AUNT MARTHA'S HAPPY FIND.

Auckland Star, Volume XXV, Issue 168, 16 July 1894, Page 3

AUNT MARTHA'S HAPPY FIND.

BY MADAME GAGNEBIN.

(Translated Fbom the Fbbnch.)

CHAPTER XXII.

DKATH OF ST. ROCK,

• Your walk has nob done you much good,' said Aunb Lore, &a Aimeo entered the parlour, • I see that you are as ill as ever.'

'Its will pass away to-nighb,' added Mademoiselle Estelle, • only sleep will cure sick headaches/

Aimee seated herself in her usual place, wibhoub having the courage to speak. '1 have never seen you look so badly,' continued Mademoiselle Estelle, ' I should nob be surprised if this headache were the precursor of some serious illness ; your eyes have such dark rings around them that ib looks as if you had on glasses.' Aimee was aboub to answer when the door opened, and Mr Douay was announced.

The poor child' 9 heart beat as if ib would burst, and she moved quickly from the lighb. •Are you ill?' asked the young man, taking the hand which she extended to him. 'No, thank you.' He looked at her, and his bright smile vanished, bub he said nothing more, and took his place is an arm-chair, from which he could watch her every movement. ' Wi»ab have yon thought of the news?' asked he ; ' I have left my men expressly to come and balk it over.' ' Oh ! you know ib, too ?' cried Aunb Lore ; • is it not delightful to think that in two or three weeks, ab moat, they will be back ?' Aimee had quickly taken a piece of embroidery, and worked ab ib with feverish energy, nob daring to raise her eyes, for fear of meeting bhose fixed upon her. It was the first time thab the young man had seen thab sad expression, and thab persistent avoidance of his look. Whab could have happened? Only yesterday ho had seen her smile—that sunny smile thab he loved so dearly ; he had seen those limpid eyes raised t@ his with even more than confidence. Could she bo ill? Her beautiful face changed colour every moment. Had she any trouble? Who would have dared to trouble her? 'If I ask her to go oub, porbaps she would bell me—bub no, it is impossible; the aighb is as black as a furnace and ib is snowing besides.' He rose and came to loan upon the back of her chair.

' You are terribly busy this evening.' Aimoe raised her eyes, and tried to smile.

' I need to count all the time,' said she, ' wibhoub thab I make mistakes.'

' Then lay your work a&ide, or are you in a hurry aboub it?' ' Oh, no, ib is some embroidery on which Maud has been ab work for years.'

' Ib seemed to me that I recognised it,' said the young mat, laughing. 'Leave that old thing ; Miss Maud can finish it herself.' He took it out of ker hands, and saw that she was trembling. ' Are you cold V be cried, growing serious. • Come over to the fire.' Aimee obeyed. (Are you ill ?' he murmured, almosfa in her ear..' Sho made a negative sign. ' Only a little headache.' ' You remember our compact, you promised,' added he, in a low voice. She raised a troubled face to his. 11 said if it was in my power.' ' And it is no! in your power ?' She shook her head. He remained silent, motionless, looking at, but) noli seeing, the brilliant fire which burned on the hearth, and feeling, for the first time, something bitter in his heart. Why had she secrete which she could not confide to him ? He had none ; he would toll her anything, one thing excepted, and that he had decided to toll her at once, as soon as he was sure— but now, he was no longer sure, she seemed to avoid looking at him, and, even in speaking, seemed embarrassed and uneasy. At that instant the doctor's well-known voice was heard, and the door opened to admit him ; but at the sight of him, every ! one uttered an exclamation.

' Doctor, wbab has happened ? You are in trouble.'

Without answering, be looked around him, and went straight to Aimeo, who had risen, and looked ab him in surprise. ' Come,' said he taking her hand, 'he is very ill; you must come ab once.' Aimeo uttered a cry, and hurried out of the room. • Wrap up warmly,' cried Aunt Lore; — f how did it happen, doctor ?' ' Almost) immediately after she left.' • la ife an attack ?' ' I do nob know, it looks like ib.' ' I do nob see what good Aimee's presence can do,' murmured Mademoiselle Isabeau. 'In any case, no harm,' answered the doctor, dryly; ' I should not have come after her, if I had nob thought ib necessary.' At this moment, the young girl came back, made her adieu in haste, and hurried off, followed by the physician ; but hardly had they left the house, when he checked her. 'Do not walk co fast, ib is useless. I have something to tell you that you ought to know before you reach him ; take my arm and listen to me, if yon can, without interrupting me. It is his history which lam going to bell you. You already know that he has not always lived here. He lived in the north of France, liko myself. Our acquaintance dates from babyhood, and our friendship, which had its birth on the benches of the infant school, has never changed. Later, we were at the same college, and afterwards, for several years, at the same university. But as Sb. Rock needed no profession, he returned to his estate and married, while I took my diploma as a physician, and came to establish myself here. One fine day, nearly three years iafter hia marriage, I received a letter inviting me to his house, to ace as godfather to his first child ; but before I had the time to make my preparations for going, a telegram broughb me the news that my friead was a widower, and his son motherless. 1 Bab I must cub short my Btory. I have no time to speak of his grief; the best proof that) ib was real is, that he has never thought of marrying again. He had only one thought, one tenderness, and bhab was his little Bayard, whom he had confided to a young Swiss girl, then in service at his bouse. The boy grew up, became beautiful like his mother; he had her eyes and hair. As for the rest, it was his father over again, the same iron will, the same quickness, the satne generosity. ' All went well for years. Sb. Rock saw nothing good or beautiful under the sun except his boy, and sincerely believed that the whole world had not such another. He did his best to spoil him, and every one in the house did the same, including the Swiss girl, who would have liked to treat him as a baby' all his life. ' I saw him often, I believe I told you that I was his godfather, and you must know, then, that I adored him like every one else. And he was, indeed, lovable, with his lordly airs and his goodness towards every one, In short, their home was a truo paradise,, and a pair of eyes was sufficieati

