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le wis m. grist, proprietor, j A" Jitbcjimirtttf Jamilg ffcfospajjer: Jar t|c ^ramatiim (rf tjjt Ipalttrcal, Social, Agricultural anb dUmmcrcial Interests erf % i&ontjj. jTERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 19. YOEKYILLB, S. C., THURSDAY, MARCH 1873. NO. 13. - 1 ? i .A ./>Oi _L? Jto (Original ! Written for the Yorkville f^nquirer. FLORIMOND; OR, Divorce or No Divorce. BY MRS. CLARK WARING. * CHAPTER X. MRS. SUMMERVILLE MAKES HER EXIT. "Floriraond," called Mrs. Sumraerville's weak voice, proceeding from her sick bed, "Floriraond, will you come and read or repeat to me? I am weary, my child, and thy voice falls on my melancholy spirit like the music of David's harp to Saul." "Thank God, I possess the power to soothe you in any way," said Floriraond, and she laid down her own book, "Benton's Anatomy of Melancholy," and leaning affectionately over her grandmother, asked what she would like her to read. "Some simple thing," said the invalid, "which will not excite ray mind, but elevate my thoughts and soothe me. Something, I think, from Cowper? 'The child-like sage, Sagacious reader of the works of God.' " Floriraond read for an hour, and I think there never was any one who could read like Floriraond. At the expiration of this time she knew, by her grandmother's quiet breathing, that she slept. So, slipping on tip-toe out of the room and down stairs, she called to Berta, who was romping on the green sward in front of the house, her light curls flying iu the air, her cheeks like vermilion and her dark eyes (her mother's own eyes) sparkling with animation. "Berta," said her mother, "put on your hat, darling, and go with Charity to the convent. Tell Madame Ignatius, mamma is very sorry k she cannot come, as usual, this afternoon, as grandmother does not seem so well, even as yesterday. Tell her the arrangement now, is to start to the plantation to-morrow, if grandmamma is strong enough for the journey, so she must come, if possible, to bid us goodbye." Berta ran for her hat, and Florimond sat on the steps, watching with the swelling heart of a proud mother, her lovely child, as she danced rather than walked down the avenue. But when the servant and the child were fairly out of sight, she returned to the sick room. Mrs. Suinmerville was still asleep, so she resumed the reading of the book she had thrown aside an hour before, until in the waning light, she could no longer distinguish the printed characters. Then Floriraoud sat idly looking out on the fast descending twilight. From this reverie she was aroused by the noise of Berta's return. Florimond ran down stairs to meet her. "Oh! mamma, mamma," cried Berta, excitedly, "I have seen my uncle." "Your uncle! What uncle?" "Her. uncle, who said his name was Mr. Henry Dandridge," said Charity. "And, Oh ! mamma, he gave me this," said Berta, producing a beautiful locket of antique workmanship, set with precious stones; "and he said my papa sent it to me, and his hair is in one side; and when papa comes back home his picture is to be put in the other side." "Where did he send it from ?" asked Florimond. "From a far off place, ma'am," said Charity. "I cannot call the name." "Mexico, I suppose," said Mrs. Dandridge ; J "but Charity, have I not often told you never j to let Berta speak to strangers on the street." "I could not help it, ma'am," said Charity, abashed. "I took her hand and drew her away, but he told me to mind my place and not interfere with him, for he was her own uncle and had the right to speak to her." "And was that all he said?" enquired Mrs. Dandridpe. "Oh! no, ma'am ; he walked to the very gate I with Berta, and he asked her if she did not i want to see her father and did not want to go | and live with him?and that her grandfather I and grandmother Dandridge, and her aunts J were crazy to see her. And then he asked : when her birthday came, and Berta said she i did not know; so I told him it was sometime j in April." "And, mamma," put in Berta, "he told j Charity if she would find out exactly the day, j he would give her five dollars, and he would i give me a very pretty present." "I told him, ma'am, that?ah?Mrs. Dan- j dridge?" "I wish to hear no more, Charity," said Florimond. "I have heard quite euough of Mr. Henry Dandridge's sayings and doings." Slowly she ascended the steps, the open locket in her hand, with its lock of nut-brown hair. There was displeasure and grave annoyance on Mrs. Daudridge's face, and the little Berta, who knew so well how to read the expression of her mother's features, looked up at her pleadingly and asked? "Mamma, are you angry with me?" "No, my sweet child," said her mother,! with moistened eyes, straining the little form to her heart; "but what shall I do when they take you from me?" "Who will take me from you, mamma?" "Your father, my child ; or what is worse 1 iu his absence, your father's relatives?and I?I who gave you birth will be powerless." "But I will not leave you, mamma," said ; Berta. "My child, they will force you to go." "Then I will die," said the child, "and you ! can hide rae away in a little grave." "Do not talk so, my child," cried Flori-! rnoud, shuddering; "but better even that, | than to give you up to them. No, my child," j she cried, smothering her in kisses and tears, ! "they shall not have you. Let me die, oh 1! ** my God?let me die first!" When Florimond returned to the sick room, ! Mrs. Sumtnerville was awake, feeling much j refreshed from her long slumbers. She con-! versed quite cheerfully with her granddaugh- i ter, and made the little Berta lie beside her I on the bed, that she might inhale the fragrance of her sweet young lips, feel the embraces of her soft