CHAPTER XVII.
CONCLUSION.
Ainsi passe sur la terre tout ce qui fut bon, vertueux, sensible!
Homme, tu n'es qu'un songe rapide, un rêve douloureux; tu n'existes que
par le malheur; tu n'es quelque chose que par la tristesse de ton âme et
l'eternelle mélancolie de ta pensée!--_Chateaubriand._
After the departure of the guests the family fell back into the sweet
intimacy of former days. Jules, whom his native air had restored to
health, passed the greater part of the day in hunting with Archie.
The abundance of game at that season made the pastime very agreeable.
They took supper at seven, they went to bed at ten, and the evenings
seemed all too short even without the help of cards. Jules, who was
ignorant of what had passed between his sister and Archie, could not
but be struck with his friend's unusual sadness, of which, however, he
failed to guess the cause. To all questions on the subject he received
an evasive answer. Finally, imagining that he had found the root of
the difficulty, one evening when they were alone together he put the
question directly.
"I have noticed, my brother," said he, "the sadness which you endeavor
to conceal from us. You are unjust to us, Archie, you do yourself an
injustice. You should not brood over the past. In saving the lives
which would otherwise have been lost in the shipwreck of the Auguste,
you have done my family a service which more than compensates for what
took place before. It is we now who owe you a debt of gratitude which
can never be repaid. It was very natural that, prejudiced by report
and for the moment forgetful of your noble heart, even such friends as
we, imbittered by our losses, should lend an ear to calumnies against
you; but you know that a simple explanation was enough to re-cement
our old friendship. If my father bore his grudge for a long time, you
know his nature and must make allowance for it. He feels now all his
old affection for you. Our losses have been in great part repaired,
and we live more tranquilly under the British Government than we did
under the rule of France. Our _habitants_ have followed the example of
Cincinnatus, as Uncle Raoul would say, and exchanged the musket for
the plow-share. They are opening up new land, and in a few years this
_seigneurie_ will be in a most prosperous condition. With the help of
the little legacy which I lately received, we shall soon be as rich
as we were before the conquest. Therefore, my dear Archie, drive away
this gloom which is making us all miserable and resume thy former
lightheartedness."
Lochiel was silent for some time, and only answered after a painful
effort.
"Impossible, my brother. The wound is more recent than you imagine and
will bleed all my life, for all my hopes are destroyed. But let us
leave the subject; for I have already been wounded in my tenderest and
purest emotions, and an unsympathetic word from you would finish me."
"An unsympathetic word from my lips, do you say, Archie? What can you
mean by that? The friend whom I have sometimes vexed with my raillery
knows very well what my heart is toward him, and that I was always
ready to crave his pardon. You shake your head sadly! Great heaven,
what is the matter? What is there that you can not confide to your
brother, the friend of your boyhood? Never have I had anything to
conceal from you. My thoughts were as open to you as your own, and I
had imagined that you were as frank with me. A curse upon whatever has
been able to come between us!"
"Stop, Jules, stop," cried Archie. "However painful my confidences
may be to you, I must tell you all rather than let you harbor such
a cruel suspicion. I am going to open my heart to you, but on the
express condition that you shall hear me uninterruptedly to the end,
as an impartial judge. Not till to-morrow will we return to this sore
subject. Meanwhile, promise to keep the secret that I am going to
confide to you."
"I give you my word," said Jules, grasping his hand.
Thereupon Lochiel recounted minutely the conversation that he had had
with Blanche. As soon as he came to an end he lit a candle and withdrew
to his own room.
As for Jules, he stormed within himself all night. Having studied women
only in the _salons_ of St. Germain, his vigorous common sense could
ill appreciate the sublimity that there was in the sacrifice which his
sister was imposing upon herself. Such sentiments appeared to him mere
romantic and exaggerated nonsense, or the product of an imagination
rendered morbid by calamity. With his heart set upon an alliance which
would gratify his dearest wishes, he resolved that, with the consent of
Archie, he would have a very serious conversation with Blanche, from
which he felt confident he would come off victorious. "She loves him,"
thought he, "and therefore my cause is already gained."
Man, with all his apparent superiority, with all his self-confident
vanity, has never yet sounded the depths of the feminine heart, that
inexhaustible treasure-house of love, devotion, and self-sacrifice.
The poets have sung in every key this being who came all beauty
from the hands of her Creator; but what is all this physical beauty
compared to the spiritual beauty of a noble and high-souled woman?
Indeed, who is more miserable than man in the face of adversity,
when, poor pygmy, he leans on the fortitude of a woman, who bears the
burden uncomplainingly. It is not surprising then that Jules, knowing
woman only on the surface, expected an easy triumph over his sister's
scruples.
