollen and red with weeping, and there was a look of pleading in her great soft black eyes that was difficult to resist. “Oh, if you would but try 1 me!” she said, “I ean do good many tings: and 1 oart> only for some bread to oat, and plats.' to leev, and"—with a shudder—- ■ “to be hurt no more.” 1 held the door open and looked at her with compassion st irring my heart. Poor child! slioseemed so young and yet so forlorn, standing there in her stripping garments. She could not Inaro been more than 15 or ttlyeays old. and she looked into my face with wn exju'ession of gentle confidence that 1 felt it would be cruel to wholly disappoint. And then she asked so little - “only a place to leev and bread to oat, and to be hurt no more." The tears came to my eyes as the simSlo words recurred to me. and yielding > a sudden impulse 1 took her in, fed her and made her as comfortable as possible; meanwhile turning it over suid over in my mind as to n hat 1 should ■do with her. At dinner time 1 held a consultation with Jack, the nominal head of the family; 1 say nominal advisedly, for he insists that I defer to him only as a matter of form, after having fully determined in my own mind upon any course of action. _ • _j ■ - - He this as it mayrhe firms my decisions, thus making assurance double sure; so tins time, after looking over my “very latest," tvs he called her, he promised to go to her mother and negotiate, if be could, for Helcnore's service's. As a result of that interview he found out for a certainty that Madame Baldean was a horrible old vixen; but she readily agreed to let her remain in our amplov if, after a suitable trial, we $0 desired. When Jack came home at night he found us all together in the sitting-room. I was sewing, and Helonoro was sitting near me’ playing with little Nod enr 5-old U»y. . • "Welt Heleuore," said lie lightly, "1 Have seen your mother, and you can «*tay us if you are a good girl." Hhe turned toward lum with a look Of unutteedde gratitude and tyied in 1 vaiu to speak; then, with one swift movement. she threw herself at my feet, ond.tasteniug lifer great eves upon mine with on expression! shall never forget, •be made the sign of the cross upon her forehead and breast Wo t»nw her do this afterwards on several occasions when deeply moved, aud it wo* a* expressive and touching os characterise, W« soon become much attached to her, and her odd, wild ways furnished ua.no liUh' amusement. One of her favor 111' pastimes was to sit with baby iu the back door ami play her "music.* as «he eelledit, This waaouittventiett of Jieteuore'a own. and was only one of liar many and grotesque but poetic only a large sheet of thick «tout r#» round up into a huge trum«M«t shop*. and on thU queer instrument aha would uiav for hours, bringing out ikw wiost unearthly, hnt withal, musical ( ■. , I > d. ||. - lUitl ttt%r U (itapVwt fit fifitl It) ■'fiPPlppt WtßWutt’WPi JpfiP INWf wW * vwr 'ft

Sometimes quite an audience would gather around her while! she played, and aho always received*thoir applause with much dignity, and os a matter of course. , But t here was one thing about' this instrument very remarkivltte and mysterious; it responded"to Helcnoro'B touch and to tier'rwloho. ” Many others tried it, but always with poor success. Even Jack, who it an u sort of facility with a dozen instruments, and can play the whole opera of “Patience" on a tin whistle, after a fashion, finally gave it up in despair, declaring that ho believed llelenoire was a witch ; undoubtedly it was the peculiarity of her Voice that gave to her tootingsuali wonderful effect. <•-- She seldom sang, and when she did. it seemed to be solely for the sako of giving vent to sonio powerful emotion ajfliorwise inexjtressibie. Her voice ■is low. but very sweet, and flexible; she had no high notes. I tliihk she considered them too light anfl frivolous to comoy the feelings of her soul. 1 once asked her why she never sang high. “Mine heart is down here.” she answered, hiving her lmnd upon her heart; and I was glad to believe that in those low, deep tones of hers, so tremulous and so solemnly sweet, the strange, poetic soul of this poor, untaught creature found full expression and was satisfied. She, sang her own words generally, and they were without connection—a senseless jumble; and vet as silo sang them them often possessed a weird and startling significance. Hero is ono of her songs: "0 happy, happy met 80 still, so still, white moon. To Iccv, to lov, to die, All attll and while, to dlol" By questioning l found out wlmt these words meant to her. She was always at. ease with me, and could express herself more freely to me than to anybody else; so she tried to explain this verse. She said she was “Oh, so happy” with Us. She loved her little chamber where she could bo “all still,” she loved to have the “white moon” look so kindly upon Uer at night, and she felt it would be good to dio there “all still and white.”

