The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 26 July 1906, Page 3

The Storyteller

JOHN LESPERANCE, MASTER

It was a delightful old brick house, with galleries upper and lower, which stood in the centre of a plot of ground on Second Avenue, New York, when the last century was young. It was a palatial residence for those days, and at the back of it was a garden, which gave forth upon an evening of June the perfume of innumerable roses. 1 hese q/ieens of the floral world were not alone, t>o be sure, in possession of the flower-beds l»at they completely outshone tbs bachelors' buttons and the gilly-flowers and the phlox and the cinnamon pinks, which lent a fragrance of their own to the air. Within the house, the \: o reel ain-1 ike figure of Anne Delamere overshadowed all other figures, much as the 15 roses did the humbler flora of the garden. Neither her aunt, who was small and thin and faded, though still delicate and aristocratic, nor the housekeeper, Mrs Ruxton, nor Miriam, the nurse, svho had first held the young beauty in her arms, nor the solemn butler, as he came and went, nor the other servants, were anything more than foils to her wonderful grace and elegance, and her fine coloring, by winch s>he resembled some rare bit of china. She had but lately come home from France, where after a convent education, she had :;j.?ut a yt\ir. It w*s her pleasure to dress in the extreno 'ashiuri of ihe moment, the flowing drapery of the i-List; hhnpiie vliieh Josephine h a d made popular. And fo was Anne J)elamere attiied when summoned to the drawing room that June evening by someone who wanted her upon urgent business. Her gay and careless companions, wh o had but just arisen from dinner, and were gathered upon the gallery, laughed at the i hrase. Business seemed ?s remote from Anne as the dust of the earth fr o m that tranquil moon abo.e. The visitor stood dumb at first in an astonishment whi\h presently changed to something like dismay. It was as if the glowing beauty before her had dazzled her sight. Anne fixed her questioning, and, it must be owned, somewhat haughty gaze upon the woman, who well and e\en handsomely dressed according to the simple provincial modes, was truly a gilly-flower in presence of the rose. As the two confronted each other the visitor's eyes sought the floor, while she spoke hesitatingly. ' I must cra\e your forgiveness, Mistress Delamere, for this intrusion, but a weighty matter has brought me.' & Still Anne Delamere silently regarded her. The younr girl was annoyed that she should have been summoned from her gay companions by such a visitor as this. ' I ariived by the Eastern Post this evening, hence the latpness of my visit,' apologised the woman. ' I feel assured that you are mistaken. Your business can scarce be with me,' Anne Delamere said coldly and her very haughtiness seemed to have an interest for the woman regarding her, who shook her head as if at some thoughts of her own. ' Nay,' she said, ' tiiere is no mistake • with your permission, I will briefly unfold my errand.' Arnie still waited, and the woman began • ' While in Fiance you had some acquaintance with one John Lesperance.' A warm flush of co'or flamed into Anne's cheeks as stepping farther into the room, she shut the door by * half involuntary mo\ement. ' What know you of Jchn Lesperance ? ' she demanded, but there was a veiled uneasiness in the haughty tone. ' What I know I have come hither to tell,' said the woman, raising her head, so that the features, delicate and not without a certain beauty, could be seen beneath the poke of the bonnet. ' I pray you to be seated,' said Anne Delamere pointing to the sofa, with its curious carving of a dragon. 'The room was sumptuously furnished, and probably had some effect upon the timid provincialism of the unhidden guest. Ai<ne Delamere seated herself in a backed chair, agitated by a curious tumult of feeline; Ihe name just heard had brought to her the solitary chapter in a never- Lo-be-forgotten romance. • A week since there arrived in the port of Boston ' began the visitor, ' bound from Curacoa, the English brigantin© " Laurel," Captain B a ssett. He was in company with the homeward-bound Dutch fleet, under convoy of two men-of-war, -for the high seas these times are troubled. In the stress of weather which prevailed a . for * ni ISht1 S ht s ™ ce ' he was separated from his escort, and chased' >j a French privateer.' A startled light came into Anne's eyes, but she asked no question.