"Come, Blanche," said Jules to his sister, the next day, after dinner,
"there's our Scottish Nimrod setting out with his gun to get some birds
for our supper. Let's you and I see if we can scale the bluff as nimbly
as we used to."
"With all my heart," answered Blanche. "You shall see that my Canadian
legs have lost none of their agility."
The brother and sister, assisting themselves by the projecting rocks,
and by the shrubs which clung in the crevices of the cliff, speedily
scaled the difficult path that led to the summit. After gazing in
silence for a time at the magnificent panorama unrolled before them,
Jules said to his sister:
"I had an object in bringing you here. I wanted to talk to you on
a subject of the greatest importance. You love our friend Archie;
you have loved him for a long time; yet for reasons that I can not
comprehend, for over-exalted sentiments which warp your judgment, you
are imposing upon yourself an unnatural sacrifice and preparing for
yourself a future of wretchedness. As for me, if I loved an English
girl, and she returned my affection, I would marry her just as readily
as if she were one of my own countrywomen."
Blanche's eyes filled with tears. Taking her brother's hand
affectionately, she answered:
"If you were to marry an English girl, my dear Jules, I should take her
to my heart as a sister; but that which you could do without incurring
any reproach, would be cowardice on my part. Nobly have you paid your
debt to your country. Your voice has nerved your soldiers through the
most terrible conflicts. Twice has your bleeding body been dragged from
our battle-fields, and three times have you been wounded in Old World
struggles. Yes, my beloved brother, you have fulfilled all your duty
to your country, and you can afford to indulge, if you wish, the whim
of taking a daughter of England to wife. But I, a weak woman, what
have I done for this enslaved and now silent land, this land which
has rung so often of old with the triumphant voices of my countrymen?
Shall a daughter of the D'Habervilles be the first to set the example
of a double yoke to the daughters of Canada? It is natural and even
desirable that the French and English in Canada, having now one country
and the same laws, should forget their ancient hostility and enter
into the most intimate relationships; but I am not the one to set the
example. They would say, as I told Archie, that the proud Briton, after
having vanquished and ruined the father, had purchased with his gold
the poor Canadian girl! Never, never shall it be said!" And the girl
wept bitterly on her brother's shoulder.
"No one will know of it," she continued, "and you yourself will never
realize the full extent of the sacrifice I am making, but fear not,
Jules, I have the strength for it. Proud of the sentiments by which
I have been inspired, I shall pass my days serenely in the bosom of
my family. Of this be sure," she continued in a voice that thrilled
with exaltation, "that she who has loved the noble Cameron of Lochiel
will never soil her bosom with another earthly love. You made a
mistake in selecting this spot, Jules, wherein to talk to me on such a
subject--this spot whence I have so often gazed proudly on the mansion
of my fathers, which is now replaced by yonder poor dwelling. Let us go
down now, and if you love me never mention this painful subject again."
"Noble soul!" cried Jules, and he held her sobbing in his arms.
Archie, having lost all hope of wedding Blanche D'Haberville, set
himself to repaying the debt of gratitude which he owed Dumais. The
refusal of Blanche changed his first intentions and left him more
latitude; for he now resolved upon a life of celibacy. Archie, whom
misfortune had brought to an early maturity, had studied men and things
with great coolness of judgment; and he had come to the wise conclusion
that marriage is rarely a success unless based on mutual love. Unlike
most young men, Lochiel was genuinely modest. Though endowed with
remarkable beauty, and with all those qualities which go to captivate
women, he nevertheless remained always simple and unassuming in his
manner. He further believed, with Molière's Toinette, that the pretense
of love often bears a very close resemblance to the reality. "When I
was poor and in exile," thought he, "I was loved for my own sake; now
that I am rich, who knows that another woman would love in me anything
but my wealth and my rank, even supposing that I should succeed in
banishing from my heart my first and only love." Archie decided then
that he would never marry.
The sun was disappearing behind the Laurentian hills, when Lochiel
arrived at the farm of Dumais. The order and prosperity which reigned
there gave him an agreeable surprise. The good wife, busy in her
dairy, where a fat servant girl was helping her, came forward to meet
him without recognizing him, and invited him to enter the house.
"This is the house of Sergeant Dumais, I believe," said Archie.
"Yes, sir, and I am his wife. My husband should be back presently from
the fields with a load of grain. I will send one of the children to
hurry him up."
"There is no hurry, madam. I have called to give you news of a certain
Mr. Archie de Lochiel, whom you once knew. Perhaps you have forgotten
him."
Madame Dumais came nearer. After studying his face intently for some
moments, she said:
"There is certainly a resemblance. Doubtless you are one of his
kinsfolk. Forget Mr. Archie! He could never think us capable of such
ingratitude. Do you not know, then, that he faced almost certain death
to save my husband's life, and that we pray to God every day that he
will bless our benefactor? Forget Mr. Archie! You grieve me, sir."