white arms, and listen to the prattling of her silvery voice. Oh ! lovely, iunocent children. What would the world be without you ? Chiefest good of all God's blessings, richest gift, bestowed by the generous hand of> an Almighty! "And doe3 my little darling want to go to I the country ?" asked Mrs. Summerville, press- j ing the child closer to her heart. But the i little Berta answered not, and looking down ; into her sweet young face, Mrs. Summerville j si perceived the beautiful eyes were closed and i h that she had fallen asleep, one little hand ; clasping the hand of her grandmother, and j " the other holding the locket which contained ! her father's hair. ! s: They went the next day to the country. | h Mrs. Summerville, however, did not improve. Shedid notsuffer much; did not,in fact, seem to j have any undermining disease; but she grew J gradually weaker and weaker, and at last fa- j e ded away into bright realms of immortality, h To the last her mind was unimpaired and her h heart cheerful. Her death was a great shock n to Florimond, and she grieved almost as one P without hope. Her rebellious heart could not say, "I know, 0, Lord, that thy judgments are h right and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me." Sitting beside this newly made grave, " which contained the last of her earthly kin- h dred, and beside an older grave, now grass- n grown, of that stern old grandfather whose h heart had never softened towaru ner poor *mother, Florimond Dandridge reviewed the v varied incidents of her past life?so short in n its passage, so long in its dark experience. t< She saw herself as the poor, unfriended, un- n happy orphan; as the rich heiress, the beloved S' of her dead grandmother; as the fair, geutle a young bride of the man whom she loved ; as a the melancholy, unloved wife ; as the suffer- a ing, yet happy mother; and, finally as she a now was, a woman of developed powers and s ripened beauty, rich in mental gifts and ac- n quirements, rich in the wealth of this world's v goods, and yet unsatisfied with that vulture of 8 Prometheus ever gnawing at her heart! b "What!" said Florimond, "what says the c sunniest-hearted, gayest of epicurean philoso- ^ phers^ the sparkling Horace : 'For hoarded treasure eaunot keep a Disquietudes at bay, t Nor can the consul's lictor drive away The brood of dark solicitudes that sweep s Round gilded ceilings gay.' " t v CHAPTER XI. v A NEW MISFORTUNE. is Mrs. Dandridge (with, no doubt, the highly v advantageous assistance of the little Berta,) h was superintending her packing, in readiness e for their contemplated return to town. The ^ country was dull for Berta, and Mrs. Dand- ' ridge pined for the society of her only inti- 1< mate friend, Madame Ignatius. Her thoughts s' were occupied with this same friend, when g Charity came to say that "Charles had come and wished to speak with her." Sl "Charles?" said Florimond, in surprise; "I S did not expect him. , Why did he come?" n "I do not know, ma'am." w "Well, tell him to come in, I suppose," said a Florimond, musingly, as Charity left the n room ; "he has come to give warning. Oh ! ^ these dreadful days of emancipation!" ' T>... .A - tl.nf rUo-loc Vi a rl f? JDUl 11/ bUULl LI (Lliopil cvi I/1IUI/ vuitiiM UMU come for a very different purpose. He had walked forty miles, to tell "youngMissus" not 11 to take the baby back to town, for there had been two gentlemen prowling around the house?Mr. Henry Dandridge and lawyer a Ashley?asking where the family were, and when Mrs. Dandridge was coming back, and u offering to pay Charles a handsome sum, if he would entice the little Berta out to them some day, as soon as possible. 81 "I said I would thiuk about it," said the C: excited Charles, "only wanting to deceive them ; but I started right out, that very day, Miss Florry, to beg you not to bring the baby n back to town." "Oh! the inhuman wretches," exclaimed c Florimond, in great excitement, "who would 0 separate a mother and her child. Why, they a have no right to her?never any moral right, P nor even any lawful right, for months hence; yet they wish to take her from me by unlaw- }' ful strategy?in short, steal her away." "Yes, they do," said Charles ; "they said her father did not wish her to stay any longer n with you, for you would only teach her to hate him." 1 "As if I could stoop so low," said Florimond, her face painfully flushed and her features agitated, "so low as to teach my child to " hate her own father! She has no right to ' hate him. No doubt, with the opportunity, a he would prove to her the most noble and a the fondest of fathers. He who readeth all a hearts and weigheth the motives in a just balance will acquit me of any such base intention or design, so let them judge me as they please." "But don't you take her buck to town, persisted Charles." t' "No, I will not, Charles; you are right, t there. Here," she continued, putting into c his hand a well-filled purse, "here is double ^ the amount of money, they would have paid a you for stealing my child away from me, and a I give you, besides, the warmest gratitude of c ray heart." r "Thank you, Miss Florry?thank you, tl ma'am. There never was a better missus ti than you, nor a more sweeter lady, which I tl always will say, in spite of them town folks, r which have no kind look or word for you, a being as how you will not live alongside o' C mass Albert. But I will always stick by e you, Miss Florry, long as you needs a faithful " servant." Florimond was touched by his fidelity, and C gave a suitable reply. Having dismissed tl Charles, she wrote immediately to her lawyer, si telling him to come up without delay, as she V wished to consult him on a matter of the a highest importance. The result