The Three Brides, Love in a Cottage, and Other Tales Part 53

"In consideration whereof, I promise to marry the aforesaid Anna Von Berlingen."

"To marry you?" exclaimed Ernest.

"Ay--to marry me!" said the lady. "Am I deformed--am I ugly--am I poor?"

"I cannot do it--you know not the reason that induces me to refuse."

"Then go home to your father and confess your guilt."

Ernest reflected a few moments. He could not go home to his father with the frightful tale. It was a question between suicide and marriage--he signed the paper.

"Now then, baron," said the widow to herself, as she carefully secured the promise, "you cannot say that you broke the heart of Anna by your cruelty. Take the money, Ernest," she added aloud; "go and purchase your commission."

Ernest obeyed. His dreams of yesterday morning had all been dissipated by his own act; he felt a degraded and broken-spirited criminal. He had sold himself for gold.

CHAPTER II.

"Here comes Captain Ernest!" cried a youthful voice. And a beautiful, blue-eyed girl of nineteen stood at the garden gate of a pretty farm house, watching the approach of a horseman, who, gayly attired in a hussar uniform, was galloping up the road. At her shout of delight, a st.u.r.dy old gray-haired man came forth and stood beside her.

"Captain Ernest!" he repeated. "That sounds well. When I was of his age, I only carried a musket in the ranks. I never dreamed then that a son of mine could ever aspire to the epaulet."

Ernest, waving his hand to Meena Altenburg and his father, rode past them to the stable, where he left his horse. He then rushed into the farm house where his father met him.

"What is the meaning of this, boy?" he said. "How wild and haggard you look! And you have avoided Meena--and this, too, upon your wedding day."

"My wedding day--O Heavens! I shall die," said the young man, sinking into a seat.

As soon as he could collect himself, he told his father that he could not marry Meena, and the reason--he had pledged himself to another.

The old man, who was the soul of honor, burst forth in violent imprecations, and drove him from his presence. As he left the house, the unfortunate young man encountered a person whom he at once recognized as the Baron Von Dangerfeld, the reputed suitor of Madame Von Berlingen.

"I have been looking for you, Captain Walstein," said the baron, sternly.

"And you have found me," answered the young man, shortly.

"Yes--and I thank Heaven you wear that uniform. It ent.i.tles you to meet a German n.o.ble, and answer for your conduct."

"I am answerable for my conduct to no living man," retorted Ernest.

"You wear a sword."

"Yes."

"Very well--if you refuse to give satisfaction for the injury you have done me, in robbing me of my mistress, I will proclaim you a coward in the presence of the regiment upon parade."

"O, make yourself easy on that score, baron," answered Ernest. "Life is of too little worth for me to think of s.h.i.+elding it. If you will step with me into the shadow of yonder grove, we can soon regulate our accounts."

The two men walked silently to the appointed spot, and without any preliminary, drew their swords and engaged in combat. The struggle was not of long duration, for Ernest wounded his adversary in the sword arm, and disarmed him.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"I must be so for the present," replied the baron, sullenly. "When I recover, you shall hear from me again."

"As you please," said Ernest, coldly. "In the mean time, suffer me to bind up your arm."

The young man bandaged the wound of his adversary, and as he faltered from the loss of blood, led him towards the farm house. As they approached it, two ladies advanced to meet them--one of them was Meena, the other Madame Von Berlingen.

"Dangerfeld wounded!" cried the latter, bursting into tears--"O, I have been the cause of this: forgive me--forgive me, Dangerfeld, or you will kill me."

"You forget, madame, that you belong to another."

"I am yours only--I can never love another. Nor does the person you allude to," added the lady, turning to Ernest, "cherish any attachment to me."

"My only feeling for you, madame," said Ernest, with meaning, "would be grat.i.tude, were a certain paper destroyed."

"What is the meaning of all this?" asked the father of Ernest, coming forward.

"It means," said Ernest, tearing to atoms the promissory note he received from the widow's hands, "that I had very ugly dreams last night--I dreamed that I played at rouge-et-noir, and lost all the money you gave me to purchase my commission with, and then that I made up the loss by promising----"

"Hus.h.!.+" said the widow, laying her finger on her lips.

"Then it was all a dream," said the old man.

"Look at my uniform," replied the captain.

"And what did you mean in the story you told me just now?" asked the old man.

"Forget it, father," said Ernest. "Dear Meena, look up, my love. It is our wedding day; and if you do but smile, I'm the happiest dog that wears a sabre and a doliman."

That very day two weddings were celebrated in the farm house, those of Captain Ernest Walstein with the Fraulein Meena Altenburg, and Baron Von Dangerfeld with the yet beautiful and wealthy widow. The captain never tried his luck again at any GAME OF CHANCE.

THE SOLDIER'S SON.

Many, many years ago, at the close of a sultry summer's day, a man of middle age was slowly toiling up a hill in the environs of the pleasant village of Aumont, a small town in the south of France. The wayfarer was clad in the habiliments of a private of the infantry of the line; that is to say, he wore a long-skirted, blue coat, faced with red, much soiled and stained; kerseymere breeches that were once white, met at the knee by tattered gaiters of black cloth, an old battered chapeau, and a haversack, which he carried slung over his right shoulder, on a sheathed sabre. From time to time, he paused and wiped the heavy drops of perspiration that gathered constantly upon his forehead.

"Courage, Francois, courage," said the soldier to himself; "a few paces more, and you will reach home. Ah, this is sufficiently fatiguing, but nothing to the sands of Egypt. May Heaven preserve my eyesight long enough to see my home--my wife--my brave boy Victor, once more! Grant me but that, kind Heaven, and I think I will repine at nothing that may happen further."

It will be seen from the above, that Francois Bertrand belonged to the army which had recently covered itself with glory in the Egyptian campaign, under the command of General Bonaparte, a name already famous in military annals. He had fought like a hero in the battle of the Pyramids, when the squares of the French infantry repulsed the brilliant cavalry of Murad Bey, and destroyed the flower of the Mamelukes by the deadly fire of their musketry. Wounded in that memorable battle, he was afterwards attacked by the ophthalmia of the country; but his eyesight, though impaired, was not yet utterly destroyed. Honorably discharged, he had just arrived at Ma.r.s.eilles, from Egypt, and was now on his way home, eager to be folded in the arms of his beloved wife and his young son. So the soldier toiled bravely up the hill, for he knew that the white walls of his cottage and the foliage of his little vineyard would be visible in the valley commanded by the summit.

At length he reached the brow of the hill, and gazed eagerly in the direction of his humble home; but O, agony, it was gone! In its place, a heap of blackened ruins lay smouldering in the sunlight that seemed to mock its desolation. Fatigue--weakness--were instantly forgotten, and the soldier rushed down the brow of the hill to the scene of the disaster. At the gate of his vineyard, he was met by little Victor, a boy of ten.

"A soldier!" cried the boy, who did not recognize his father. "O sir, you come back from the wars, don't you? Perhaps you can tell me something about my poor papa?"

"Victor, my boy, my dear boy! don't you know me?" cried the poor soldier; and he strained his son convulsively in his arms.