• That privateer,' said the woman slowly, ' was "La Belle Normandie," John Lesperance, master." Anne shrunk back in her chair, her eyes filled with eager intensity upon the face .before her, while" the monotonous voice went on : 1 The Frenchman fired a' broadside, shattering the spars and riggings of the "Laurel." ' Was it triumph which lighted Anne's exquisite features, as in her musical tones, soundin-g clearly through the great room like the chime of a clock, she said • ' And what did Bassett, then".' ' ' His vessel was all but a wreck,' said the woman gravely, * but the elements came to his aid. As the young French captain was preparing to lead a boarding parly, a sudden squall, with fierceness of wind, overset the privateer.' The narrator stopped as if through emotion, and Anne, leaning forward and catching the woman's gown as though she were making an appeal to he«-, cried : ' But he, they, I mean, the people of the privateer were saved ? The captain of the "Laurel" was lvumane?' Her words ended in a strange cry. 1 The privateer sank with all sails set and with every soul on loard.' Anne was ghastly whits and rigkl now, and she covered her face with a despairing impulse, as she prayed : . IMy God ! My Gcd ! is this the punishment for my fault ? ' 'So ! ciicd the older woman, suddenly standing erect, as 'though she were about to pronounce judgment Ihere is some feeling left under those silks and laces, and that rose-leaf cheek can lose its color for another's woes ? ,You are wondrously fair, Mistress Delamere and you have been monstrously cruel.' Anne put up her arm as though to ward off a blow while the other went on : 'You have been dowered with that perilous beauty which dines men to ruin and leaves other women desolate. And now that I look upon you and your surroundings, I can, in truth, perceive that John Lesperanee was but your plaything. His honest manhood ins handsome face, his courage, his high ideals, were as naught to you. You won his love ! Small' wonder— for no man might resist your charm. But it' w.as ill done to laugh at him, to scorn him as a nameless adventurer ! ' The stern voice bro':o, and the voids seemed to echo in Vnne s heart : 'It was ill done ! It was ill done \ ' For conscience told her that in her dismissal of John Lesperance she bad been unnecessarily hard and cruel and wicked. And this because she had been afraid of her own weakness. Afraid of the tenderness which Ins manly words of love had awakened in her heart the admiration which -his nobility of character had aroused in her. She had feared to sacrifice for him her world with all its idols. ' Now, ' went on that accusing voice, ' had you loved John Lesperance, as I, all my life, have done——' fnr iJlHl'^ 11 "' to hei " feet with airiiMT old haughtiness, for,. ,indeed, this new idea was singularly distasteful to 'You loved John Lesperance ? ' site cried, and again thP hT°,l T°?h n S V"i confronti »g p ach other, and ajain h nm ?ff • \° £°i e bonnet was bent with that strange nuniility in which there was nothing servile nnv «il™ «? nn + h Ver « 0V f d ulC)'u IC) ' she said - without any sign of the efiort these words cost he- ;he never even knew. w^ T Sf c S, Which c f ame llino1 in( o the delicate patrician face JurflH v £^ 7t7 t ° n^ ° f rehef - Anne could not have encluied to be placed upon a similar footing with this dowdy* and, to her intolerant youth, middle-aged provinf^%?3&£ ft iXr wa^nS SedSfin?!!? y °T Un T an V? e infiuCTce of his father was SSclilH ~ J -"« S/SS £" S^e P wS d a^= <tS 11 ii ° 0k Up ° n her face as she ask^d : c lell_ me how are you called ? ' said fcntly 6 : adShaW> ' answered other, and Anne ' And you knew him all that time » ' mate, his nursery maid, aye, the slave o7 his lightest

