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CHAPTER VII.

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-did he live now,

wish that all those who are now uselessly contend- | dreaded, but was, moreover, composed under the ing against their king, would follow your worthy influence of that exasperation with which youthexample, and avoid the waste of life that their fool- ful artlessness regards deep hypocrisy when prachardiness is daily causing.”

tised upon its ardent feelings. The traitor was The period of the Virginian's deepest disgrace had denounced in unmeasured terms of reproach and now arrived. He advanced toward the royal com indignation, and the letter concluded with an apomander, and when the pieces of British gold rat-logy for the appearance of the chirography; the tled together, as they fell into his open hand, his writer stating that he was obliged to use his left brow slightly contracted, and his cheek, momen- hand—his right having been wounded by a mustarily took a lighter shade.

ket shot from the galley on board of which Champe There was no other sign of shame or compunc-had escaped. tion about him. His eye was steady, and his out Finding no consolation from this source, and stretched arm trembled not.

possessing no friend to whom to confide the subject of her distress, the wretched Miss Brookville sought the only sad comfort left her—that of ming

ling her tears with those of the unhappy mother I am glad thy father's dead;

of the deserter, and soothing her dying pillow ; for that mournful task was now required at her

hands. The very evening of which we are wriThis sight would make him do a desperate turn, Yea, curse his better angel from his side,

ting was to be the poor invalid's last on earth. And fall to reprobation.

Twice, and twice only, did she mention the Shakspeare.

name of her son after Emma entered the house, Could Champe have seen the unhappy Emma ere she closed her eyes forever upon a world in Brookville at the period at which we are about to which she had seen little save trouble. Once when bring her before the reader, his stubborn heart she fervently thanked Heaven for preventing, by must have yielded, if a single spark of feeling death, the suffering her husband would have exremained in it.

perienced had he lived to learn the disgrace of The sun had just sunk behind the mountains their child—and again, when the first beams of among which her life had been so nobly preserved the rising sun penetrated her narrow apartment. by him whose image had ever since been present “Emma,” she said faintly, "my child-my to her mind, when the injured girl, pale and ema- more than daughter, come hither. Raise me ciated, her young brow clouded with deep sorrow, up, Emma, for the last time, and let me look upon issued from her father's house, and bent her trem- those sunbeams that have just smiled upon my bling steps toward the lowly residence of the bo Traitor to his country, reckless of my Champes. She had just escaped from the impor- broken heart as he is—God knows I love him tunities of the merciless and craven-spirited Birds- still." all, who, ever since the news of his rival's deser Her request was complied with, and, after gation had reached the villa, had incessantly demand-zing a few minutes upon the scene without, her ed the immediate fulfilment of her promise that head fell languidly upon the shoulder of her young she would be his, if John Champe should ever nurse. Her eyes were closed, -and in this mandisgrace himself or the corps to which he belonged. ner she reclined some time, scarcely seeming to

And how could she have been otherwise than breathe. Suddenly, and without assistance, she safe in making such a promise? Who, that had started to a sitting posture, and looking with an known her preserver, would bave judged differ- eye of fearful wildness at her alarmed attendant, ently of him? Was he not of a noble nature-brave, in a voice raised almost to a shriek of exultation, generous and upright? He was :—and his deser- she cried, “I knew it, Emma Brookville, I knew tion could only be looked upon as one of those it! They hare belied my boy! He is no deserter! unaccountable events which sometimes occur, as He is innocent! His honor is as high as Heaven! it were, utterly to baffle and set at naught all hu- Thank God, thank God!” man calculations.

It was the last, and perhaps an unconscious effort When the news of his only act of shame had of her failing faculties. There was a flush in the first reached Loudoun county, Emma laughed the cheek that death had already touched with his icy report to scorn : but, every subsequent rumor fingers, and an unearthly fire reigned in her eye. confirming it, she at length had recourse to a She lay, an instant after she ceased to speak, in method of tracing it to its foundation. She re- the arms of the terrified Emma, a breathless quested one of the maidens of the neighborhood, corpse ! who had a brother in the Legion, to write to him. Had Champe been present then !-we forbear. This was no other than the sister of the young But the deserter knew not what was passing Buxton; and, as may be supposed, the answer there. It might be, he thought not at all of his not only added certainty to that which Emma ( humble, but honorable home; for his whole mind