of this con- d sultation was, that Mrs. l)andridge made in- y stant and hasty preparation for a long jour- g ney to a distant part of this broad Republic, i d On a certain day, however, previous to her e departure, she left Berta with a country neigh- g bor, and went alone back to town and to the j s< convent to see Madame Ignatius. Florimond : n felt she could not leave without bidding adieu ! v to her, and telling her what she would not j v disclose to any other human being, the prob-1 t able locality of her new home, the disguises j her new life would assume, and the various j methods she would use to prevent any suspi- j v cion. or discovery of her future whereabouts.! e T-Jinerincr nt. the familiar nostern crate, throusrh > v which she had passed almost every day for i t the last few years, Susan's familiar face ap- j 'J peared at the gate? v "How do you do, Susan?" said Florimond, j with a mournful smile of recognition. In- j I stead of her usual hearty greetiug, Susan burst into tears? "You have heard, then ?" she said, through s sobs. v "Heard what ?" interrogated Florimond, s growing pale and feeling weak. "Why?are?you not?in this?mourning? I for-" I "I am in mourning for my grandmother," ! ? aid Florimoud. "For God's sake, tell mc, 1 as anything happened to?to?" jy "Madame Ignatius is dead," said Susan ; I dead and buried." 11 "O Lord?0 Lord !" groaned Floriraond, ; inking to the earth, "if there is a God in ( eaven he has forgotten mercy; he has taken c rom me the last friend I had on earth /" j 1 * 4= * * * * * *12 "Arc you calmer now ?" said the kind moth-; g r superior, bending over the sofa where they j r ad lifted her, and chafing her hands and ' j athinsr her throbbing brow, "are you calmer j iow, and shall I relate to you some of the j t particulars of her last days ?" 1 g Not able to speak, Floriraond nodded her f iead in the affirmative. c "On the night of her death," said the nun, j she went to bed as usual, to all appearances, a perfect health. The only complaint she t nade at all was, that she felt greatly fatigued, ] paving been packing up her furniture, books, tc., to go to the far West with her son. He j , ras expected the next day, and as she bade ' r negood night, she said : "I shall be in heaven j o-raorrow !" Prophetic words! but she only r aeant she would be reunited to her idolized on. The next morning when the maid went, ( s usual, into her chamber to make the fire j ud assist in her mistress' toilet, she was still j f sleep ; but this excfted no remark, as she was ! t lways a late sleeper. At breakfast time she r till slept, and yet a little later in the day the s laid weut again to her bedside to ask if she j ^ ?as sick. Her face was marble pale, a soft j N mile lingered on her benignant countenance, ! j ut the soul had fled! The doctor, when J t ailed immediately, said she had been dead j t or hours, and it is supposed she was a victim j j 0 disease of the heart. Her son came that; j fternoon. Oh! how my heart bled for him. f t was a heart-rendiug sight to witness that l trong man's grief; it was so unexpected, so t orrible ; and he said he had looked forward t nth such bright anticpations to this reiiuion nth his mother. I believe this is all. There t 1 a box of keepsakes here for you, packed .;?Vi Kor mvrt fonrW white hands, directed in er own handwriting. She looked for you j very day and said to me a dozen times? Florimond has not come ; but she certainly j nil, or else she would have answered my last j itter.' Ah! it was all so unexpected?so j udden?no wonder you are overcome with c rief." j. "Oh! mother," said Florimond, "she w^s . uch a gem of womanhood?such an angel of 1 oodness! And she has gone?and ray grand- ? lother has gone?and I am left alone in this ^ rorld with but one little ewe lamb?and at ny moment she may be snatched from my ^ lotherly arras by the cruel hand of human iw, or the still more merciless hand of Death. g >ut of the depths of my wretchedness I would tin cry "let me curse God and die.'" "Sin not thus with your lips !" said ' the 1 un, "but pray to God and the blessed Virgin c ) help you bear your misfortunes." "I will go now," said Florimond, "and take ^ last look at the White Cottage." "Why, are you never more coming to see s?" asked oue of the Sisters. "I live in the country now," said Florimond, and may not have the opportunity. Be asired, I will not fail to come, as often as I an." * Florimond shuddered as she entered the c oor of the little dwelling. She looked every * lomcut to be met by a majestic form, to be 1 lasped in loving arms, to see that heavenly r ountenance, beaming with the ethereal fire c f intellect, radiant with the glow of sublime * ffection. Alas ! the White Cottage was com- * letely dismantled?carpets, curtains, pic- E ures, books?all gone?gone, too, its presid- ^ ig genius, who had shed such grace over all ' ; contained ! Poor Florimond fled from the ! ' ouse, from this beautiful spot, where the i ' lost peaceful, the most interesting, and, in ^ ome respects, the very happiest hours of her 1 ife, had been spent. ^ The clang of the little postern gate, which ' ad wont to be so joyful iu her ears, sounded ^ ow, as Floriruond passed through it, for the i c ist time, like a death-knell. She turned for 1 moment, and wafted on the evening breeze loving farewell to the little White Cottage? J life-long adieu to tj?e Convent of St. Eus- j ^ ache! ;c Ic CHAPTER XII. 1 NEW SCENES. , We will beg the reader to accompany us to lie shores of Lake Michigan, to that city of J remendous growth, which stands a raagnifi-1 ent monument of American progress and j ? Vesteru civilization. The busy day is done, 1 nd now this great, progressive people, who j 11 day have been accumulating dollars and i ? ents, go to their palatial homes, eat their j. oyal dinners, and then come forth again into | he illuminated streets, in search of recrea- j ion and amusement. It is in the height of! . he opera season, and there is a rolling of car-!