Lochiel was much moved. Lifting into his lap the little seven-year-old
Louise, Dumais's youngest child, he said to her:
"And you, my little one, do you know Mr. Archie?"
"I have never seen him," said the child, "but we pray for him every
day."
"What do you pray?" asked Archie.
"O God, bless Mr. Archie, who saved papa's life, as long as he lives;
and, when he dies, take him to your holy paradise."
Lochiel continued to chat with Madame Dumais till the latter heard
her husband's voice at the barn. She ran to tell him that there was a
stranger in the house with news from Mr. Archie. Dumais was preparing
to pitch off his load, but he threw down the fork and rushed into the
house. It was by this time too dark for him to make out the stranger's
face.
"You are indeed welcome," said he, "coming with news from one so dear
to us."
"You are--Sergeant Dumais?" inquired Archie.
"You are Mr. Archie!" cried Dumais, clasping him in his arms. "Do you
think I could forget the voice that cried to me 'Courage!' when I was
hanging on the brink of the abyss--the voice I heard so often in my
sickness?"
Toward the end of the evening Archie said:
"My dear Dumais, I am come to ask a great favor."
"A favor!" exclaimed Dumais. "Could I, a poor farmer, be so fortunate
as to do you a favor? It would be the happiest day of my life."
"Well, Dumais, it depends upon you to restore me to health. Though I
may not look it, I am sick, more sick than you could imagine."
"Indeed," said Dumais, "you are pale, and sadder than of old. Good
heaven! What is the matter?"
"Have you ever heard of a malady to which the English are very subject,
and which they call the spleen, or blue devils?"
"No," said Dumais. "I have known several of your English who, if I may
say it without offense, seemed to have the devil in them; but I had
imagined that these devils were of a darker hue."
Archie began to laugh.
"What we, my dear Dumais, call the blue devils is known among you
Canadians as '_peine d'esprit_.'"
"I understand now," said Dumais, "but what astonishes me is that a man
like you, with everything heart could wish, should be amusing himself
with blue devils."
"My dear Dumais," replied Archie, "I might answer that every one in
the world has his sorrows, however fortunate he may seem; but it is
enough now to say that the malady is upon me, and that I count upon you
to help me to a cure."
"Command me, Mr. Archie; for I am at your service day and night."
"I have tried everything," continued Archie. "I have tried study, I
have tried literary work. I am better in the day-time, but my nights
are usually sleepless, and when I do sleep, I wake up as miserable as
ever. I have concluded that nothing but hard manual labor can cure me.
After toiling all day, I imagine that I shall win such a slumber as has
long been denied me."
"Very true," said Dumais. "When a man has labored all day with his
hands, I defy him to suffer from sleeplessness at night. But how shall
I have the pleasure of helping you?"
"I expect you to cure me, my dear Dumais. But listen while I explain my
plans. I am now rich, and since Providence has given me riches which I
had never expected, I should employ a portion of them in doing good.
In this parish and the neighborhood there is an immense deal of land
unoccupied, either for sale or to be granted. My plan is to take up a
large acreage of such lands, and not only superintend the clearing, but
work at it myself. You know that I have good arms; and I will do as
much as any of the rest."
"I know it," said Dumais.
"There are many poor fellows," continued Archie, "who will be glad
enough to get work at such good wages as I shall give. You understand,
Dumais, that I shall have to have some one to help me. Moreover, what
would I do in the evening and during bad weather, without a friend to
keep me company? It is then that my melancholy would kill me."
"Let us set out to-morrow," cried Dumais, "and visit the best lots,
which, for that matter, I already know pretty well."
"Thank you," said Archie, grasping his hand; "but who will take care of
your farm in your frequent absences?"
"Don't be anxious on that score, sir. My wife could manage very well
alone, even without her brother, an old bachelor, who lives with us. My
farm has never suffered much from my absence. I have always preferred
the musket to the plow. My wife scolds me occasionally on this subject;
but we are none the worse friends for that."
"Do you know," said Archie, "that yonder by the edge of the river, near
that maple grove, is the most charming situation for a house. Yours is
old. We will build one large enough for us all. I will build it, on
condition that I have the right to occupy half of it during my life;
and on my death all will belong to you. I have resolved to remain a
bachelor."
"Men like you," said Dumais, "are altogether too scarce. It would be
wrong to let the breed die out. But I begin to understand that you are
thinking less about yourself than about me and my family, and that you
are seeking to make us rich."
"Let us speak frankly," answered Archie. "I have no true friends in the
world but the D'Haberville family and yours."
"Thank you, sir," said Dumais, "for classing us poor farmers with that
illustrious family."
