In Spite of All. A novel

Chapter I. The Mysterious Music

It was a summer sunset, such as one never sees save in southern climes, that Leonide Moore sat watching. Great masses of burningclouds were floating over the west, and rays of golden glorywere streaming forth just as the sun kissed the waiting waters of the beautiful bay — rays that stained or painted all that they fell upon, the blossoms of the stately magnolias on the shore, the petals of the sleeping lilies on the isle, the windows of many cool white houses in the village, and, with a wondrous halo, the face of the young girl Leonide (sitting on her father's wharf dreaming), painted it until it was almost glorified. On the shore the tops of the pine trees were tinted with gold, and here and there, through a break in the tangled woods, a long beam of light struggled, as if it would fain reach the sea, to die with the sun.

A great rest was on all things : the sea lay as quiet as a dreaming child, save where it played in and out the rafters and woodwork of the wharf, and then its sound was sweet and low, as though the child was whispering to its angel-playmates in its sleep. The young girl Leonide looked on all this glory and splendour with a dissatisfied feeling; there was no one near to enjoy with her " the tender grace" of a dying day, that would soon be gone and for ever. Her father was busy with his men, her aunt was away on a visit, and most likely did not even know that the sun was set ting, and her tutor, Henri Gaston, was using (or, as Leonide thought, abusing) all this beautiful golden light, to pore over some musty old book in search of another and a more lasting light. As Leonide was longing for a compan ion, a little green and white rowing-boat ame swiftly round a curve in the shore, and made for the wharf on which she was sitting.

She knew the boat well, for she had named it the "Ariel" when, a few weeks before, it had been proudly launched by its owner, lame Joe, a fisherman's son, who gained his livelihood by rowing strangers and market-women from East to West Pascagoula. For the last two weeks, however, the Ariel had had a new interest for her. Twice every day it had passed the wharf I * with a young gentleman in it, a stranger, who she had fancied (from the quick glimpses she had caught of his face) was handsome. There were so few strangers to be seen in that quiet spot that the young girl had not failed to notice this one, and, indeed, as she had watched the little green and white boat disappear, she had woven many a romance, bright, exciting, and wonderfully improbable, which romances had for their hero the young stranger, whom lame Joe rowed so swiftly past.

But on this particular afternoon, when the Ariel got within speaking distance, to Leonide's surprise and delight, the stranger raised his hat and asked, " May I come up and speak to you for a moment?" She had been right in her fancies, — he was very handsome, or, at least, the youno fresh face lifted up to hers was like — was ' 5 like — well she could not say exactly what it was like, for it seemed a part of the sunset. There certainly was sunlight in his fine grey eyes, and sunbeams were playing hide and seek in the waves of his chestnut hair, even the quick cordial tones of his voice had sun warmth in them. " Oh ! he is so bright and sunny," she thought; and she was silent so long that the stranger spoke again, in a half-plaintive, half-amused way. "I'm very sorry you won't let me come up, I wanted so much to ask you a question ; I hope that you are not offended with me?

" " But I will let you come up," answered Leonide, blushing; and in a moment the young stranger was by her side, and lame Joe, with his white face and wistful eyes, was rowing away alone. " I hope you don't think me very rude for speaking to you without an introduction, and all that sort of thing, but the truth is, for a week I've been wishing to come up here and talk to you, and only to-day did I manage to muster up the courage; are you sure that you are not vexed ? " Leonide laughed at the idea of being vexed when such warm, cheery tones were sounding in her ear. " Why if we waited for introductions," she said, "we should never make any new friends, we are so quiet here, and so few strangers ever visit us, that when they do come we are only too glad to take them on trust and make much of them, for they do us infinite service by breaking into the monotony of our lives."

"Then it seems that you are in my debt," said the stranger, smiling. "Yes, just so," said Leonide, "and al though I am but half civilized, I don't like being under obligations, so you must ask me the question, which for a week you've been wishing to ask, and give me the chance by answering it to get out of your debt, then we'll be quits." "Very well," replied the young man, "I will, for, though I am not an American, I do believe a little in the law of ' give and take,' ' compensation,' I think you call it ; but as my story is a long one I will sit down, if you will allow me ?" He had been standing in front of Leonide, mentally wondering how on earth such a superb creature ever came to be in that out-of-the-way place. Leonide made room for him on the bench beside her. " I suppose I had better begin at the beginning, and tell you my name, how I came here, and all about myself?