( iages and a wending of gaily-dressed ladies . nd stylish looking men, toward the Crosby )pcra House, where will be assembled, this s vening, the beauty and the fashion of the 1 Queen city of the Lakes." On the lighted pavement, in front of the )pera House, there stood a small group of! Q hree gentlemen?friends, who were conver-1 ? .i * - _; ? ?l? _ l 1 mg in a low tone on me ropics 01 me nour. Vhile they were thus engaged, an elegant! c oiipc drove up, from which descended an el? j I erly gentleman, an elderly lady, and a ' ounger lady, regal in the full zenith of her jl" lorious beauty. These ladies were both j ressed in that richness of costume and reckless j xtrovagance for which the females of this pro-: c ressive city are noted. This party caused 1' ome excitemeut among the group of gentle- a ten wehave mentioned. All of them bowed s ,ith great politeness, aud when the ladies 1 ?ere no longer in hearing distance, two of v hem asked? "Who is that beautiful woman ?" , a "It is," said Baiubridge, who went every- j fhere and knew everybody, "a young south- s rn widow. She has been living here only a j ear or so. I met her at a ball last week at n his same General and Mrs. Sutherland's. ; r .'hey seem to be very intimate. By the way, i I rhy were you not at the ball ?" !1 "I had a very sick patient that night," said Dglinton, "and could not go." < " "And I," said Phillips, "was out of town." r "It was a marvellously delightful evening," li aid Bainbridge, "and this same lovely widow n as the belle of the occasion. She was, as he is this evening,dressed superbly." j g "She must be immensely rich," remarked i ii Jhillips. j o "She is," said Bainbridge; "enormously rich, I p md only one child. She lives in a very snug, J landsome place, opposite the Sutherland's, on ' Wabash avenue." "And what is her name?" enquired Eglinon. "Her name is Mrs. Ravenswood. She is ireating quite a sensation in the Sutherland :ircle. You can judge for yourself, as regards ^ ler remarkable beauty; but this is not, after , ill, essentially her chiefest attraction. It coniists in a grace and natural sweetness of man- i ler unequaled. She is, indeed, in movement, | epose and in gesticulation, (for she gestures : i good deal even in ordiuary conversation,) i he most exquisitely -graceful woman I ever j aw. And when she gives you a direct glance i rom those voluptuously melancholy, magnifi- i p.nt eves, oh ! bv all the saints, it transports ; rou into the seventh heaven of Elysium !" "Bainbridge has evidently fallen a victim o one of those powerful glances," said Eginton, laughing. "Well, I have," said Bainbridge, good hunoredly. "I'll own up to the soft irapeachnent. And if you do not want to be caught n the same predicament, I advise you to keep it a proper distance." "But why have we never seen her before?" juestioned Phillips. "Mrs. Sutherland says she refuses almost ill invitations. She does not court society, hough society is now her assiduous slave. The day after the Sutherland ball, I am told, he received upward of an hundred visits from jentleruen and ladies whom she met there, and vho were fascinated by her manners and aplearance. I believe she is an improvesatrice, >r an amateur in the histrionic art, or somehingof that sort, and studied under Delsarte, n Paris. But Mrs. Sutherland says she never jerforms in public, only in private among rieuds. She says Mrs. Iiavenswood is a wonau of genius. I am trying hard to cultivate hat state of friendship which will enable ra& o fall an heir to the pleasure of hearing her." The grand orchestra here struck up, and he gentlemen hastened to their seats, ere the :urtain rose. Several times, during the course of theevenng, Mrs. Ravenswood caught the earnest gaze if a very handsome pair of blue eyes, belougng to a gentleman not far distant from her. n return for these admiring, but by no means mpertinent glances, which were always intantly removed on perceiving they attracted * * - TVT? T> I? Mflfnun ler nonce, iurs. naveuatvuuu, iu i^um, iuuuv> t very difficult to keep from staring at the ;entleman. He was a man apparently about hirty, tall and powerfully built, with blond lair and moustache, and a cofbplexion whose exture and brilliancy of coloring, many a >elle might have envied. Mrs. Raveuswood vas positively certain she had never seen this triking face, nor this vigorous form before, md yet, looking at his regular features, catchng the expression of his fine countenance, md feeling the influence of an indefinable omething, in the noble lineament and distinguished air of his whole appearauce, there vas a haunting memory in her heart for which he could not account. She was confident, at me moment, that she had never seen him, md the next- instant she was equally certain he had; but where, and when ? This quesiou was puzzling her brains, when, between lie second and third acts, Mr. Bainbridge latne up to pay his adoration to Mrs. Ravensvood. Chatting with him, she met again hat haunting face, those deep blue eyes, but low much nearer; for the owner of them was :ouversing with General Sutherland. The Deneral leaned over, whispered a few words, legging permission to present his friend, etc., md permission being granted, introduced Doctor Eglinton. Mrs. Ravenswood felt the lot blood surge to her face in a burning ilush, and then felt an utter contempt for lerself* that she should be so unaccountably oolish and nervous at the presentation of this i f f /-? r* c t ro n crop K nt. wlm