Charles Felton Pidgin

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ For a second it seemed to Vivienne as though the blood ceased to move in her veins, and that her heart stood still, but she summoned courage.
“Who told you this?” she gasped.
“Count Mont d’Oro.”
“A miserable plot!” she exclaimed. “He looks upon Lieutenant Duquesne as a rival and has hatched up this story to compass his death. How can men be so base?”
“You have answered your own question,” said Julien. “For the love of a woman man can make himself either a hero or a villain. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Cromillian replied.
“That is not his real name,” cried Glynne. “My name is Thomas Glynne. I am an Englishman. His name is Jack De Vinne and he, too, is an Englishman. He caused my ward, Bertha Renville, to run away and he is here to join her. I promised her father on his dying bed that I would be a father to her and protect her. This Andrea Fortier, as he calls himself, is of low origin, while she is a girl of wealth and refinement. He seeks but her fortune, and I appeal to you for justice.”
“Take him away,” cried Cromillian, “and bring the other man here.” ”

“ Oh, tell me,” cried Vivienne.
“Of my disgrace, for one thing. I am in debt, as usual, and this very day Pascal called me a profligate, gambler, and drunkard, and refused to give me any more money. Damn him!”
“Oh, Julien! You know that Pascal has paid your debts again and again until he is discouraged. You make promises and break them. Is it strange that he has become incensed and has lost confidence in you? You persist in going to that woman’s house, a vile place, a resort for gamblers.” ”

“ You were not yourself at dinner, and every one noticed it. Oh, Julien, do not shame me in the presence of our guests. Come home with me and promise to keep away from the cabaret until they have gone.”
“Go home, Vivienne! It’s none of your business where I go.”
“I will not leave you in this lonely place. You must come home with me, Julien. There is going to be a storm and you will not be able to find your way home.”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried Julien. “I have my lantern, and some of the boys will come home with me. They always do.” ”

“ The next morning, when the doctor came, he was rational. He had been told that Vandemar and Vivienne had been liberated, and the intelligence had produced a most quieting effect.
“What is my real condition, Doctor?” he asked. “Tell me the truth. I can bear it. I have a duty to perform and wish to know whether there is time.”
“Well, sir,” said the doctor, “your wound is a mortal one. You are a very strong man and have great vitality. You will live another day, perhaps two, but I can offer you no hope beyond that.”
“Thank you,” said Cromillian. “I knew as much. I wish to see Vandemar. ”

“ She was thinking of Vandemar in the dark dungeon behind her. Then she wondered if the mirrors had been closed. If not, Pascal would see the picture and discover her secret. She could not resist the impulse to turn and look at the dungeon door.
Pascal had waited for her to say more. When she did not, he cried:
“This is but a weak attempt at evasion. You have become an adept in trickery and deception. Now, hear me, Vivienne, and be warned in time. I shall ask you but once more—where is Vandemar?” ”

“ He remembered that Vivienne had told him that she did not love Count Mont d’Oro, and would never marry him. Victor knew that Vivienne was his friend, or she would not have twice placed a weapon in his hand to enable him to defend himself. He had never declared his love for her, and he had no right to presume that she was in love with him. He felt that she would not have aided him had she known him to be a Della Coscia. Then Miss Enright had told him that Corsican women were passionate—adding that passionate women were usually fickle. Did Vivienne love him? He would test her. ”

“ Vivienne looked at him with flashing eyes: “I am a daughter of the noble father whose name you have dishonoured. Rimbecco! Do you hear? I have repeated it! Every man, woman, and child in Corsica repeats{186} it, and you, a strong man, the son of your father, are wasting your precious time in drinking and gambling—time that should be spent in seeking out the man in whose veins runs the vile blood of the ruthless Della Coscia. Rimbecco!” ”

“ Is your father living, Mr. De Vinne?”
“Oh, yes,” said Jack. “He is hale and hearty. They used to say that there was no stronger, sturdier man in the House of Lords.”
“What?” cried Bertha, with astonishment. “Is your father a peer?”
“Why, didn’t you know?” asked Jack. “I imagined Clarence must have told you. My father is the Earl of Noxton. My home is at Noxton Hall in Surrey.”
Bertha turned her face away.
“Why, Miss Renville, are you sorry that I am the son of an earl? It does not amount to much in my case, for I am only a second son. My brother Carolus is the heir to the title and estates. ”