"I only consider the virtues and good qualities of men," answered
Lochiel. "To be sure, I love and respect birth and breeding, which does
not prevent me from loving and respecting all men who are worthy of
such sentiments. I want to give you a fourth part of my fortune."
"Oh, sir!" cried Dumais.
"Listen a moment, my friend," continued Lochiel. "When I told you that
I was suffering from what you call '_peine d'esprit_,' I was telling
the literal truth. I have found the remedy for this trouble. It lies
in plenty of hard work and in helping my friends. I am going to give
you during my life-time a quarter of my fortune. Look out for yourself,
Dumais! I am obstinate, like all Scotchmen. If you trifle with me,
instead of a quarter, I am as likely as not to give you a half. But, to
speak seriously, my dear Dumais, you would be doing me a very ill turn,
indeed, if you should refuse me."
"If this is the case, sir," said Dumais, with tears in his eyes, "I
accept your gift."
Let us leave Lochiel busying himself in heaping benefits on Dumais, and
let us return to our other friends.
"The good gentleman," now almost a hundred years old, lived but a year
after Jules's return. He died surrounded by his friends, having been
most lovingly nursed by Blanche and Jules throughout the month of his
last illness. A little while before his death he begged Jules to open
his bed-room window, and, casting a feeble glance toward the stream
which rolled peacefully past his door, he murmured:
"There it is, my friend; there's the walnut tree in whose shadow I told
you the story of my misfortunes; it was there I counseled you from my
own experience. I die content, for I see that you have profited by my
words. When I am gone, take this little candlestick. It will remind you
of the vigils it has witnessed and of the advice which I have given you.
"As for you, my dear and faithful André," exclaimed M. d'Egmont, "it
grieves me to leave you alone in this world where you have shared my
sorrows. You have promised me to pass the rest of your days with the
D'Habervilles, who will care for your old age tenderly. You know that
after your death the poor are to be our heirs."
"My dear master," said Franc[oe]ur, sobbing, "the poor will not have
long to wait for their inheritance."
Having bid farewell to all his friends, "the good gentleman" asked the
priest to say the prayers for the dying. Just at the words, "_Partez
âme Chrétienne, au nom du Dieu tout-puissant qui vous a créé_," he
breathed his last. Sterne would have said:
"The recording angel of the court of heaven shed a tear upon the
follies of his youth, and blotted them out forever." The angels are
more compassionate than men, who neither forget nor forgive the faults
of others!
André Franc[oe]ur was struck with paralysis on the day of his master's
burial, and survived him but three weeks.
* * * * *
When Jules had said to his sister: "If I loved an English girl and
she would have me, I would marry her as readily as one of my own
countrywomen," Blanche had been far from suspecting her brother's
real intentions. The truth was that Jules, on his voyage across the
Atlantic, had made the acquaintance of a young English girl of great
beauty. A second Saint-Preux, Jules had given her lessons in something
more than French grammar during a passage that lasted two months. He
had shown excellent taste. The young girl, in addition to her beauty,
possessed the qualities to inspire a true passion.
All obstacles being at length overcome, and the consent of both
families obtained, in the following year Jules married the fair
daughter of Albion, who soon won the hearts of all about her.
Uncle Raoul, always bitter against the English on account of the
leg which he had lost in Acadia, but too well bred to fail in the
proprieties, used at first to shut himself up whenever he wanted to
swear comfortably at the compatriots of his lovely niece; but by the
end of a month she had entirely captivated him, whereupon he suddenly
suppressed his oaths, to the great benefit of his soul and of the pious
ears which he had scandalized.
"That rascal of a Jules," said Uncle Raoul, "showed very good taste
in wedding this young English woman. His Holiness the Pope of old was
quite right when he said that these young islanders would be angels if
only they were Christians; _non angli, sed angeli fuissent, si essent
Christiani_."
It was another thing when the dear uncle, trotting a little nephew on
one knee and a little niece on the other, used to sing them the songs
of the Canadian _voyageurs_. How proud he was when their mother used to
cry:
"For pity sake, come to my help, dear uncle, for the little demons
won't go to sleep without you."
Uncle Raoul had charged himself with the military education of his
nephew. Therefore, before he was four years old, this pygmy warrior,
armed with a little wooden gun, might be seen making furious attacks
against the ample stomach of his instructor, who was obliged to defend
with his cane the part assaulted.
"The little scamp," said the chevalier recovering himself, "is going to
have the dashing courage of the D'Habervilles, with the persistence and
independence of the proud islanders from whom he is descended through
his mother."