word. But as he grew to manhood that was chanced His very thoughtfulness, and the deference Ire showed "V? P? ov f d . most evidently that "i was in truth but an old friend, impossible in another light. He w a s ardent dreamy, Dull of aspirations ' Anne nodded assent, as though corroborating the justice of this description. 'Alas ! his dearest wish was to go away,' cried F,T£ c ' w i th a wail almost m her voice, 't o fight for the French nation, Ins father's land, against the people 01 Ltigia.no.. Her voice died to a whispe-r, as she ended : 'He went, and with him went most truly the light of that sombre village, which had ne'er before seemed to. me s o CllGGl IcSS. Anne, though somewhat awe-stricken, had no experience by which to gauge the feelings of this other 'woman bhe had felt the parting with John Lesperancc acutely But youth and life at its full tide have s o hh f P cs a ," d interests ! It had bean far otherwise when the solitary gleam of brightness had gone out of that other existence. Curiously enough, too, she began to iecl a dull resentment against this Eunice Bradshaw *ho could come, an accusing spirit, to hold up in contrast to her own conduct whole years of fidelity and lowly service. The shock of her fearful announcement concerning the privateer had disclosed to the girl as in a flash the real nature of her feelings towards that man, the bravest and the noblest, the most chivalrous and romantic, with whom she had ever come in contact. 'Listen, you strange wom a n,' she said suddenly « I too have loved Jchn Lesperance- , and all the world may know it now. y There was something of astonishment in the look which Eunice Bradshaw cast upon her, as the girl made this declaratwwi with, a half-d^ant tenderness and' a throwing back of her shapely head 'And,' she continued, .with a light of triumph in her eyes, John Lesperanco loved me ! ' She was only awa eof the cruelty of these last woids when the poor face before her u.uivered as und^r a blow, and the head in the poke bonnet was bent still I 17' a SWiU movcraeilt Ame stretched out her 'Forgi\e me ! ' she cried. Phc was struck by the at £• n VW VVhk ' h lniCC Bradshaw looked up ' And John Lcsperance loves you yet ' Anne understood these words as icferrine: to the woild beyond the grave, and she said slowly with a strange desolation in her tcias : ' i' + TCT CS ,' /. j kn "°, Wl You mcall that he will remember wl L to, n h ' perha^' let me s <* him some day when I shall ha\e expiated my sin. Or, mayhap Eunice Braclsh^he will turn to you in thit oth4 life, For She seemed to find an exquisite pain in the words but Eunice Bradshaw shook her head. ' Nay that could never be, 1 she said bravely l nor do I speak of the other life and its happenings . They fair child, are the secrets of (rod.' tw.'i' 1 4?° W *°x- W H fc you niean '' Alme crie <i, halfpetulantly. \ou have, in truth, an intim a te knowledge of my story, and of the wrong my foolish pride hi?c d o^de^ EClltleinail - VY ° U se <^oWebeV in Eunice Bradshaw smiled a.t this touch of jealousy Her sternness had vanished. She felt as thouch she were dealing with a wilful child. uiougn sne 1 I am wondering,' she said quietly, ' if the heirr of a woman can really abide in a gild rd^' atmosphere or H Xt " I^Tv. ever break bollds that are forged of silk ' Why do you speak to me thus, Eunice Bradshaw *' Anne asked, with a sudden outbirst of anger 'Think you that I do not love John Lesperance better than all the world and that I would not lake pride i£ his devotion and publish it, could he but speak to me now"' herhand a angC ° n Eunice ' s face and raised stopped hlr'almost'Lternly Bradsh * w know/ ak6 nOt G ° d tO witness ~ at Je ast, until you 1 Know what ? • cried Anne, « know what ? ' John Lesperance lives ! ' said Eunice Bradshaw n nl?"* y .°Vi. s ? ld v faUere<i Anne, shuddering at thereon board"' VeSSel WC7lt down with ever ? ' soSl 0111^^ 8 l he Sea pivcs U P Us dead .' Eunice "said grimly 'John Lesperance is a forceful swimmer He came within comparatively short distance of m,r coast ami gaane-d a perilous footing upon a rock He was seen jawlTS'Safh!^- A lifCb ° at s ' natcl^him H^^m SSte ttt ce h c 'She did not mention that she, Eunice Bradshaw had ?h.* h?"* 6 " 0 ? the men t0 take out the lifeboat' ard that her owra strong arm had manned a n oar with th* force and skill that only long- practice |ives