“ You have no right to have any secrets from your wife. How can a man love, honour, and obey his wife if he keeps a secret all to himself? Now, Clarence, dear, what is the secret?”
“I will whisper it to you, Jennie. Bertha isn’t poor at all; she is worth forty thousand pounds in her own right, but my father is her guardian and, according to her father’s will, the governor has a right to hold on to the property until she marries, and, of course, he does not want her to marry any one—except me. ”

“ 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. ”

“ It is strange what unexpected comparisons lovers will make. He did not think of Bertha as being a gem in some ocean cave, but the thought did occur to him that it was not just the thing for so beautiful a girl to lived unnoticed in the little town of Maidenhead when the frequenters of London drawing-rooms would have gone wild over her and where she would be the belle of the season. ”

“ I have seen a hundred soldiers upon the ramparts, firing upon our enemies, and many a prisoner has ended his life in the tower dungeon.”
“The dungeon! I never knew there was one. Do my brothers know about it?”
“No human being but myself knows. Even Old Manassa there is ignorant of its existence. To my hands alone was intrusted the duty of carrying food to the poor prisoners confined there, who were destined never more to see the light of day.”
“Oh, Clarine, can this be true!” Vivienne cried. “You did but dream it. You sometimes have bad dreams, you know, when you are not well.” ”

“ Glynne. “Bertha is the light of our household, and I shall miss her greatly when the time comes, if it ever does, for her to go from us. I will tell you a little secret, but you must not mention it to my son. I had hoped in my heart that Clarence and Bertha would fall in love with each other and in that way I should be in no danger of losing her; but some young men are as fickle as women, and my son does not seem to know his own heart.” He was going to say “what is best for him,” but changed the form of the remark just in time.
“I do not blame you for not wishing to lose her,” said Jack. ”

“ With the revulsion that followed such a severe physical shock, came the desire to be revenged upon his assailant, for he knew that an attempt had been made to assassinate him.
Grasping his rifle, which had fallen from his hand, he gave a quick, energetic lurch to his body, which enabled him to face in the opposite direction to that in which he had been walking. Not twenty feet from him, Cromillian saw an old man, with long white hair, who was brandishing a sword—his own sword, for there was not another like it in Corsica—it was old Manassa!{314}
“A life for a life!” he cried. ”

“ Julien was out all night. What will the end be?”
“Oh, he’ll get married some time and settle down.”
“And who would have him—a drunkard? I should pity her from the bottom of my heart.”
“You look at the matter too seriously,” said the Count. “Most men are drunkards—some with wine, some with women, but more with love. I was talking to your brother Pascal yesterday about our future.”
Vivienne clasped her hands and looked into his face, appealingly.
“We can have no future together, Count Mont d’Oro; I do not love you.” ”

“ Hate, instead of love, seems to be the ruling passion among Corsicans. Countess Mont d’Oro hates her own son, and, so far as I can learn, everybody hates somebody else. But perhaps I ought not to criticise them too severely. Have you had any word from Mr. De Vinne, or from my guardian, your father? I know that you will send me information regarding them as soon as possible, but the suspense in which I live from day to day is dreadful.
“The Mont d’Oro estate is beautiful in so far as nature can make it so, and the one that adjoins it, owned by the Batistelli family, is even more lovely. ”

“ I never knew before what ancestral pride was, but now it surges over my heart like the waves of the ocean. Do not fear that I will leave Corsica before we meet. If the vessel sails, I will endeavour to get a furlough. If I cannot, I shall resign my position in the British Navy and devote my life to proving your innocence and reclaiming my heritage. I do not fear the Batistellis. I hear that one is a coward{172} and the other a drunkard, but the daughter is an angel, who is betrothed to a devil named Count Mont d’Oro. I will keep away from them. ”

“ Paoli asked, inquiringly.
“There is my Protector,” said Cromillian, pointing to his gun, “a double-barrelled orator who preaches the gospel right into a man every time. Of what use are the tongues of a hundred missionaries? When the gospel is preached in Corsica to-day, it must spring from the muzzle of a gun or the point of a stiletto; it must be forced into the people with leaden balls or shining steel. Come to my heart, faithful guardian!” ”

“ I met Miss Helen, and I am sure it was her influence that carried the day. We sail on Monday. To-day is Thursday; so you see, my dear Jack, Buckholme becomes an impossibility.”
“Then I must go alone,” said Jack. After another long sigh: “My fate lies there—I love Bertha Renville, and I know, if an opportunity offers, that I shall ask her to be my wife.”
“Do you leave early in the morning?” asked Victor.
“Yes, by the 7.30. I wish to get there early, for I shall ask her to go boating with me. There is no place like a boat for propounding momentous questions. ”