Charles Felton Pidgin

“ Jack De Vinne thought Bertha Renville was beautiful, and she was, judged by the English standard. She was tall and lithe, perfect in form; with glossy hair of a golden tint; blue eyes; cheeks with a touch of pink that enhanced their whiteness, and a Cupid’s bow of a mouth, which was usually the home of a bewitching smile. Such a woman as men become heroes for; such a woman, for love of whom, men have died in misery.
When the train drew up at the little station, Jack at once caught sight of Clarence’s smiling face, and a moment later he was the recipient of a hearty greeting. ”

“ Aunt Ella continued: "I can imagine what a pretty, sweet, little country girl Huldy Mason is. My heart aches for Lindy, her martyrdom has been out of all proportion to her contemplated wrongdoing, if wrongdoing it really was. Had I been in her place I would have married Jones and left my clothes behind; and then," said Aunt Ella, "how my heart goes out to that dear, sweet girl that you call Alice! Do you love her, Quincy?"
"Devotedly," answered Quincy, "I never really loved a woman before."
"Then marry her," cried Aunt Ella decidedly.
"Everybody at home but Maude will object," said Quincy. ”

“ Do you not believe, Vivienne, that, if God wishes us to live and be happy together in this world, He will send us help?”
“I do,” said Vivienne. “We will hope on, will we not, Vandemar? We have food and wine, your little friends will bring us corn and eggs, and the good God will send us rain that we may drink. I am with you, and you with me. We can love each other as well in this dark dungeon as we could if we sat beneath the trees, with the birds singing above us. ”

“ Quincy replied with a laugh, "If I did my reward is a great return for my power of invention, but I assure you I was thinking of your health and not of the chair, when I tendered my services."
"You are an adept in sweet speeches, Mr. Sawyer. You city young men all are; but our country youth, who are just as true and honest, are at a great disadvantage, because they cannot say what they think in so pleasing a way."
"I hope you do not think I am insincere," remarked Quincy, gravely.
"Not at all," said Alice, "but I have not answered your question. ”

“ He chuckled—a savage, unearthly sound:
“She loves her enemy. She is no longer a Batistelli, but a Della Coscia—and she shall die with him!”
Summoning all his strength, he closed the great door, and then, with the blood streaming from his wound, shambled from the room. Again that mocking laugh and those revengeful words:
“She is no longer a Batistelli—she is a Della Coscia. She shall die with him!”
When Vivienne entered the dungeon chamber, her thoughts were of Vandemar, and of him alone. Was he alive or dead? The darkness was so intense that she could discern nothing. ”

“ Then he told Quincy what Dupont had said.
“The victory's ours,” cried Quincy. “That shows that Americans, rich or poor, are democratic at heart. All that keeps them apart is the foolish idea that the possession of money lifts them above their fellows. Put them on a money equality, and only the very exclusive ones will care about the colour of their blood. It was a good lesson for Dupont and Kidder whose fathers are wealthy men, and they have wisely profited by it.” ”

“ Sometimes I discover a diamond in the rough, and introduce a new star to the literary firmament; and at other times I cut up some egotistical old writer, who thinks anything he turns out will be sure to please the public."
"How fortunate that I have met you?" said Quincy. "I have in this little carpet bag the first effusions of one of those callow authors of whom you spoke. She is poor, beautiful, and blind."
"Don't try to trade on my sympathies, old boy," said Ernst. "No person who is poor has any right to become an author. ”

“ The prisoners had gone back to the corner beneath the window, for the friendly ray of light made the dungeon seem less like a tomb.
Vivienne sprang to her feet. “Yes, Pascal, I am here,” she cried, joyfully, “and Vandemar is so strong now that he can walk.”
“Come here to the door,” said Pascal.
“What is it?” she asked, when she reached it.
“Come with me,” said her brother.
“I will bring Vandemar.”
“No,” said Pascal, “if you come out you shall come alone. You must renounce that man.”
“Then I will not come,” said Vivienne, positively. “I love him. We will either live together or die together.” ”