" She bowed a smiling assent. " My name is Vivian Greystone; I am an Englishman, travelling for health, pleasure, and at the same time, if it be easily ob tainable, information. I was staying at an hotel in Mobile a few weeks ago, and one evening, whilst playing billiards, I heard some of the gentlemen in the room talking about Pascagoula, and the cause of the mysterious music which is to be heard coming out of the water of the bay. Of course my curiosity was excited. Some of the gentlemen vowed that they had heard this strange music hundreds of times ; others, that they had been here for weeks and never heard it at all ; some said that it was made by a peculiar sort of shell-fish ; others, that it was the wind blowing around the curves of the shore. Well, I made up my mind, then and there, that I would come down here and stay until I did hear with my "very own ears" as the children say when they want to be expressive, this wonderful sound, and here I have been for nearly two weeks, and no sound have I heard.

Now tell me truly, have you ever heard this 'mysterious music ' ? " Almost before the words were uttered, Leonide exclaimed, " Listen ! it is here now! " There arose from the water a sound, low and sorrowful at first, as though a child were sobbing, with a dull sob of pain, then the sob changed to a wail unutterably sad, yet filled with music ; this wail grew louder and louder until it was positively awful ; it lasted for a minute, or perchance two, then it died away into the child's sob, and ere one could speak the sob too had gone, and a dead silence was over all.* Vivian Greystone started to his feet at the first sound, and his face was quite white when it had ceased. " Good heavens ! " he exclaimed, " how awful ! is it always as sad as that ? ' ' " It is not awful to me," answered the young girl; "it has a pathos in its wail, and it is generally fuller and richer than it was * A fact. just now.

I don't know what causes it, but I'm foolish enough to believe, or to say I believe, it's the Indians." " The Indians ! what do you mean ? " " Oh, I see your gentlemen friends did not tell you the romantic part of the story. I suppose I must do so, but I am sorry, because I always spoil what, to me, is a most beautiful legend, by not telling it as it deserves to be told; however, in order to be ' quits' with you I will try. " Pascagoula, as you must know, was at first inhabited by Indians ; these poor wild hunters of the forest did not care for, or understand, the value of gold and silver, which were said to have been offered to them in exchange for their lands. They loved, with fierce animal love, if you will, their thick wild forest, with its mighty shade trees, its carpet of gorgeously tinted flowers, and its tangled undergrowth of wild grass and shrubs, in whose fancied security the wild deer slept; they loved this beautiful bay, and the shining rivers flow ing into it, in whose cool waters they bathed their heated forms, and over whose bright surface they rowed their light canoes.

They loved their native land, and they would not barter it for money. To the greedy eye of the white man the bay was very beautiful, and the rich green lands even more so. If the Indians would not be sensible and sell — then they must fight. "Around the council fire the red-men gathered, young and old ; and the decree went forth ' to fight.' They could not sell, could not, for how could they barter the green sod beneath which so many of their ' brave ' were sleeping, and over which their squaws and piccaninnies were so lightly stepping? They would die for their home, that was better than going farther west, and leaving behind their de ad, and the sunshine. So they fought all through the glory of a summer day, and when the sun was sinking they were con quered, and all who remained from the day's slaughter were driven into the bay and drowned, young men and old, mothers, maidens, and children; and as they died they sang an old war hymn, and when it was ended the sun was set, and the white man called their lands his.

" And now, whenever this mysterious music comes up from the waters, the people here say that it is the spirit of the Indians singing their dying war hymn. There is something so beautiful to me in the idea that even in death they were brave enough and calm enough to sing, some thing so heroic and noble, that although I know it to be absurd, I say that I believe in the legend, and sometimes I'm half afraid I do." Leonide ceased, and looked out on the waters ; the golden light had melted into the grey of evening, and the young moon was gliding swiftly through quiet coloured clouds, tinting their edges with silver as she left them behind. Vivian Greystone was also gazing at something young and fair, very fair, but it was not the moon; and in his ear sounded a low sweet music, which was, and yet was not, " mysterious music."