José had at first shown himself rather cool toward his young mistress,
but he ended by becoming warmly attached to her. She had speedily
found the weak point in his armor of reserve. José, like his late
father, dearly loved his glass, which, however, produced very little
effect upon his hard head. It was as if one should pour the liquor
upon the head of the weather-cock, and expect to confuse the judgment
of that venerable but volatile bird. His young mistress was forever
offering José a drop of brandy to warm him or a glass of wine to
refresh him; till José ended by declaring that if the Englishmen were
somewhat uncivil, their countrywomen by no means resembled them in that
regard.
With their minds at ease as to the future of their children, M. and
Madame D'Haberville lived happily to extreme old age. The captain's
last words to his son were:
"Serve your new sovereign as faithfully as I have served the King of
France; and may God bless you, my dear son, for the comfort that you
have been to me!"
Uncle Raoul, dying three years before his brother, bid farewell to
life with but one regret. He would have liked to see his little nephew
fairly launched on the career of arms, the only career he considered
quite worthy of a D'Haberville. Having perceived, however, that the
child made great progress in his studies, he comforted himself with the
thought that, if not a soldier, his nephew might turn out a _savant_
like himself and keep the torch of learning lighted in the family.
José, who had a constitution of iron and sinews of steel, who had never
had an hour of sickness, regarded death as a sort of hypothetical
event. One of his friends said to him one day after his master's death:
"Do you know, José, you must be at least eighty years old, and one
would scarcely take you to be fifty."
José leaned upon his hip to show his steadiness, blew through his pipe
to expel a bit of ashes, fumbled in his pocket with his one remaining
hand till he found his tobacco and his flint and steel, and at length
replied with great deliberation.
"As you know, I am the foster-brother of our late captain; I was
brought up in his house; I have followed him in every campaign that he
has made; I have trained his two children; I have begun, do you see,
upon a new charge, the care of his grandchildren. Very well, then! As
long as a D'Haberville needs my services, I don't propose to leave."
"Do you think, then, that you will live as long as the late
Maqueue-salé [Methuselah]?" asked the neighbor.
"Longer still, if need be," replied José.
Then, having taken from his pocket everything which he needed, he
filled his pipe, put a bit of lighted tinder on the bowl, and applied
himself to smoking while he regarded his friend with the air of a man
convinced of the truth of everything which he has said.
José kept his word for a dozen years; but it was in vain that he
endeavored to strengthen himself against old age by occupying himself
with his usual tasks, despite the remonstrances of his masters, and at
last he was forced to keep the house. All the family were anxious about
him.
"What is the matter, my dear José?" said Jules.
"Bah! only laziness," replied José, "or perhaps my rheumatics."
But José had never had an attack of that malady. This was only an
excuse.
"Give the good old fellow, ma'am, his morning glass, it will revive
him," said Archie.
"I am going to bring you a little glass of excellent brandy," said
Madame Jules.
"Not just now," replied José, "I always have some in my trunk, but
this morning it doesn't appeal to me."
They began to be seriously alarmed; this was a bad symptom.
"Then I am going to make you a cup of tea," said Madame Jules, "and you
will feel better."
"My English wife," said Jules, "thinks tea a remedy for all ills."
José drank the tea, and declared that it was a fine medicine and that
he felt better, but this did not prevent the faithful servant from
taking to his bed that very evening never to leave it alive.
When the brave fellow knew that his end was drawing near, he said to
Jules, who watched with him through the night:
"I have prayed the good God to prolong my life to your childrens' next
holidays, so that I might see them once more before I die, but I shall
not have that consolation."
"You shall see them to-morrow, my dear José."
An hour later Lochiel was on the way to Quebec, and on the next evening
all those who were the dearest in the world to that faithful and
affectionate servant were gathered around his death-bed. After talking
with them for some time and bidding them a most tender farewell, he
summoned all his strength in order to sit up in bed, and when Jules
approached to support him, a burning tear fell on his hand. After this
last effort of that strong nature, he who had shared the good and the
bad fortune of the D'Habervilles fell back and ceased to breathe.
"Let us pray for the soul of one of the best men that I have known,"
said Archie, closing his eyes.
Jules and Blanche, in spite of remonstrances, would not resign to any
one the task of watching beside their old friend during the three days
that his body remained at the manor house.
"If one of our family had died," they said, "Jules would not have left
him to another's care."
One day when Archie, in the course of one of his frequent visits to the
D'Habervilles, was walking with Jules in front of the manor house, he
saw approaching on foot an old man, decently clad, carrying a sealskin
bag on his shoulders.
"Who is that man?" he asked.
"Ah," said Jules, "that is our friend, M. D----, carrying his office on
his back."
"What! His office?" said Archie.