' For days and nights he lay unconscious,' she went on, * in the cottage of Widow Haskins, whither ho was carried. There with her I watched over him, and and learned from the ravings of- his delirium all of his story that concerns you. Often, in the stillness of the midnight, has he sat erect, calling loud and clear upon your name : " Anne Delamere . Anne Delamere !" In this wise I became aware" of his love and your scorn. You know him but little if you could believe he ever blamed you. Even in the disorder of his mind, he had naught but tender words for you.' Anne listened, an ever-growing intensity in her eyes, a greater and greater softening in her face, while a| faint happy smile played about her lii s. ' As he grew better I stole away to seek you, to foteg for some word of hope or comfort, that 1 might bear hence to Jiim.' Anne, falling upon her knees, gave audible thanks. 4 Sweet Mother of God, help me to give thanks. I am not worthy of this joy.' As she arose, she said quietly : 4 You have a noble heart, which shames me, Eunice Bradshaw. And now, where is he ? ' 'Still in the cottage of the Widow Haskins/ in his native village/ Eunice answered, 'but in grievous peril of his life, as long as he there remains.' 1 In peril ? ' Anne asKcd. A privateer attacking upon the high seas may be sentenced to death. Should England know of his escape and demand him, this Go^ eminent may be forced to give him up. Therefore, I cra\e your message.' ' Message ? ' cried Anne. ' Why, can you believe that I would now leinain away from him ? ' ••■ ' Nay, but it is impossible you should go,' Eunice said, her eyes involuntarily wandering about the room. ' I will go,' cried Anne Delamere, 'as soon as may be.' J ' You will have leisure for sober reflection ere Monday at sundown/ said Eunice Bradshaw slowly, ' and, hearken— the waves beat Tlrearily on the rock-bo-unci shore of a rude fishing village.' 'I will go,' interrupted Anne, but Eunice went o n unheeding, her mental vision busy with the picture she conjured up. ' In a. low-roofed, ill-lighted cottage, upon a wretched pallet, lies John Lesperance.' ' It matters nothinc, I will -o,' cried Anne, and a stubborn expression compressed her dainty lips and lent a firmness to her rounded chin. ' Even the wind of June,' pursued Eunice, blows cold and chill through the ill-hung casements. Carpets there are none, chairs and settles are of wood and in the lardei scant store of food.' "The more reason I must go,' said Anne. ' But what if your presence there disclose his secret ? ' 'Still must I go. But fear not, I will be prudent as though my own life and far more were at stale ' She began to fool a growing irritation at Eunice for seeking to keep her away, whereas the latter, arguing from a sense of duty, was rejoiced at the girl's firmness, and already pictured to herself the glow of joy on the sailors bronzed face, and the vibrating Ihrilfin his voice which she had heaid only in the sombre night nours ot his delirium. 'She was wondering how this might be- brought about, how a girl— and such a girl !- could take this \ital stop. As if in answer to her thoughts, Anne said . 'M 7M 7 Ilurse wiil R° with nic - s ave my aunt, none shall know whither I have gone.' | But after f ' the older woman queried. After,' and Anne proudly threw back her head with «™ u°\?V n her (hceks an ' d a ha PPy light in her eyes,^ ie snail be as Jchn Lesperance, master, may de1 Wer« John Lesnerance here present he would never countenance a like folly,' said Eunice Bradshaw, her conscience awaking suddenly ; 'he would perceive, as I ao now, that a nameless privateer is no match for such JJ. Not, she added hastily, ibut that the man himself is worthy of the highest lady in the land.' a lmr*<=+ «,^.+i, * good for any am ° nXn X us,' cried Anne, 'and almost worthy of you, Eunice Bradshaw. Yet ' « JJT made^ a qUa J nt and daint y courtesy to her visitor, as she paraphrased the old-time verseShall he, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair— Clause her fortune seemeth hich Shall he p] a y the fool and die ? Great or good o' kind or fair He must never more despair ! int T sfi,- n £ usic - a;i voice ran S th rough the darkening room, r?nthl«S ?h2 UIVCrS ° f • „moonlit, ,moonlits *t w ere penetrating and be a «rJ g v - yOU S g f1?f 1 ? with a stiU more beauty. Eunice Bradshaw gazed helplessly. She could in no wise understand this creature of another world.