wm this man. whose I rery tones are familiar to her??whom she rns seen before, and yet whom she is positivey sure she never has seen beforet But the :urtain is rising, and Doctor Eglinton having nade a few remarks, returns to his own seat. Hie last soft note has died in sweetness on the nimadonna!8 lips, the last grand chorus has >een sung, and the last great crash from the irchcstra vanished into nothingness! The >pera is over, and the brilliant audience wendng their way from the hall. "General," asked Doctor Eglington, "can assist you in handing the ladies to the cariage? There is such a press, and?" "And one woman is as much as one man can naunge," laughed the would-be facetious exjonfederate General. "What a pity," said Mrs. Ravcnswood, acepting Doctor Egl in ton's arm, "that there re any last acts! I hope I shall die listenng to Patti's voice." "Your remark reminds me of Mirabeau," aid the doctor, "his lust words were, 'Let me lie to the sound of delicious music.' ""Take a seat with us, Doctor," said the General, as having deposited Mrs. Ravensrood in her seat, Doctor Eglinton was bowing lis adieux ; "right on our way, you know, to Irop you at your door." "Thank you," said the doctor, his face coloring slightly; "but?I?have an engagement. ,1an not go home just yet." "Sorry," said the General, "you did not ome to the ball; another engagement, I sup>ose!" "I called and gave my excuses to Mrs. Jutherland," said the doctor, appealing with , gesture to that lady. "Well, good night. Let us have another all soon." The doctor bowed deeply and loped to do himself that pleasure very soon, ,nd also would be most happy to pay his rcpects to Mrs. Ravenswood, if she would alow him that privilege. Mrs. Ravenswood ! rould be happy to see Doctor Eglinton, etc. I "Do von know whv he would not ride?"' J ? sked the General, as they drove off. "For the reasons he mentioned, I suppose," aid Mrs. Sutherland. "Not a bit of it. He will go directly home , iow ; but he was afraid if he rode with us, 1< night think, or you might, or above all, Mrs. j lavcnswood might think, he was only polite j o secure the ride." j " del I" exclaimed Mrs. Ravenswood, "he ! nust be a remnant of that race which the narch of civilization and Women's Rights j i iave rendered, in this part of the world, nl- J nost extinct?a chivalric man." "The doctor is not only a noble, chivalric ;entleman," said General Sutherland, "but he s also a rising man. He will be at the head 1! f his profession here before many years have I' assed, and if I had a marriageable daughter, 1 Doctor Egliuton, is the man whom I should t like her to marry." "Yes," chimed in Mrs. Sutherland, "he is j li a most eligible parti. You will do well, Flor- t imond, to catch him." t "I?I?catch him?or any man!" exclaim- t ed Florimond, blushing violently. "You talk i absurdity, my friends. I assure you, in all e candor, I am not a marrying woman. There c are insuperable obstacles in the way of my i ever marrying again." c "Oh! of course," said the General, laugh- r ing and looking, like Tom Smart in Pickwick, verv shrewdly out of the right hand corner | r of his left eye, "that is exactly the case with j all widows, until the right man comes along." "There exists no right man for me," per- t sisted Mrs. Ravenswood, and as the carriage 3 had now stopped before her own door, she bade her friends an affectionate good-night, s and ran in. c r CHAPTER XIII. WHEREIN WE MEET BERTA. i Mrs. Ravenswood went immediately to her 3 dressing room, and removing her elaborate dress, put on instead a tobe de chambre of ruby- a colored silk with embroidered revere of white c satin. She then removed her shoes also, and ^ placed on her feet velvet slippers of the same a hue as her dress, and embroidered in white 1 to match. Thus attired, she drew a luxurious T chair in front of the glowing coals, which t burned in the grate, and with an expert hand ' C began to unfrizxe and uncurl and unplait her a long, black hair. She had justgot it again in * the shape in which nature created it,and was ) idly brushing over and over the dark mass, * when there came a gentle knock at her room door. r "Come in," she said, without turning her r head. I An elderly lady, dres^d in plain mourn- s ing, entered. It was Mrs. Edmunds, the r housekeeper, elderly companion, etc. r "Why, are you still up ?" said Mrs. Ravens- I wood in a surprised voice. "I thought you 1 would occupy my place by Bsrta, as usual, until I came." 1 "I felt so uneasy about Berta," said the r hnnnekeener. "I could not sleep." C "Uneasy about Berta!" exclaimed Floriraond in astonishment, and arising from her a seat in haste; "there was nothing the matter t with her when I left here three hours ago." ^ "She awoke about an hour after you left, * crying and asking for you, and saying she was sick. I tried to pacify her, and after ^ awhile she stopped crying and went to sleep ; but I do not like the way she looks." Floriraond was by this time in her bedroom, leaning in anxiety over her child. Berta's face was fearfully pale, and her hands t and feet cold. Though her mother kissed her c repeatedly, and called her in accents of terror, I and even shook her, she could not be aroused c from the profound stupor in which she lay, like one dead. The poor mother was almost a frantic with dismay. She wfung her hands r in anguish, and taking up the child, pressed i it convulsively to her own wildly beating ? heart; then she kissed and kissed the pale lit- 1 tie face, from which every vestige of color had c disappeared, as if the intensity of her love must bring her back to life. But Berta gave t no sign, and sittiug down with the child in ? her lap, Florimond cried : t "A doctor! Mrs. Edmunds, for the love of t