"Certainly. He is an itinerant notary. Every three months he travels
through certain districts, drawing up new deeds and finishing up copies
of the rough drafts which he always carries with him in order that he
may not be taken unawares. He is an excellent and very amiable man,
French by birth, and very intelligent. On coming to Canada he began
with a small trade in pictures which proved unprofitable, and then,
remembering that he had formerly studied for two years with an advocate
in France, he boldly presented himself before the judges, and passed an
examination, which, if not brilliant, was at least satisfactory enough
for his new country, and then returned home in triumph with a notary's
commission in his pocket. I assure you that every one gets on well with
his deeds, which are drawn with a most scrupulous honesty that supplies
the place of the diction, purer but often tarnished by bad faith, of
more learned notaries."
"Your nomadic notary," replied Archie, smiling, "arrives opportunely. I
have work for him."
In fact, Lochiel, who was already well advanced in the task of clearing
which he was so actively engaged upon for the benefit of his friend
Dumais, made over to him in due form all his real estate, reserving
only for himself during his life-time the half of the new and spacious
house which he had built.
The visits of Archie to the manor house became more frequent as he
advanced in age, and he ended by establishing himself there altogether.
Blanche was no longer in his eyes anything more than an adopted sister;
and the sweet name of brother, which Blanche had given him, purified
the remnant of passion which yet clung to the heart of this noble woman.
* * * * *
The author has become so attached to the chief characters in this
veracious history that it costs him a pang to banish them from the
scene. He fears also to grieve those of his readers who may share this
attachment should he kill them all off with one stroke of the pen. Time
will do the fatal work without the author's assistance.
It is eleven o'clock in the evening, toward the end of October. The
D'Haberville family are gathered in a little parlor sufficiently
illuminated, without the help of the candles, by the flame from an
armful of dry cedar chips which are blazing in the great chimney.
Lochiel, now nearly sixty years of age, is playing a game of draughts
with Blanche. Jules, seated between his wife and daughter, near the
fire, is teasing them both without altogether neglecting the players.
Young Archie D'Haberville, only son of Jules and godson of Lochiel,
is in a brown study. He is following the fantastic figures which his
imagination has created in the flames now dying slowly on the hearth.
"What are you thinking about, my grave philosopher?" said his father.
"I have been watching with intense interest," answered the young man,
"a little group of men, women, and children who have been walking,
dancing, rising, falling, and who have at length all vanished."
The cedar fire had just died out.
"You are the true son of your mother, a godson worthy of your
godfather," said Jules D'Haberville, rising to bid good-night.
Like the fantastic figures which young D'Haberville was watching in
the flames, my characters, dear reader, have been moving for some time
before your eyes, to vanish suddenly, perhaps forever, with him who set
them in motion.
Farewell, then, dear reader, before my hand, growing more cold than our
Canadian winters, refuses any longer to trace my thoughts.
THE END.
L. C. Page and Company's
Announcement List
of New Fiction
The Flight of Georgiana
+A Romance of the Days of the Young Pretender.+ By +Robert Neilson
Stephens+, author of "The Bright Face of Danger," "An Enemy to the
King," "The Mystery of Murray Davenport," etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
Mr. Stephens's novels all bear the hall-mark of success, for his men
are always live, his women are always worthy of their cavaliers, and
his adventures are of the sort to stir the most sluggish blood without
overstepping the bounds of good taste.
The theme of the new novel is one which will give Mr. Stephens splendid
scope for all the powers at his command. The career of "Bonnie Prince
Charlie" was full of romance, intrigue, and adventure; his life was a
series of episodes to delight the soul of a reader of fiction, and Mr.
Stephens is to be congratulated for his selection of such a promising
subject.
Mrs. Jim and Mrs. Jimmie
By +Stephen Conrad+, author of "The Second Mrs. Jim."
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
This new book is in a sense a sequel to "The Second Mrs. Jim," since
it gives further glimpses of that delightful step-mother and her
philosophy. This time, however, she divides the field with "Mrs.
Jimmie," who is quite as attractive in her different way. The book has
more plot than the former volume, a little less philosophy perhaps, but
just as much wholesome fun. In many ways it is a stronger book, and
will therefore take an even firmer hold on the public.
The Story of Red Fox
Told by +Charles G. D. Roberts+, author of "The Watchers of the
Trails," "The Kindred of the Wild," "Barbara Ladd," etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, with fifty illustrations and cover
design by Charles Livingston Bull
$2.00
Mr. Roberts's reputation as a scientifically accurate writer, whose
literary skill transforms his animal stories into masterpieces, stands
unrivalled in his particular field.
This is his first long animal story, and his romance of Red Fox, from
babyhood to patriarchal old age, makes reading more fascinating than
any work of fiction. In his hands Red Fox becomes a personality so
strong that one entirely forgets he is an animal, and his haps and
mishaps grip you as do those of a person.