Vol. 111.-79

was absorbed in a mighty project. He was the The shoemaker was a man of middle age, well favorite of the abandoned Arnold-he was parti- to do in the world, very clever, very attentive to cipating in the rewards of ingratitude and treason, his business, somewhat talkative, but seldom saywhile his place at the bed-side of his dying parent ing anything that was not quite common place. was filled only by the pale and heart-broken girl Above all, he never was heard to speak a word whom, with the rest of the world, he had so art- against a single individual, however bad his charfully deceived, and who, above all others, save her acter: though, if another chose to do so, he never who was now no more, he never should have de expressly denied what he might say. In fact, he ceived.

never expressly denied anything you might tell Arnold had strongly pressed the Virginian to him. It was impossible to proroke him into an join his Legion. He at first refused, alleging argument, and yet he was one of the most pleathat if he should, through the chances of war, sant men to talk to in the world. He was so fall into the hands of the rebels, he had no better perfectly astonishedif you mentioned any strifate to expect than hanging. Arnold replied that king event, that it was really quite agreeable to inhe would run no more risk than himself; offered form him of it; and if your own exploits chanced to him the same station he had enjoyed in the Vir- be the theme of the story, his exclamations of ginia Legion; and promised him speedy promo Why! what a man you are!”—“Well! you tion. He still declined, affirming that he was do beat every thing!” or,“ Do you tell me so." resolved to give up the profession of arms. He were delivered with such apparent sincerity and promised, however, that should he alter his mind surprise that your self-esteem was irresistibly so far as to resolve to join any royal corps, it Nattered, and, ten chances to one, you told him should be his, provided he adhered to the offer he more of your private thoughts than you had inhad made. But Arnold would not part with him tended. In short, he was extremely cautious, thus: the flattering description Champe had given without seeming to know enough to be so; and him of the effects of his own trcason was soothing under his apparent mere pleasantness of manner to his jaded mind. The presence of the deserter and peculiarly demure look, there lurked a degree had become, in a measure, necessary to him; and of real acuteness, and even design, far beyond he assigned him quarters, the same as those of anything that could have been suspected from his his recruiting sergeants, requesting him to call simple exterior. upon him daily. The Virginian complied, and in When he took up the letter brought by Champe, return-no doubt being now entertained of the he requested the bearer to be seated. Then walksincerity of his regard for the royal cause-- he was ing to a small desk, and thus turning his back suffered to go at large wherever he pleased. upon his visitor, he placed the letter within an

At first, Champe seemed so well contented in account book, and proceeded to read it. his new lodgings, that he did not appear to care A customer calling in just as he had finished, about leaving them for an instant. After a day he carefully shut the book and put it into his desk, or two, however, he occasionally walked out, saun- exclaiming—"very good, Mr. Champe, very tering leisurely about the city, but never remain- good—this order is as good as the cash-much ing long absent from his snug quarters. Gradu- obliged to you for your preference, sir.” Then, ally, as the novelty of his situation wore off, he calling his wife to attend the person who had just extended his rambles to a greater distance; and, entered, he continued—“ Walk this way, Mr. in a short time, he was acquainted with every Champe, walk into the back ware-room, sir. I street, lane, or alley that New York at that day think I have an article in the shoe line there, that contained.

will suit you exactly.” It was in one of those solitary walks, just as They retired, and after a few minutes spent in night was closing in, and a faint light might here close conversation, in the course of which nothing and there be seen to dart into the windows of the in the “ shoe line” was mentioned, Champe took straggling shops of the narrow street in which he his departure, and returned to his quarters. was, that Champe, having first curiously peered The next day—the last but one of September, into the shop of a shoemaker, without being him- and the anniversary of that on which, three years self observed, stepped in and briefly demanded of before, he parted from bis native state an honest its only inmate whether he was the principal of patriot-John Champe joined the Legion of Arthe establishment.

nold; and to the great apparent satisfaction of Without hesitation, but with a scrutinizing the restless traitor, took up his quarters in a deglance at his visitor, the shoemaker answered in cently furnished house adjoining that where the the affirmative; when, without farther words, American-British brigadier, himself, resided. Champe threw a letter upon the counter and step Champe was now allowed free access to the ped back, in order, as it might seem, to give the apartments of his newly chosen general; and inother a chance to read it, but, in reality, to watch deed, so much were they in each other's society, his countenance while he did so.

as to occasion a report among the soldiery

BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.