God, send for the nearest doctor. c "I do not believe there is a servant on the i place at this time of night," said Mrs. Ed- t munds, "except Eliza, and she is so thick- y headed it will take an hour to arouse her." j "Oh ! for God's sake do not wait to awaken i her?is there no doctor near here?oh ! Lord ' my child is dying." i "Mrs. Sutherland's family physician lives on Michigan avenue," said Mrs. Edmunds, "I t will ruu for hira myself; 'tis but a few steps." t ' Heaven will bless you for it," said the half-crazed mc ther; "run for your life." 1 In an incre .ibly short space of time, Mrs. s Edmunds returned. "The doctor came along with me, she said, ( panting for breath ; "he was just entering his f gate when I got there; was it not fortunate?" The doctor entered the room. r "My child is dying, Doctor," said Flori- J raond, still with Berta on her lap, and never raising her eyes frora'the pale face. j. A tall form knelt beside her on the floor, } and two strong, shapely hands examined the f prostrate child. He felt the pulse, the cold t hands, the feet, and sprung from his feet in a t second. "There is congestion. I want hot water, c brandy, mustard, immediately. Give me the child, Mrs. Ravens wood, and now there is no n time to lose; what we do must be done quickly, h urged the doctor. The restoratives were obtained, and in sii1 lence they went to work. Oh ! what anxious moments succeeded for the poor mother. Several hours elapsed before there was any decided change. Berta 1, was enveloped in mustard, and the doctor stood beside the bed administering, Jat stated ^ intervals, large doses of brandy. Once he a put the bottle down, and left the room and j the house in haste, returning almost in five 0 minutes, with a small vial in his hand, and j] from this he administered a dose immedi- e ately. Finally, in a time which seemed an : g eternity to the mother, Berta revived, looked . s about her aud murmured, "Mamma!" A i ^ 1 s volume of love in a word ! Up to this i l Til . J1..J U.t J i point, r lorimonu nau ummveu wij uuntj;, . She had been collected, helpful, unceasingly | n watchful, only now and then with groans j wrung from a tortured heart, with clasped j h hands, she would murmur, "God in heaven, j J, be merciful to me?spare my child !" But j when she heard that one word, "mamma,"; {] from her child's lips, snatched as it were from I the jaws of death, her being dissolved in tears; j 1< and kissing convulsively the poor, pale lips, i c the little hands, the sweet brow, she cried, I kneeling beside the bed,"Doctor, she speaks? j ^ she lives?oh! my God, I thank thee!" j ^ Tears swelled up even into the doctor's eyes, q which were so used to such touching scenes. But he told Mrs. Sutherland the next day that w he had seen before strong am' immeasurable j love, but never witnessed such a moving evi-1 ^ dence of the devotedness of a mother's heart.! w Berta being restored to consciousness, and J v there being no longer, apparently, any neces- j y sity for his presence, the doctor prepared to ' n leave. "She must be watched carefully," he said s*' to the mother, "for I tell you, candidly, du- ? ring the next few days her state is precarious. w She may be liable to another collapse, aud she st could not weather through such another. I 0| will be back at daylight, and in the mean- s< ime give her, every two hours, a dose of this." J ^ And Florimond, taking the bottle from his j i land and looking up to receive his instruc- j ions, became conscious, for the 6rst time, that: j his was the commanding form, the blond 11 uoustache, the unfathomable blue eyes, of her I lew acquaintance, Doctor Eglinton ! Her ] yes must have seen him before, and yet her onsciousness, so preoccupied, had never taken 1 1 1 ^ cUn n tne Knowledge. one was au suipiocu, au>ontinued to look at him steadily for a few omenta, and then said in a pleading voice? "Doctor, is it perfectly safe for you to go j iow ? Suppose a sudden change should take 1 ilace ; what should I do ?" 1 * "Send immediately for me," said the doc- j or, "I think there is no danger ; but still, if mu prefer, I will reraaiu all night." ( He again felt Berta's pulse, and seemingly r atisfied with its condition, took his seat on the j ipposite side of the bed. Presently Florinond said? 1 "Doctor, I fear you will think it great selfshnesa in me to wish you to stay. I know i 'ou ought to have some rest." ? "Not at all," said the doctor, with a reiisuring smile, "I am accustomed to sit up, and lo not mind it. But suppose you take a rest. ' fou look so pale, and must be exhausted, ifter suffering so much anxiety. I think you lave suffered more than our little patient here, ? vho fortunately was oblivious of her condi- j ion. For a time I was almost hopeless, t such cases require all the nerve, perseverance md coolness at one's command. But let me 1 irnt/ili Kttla nno nnro until mnrninc. while . TUbWll lilIV nvwv vuu uvn -? w ^ , rou take the rest and sleep, you so much leed." "I could not sleep," said Florimond, "could lot rest, even from great joy aud thankfulless. You are, indeed, most kind! There is, lowever, no necessity for all of us to watch ; o, Doctor, leave it to Mrs. Edmunds and nyself, and you take possession of the spare oom you will find just opposite to this. Then . will feel satisfied, for I can call you instanty, if there is a change." "As I expect a busy day to-morrow, I beieve I will snatch a few hours' rest; so good light, if I do not see you again?and mind, all me if there is the slightest change." But though he lay on a luxurious ccjch, md his head reposed on softest down, the docor, for a long time, could not sleep. When le did, he dreamed of a beautiful woman, vith lustrous eyes, and