Mr. Bull, as usual, fits his pictures to the text as hand to glove, and
the ensemble becomes a book as near perfection as it is possible to
attain.
Return
+A Story of the Sea Islands in 1739.+ By +Alice MacGowan+ and
+Grace MacGowan Cooke+, authors of "The Last Word," etc. With six
illustrations by C. D. Williams. Library 12mo, cloth
$1.50
A new romance, undoubtedly the best work yet done by Miss MacGowan and
Mrs. Cooke. The heroine of "Return," Diana Chaters, is the belle of the
Colonial city of Charles Town, S. C., in the early eighteenth century,
and the hero is a young Virginian of the historical family of Marshall.
The youth, beauty, and wealth of the fashionable world, which first
form the environment of the romance, are pictured in sharp contrast to
the rude and exciting life of the frontier settlements in the Georgia
Colony, and the authors have missed no opportunities for telling
characterizations. But "Return" is, above all, a _love-story_.
We quote the opinion of Prof. Charles G. D. Roberts, who has read the
advance sheets: "It seems to me a story of quite unusual strength and
interest, full of vitality and crowded with telling characters. I
greatly like the authors' firm, bold handling of their subject."
Lady Penelope
By +Morley Roberts+, author of "Rachel Marr," "The Promotion of the
Admiral," etc. With nine illustrations by Arthur W. Brown.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
Mr. Roberts certainly has versatility, since this book has not a
single point of similarity with either "Rachel Marr" or his well-known
sea stories. Its setting is the English so-called "upper crust" of
the present day. Lady Penelope is quite the most up-to-date young
lady imaginable and equally charming. As might be expected from
such a heroine, her _automobiling_ plays an important part in the
development of the plot. Lady Penelope has a large number of suitors,
and her method of choosing her husband is original and provocative of
delightful situations and mirthful incidents.
The Winged Helmet
By +Harold Steele MacKaye+, author of "The Panchronicon,"
etc. With six illustrations by H. C. Edwards.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
When an author has an original theme on which to build his story,
ability in construction of unusual situations, skill in novel
characterization, and a good literary style, there can be no doubt
but that his work is worth reading. "The Winged Helmet" is of this
description.
The author gives in this novel a convincing picture of life in the
early sixteenth century, and the reader will be delighted with its
originality of treatment, freshness of plot, and unexpected climaxes.
A Captain of Men
By +E. Anson More+.
Library 12mo, cloth, illustrated $1.50
A tale of Tyre and those merchant princes whose discovery of the value
of tin brought untold riches into the country and afforded adventures
without number to those daring seekers for the mines. Merodach, the
Assyrian, Tanith, the daughter of the richest merchant of Tyre,
Miriam, her Hebrew slave, and the dwarf Hiram, who was the greatest
artist of his day, are a quartette of characters hard to surpass in
individuality. It has been said that the powerful order of Free Masons
first had its origin in the meetings which were held at Hiram's studio
in Tyre, where gathered together the greatest spirits of that age and
place.
The Paradise of the Wild Apple
By +Richard LeGallienne+, author of "Old Love Stories
Retold," "The Quest of the Golden Girl," etc.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
The theme of Mr. LeGallienne's new romance deals with the instinct of
wildness in human nature,--the wander spirit and impatience of tame
domesticity, the preference for wild flowers and fruits, and the glee
in summer storms and elemental frolics. A wild apple-tree, high up in
a rocky meadow, is symbolic of all this, and Mr. LeGallienne works out
in a fashion at once imaginative and serious the romance of a young man
well placed from the view of worldly goods and estate, who suddenly
hungers for the "wild apples" of his youth. The theme has limitless
possibilities, and Mr. LeGallienne is artist enough to make adequate
use of them.
The Grapple
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
This story of a strike in the coal mines of Pennsylvania gives both
sides of the question,--the Union and its methods, and the non-Union
workers and their loyal adherents, with a final typical clash at the
end. The question is an absorbing one, and it is handled fearlessly.
For the present at least "The Grapple" will be issued anonymously.
Brothers of Peril
By +Theodore Roberts+, author of "Hemming the Adventurer."
Library 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated $1.50
"Brothers of Peril" has an unusual plot, dealing with a now extinct
race, the Beothic Indians of the sixteenth century, who were the
original inhabitants of Newfoundland when that island was merely a
fishing-station for the cod-seeking fleets of the old world.
The story tells of the adventures of a young English cavalier, who,
left behind by the fleet, finds another Englishman, with his daughter
and servants, who is hiding from the law. A French adventurer and
pirate, who is an unwelcome suitor for the daughter, plays an important
part. Encounters between the Indians and the small colony of white men
on the shore, and perilous adventures at sea with a shipload of pirates
led by the French buccaneer, make a story of breathless interest.