to turn it into a hell. St. Bock, naturally, dreamed of a marriage for bis son, ft marriage worbhy of him ; ;thab ,ia to say, worthy of a prince, though he bad no Mbit of nobility, nothing excepb an ancient name and an immense fortune. He searched the country, went righb and left, and searched so well, thab ab last he found one whom he thoughb worthy to make hia eon happy, and praudly came back to tell hi* of his discovery. Bayard listened to him tranquilly, then, as tranquilly, told him that he had loved for years a young orphan girl, a simple governess ab the house of one of his friends. To tell you of tht terrible scenes which passed then betweoa the father and son would be to waßte our time; the boy held his own, proving him* self his father's son.' No threats or prayers, supplications or entreaties, could shake him. ' St. Rock only saw the young girl onco, bub it appears that he gave way before her to such terrible violence, that, from that time and for all her life, which was not long, the poor child could nob hear net father-in-law spoken of without trembling and turning pale. Nevertheless, her terror was not as strong as her love for hia son, for she let herself be persuaded into marrying him, in spite of ail the maledictions ot the old man.

' When St. Rock saw that his son's decision was taken, he senb him some thousand francs, which his mother bad broughb him at their marriage, and begged him to understand thab he had a father no longer. Bayard tried to change byn, but ib was in vain. Poor St. Rock, he ha« been heavily punished for thab moment of hardness. ' The Swiss nurse, had,, naturally, done as all women would do, she had taken up the cause of the lovers, whom she followed and served until the time of their death. The poor father, he could not guess what would happen. His intentions were not, as he has often told me, to banish his sob for ever. He hoped that the need of money would bring him one day.and then be meant to show himself good and generous. That day never came. (Betyard died almost suddenly of an affection of the heart, which. lefb no time for a reconciliation with bis father. When St. Rock arrived all was over. It was then that he committed, in my opinion, his greatest fault. He refused to see his daughter-in-law, .whom he regarded as the cause of all his sorrow, and returned home, where he remained one or two years, before deciding to come and livs near me, in order to lead the life with which you are familiar.' ■ Is she still living ?' murmured Aimee, in. a chocked voice. 'No, she died a few months afber her husband at Silvereal.' ' At Silvereal V ' Yes; but listen to me carefully now, wibhoub interrupting me. Sb. Rock re* ceived this evening a lefitor; Ido not know how to tell you thab—a letter which tells him thab his daughter-in-law diedafter having given birth to a child, oif whose existence he has never beard until!; to-day.' • How strange!' 'Do nob say anything, listen to ma quietly. The poor creature, feeling, ib appears, that she was going to die, made the Swiss nurse, who had never left her since her husband's death, promise to hide the birth of this infant from he? father-in-law, certain that it would in* herib the hatred he had for her, Ido nob remember how she arranged it, though the; letter recounts ib fully; in Bhorfc, she resolved to expose the child, and did ib in such a fashion that ib was found and taken by an honesb woman, named Martha Valrose.

• There, there, be brave, don'b tremble to; do you wish to rest a moment ?' • No, no, let us go quickly, la ha very

ill V 'lam afraid so, the blow was too unexpected, and ib crushed him; but perhaps when he sees you, he will rally, but, just as likely, he may sink at once.' '. . Feeling as though she were in a dream, Aimee quickened her steps; she did nob feel the bitter cold, nor the icy wind which swept her face. She knew only one thing— this old man, who was dying, was the only one on earth who belonged to her; she never thought of his injustice and cruelty ; she only remembered his long silence, hie long loneliness. She had let go the doctor's arm, and walked at his side with rapid and unequal steps. ' Are yeu euro that he will nob be angry when he sees me?' asked she, as thoy crossed the threshold.

For all answer, the phyeican took her hand, and drew her towards the old man's room.

• Try to be calm; try not to tremble,' said he in a low voice, as they entered.' Aimee followed him upon tipboe to the old man's bed.

' St. Rock,' murmured the doctor, 'sheis hero, she will stay with you, she will never leave you again.' Something like a sob rose in the young girl's throat; she knelt down by the bed, aid pub her hand in the old man's. He opened his eyes, fixed them for several seconds upon the young face bent so compassionately over his, and a feeble smile came to his lips ; then his eyes wandered round the room, and his lips moved. The physician approached the bed quickly. ' St. Bock, you recognise us do you nob ? She is here, near you ; she will never go away any more.' Fer all answer, the sick man elOwly raised his hand, and laid ib for an. instant upon the young girl's bent head. * You will take care of her,' murmured

•Do not say such a thing, St. Rock; you will recover, you will lire.'

Aimee sobbed, still holding his hand, which, from time to time responded with a feeble preasure to her caresßes and kisses.

All afa once the sick man's face changed. < Too late,' murmured be, 'no pardon-* too great a sinner'— A passionate sob answered his words, then the voice of the young girl rose in the silence of the night, and from the depths of her hearb, Bhe sent.heavenward an ardent supplication. •" The dying man opened his eyas, seemed to listen, and then slowly crossed his hands upon his breast, and lay motionless, while bis poor soul, borne upon the wings of prayer, appeared before its Judge. (To be Continued.)