In the spring, however, a change came over our Holcnore. Her deep content gave place gradually to a strange restlessness. She was no longer the faithful, attentive little handmaid I had learned to love and trust, She seemed to bo irrcsistablv drawn a wav from all in-door occupations; if a bird sang near the house she would drop her work and run eagerly to the window as if she heard her ov n name called. If sho were sent down town on an errand, sho was unaccountably long in returning: and. finally, one l afternoon when she took little Ned for his accustomed airing she was gone for hours, wandering away across the fields, and bringing him homo at dusk, lying back fast, asleep in his carriage, with a wreath of violets like a halo round his golden head, and more clutched tightly in his chubby hands. She received my surprised reproof iu sullen silence, and I waited in vain for some account of her absence. She grew more and more strange and restless overv day. fretting and chafing over her light tasks like some caged animal, until, finally, 1 questioned her: '‘Holcnore,” said 1 kindly, “wliat is it that ails yon? Tell me. and I will try to help yon." At first she frowned darkly and would not answer, but when 1 laid my hand gently and coaxingly upon iier head—-1 had noticed sho loved to have me do so—she yielded and lier tongue was loose. “Oh, madam, dAuot be angry,” she cried. “We have gypsy blood iu us, mine moder do say—and oh, l would bo goiug!" stretching out her arms toward the distant fields with a swift and eloquent gesture of longing. “Oh, let me go! I must go!” I was bot h shocked and disappointed, and I told her so. and tried to reason with her. “Where would you go?” I asked. “Tliere #n> no gypsies near that you could join, and you would soon starve and die alone; and, besides, how can you leave poor baby and me ? Ho you not love us, Holcnore?" ”Oh, Ido, I do!” she cried ately, throwing herself down rqxav the "fibof not to hear them call, I put mine fingers on my ears, but I hear them just the same!" "Who calls you, Helonoro?'’ I asked. "All things oVd-of-doors; the birds and lHa's and the winds. They call me always, always; thev say, ‘Heleuore. Heleuore, come!' and I must go!’’ she cried, springing to her feet and looking wildly around. / * 1 foaml she was losing her mind, and was much alarmed about her; we tried to divert and amuse her in every possible way, and for a few days site really seemed to be more quiet lint one morning we missed her. The afternoon previous, a hand-organ grinder and a woman, evidently liis wife, entered our grounds, and Helonoro went out to hear them play; aud we noticed that she stood conversing with them iu her own language for some ; time afterward. They had lieeu hanging about the neighborhood several days, and somehow* we felt sure she had gone with them. Our suspicions were confirmed by a farmer living a mile or so above us, who said he met them just at dusk, as lie was returning home from the oily—a man and a woman and our Helenore. He said he recognised Helenore at mice, and spoke to her, but she made no answer,. We learned furthermore from her mother, that an organ-grinder' and his wife tdd acquaintances cl Ike familv —bod been in the vicinity for a week past, aud had put up *-night or twoit tier house t and she doubted not that they were the same persons we had in ratiid Hhc manic light of her daughter's disappearance, saying, with a shrug of her fat shoulders, that "she would lie back soon enough," and seeming to think Mist iu any case %e were well rid of k«r, But we missed her and we mourned her, ami I did not try to fill her place. My "vary labs*" os look still colled

her, Boomed to have proved a sad failure. . . . • * * * _* * I was lingering in my rose-garden in the twilight of a warm September day, hanging fondly over a lied of pot hybrids—latest and sweetest of roses—when I suddenly missed little Ned from my side, and, looking aroupd for him, I spied him swinging on the front gate. 1 started to go toward hitn, and at that moment tlio figure of a woman sprang up, as it were out of the ground near him, and at the same moment I heard a glad cry from Ned: "Helenore! Hclenoro!”

It was our Helenore! She caught him to hor breast and flew, swift ns the wind, across tho lawn to meet me, aud dropping on Iter knees, with 0110 arm still around the bewildered child, she clung to me' desperatelyj sobbing and groaning: but not ono word did bln: speak. I begged her to rise, but she would not; so I sat down there on tho damp grass, and taking her head in mv lap, Hoothed her with the old touch of tiie hand and loved so well, Z ~BAt last she heaved a long tremulous sigh she lifted her face to mine. “I cannot ask you to forgeev,” she murmured humbly; “that would be too good for Helenore ; but 1 come to see von once more, and to tell you what is heavy hero” —pressing her hanu 011 her heart—“and then t.> die." I led .her into the house and drew from her the history of her experience since she left us in the spring. “Wero tho people with whom you went away kind to you?" I asked. “Kind!" the cr'o I, fiercely; "Oh, they' wore indeed most cruel: True, they did never hurt 1110 like mine nroder, but they hnvo made mo to suffer that I wish uot now to live any nfore.” “But you liked it at first, did you not —the fields and woods and the music?” “Yes; 1 liked—well to wander and to bo free: but I 1 canted soon that only children nnd birds and squirrels are truly free- not woman with a heart here mid here"—touching her forehead and laying her hand on her heart. I wondered at her words, but I understood them later. “For a few d tvs we had a happy time, and they were good to me, but then trouble came. 1 could not dance when I was tired, and I could not learn to sing their songs—and they laughed at my own poor songs; so they began to speak only bad words tome nnd to care not if I starved ami-suffered. —“We were far away—l know not

