Page:Once a Week Volume V.djvu/603

 596 him, which felt sorrow and joy, and love, is gone?”

Then, starting up hastily, she said:

“Come, Denis, let us go to my father.”

“Oh! don’t go yet, Coral, not yet—it is too soon—stay a little longer—only a little longer perhaps I may never see you again.”

“What do you mean? You are coming with me?” and she wound her arm through his.

He looked at her sadly.

“No, Coral; I cannot go to your father—you forget.”

“What do I forget?” she asked, looking steadily into his averted face.

“You forget the difference that is between us now.”

“Difference!” she exclaimed, with a bright flash of her eye and} a haughty erection of her graceful head. “Are you any different now from what you were when I was a wild, neglected child, and you took care of me, and were better to me than a brother? What could happen to change you or me? It is not like you to think such a thought.”

“Dear Coral, you are an angel, but your father will not feel as I do.”

“If he did not, I would forget that I was his child; but he will,” she said, softening her voice. “He is good, he loves me, and he will love you, too. Come!”

And she tried to draw him on.

“Coral, if you knew how much pain it gives me to refuse you anything, you would not ask me. I cannot go with you. Besides, I must go to my own father and mother. You say they are here—where do they live?”

“You must see my father first,” she said, clinging tightly to his arm. “There is no use in contending with me, Denis; you know you always used to give up to me; you never refused me anything on which I had set my heart, and I am sure you are not going to begin the very first day after such a long absence. You may go away after you have seen my father, if you like, only come now. Besides, if you come, I will tell you something about Keefe.”

He had never been able to resist her entreaties; he could not resist them now. She led him up: the bank, still keeping hold of his arm with one hand,while the other held her dead bird; drew him on through the grounds, still holding him as if she feared he would escape her, up the steps, andI through the open door of the portico into the hall. Here they were seen by one of the servants, who with amazement beheld his young lady clinging to the arm of a sailor-like youth, in a linen jacket and trousers and a coarse straw hat. On entering the house Denis took off his hat, and a very handsome face and a mass of light brown curling hair showed themselves.

“He’s one of the gang that stole her away, I suppose,” said the man who was watching them; “and, as I live, she is taking him to her father. The Count will blow the fellow’s brains out.”

Unconscious of any observation, and not caring in the least if all the world had been there to see, Coral laid Ariel in his cage, and then led Denis into the room where she had left her father. Softly opening the door, she entered, her arm still wound round that of her companion. The Count still sat beside the writing-table, his head leaning back against the cushions of his chair.

“Father!” said Coral, “I have found Denis—Denis who was so kind to me, and whom I love so much “The Count did not stir. “He is asleep, I must waken him,” said Coral; and, going up to him, she kissed his cheek. It felt as cold as marble, and, frightened, she scarcely knew why, she attempted to raise his head. It was heavy and stiff. “Oh! my father! my father! he is dead!” she exclaimed, and her cry brought the servants into the room.

All was now terror and confusion. One flew to summon the Count’s “confessor,” Father Jerome; another ran for the nearest doctor; Coral knelt beside her father’s chair, and held his hand in hers, with her other hand she grasped that of Denis, utterly indifferent to the glances of wonder and scorn cast on him by the servants. As for Denis, he only thought of Coral, she was the only object in the room that he saw. At last a physician arrived.

“The young lady ought to be removed,” he said, with a glance of surprise and curiosity at Denis. “Had not you better go to your room, mademoiselle, while I try to recover your father?”

Coral mechanically moved into a window recess, but she still kept fast hold of Denis’s hand.

“You must not leave me,” she said.

And they sat down together on the lounge, where a short time before she had sat with her father and talked of Keefe. Father Jerome now entered. He was a small, thin man, with little bright brown eyes, and a keen though kindly expression of face. He went up to the physician, who was examining the body.

“Is there any hope?” he asked.

“None! He is quite dead. I can be of no use, so I will resign my place to you, sir.”

And with a slight sneer he bowed to the priest, and took his departure.

Father Jerome had known the Count long and well, and now he looked sadly on the livid and stony face of his dead friend; and, crossing himself, murmured a prayer for the departed soul.

“Alas!” he said, softly; “passion and anguish and remorse have left their deep lines on his face. Well! God give him peace now!” Then he addressed the servants. “Remove Monsieur’s remains to his chamber. Where is Mademoiselle?”

“There she is, Father!” said one of the women, with a glance of indignant contempt at Coral and her companion.

Father Jerome was too shrewd and ready-witted not to divine at a glance who Denis was, for of course he was familiar with every particular of Coral’s story. He went up to Coral, whose tears still flowed, though her grief was quiet now. It was not of that overwhelming sort which refused to be comforted.

“Your father has left us for a time,” said the priest, “but we must submit to the will of God, my child. God is the Father of the fatherless, and I will try to take care of you, as it was the Count’s wish I should do, if he was called away. Trust me, your happiness and welfare shall always