long, black, flowing lair, and a voice which lured him on to hapliness?0/ misery 1 CHAPTER XIV. BERTA FINDS A ROSARY. Berta improved but slowly. So for a numler of weeks Doctor Eglinton paid very fre|uent visits to Mrs. Ravenswood's house. He lecame very fond of his little patient, as no me who had a drop of human 'kindness in heir composition, could fail to do, thrown so :onstantly with a child at once so attractive md interesting. Berta was of naturally quick jarts, and having never enjoyed any corapanonship, except that of mature and intellectuil people, she displayed, both in conversation md mental acquirements, a remarkable presocity of intellect. The doctor would often it for an hour or more, listening to her quaint emarks,drawing out her bright young mind, elling her fairy tales and nursery rhymes, md otherwise making himself agreeable, both 0 child and mother. With such constant inercourse, he became necessarily established >n quite a footing of intimacy with the family. \s Berta became stronger, he would even call V\?. liar tn rido in tiio sfvliali f-TOrt-lmrso frnrnniit: aking her on long drives into the country, vhere she could drink in strength with tffe j jure, fresh country air. He loaded her, too, < vith presents?beautiful fairy books, delicious j ruit, lovely flowers?until,-as Mrs. Suther- , and remarked, with a sly look from Berta to Berta's mamma, "it was quite astonishing vhat a remarkable attachment Doctor Eglin- ; on seemed to have formed for his little pa- < ,ient!" ] And it must be said, on Berta's side, that < iext to her mamma, there was 110 one whom' ] ihe liked half so well as the doctor. She vatched for his coming, and enjoyed his 6oci- ] sty, and at the dreaded moment of departure, j :luug to him with a very childlike, touching ind sweet devotion. i One day, when Doctor Eglinton 'called to , nake his usual daily visit, Mrs. Ravenswood j net him in the hall, with a distressed look on ler face. The doctor was so interested in ] vhat she was saying, he forgot to release the ( land she had extended in salutatiou, but ] leld it for several seconds, while Floriraond iroceeded to explain her reasons for thinking f hat Berta was not decidedly so well as 011 ] he day before. j "I guess it is only your fears which raagni- J y everything," said the doctor, gently ; "but ome, we will go up and see." t "I cannot go up with you now," said Flori- g noud, withdrawing her hand; "there is a ( lorrid man in the drawing-room." 1 "Beg to be excused," suggested the doctor, t "I have excused myself to him every day or the last three weeks," said Mrs. Ravensmod, making a wry face. "Why, who is it?" t "One of your particular friends," she said, 1 aughiDg. i "Well, confusion to him, whoever he may 1 >e," said the doctor, "I wish he would stay t t home." t Berta was sitting, or rather reclining, in a e arge chair, propped up with pillows, a book ) f highly-colored illustrations in her lap, and { nnumerable play things and various toys of c enoHnrorl ornnnrl f V J UCOtl IJJLlUUj CVUtbVtVU U4VUUUI K^MV ? reeted the doctor's appearauce with a bright t mile, and held out her hands appealingly to iim. He took the little creature in his arras? ^ he was an uncommonly small child?kissed r er affectionately, and placed her on his knee. "How is this, ma petite f" he asked; "mam- t aa says you are not so well to-day." c "I am so tired," said the child, "and my t ead aches, and it is so cold here. I do not h hink this is half so nice a place, as where we 1 ived before grandmamma died. There I i v layed out of doors all the time, and was j v ever cold." ! 1) "And where was that ?" asked the doctor, j c joking down into her up-lifted eyes, living j ii ounterparts of her mother's. , a "It was in Clairemont," said Berta. d "Clairemont," exclaimed the doctor; "is! iat where you formerly lived ? But it must i a e a different place. Was there a convent in i a Ilairemont ?" j " "Yes," replied Berta," a great tall house | \ ith a high wall all around it, and great big ( o full nC mr>/.lrinrp.liia onrl o ornri-lfin tcifh n CCO 1UI1 U1 IliVV/lVlllg-uuuU) Uiiv* M > <?< I ? eautiful flowers, and a little gate at the side ' o here ?" "Moil Dieii!" interrupted the doctor, "the | tl ery spot. Why, what a remarkable child j v ou are to remember so well, and describe so si linutely!" I o "Mamma and myself often talk about it," : tl lid Berta ; "and besides, mamma has made j le a picture of it." She slipped from his j I nee, and making her way, as well as! 11 eakness would permit, reached a small table t! landing near, on wbich was placed a mother- " f-pearl writing desk. Opening this, she o marched among its contents until she found vbat she wanted?a SKetcn 01 ou j^uawwiuo n water colors. "Here it is," she said, handing it to the doctor. "The identical spot I" exclaimed the doctor. Te looked at it a long time, and seemed uniccouutably moved. "And you say year mother made this sketch, Serta ?" ?Y? ? "And did you ever go inside the convent?" "No, not inside the convent, but?" "Berta," said the doctor, suddenly, "would rou mind giving me this picture?" "No, I would not mind it," said Berta, "but t is not nice enough for you. Mamma says [ must make you a very handsome present? or you have been so kind to me." "I do not want a handsome present," said he doctor, emphatically, "I would rather have ;his sketch of St. Eustache than the most ;ostly present you could buy. There are so nany reasons why I should prize this. Will fou give it me, Berta ?" "Yes, of course," said the child, putting her irms around his neck and kissing him. "See," said the doctor, having thanked her ippropriately, "I shall lay it away here snugly in the top of this tall beaver, until I get it safely in ray office." A few