The Black Barque
By +T. Jenkins Hains+, author of "The Wind Jammers," "The Strife of the
Sea," etc. With five illustrations by W. Herbert Dunton.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
According to a high naval authority who has seen the advance sheets,
this is one of the best sea stories ever offered to the public. "The
Black Barque" is a story of slavery and piracy upon the high seas about
1815, and is written with a thorough knowledge of deep-water sailing.
This, Captain Hains's first long sea story, realistically pictures
a series of stirring scenes at the period of the destruction of the
exciting but nefarious traffic in slaves, in the form of a narrative
by a young American lieutenant, who, by force of circumstances, finds
himself the gunner of "The Black Barque."
Cameron of Lochiel
Translated from the French of +Philippe Aubert de Gaspé+ by +Prof.
Charles G. D. Roberts+.
Library 12mo, cloth decorative $1.50
The publishers are gratified to announce a new edition of a book by
this famous author, who may be called the Walter Scott of Canada.
This interesting and valuable romance is fortunate in having for its
translator Professor Roberts, who has caught perfectly the spirit of
the original. The French edition first appeared under the title of "Les
Anciens Canadiens" in 1862, and was later translated and appeared in an
American edition now out of print.
Patriotism, devotion to the French-Canadian nationality, a just pride
of race, and a loving memory for his people's romantic and heroic past,
are the dominant chords struck by the author throughout the story.
Castel del Monte
By +Nathan Gallizier+. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
A powerful romance of the fall of the Hohenstaufen dynasty in Italy,
and the overthrow of Manfred by Charles of Anjou, the champion of Pope
Clement IV. The Middle Ages are noted for the weird mysticism and
the deep fatalism characteristic of a people believing in signs and
portents and the firm hand of fate. Mr. Gallizier has brought out these
characteristics in a marked degree.
Slaves of Success
By +Elliot Flower+, author of "The Spoilsmen," etc. With twenty
illustrations by different artists.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
Another striking book by Mr. Flower, whose work is already so well
known, both through his long stories and his contributions to
_Collier's_, the _Saturday Evening Post_, etc. Like his first success,
"The Spoilsmen," it deals with politics, but in the broader field of
state and national instead of municipal. The book has recently appeared
in condensed form as a serial in _Collier's Magazine_, where it
attracted wide-spread attention, and the announcement of its appearance
in book form will be welcomed by Mr. Flower's rapidly increasing
audience. The successful delineation of characters like John Wade, Ben
Carroll, Azro Craig, and Allen Sidway throws new strong lights on the
inside workings of American business and political "graft."
Silver Bells
By +Col. Andrew C. P. Haggard+, author of "Hannibal's Daughter," "Louis
XIV. in Court and Camp," etc. With cover design and frontispiece by
Charles Livingston Bull.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
Under the thin veneer of conventionality and custom lurks in many
hearts the primeval instinct to throw civilization to the winds and
hark back to the ways of the savages in the wilderness, and it often
requires but a mental crisis or an emotional upheaval to break through
the coating. Geoffrey Digby was such an one, who left home and kindred
to seek happiness among the Indians of Canada, in the vast woods which
always hold an undefinable mystery and fascination. He gained renown as
a mighty hunter, and the tale of his life there, and the romance which
awaited him, will be heartily enjoyed by all who like a good love-story
with plenty of action not of the "stock" order. "Silver Bells," the
Indian girl, is a perfect "child of nature."
Selections from L. C. Page and Company's List of Fiction
WORKS OF ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
=Captain Ravenshaw=; +Or, The Maid of Cheapside+. (40th thousand.) A
romance of Elizabethan London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other
artists.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything
so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy. The beggar student,
the rich goldsmith, the roisterer and the rake, the fop and the maid,
are all here: foremost among them Captain Ravenshaw himself, soldier
of fortune and adventurer, who, after escapades of binding interest,
finally wins a way to fame and to matrimony.
=Philip Winwood.= (70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History
of an American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events
that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York
and London. Written by his Enemy in War, Herbert Russell, Lieutenant
in the Loyalist Forces. Presented anew by +Robert Neilson Stephens+.
Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton.
Library 12mo, cloth $1.50
"One of the most stirring and remarkable romances that have been
published in a long while, and its episodes, incidents, and actions are
as interesting and agreeable as they are vivid and dramatic."--_Boston
Times._
=The Mystery of Murray Davenport.= (30th thousand.) By +Robert Neilson
Stephens+, author of "An Enemy to the King," "Philip Winwood," etc.
Library 12mo, cloth, with six full-page illustrations by H. C. Edwards
$1.50
"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Those
familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this
praise, which is generous."--_Buffalo News._
"Mr. Stephens won a host of friends through his earlier volumes, but
we think he will do still better work in his new field if the present