I

III

IV

whether well founded or not, the sequel will night, and returned at an hour not much earlier determine--that there was in agitation between than that observed by Arnold. them, some mighty scheme for striking a death As the reader may perhaps be curious to know blow at the resistance of America. Arnold was in what manner he spent his leisure time, we proan ambitious, daring, and restless being, and his ceed to introduce a scene or two in elucidation of proselyte had proved himself one of the deepest that circumstance. of cunning deceivers, as well as a man possessed of talents far above his station. Besides this, no doubt could be entertained of the present fidelity of both. Every time they could induce an Ameri TO A WINTER FLOWER. can to desert, would seem an amelioration of the perfidy of their own conduct, by adding weight to the arguments by which they pretended to excuse themselves. The course of both was plain

When Winter comes with icy mien, from the king they had everything to expect; and

To silver o'er this little brook, while one was an insatiate spendthrist, the other

Upon its banks thy form is seen, was extremely poor. From their country, nei

By all forsook. ther could look for aught but a halter.

II Evening was now the only period left Champe for passing his time as he pleased, as he was more

No shrub then lingers on the plain,

To feed the warm and watchful gaze; or less engaged throughout the day in picking up

Nor blade of grass the fields retain, recruits for the “ King's American Legion ;” and

Nor sprig of maize. when off duty, generally closetted with Arnold. At the close of the day, the latter also always left home. Sometimes he went to be entertained—and

Far as the searching eye may bend, secretly scorned by his entertainers—the British O'er gentle slope and bedded vale, officers—from whom, Clinton's oft repeated and

The barren sands and hills extend,

Thou tell'st their tale. strongly urged request could not compel more than a nominal respect for the traitor. Indeed, Arnold himself could not fail, under the civilties, Thou, of the autumn train, the last, to detect, with the quick perception of a guilty A mournful truth thy fate conveys, conscience, a disgust and detestation, which, in Thou lingering relic of the past, truth, was in many instances very illy concealed. And brighter days. Clinton's personal friends or lose adherents alone, really endeavored to forget the character of the

No other flow'rs, that late could vie man with whom they associated, and whom they

In sweeter grace and scent with thee, sought to force into the best society afforded by May now be seen, beneath the sky the city. This, however, resulted as is usual with In rivalry. that undeserved respect for an individual which is dictated by a faction or party, in opposition to the

Struck in the sullen clod too deep, better sense of a community-in rendering his

Thy roots the wintry winds defy, demerits more conspicuous.

And while thy thousand brethren sleep, As we have said, the traitor was sagacious

Thou lift'st thine eye. enough, and still possessed a sufficient sense of shame to perceive this. To drown reflection, he not unfrequently declined the invitations of those

What secret spring of life is thine,

And what art thou, pale flow'r, to gain whose very attempts to conceal their detestation

Such partial favor, as to shine of bim served but to irritate him almost to frenzy ;

Last of thy train? and sought, in the lowest haunts of profligacy and vice, a soul-degrading, yet temporary and una

VIII vailing oblivion.

Untouch'd, when all around are dead, Whether engaged in the former or the latter Unshrinking, though the blasts arise, manner, at all events Arnold never spent an even And lifting still thy fearless head,

In fearful skies. ing at home; and, what was a little singular, whether he came from the more or less respectable of those scenes of amusement, the period of his Such lot, methinks, can ne'er be blest, return never varied many minutes from a certain To see and feel ourselves alone,hour-that of midnight.

A late, and watchful, lingering guest, In the meantime, Champe closely imitated the When all are gone! habits of his general. He, too, went out every November, 1825.

VI

VII

IX

NO. II.

Oh, sir, my kind friend Stephanie is to be married SCENES FROM PAUL DE KOCK.

the ceremony is about to take place, and it is for this that the company is assembled. Stephanie is still with

her mother—they are just now completing her toilet.” (ZIZINE.)

“I will go then before the ladies make their appeare

ance, for indeed I should hardly know what to say to THE CEREMONY.

them." M. Guerreville soon arrived at the dwelling which “Oh, stay a moment to see my dear Stephanie; she had been pointed out to him. He inquired of the por- looks so beautiful in her bridal dress !" ter--"Madam Dolbert's ?

“I don't doubt it, my child, but I ought to go, for my “ Yes, sir.”

presence here, in the house of ladies who have never “Is she at home ?"

seen me, would appear very strange. I will return in “Certainly, sir."

a few days. Good bye.” “And can I go up ?”.

M. Guerreville shakes the hand of the little girl, who “There is no doubt, sir, that you can go up with the tries still to detain him ; he moves

along to the rest of the world. It is on the second story."

door, when a sudden movement runs along the saloon. "With the rest of the world !” says M. Guerreville “The bridegroom ! the bridegroom!" is whispered to himself, as he ascended the stair-way; “What can on all sides; and at the same moment, Edward Delathe porter mean by that? But no matter; we will berge enters the saloon. see."