moments after, the doctor asked? "Berta, do you know how long your father las been dead ?" "My papa is not dead," said Berta, giving lim a startled look ; "he is not dead, but let ne tell you something strange : he has never leen me, and I never saw him. But I have his lair and his picture. Would you like to see hem ?" "Yes, indeed," said the doctor, with lively nterest. Berta unclasped the delicate chain, which ooked like a thread of gold around her vhite neck, and opening the antique locket ittached to it, handed it to him. Doctor Eginton regarded the picture, and even the hair, .vith the most profound interest. "You are something like your father, Bera," he said, at last; "but more like your nother. This is an exquisite painting. I tuppose you do not know the name of thear,ist." "Mamma painted it," said Berta, proudly. "Is it possible ?" said the doctor, in surprise. 'It is beautifully done." "There is writing inside," said Berta, and :aking it from his hand she pressed a spring md showed him the reverse side. In Florinond's hand was written, "Dead since 23rd October, 186?." And underneath, these ivords?"Painted from memory for Berta." "You see, your papa has been dead some;irae," said the doctor, apparently quite reoicing in the fact "I tell you ray papa is not dead," persisted ;he child, almost angry; "mamma says he still lives." "She means ray child," said the doctor, 'that his soul still lives in Heaven. You snow the soul never dies, but even when the Dody has turned to dust and?" The door opened and Mrs. Ravenswood en,ered? "Mr. Bainbridge has gone at last," she laid, "and now, Doctor, what do you think of Berta?" "Oh! mamma," cried Berta, "the doctor vill keep on saying that my p?" "H?u?sh ! Hush!" whispered Doctor Eglinton, his face coloring violently, and tjien iloud: "Berta, you have forgotten to search ny pockets as usual." "Yes," acquiesced Berta, completely diverted ; "what have you brought me to-day, I wonder?" "Nothing there!" cried the doctor; "try mother." "Yes, but there is," said Berta, drawing out i long string of beads with a crucifix attached. "I perceive you are a Roman Catholic, Doctor," said Mrs. Ravenswood. "My mother was, but I do not belong to my church." "And is that her rosary?" "Yes, the one she used constantly for years, md since her death it has never left my person. It is a safeguard, and when I have this ibout, it seems to me her spirit hovers over me, a protection from all harm." "The dearest friend I ever had," said Mrs. Ravenswood, heaving a deep sigh, "was a Roman Catholic. Ah! such a woman as she was?so beautiful, so accomplished, such a heavenly heart"?and Florimond, overcome with recollections, hid her face in her handkerchief. Presently she took the rosary from Berta's hands and carried it to a distant corner of the room, where she examined it closely, shedding some quiet but bitter tears. Doctor Eglinton, with a regretful face and a continual glance toward Florimond, was peeling mie of the oranges Berta had found in his pocket. "She used to have one just like this," said Mrs. Ravenswood, handing the rosary to the lector. "It was wrought of carved cedar of Lebanon and had been blessed by the Pope." "Some such history is attributed to this," aid the doctor; but I am only too sorry that Berta ever brought it to light. It has revived gainful recollections, and made you sad; and [ cannot bear to see you sad. "And have you ever seen me otherwise ?" isked Mrs. Ravenswood, with a mournful .mile-; "I am always sad, except under great ixcitement, when I sometimes feel that reckess mirth which Lord Lytton calls 'the inoxication of grief.' To me, even, 'Joy's zest Is salted with a touch of woe.' " "Say not so, dear lady," murmured the docor, in great agitation; "it pains me to the leart to hear you speak so. I know what it s to grieve for lost loved ones. Under pecuin r mrpnmaf-nnpna of sorrow T lost mv mother. 0 whom I was devotedly attached, and for a ime there seemed a great darkness over the sarth. But Time has somewhat healed that vound, and though I feel her loss is as irreparable as ever, still there are other fountains )f love?other springs of hope?welling up in ny heart, which gives to life a brighter tinge? 1 more surpassing joy?than ever existed." " 'Tis not so with me," replied Mrs. Ravensvood, coldly. "There is no hope in my heart? 10 joy?and never can be again." "No! no! I will not believe that," cried he doctor, eagerly, his fathomless blue eyes oncentrated on Mrs. Ravenswood's face. "I mow you possess a compassionate, womanly leart, and suppose that those lost objects of ove could be replaced by another object,w rhose love.for you would be tenfold more de-oted, more immeasurable, than what you iave lost?than any love you have ever coneived or dreamed possible?a love human in ts warmth, divine in its unchangeableness!? love stronger than life, more sure than eath, and eternally unquenchable!" "To such an one, said Mrs. Ravenswood, gitated in spite of herself?for was not such love the ideal dream of her romantic heart? to such an one I would say, 'Noble heart! Vorthy of all love, take thy offering to anther's shrine. This poor heart is dead, and ever again can its destinies be linked to anther ! "And if the warning should come too late to bat other heart ?" asked the doctor, in a husky oice, and trembling with emotion, "and that mitten one should say, 'Thou peerless queen f perfect love, already I adore thee?worship bee with an undying love?' " "The same irrevocable answer," replied "lorimond, quickly; but seeing the tenderess, the unconquerable pathos, written in bose troubled violet eyes, she hastened to add: but I should feel a world of pity for that ther noble heart." [to be continued next week.]