Leonide's sweet young voice had such a charm in it that he did not like to speak, lest the charm would vanish ; but at last he said, — " It is a beautiful legend, and so prettily told that there's nothing else but for me to believe also ; as to our being 'quits,' that now is impossible, for I could never render myself so agreeable to you that you would be in any way compensated for your kindness in telling me the true version of the origin of the mysterious music ; but is this sound ever heard anywhere else ? ' ' "I believe not," said Leonide, "and that is one thing in favour of my legend, you see ! I hope that you did not dislike the sound ; I love it dearly, and I should be so sorry if it ceased altogether." Suddenly a little shyness came over her, as if she had spoken too freely to a stranger, a little shyness which caused her to let her long dark lashes rest on her fair cheek, and a charming expression of timidity play on her red lips.

Vivian, taking advantage of her downcast lids, looked long and intently at her beautiful blushing face, until at last he felt that he must say something, so he asked her if she had always lived in Pascagoula. "Always," she answered, "that is, of course I've been to other places for month at a time, but this is my real home. I often go down to Mobile during Lent, with Nannan, so that she can get to the Cathedral, as she'c a most devout Catholic." "And who is Nannan, may I ask?" said Mr. Greystone, thinking if she were a sister of Leonide's, and half as beautiful, that it would be better for his peace of mind to return immediately to his hotel. " Oh!" said Leonide, laughing, "she is my great-aunt, the funniest, ugliest, and the very best old lady in the whole world; it is she who takes care of the house, scolds the servants, mends the linen, physics everybody who will be physicked ; who idolizes papa, stands in dreadful awe of my learned tutor, and who spoils me to her heart's content; she is, in a word, the mainstay of our house, and we all love her as she deserves to be loved; only, I must own to not being half so respectful as I should be, for, to save my life, I can't help laughing at her wonderful costumes and head dresses ; I am sure you would like Nannan, that is, I think you would, because you seem ' ' : here she came to a dead stop.

Vivian Greystone got up, and stood bending towards her over the back of the bench, and asked in the most laughing way, "Seem what? don't be afraid to speak out, if it's good I shall feel very happy, if it's bad, well, there, I promise not to retaliate ! " " I only meant," said Leonide, blushing up to the waves of her golden brown hair, where the sun's light seemed to linger, though the sun was dead ; "I only meant that you seem too much like your name to dislike any one." " There you puzzle me again ; how does my name seem ? do please tell me, I'm so curious; " and he moved still nearer to her, wondering at the strange beauty of her large dark eyes, and admiring her slender hands, as they lay crossed like a child's in her lap; "won't you tell me?" he half whispered, and the sound of his voice was very pleasant.

"Vivian means brightness and vivid ness, does it not ? at least it seems so to me, and you look as sunny as your name, you know," she added, giving him a quick saucy flash from her bright eyes, " that I can't tell what you really are on so short an acquaintance. Now, I hope you will come into the house with me, and take a cup of tea, I dare say either my father or my tutor will be able to give you some information concerning the ' mysterious music ' ; will you come ? " " I shall be only too glad to do so, and as for a cup of tea, think me old-womanish if you will, but the very sound revives me ; I have not felt well all day, I believe I've had a sun -stroke !" "A sun-stroke!" cried Leonide, laughing heartily, and showing her gleaming white teeth, " how funny ! " Mr. Greystone was rather provoked, and he said in a piqued tone, that only added to her amusement, " I think you are very unkind to laugh, it's no laughing matter I assure you; so long as I sit still I'm well enough, but the moment I move I feel as if I were falling over a precipice."

" Do forgive me, I'm very sorry for you," said Leonide, with a face anything but repentant; "I could not help laughing when you said ' sun-stroke,' I've seen so many cases that I know all about it, and if it were that you would be insensible and all sorts of horrid things; but I expect that Nannan will be able to make you ' all right' in a very short time. Let us go in." She led the way, as she spoke, across the beach and through an old-fashioned flower garden (where the flowers seemed to flourish in spite of the salt air), up the steps of a quaintly built white house, at least the upper story was white, for the lower was so covered with vines of all descriptions that its original hue could not be seen. There was a long gallery around both stories, it was on to the upper one that Leonide went, followed by Mr. Greystone, for it was there she had expected to find her father.