M. Guerreville, whose looks were turned towards Reaching the second story, M. Guerreville enters a the door, is one of the first to see him. An instant spacious anti-chamber, the door of which is open; a change is visible in all his features; his eyes become servant is stationed there.

fixed-his limbs can no longer carry him forward-bis “Madam Dolbert ?” says M. Guerreville. The valet hands close convulsively, and he mutlers in a halfopens the door of the saloon, saying, "Be pleased to choked voice—“it is he—it is DAUBRAY !" enter, sir.”

Edward, however, had not seen M. Guerreville, who M. Guerreville enters a very beautiful saloon, and is is concealed in the crowd, and he advanced with a grasurprised to see some thirty people collected there. The cious air into the saloon, smiling to the ladies, shaking ladies are in full dress; the gentlemen, though generally hands with the gentlemen, and replying to the conin boots, have a certain party-air about them; different gratulations that were showered upon him from all groups are formed-some conversing, some walking sides. about the saloon. As M. Guerreville enters, they sim Almost at the same moment, Stephanie and her ply salute him, and every one resumes conversation. grandmother entered by an opposite door, and Edward

“What can all this mean ?” thinks M. Guerreville, pressed forward to meet them. as he looks about him—" something is going on here. Stephanie, whose dress is arranged in the purest Can it be a marriage? They have admitted me pro- taste, seems more beautiful than ever ; an extreme bably in the belief that I am here by invitation. I think paleness, spread over her features, gives her face an that I have selected the wrong time to talk about little inexpressible charm of expression; she smiles on raisZizine, and might as well take my leave for the pre-ing her eyes to Edward, who takes one of her hands sent."

and carries it to his lips. M. Guerreville was already approaching the door, “We are late,” says Madam Dolbert, " but I wished when he perceived in a corner of the saloon a little that my Stephanie should put on her best looks; a girl dressed with elegant simplicity, but who seemed to little coquetry is not unpardonable on a marriage day. attract no attention. By her modest and serious air, If you will be directed by me, ladies and gentlemen, the paleness of her countenance, whose expression was we will proceed forthwith.” even more than usually melancholy, M. Guerreville Every one approves the proposition, and a general immediately recognized the daughter of Jerome, and movement takes place in the saloon. Edward has predirecting his steps towards her, he took her hand and sented his hand to Stephanie ; he prepares to lead the said, “ You are little Zizine, are you not ?”.

way, and the company to follow. But a man bas The child looks at him--a quick blush mantles her planted himself in the door-way; instead of falling in face, her eyes sparkle and moisten, while she whispers, with the company, and giving place to the bridegroom, “Ah, sir! you are the kind gentleman who gave me this man remains fixed, and forbids their passage; then money for my papa, when he was ill."

placing his arm before Edward, and fixing on him a “ You remember me, my dear child.”

glance of lightning, he exclaims in a startling tone“Oh, yes sir, I remember you well; and now I even “Where are you going, sir ?" know your name: for my father has told me that he This inquiry, and the tone in which it was uttered, had met you, and that you gave him permission to come produced a great sensation in the company. They and see you."

paused, looking alternately at M. Guerreville and the “It is for you that I have now come here my little bridegroom; the latter, who at first only appeared one."

surprised, became pale and trembling as he examines “For me!"

more attentively the features of the individual who Yes, I saw your father yesterday, and he desired thus crossed his path. me to see Madam Dolbert--but I fear that I have not Stephanie, agitated, disturbed, looks on him who chosen the right time. What is going on here, my was about to be her husband, and seems astonished child ?"

that he has not repelled the man who thus interrupts

their progress. Edward soon recovered his self-pos- he is suffering under a strong excitement; he runs tosession, and feigning a laugh, exclaimed

wards him. “Here is a joke which I do not comprehend: come, “What has happened ?". sir, delay us no longer.”