especially in her present mood of gaiety— the reaction from the horror and remorseful grief which a moment since had bowed her down. ' Sq I tell you, Eunice Bradshaw, if John Lesperance will have me, I will marry him, and go "back to France, which I ll O \c so wcij, and where ' he shall be safe from cruel laws, and I will never, never, let him be a privateer more.' Eunice, acquiescing in what she felt she was powerless to prevent, further agreed that she should' meet Anne Delamere and her attendant, and together they might go by the Eastern Post coach on Monday night. Anne walked with her \isitor to the garden gate her silken robe shimmering so in the moonlight that' she seemed like a spirit as it lightly swept the old-fash-ioned blooms in the flower-beds and caused the rose leaves to fall in her path. At the gate, Anne said impulsively, laying her hand upon that of the other woman : 'For all your lo\e, your loyalty, your care of him, I thank you.' ' The sallow face of Eunice Bradshaw flamed suddenly into wrath. 1 You need not thank me. 'Twas for his sake, for my own ! ' And she went hastily forth, so that the garden gate swung jarringly on its hinges. She turned back again, however, before she had gone a dozen paces down the sweep of moonlit road. ' But I will ever pray,' she said, ' that God may keep you both ! ' J Anne stood looking after her, strangely oblivious of those merry guests within the house, who wondered at her absence. While thus she stood, she seemed to hear the voice of one whom that other woman loved as she did, crying out in his delirium, not to his patient nurse, but to her, the trifle* : ' Anne Delamere ! Anne Del a mere !' And so it came about that there was a nine days wonder m a very exclusive circle, and that the Delamere homestead was presently shut up For the aunt followed the niece, a nd Miriam had gone with her nursling. Only the housekeeper ami the butler an aged pair, remained in the mansion from which the porcelain-tinted figure had for ever departed. The flowers m the ga-den, losing their primness, began in course of time to crowd upon each other in unmannerly fashion, the rosp.s still claiming precedence however. Anne's story leaked out in a fragmentary w a y but few e\er .knew that the romantic Frenchman whom she had met in her Parisian days was the privateer captain supposed to have gone to the bottom of the sea. Th« wedding in the cottage of the Widow Haskins was very solemn, with the sound of surf on the rocks and^ the wail of the wind in the casements Aimam nurse, was there, supporting on her sturdy arm the aunt, rather helpless and bewildered And Eunice Bradshaw was the-c, standing aloof, framed by Hie recess of a window. An«d a white-haired priest lrom Boston, before whom stood Anne Delamere fair and lovely as a gem in earthly setting beside John Lespcrance himself. Surely there never was a handsomer couple ' The sailor, barely arisen from a sick bod and dressed in uniform for the occasion was ' a prodigious fine fellow,' and to the full as 'personable' as the dainty, rose-kaf lady, whom he solemnly took to wife. After tho register had been signed and the youne co-iple stood anart. Eunice Brartshaw stole out into the v}' 11 his happiness had been the work of her hands. The young husband, looking down upon the radiant beauty of his wife, said softly, as ihouch he were dreaming : h ' Anne Delamere ! Anne Delamere !' And Anne, looking up at him, half admiring half amused, repeated in musical tones : ...' John Lesperance ! Jchn Lesperance, master !'