where—when wo oamo to large woods, where many men chopped the trees, and some wives and children were tliere, too, ami I begged the music man and woman that 1 might stay and w ork for them and loey in a little hut. ; and I stayed. They, too. came back afterward and worked.” “And were you happy there?’* She clasped lici'liands tightly over her bosom, and a new and strange expression swept over her face that I did not understand. j “Happv! happy!’ she murmured; “Oh. vesl listen I will tell yon! “One chopper was kind to me; life said ho loved me—loved me T” she repeated solemnly, with a tender thrill iu her voice that explained all. “And he was so kind to me, as if I had been a queen! It was he, too, madam, that did teach me to speak so well; for he was a Yankee man," she added proudly, “and yen see 1 do speak much better." I assented. “ Where is he now ?” I asked. “Oh, I know not! I know not!” she cried, rocking herself back and fortli and w ringing tier hands. ''That wicked man and woman took me away one night; t hey said that he. my Eloi, had sent for me to go to meet him far, far off ; and when we found him not they mocked and laughed at my pain. Oh, 1 could kill them! liars! beasts !" The last words were only a hiss oof rage, and she stopped short, choked with passion. “Helonoro,” I said, “why did they deceive you so ? What had you done to thenw? “ What had I done to them? Noting, noting; but they hated me like mine moder. and would hot that I should be happy.” Here she paused and a sudden revulsion of footing seemed to sweep over her, ''i • “None arc ever kind to Holcnore.” shesaid sadly —'StfSßSr bnVyoirtffid himr" Then lifting my hands to lii'r lips she kiss oil it reverently and made again that sign of the cross. I was deeply touched: I drew the girl to me and said, w ith tears on ray cheeks: “Stay with us, Holcnore, and try to be happy again.” , ' “What? say yon so?” she cried.her eyes wide with wonder. “Then, now, you do indeed forgeev like God.” And she began to weep naturally and softly, shedding those tears that always relieve the heart. She was very tired. and when I reminded her, presently. that her little chamber and pretty white bed wore waiting, she smiled tor the first time. ".-fh,” she said almost brightly, “it cannot lie that 1 shall die now, and perhaps my Eloi will find me, though I could not find him.” Her wonts proved prophetic. One night, a few weeks after her return, we were startled by the thrumming of a banjo nnder Helcnore's window. soon joined by a lusty voice bawling out right heartily some foolish ditty we hear in the streets.’ I sprang up at once. “Jack.” said I, “that is Helenore's Eloi; I know it!" I went quickly to her room—she had not yet retired for the night —and when I opened the door she was standing like a statue by her bed; she turned as 1 spoke her name, and, with a look of ecatacy, pointing to the window, w hispered: : \; ' * ■ .. ■ “Yes,” said I; "go down and ask him to come in." 5 "Wait, wait!” she said mysteriously: and seizing her “musk'”—the paper horn—she leaned far out of the window and blew blast upon blast of her most unearthly strains, which added to the roar of her lover's voice, produced an effect indescribably strange and ludiWe concluded that ha had heard

those sOuntts before, as otherwise, at tjio. first bl&st, he certainly must have taken to his heels and run away.' Elias Rogers—for that was the young man's name—was, in truth, a “Y r ankee man.'' as Helenore claimed, but he had lived much among the Canadians and spoke their language like his own. Wo found that lie was honestly in love with our Helenore; and, rough and ■ course ns he seemed, lie doubtless had a romantic, sympathetic nature, or he could not have understood or appreciated her as lie evidently did. We were relieved to find him in every way so worthy of her and so suited to make her happy. .And now my story is soon finished." Helenore left us again, but this time with happy smiles and the hope ol seeing us very often. • In short, while I write, she sits out on our piazza with her own baby'in her arms, and my Ned —grown now to he quite a big boy—leaning on her lqp. *— She is telling hint what he shall find when he comes to see her arid Eloi in the w oods where they are chopping — birds' eggs to add to. his collection, “Oh, go many kinds! but they will only take one from each nest, because the mother bird would be sad i n 1 grieve." Her heart is tender as of yrire, but it never aches now except for' others woes. - -77t<: Continent.