“ Speak up, Count Mont d’Oro, and let all listen.”
“Before you all,” cried the Count, “I declare that the man standing there,” and he again pointed his finger at Victor, “is masquerading under an assumed name. He is not the one he seems to be. He is not an Englishman, but a Corsican. His name is not Victor Duquesne, but Vandemar Della Coscia!”
“It is false, good friends,” cried Vivienne. “The Count does not contemplate an act of justice, but one of vengeance.”
“It is true,” cried Pascal. ”

“ I have never been a wicked woman, but often a foolish one. The most foolish thing I have ever done was to doubt the faith your wife had that you were still alive. She's an angel.
“Give me a sup of that wine, Quincy,” she continued, “I haven't smoked a cigarette since I promised Alice I wouldn't. Wasn't that self-denial? Now, there's a very important matter that needs attention. I told you when you married Alice that when I died you should have everything. Don't interrupt me. Believing you were dead I made a new will and left everything to your son.” ”

“ Quincy leaned back in his easy-chair and blew a ring of blue smoke from one of Uncle Robert's cigars.
"Excuse me, Aunt Ella," said he, "but do you ever intend to get married again?"
"Quincy Adams Sawyer!" cried Aunt Ella, with an astonished look on her face, "are you joking?"
"Certainly not," replied Quincy. "My question was intended to be a serious and respectful inquiry. You are only forty, fine looking, well educated, well connected and wealthy. Why should you not?" ”

“ Both Quincy and Alice laughed heartily. "As for horses," continued Rosa, "I never drive alone. When I'm with some one I alternate between hope and fear until I reach my destination."
"I trust you were more hopeful than fearful on your way from Eastborough Centre," said Quincy.
"Oh! I saw at a glance," remarked Rosa, "that you were a skilful driver, and I trusted you implicitly."
"I have had to rely a great deal upon Mr. Sawyer," remarked Alice, "and, like yourself, I have always placed the greatest confidence in him. ”

“ MY DEAR AUNT ELLA: Confession, they say, is good for the soul. My body is weak to-day and so Babette is writing my confession. I have been to Sicily and all over the southern part of Italy, but no success has come to me. If Quincy had been in one of those orange or lemon groves he could not have lived there for so many years; the work is too hard, and he was never used to manual labour. So, as soon as I am able, I am coming home. I will never trouble you with any more dreams. I believe, as you do, that they are products of imagination. ”

“ Thrown upon his own resources, he knew his only means of existence would be the gambling-table. He was wild, ungovernable, criminal in many ways, but he did not look forward with unmixed pleasure to a sinful life. He was honest with himself in that he knew he thought more of the rich Batistelli estates than of the fair young girl who bore the name. He thoroughly believed in laissez-faire. His philosophy was very much like that of Clarine; take a step that does not exactly please you and trust that fate will so order your future that you will not be obliged to take another like it. ”

“ They sat silent for a few moments, when Huldy, turning her face with that sad look towards him, said, "There is something on my mind, 'Zekiel, that I wish I could take off as easily as the doctor did that jacket."
"Oh, nonsense," cried 'Zekiel; "why should you have anything on your mind? You are a little bit low spirited because you have been cooped up in bed so long."
"No," said Huldy, "that isn't it. I have wronged a person and I am afraid that person will never fully forgive me. ”

“ The rest I put into an annuity, which dies with me. That will do nothing for those I love and who love me.”
To Alice, the case seemed almost hopeless. Here was a man who, owning his past life had been self-reliant, independent, impatient as regarded advice and control—was now weaker than a child, for, in youth, Faith is triumphant.
“You must have a talk with Quincy, Uncle. Perhaps he can help you.” She went down stairs with a sinking heart. She loved her uncle, but love, powerful as it is, cannot always cast out unbelief.
“Where can your husband be, Alice?” asked Mandy. ”

“ If Manuel Della Coscia, who murdered my father, and his son Vandemar, who must now be twenty-four years of age, are still living, they must remain exiles or return to Corsica and answer with their lives for the great crime which has been committed.”
“But you who are so kind to the unfortunate, so good to all, can you not avert the doom which threatens an innocent victim? Young Vandemar, the last of his race, is surely guiltless. Is it just that he should suffer death for no fault of his own?”
“Men are killed in war for no fault of their own,” said Vivienne. ”