“Ah! my friend, I have at length found him-at "Wretch!” cries M. Guerreville, seizing Edward by length seen him! This monster-this Daubray—it was the arm; "you pretend not to recollect the voice of a Edward Delaberge-the man who was affianced to father who comes to demand of you his child! Madam, Miss Dolbert.” this man should not be the husband of your daughter. “ Is it possible ?" You wish, doubtless, to secure the happiness of Ste "To-day was appointed for the marriage-he was phanie; he to whom you would wed her is a monster, on the point of leading her to the altar. At the sight a base seducer. Under the name of Daubray, he in- of this man, I could no longer restrain myself. I seized troduced himself into my family-he robbed me of my him-I demanded to know what he had done with my daughter-my only child-falsely telling her that I had child. The coward-he pretended not to know me. In refused him her hand. What have you done with my my frenzy I-" daughter? Answer--miscreant, answer!"

“You struck bim." These words caused great excitement in the com "I did--and it was the first moment of happiness pany. Stephanie feels a cold shudder pervading her that I have known for years." frame-her eyes close, and she falls lifeless into the “But, my friend, was this the most likely means of arms of the ladies who surround her. They carry her recovering your daughter ?to a sofa. Zizine and Madam Dolbert run to her as “I did wrong, perhaps ;- but could I be master of mysistance ; every one wishes to lend his aid, but at the self and repress my fury before this wretch, who presame time they look at the stranger, whose face and tended that I was a lunatic! The coward! But we bearing cannot but command respect, and they wait are to fight-immediately-at St. Mandé. Doctor, you with anxiety the reply of the bridegroom.

will be my second ?" After having in vain attempted to disengage his arm, “Of course—but if in this duel you kill this man, who Edward exclaims, looking round him on the company : will tell you what has become of Pauline ?”

“In truth, I am distressed at this occurrence-but I “Do you believe that in the moment of death he know not what to make of it. This gentleman is cer- will be insensible to the pangs of remorse? But, doctainly deranged, for this is the first time I ever saw tor, the duel is inevitable. Perhaps I ought to have him, and I know nothing about his daughter." conducted myself differently—to have used address in

“Wretch! it was not necessary to add insult to out- compelling him to speak; but when I saw him enter rage,” cried M. Guerreville, who was exceedingly ex- the saloon—when I saw his hand clasped in that of the asperated by the cold-blooded indifference of Edward. woman he was leading to the altar,-then-look you-“ You do not wish to recognize me. Perhaps I can I know not what passed in my mind—This Edward devise some way to compel you.”

is a wretch, and before all the world I would expose his At the same time, M. Guerreville struck Edward on crime'my friend, I am certain if you had been in my the cheek, with the back of his hand.

place, you would have done just as I did.” A general exclamation follows; some of the younger “Very likely—but we must prepare for your duel. portion of the company wish to fall upon M. Guerre- What weapons do you choose ?" ville, and put him out of the room: but they are re “Swords and pistols let him take his choice;strained by his commanding look; whilst Edward, pale George, George, call a carriage-we have no time to and motionless, after the blow that he had just received, lose.”' contents himself with rolling his eyes on M. Guerre “ And tell him to mount behind it—we may have ville with the expression of a tiger, and muttering- need of his services.” “Do you wish then that I should kill you."

Jenneval makes every preparation for the duel. M. “Yes, after having stolen my child, take my life-or Guerreville is not in a state of mind to attend to anygive me yours! All your blood will be insufficient to thing, and can only walk up and down his chamber, wash out your guilt."

looking by turns at his watch and his clock-exclaim. “Well, sir-to-morrow morning

ing, “Despatch-despatch-we have no time to lose.” No sir, to-day-this very hour-at the gate of St. At length everything is prepared. M. Guerreville Mandé."

hurries down stairs. A carriage waits in the street; “To-day be it then.”

he enters it with the doctor, who carries the arms “I go to provide a second, and will attend you; but George mounts behind, and the coachman drives for don't think to escape me. I know your name now-I St. Mandé. know that you call yourself Delaberge, and I shall be Jenneval appeared anxious, and remained silent by sure of finding you again.”

the side of his friend, who takes him by the arm and “In an hour, I will be at the rendezvous."

says-M. Guerreville hears nothing further. He departs, 'My friend, do you not sympathize with my good no one seeking to detain him. He quits the house fortune? I have found the wretch who betrayed my which he had filled with confusion and alarm. He daughter. I go to fight him—to punish him—to revenge hurries home, burning with the desire of vengeance, but myself! Don't you understand my happiness ?” utterly distracted by the circumstances under which he “I understand perfectly your wish to fight the man had met the seducer of his daughter.

who has injured you; but I fear it will not lead to the Jenneval was at his friend's house, waiting his return. result you desire. If you kill this man, you will not On meeting M. Guerreville, he perceives at once that I learn the fate of your daughter. If he is successful—"

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