There were chairs, a table, a stand of flowers, and several cages of birds on this gallery, and across one corner was swung a hammock, and half sitting, half reclining in this hammock was a young man, whom Leonide hurriedly introduced as M. Henri Gaston, and she ran away in search of her father. M. Henri Gaston got up, went towards Vivian, who was standing in the doorway with the lamp light from overhead full on his face, his boyish face, bright and sunny, although a little pale. When Henri Gas ton lifted his eyes and saw this bright face, he started back exclaiming, " Good God ! Vivian ! is it you ? " 2 *

Chapter II. The Result Of The Sun-stroke

Vivian Greystone was evidently as much surprised at this sudden meeting as his friend; he stood silent for several moments looking steadily into Henri Gaston' s pale sad face, then he exclaimed, " Good heavens ! Gaston, you are so changed that I never should have known you ! what in the name of all wonders are you doing here?" " I will tell you later on," replied the tutor; " now if you have any pity tell me of Claudine, — is she well ? is she happy ? quick Vivian, I hear them coming." " Claudine is well, and as beautiful as ever, but as to her happiness I know no thing; here is a letter from my sister in which she is mentioned ; it may pain you perhaps to read it, but at the same time it will tell you more of her than I can do." He handed the letter to Henri, who took it eagerly, and hid it away in the breast of his coat.

" Gaston," continued Vivian, " this is scarcely the time to say so, but I think you did wrong to leave Claudine for a foolish outburst of passion ; you should have stayed and shown her her duties ; but I'm going back in a few weeks, will you come with me ? But stay, I hear the young lady's feet, we have time for no more." Just at this moment Leonide Moore appeared with her father, who, after being introduced to Vivian, said very cordially, " You are very welcome, Mr. Greystone, the more so as my daughter tells me you are not feeling well, and we may be able to do something for you." " Thank you, sir," (he was so venerable and so beautiful an old man that Vivian's "sir" came naturally, {a V Americaine) ; " you are much kinder to me than your daughter, who laughed heartily at the idea of my being so bold as to lay claim to having had a sun -stroke, a species of illness which she seems to look upon as an honour," said Vivian, laughingly.

"It was not like my Leo' to laugh at others' misfortunes ; what came over you, little one? " "Oh, father!" said Leonide, laughing again, "it did seem so funny for Mr. Grey stone to sit talking to me for an hour or more, looking as well as possible, then at the last to turn round and say that he had been sun-struck, as if he had suddenly made the discovery. Do forgive me, Mr. Grey stone, and come into the dining-room, so that we may make friends over a cup of tea." Vivian arose and followed her, laughing at the comical glance of repentance that she threw back to him over her shoulder. "Now," she said, seating herself at a well supplied table, "I like having tea handed round, out on the gallery, it is so much cooler, and saves so much trouble ; but this old tyrant of a father likes the sociability of a table, and I, like a dutiful child, give into him; will you have your tea iced or warm ? /advise iced for your sun-stroke," she said, looking mischiev ously at Vivian.

" Iced then, let it be," he replied, making up his mind, with Spartan heroism, to drink any concoction' that his beautiful tormentor might propose; and "iced tea" seemed to him about "the last thing in creation." He really felt too dizzy and faint to object to anything. " Who has had a stroke of the sun ? " asked a shrill voice from the door, and Vivian, looking up, saw a most curious figure coming towards him, — a woman, whose age it was impossible to tell, but who might be, as Leonide said, " anything from fifty to a hundred and fifty," and whose figure was as broad as it was long, indeed it was a puzzle to say where she began, for there was a huge structure of yellow satin on her head, which was of exactly the same hue as the old wrinkled face below it, and had it not been for her little keen black eyes, face and turban would have seemed but one.

She was very ugly, with a grotesque, not a revolting ugliness, and this grotesqueness she assisted as much as possible by her singular costumes. Her nose was small and flat, indeed she had no nose to speak of; and her upper lip was adorned with a black moustache, such as many a young boy would have been proud to wear. She was indeed ugly, and yet there were intelligence and wit in the little black eyes and kindness of heart in the large mouth, even the little nose seemed good-natured, and by those who knew her, her plainness was forgotten in a beauty of character which was far superior to beauty of looks. This was Leonide's aunt, whom she called " Nannan," an old French-Creole lady. " This is Mr. Greystone, Nannan," said Leonide, " and he wants to persuade us all that he has had a sun-stroke; /forone won't believe him ; I'm sure he will be all right as soon as he has looked at you, in your fine visiting toilette, you dear old coquette."

" Ah ! mais ma petite should not laugh, a stroke of the sun is one very bad thing; M. Le Cure he did catch one stroke last year, and for two months he spoke no word; is it not so mon fils ? Mais M. Greystone is pale, you had better lie your self on the sofa ; I will bring you a little drink, in five minutes you are well." It is needless to remark that Nannan had never been able to master the "Queen's English," though to be sure she considered herself perfect, and the family were care ful to leave her under the delusion. " Thank you, I think I had better lie down," said Vivian, who by this time felt very ill indeed. As he got up from his chair to cross to the sofa he fell to the floor in a dead faint, before Gaston or Mr. Moore could assist him. Leonide gave a cry of distress: "Ah, then it was true after all, and I was so cruel as to laugh !

" and her eyes filled with tears. " My darling, you could not know," said her father, fondly, taking her in his arms, he could not bear to see his little wild flower sad, even for a moment. They placed Vivian on the sofa, and after Nannan had felt his pulse and looked very closely at him, she said, as if her mind were quite decided, "It is no stroke of the sun; this young man has caught, what is it you call him ? ' fievre jaune, ah, oui, c'est 9a. M. Gaston, we must put him to bed." It was only too true, for when Vivian recovered from his faint, it was to break out into the delirium of fever. He had had a slight chill, with which yellow fever always begins, early in the day; at the time he had thought nothing of it, but when a dreadful headache and a dizziness had come over him, while sitting with Leonide on the wharf, he imagined that he had been too much exposed to the sun, and was suffering in consequence.

Nannan was so good a doctress and nurse, and had (or thought she had) saved so many cases, that Vivian was put under her care without a fear by Mr. Moore. That night, when all was quiet, and Vivian had fallen into a feverish sleep, Henri Gaston, who was keeping watch over him, drew from his pocket the letter which his friend had given him, and began to read it with eagerness. It was from Vivian's sister Elise, and ran thus : — " MY DEAREST VlVIE, "Were I not of the most forgiving disposition, I should be vexed at your long silence, and you would lose the great honour of receiving my weekly letter; but my dear old Vivie, I miss you so greatly, I long so to hear from you, that I willingly over look your thoughtlessness, and hope that soon, very soon you will write. " Every one says that London never was so gay as this season, but somehow I've not enjoyed my self very much.

Gerald has been away so often, and I've had no one to ride with me in the ' Row,' and as for balls, etc., you know it is ' slow,' as you would say, going out with only mamma when I've been used to two handsome brothers. Something is wrong with Gerald, he's dreadfully low-spirited, and he takes no interest in anything; papa and mamma are very anxious about him ; couldn't you write to him, Vivie, and find out what is really wrong? he'll be sure to tell you. "Lady Hamilton gave a splendid ball last week, at which her second daughter, Clare, made her debut. She was by far the most beautiful girl in the room, and everybody was raving about her — as you know they always do, the first season a girl comes out. Her mother's triumph was complete, when suddenly Claudine was announced ; she was very late, whether purposely or not I can't say; but as she came gliding into the room^dressed all in crimson and white, with a crimson foreign flower of some sort, a natural one, in her bosom, and another half lost in her hair, you cannot imagine how wonderfully beautiful she looked, not like a human creature, but a queen spirit from another land.

The im pression she made was such that in a few moments Clare Hamilton's beauty was forgotten. Claudine was very quiet all the evening, and I'm sure that if Henri could have seen her, he would have loved her a thousand times more, were that possible. " But Claudine is not happy, for she was stay ing with us a few days ago, and she was not half so brilliant as she used to be. One morning I went into her room hurriedly, to ask if she would go for a drive, and I found her crying bitterly over a blue and gold locket — fancy Claudine crying ! The locket had a portrait in it, whose I don't know, Henri's I hope. Poor Claudine ! and she's the last person in the world to pity, and yet I can't help it. I wish Henri would try to win her back, I'm sure she would behave better after so long and severe a trial.

By-the-by, Vivie, she was very much interested in your proceedings, and asked endless questions about you. You can't think, you dear old fellow, how much we all miss you ; mamma says the house is not the same without her 'sunny boy,' and when we were in Switzerland, papa thought everything dreadfully stupid without you to explain, describe, and talk ' nonsense.' As for myself, je suis au desespoir! Good-bye, dear Vivie, be a good fellow to write by next mail to " Your loving sister " Elise." When Henri Gaston finished reading this letter, he drew from his bosom a large gold locket, which contained the portrait of a lady, and he knelt down beside a little table, which held an invalid lamp, so that the light might fall full upon that picture, and gazed intently upon the wonderful face of Claudine.