The Duke's Prize, Maturin Murray Ballou [readnow txt] 📗

he was over into the road, just as the horse of Emily, all foaming and perspiring, came up. He rushed before the horse, and with a giant grasp seized the bridle and stopped his furious career. The jerk threw Emily backward. She fell into Melville's outstretched arms.

The horse stood trembling. Melville dismounted, and took Emily to a seat near by. She looked at him so kindly, so tenderly, that a flood of happiness rushed through his soul.

"O thank you, my brave preserver!"

"I am recompensed beyond all that I can hope, in seeing you safe."

"Where is my father?"

"He is coming. There he is! He will be here in a few moments."'

"You did a terrible thing," she said, as she thought shudderingly of the gully.

"Did you see me?"

"It was an awful thing to see. I shuddered."

"O then, happy am I if I can gain the smallest share of sympathy-the smallest thought from you."

"You risked your life, too,"--she did not finish, but looked at him, and their eyes met. Hers fell down.

"Emily!"

She did not reply, but lowered her head. Through the thick ringlets of hair which clustered around her head, Melville could see a gentle blush which overspread her lovely features.

"Emily-speak, Emily-can you think well of me."

She raised her eyes and again they met his.

What the impassioned youth might have said, we cannot tell, but he was prevented from speaking by Mr. Inglis, who at this moment came up. He leaped from his horse.

"Emily, my child, are you saved!" he cried, rushing towards her, and folding her in his arms.

"Yes, I am alive, dear father, and there is my preserver."

"Noble, brave youth. May the richest blessings of Heaven descend on you. You have saved my child from death. I saw you risk your own at that terrible chasm. O that I could fittingly reward you!"

There was one reward which he could give.


CHAPTER III.


FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE!

Mr. Inglis again sat in his parlor, and Emily was near. There was a thoughtful expression upon his face. Occasionally she glanced at her father, to see what he was doing, or perchance to endeavor to discover what thoughts were in his mind.

"Emily," said he, at length.

"Father."

"I know not how to reward Henry. What can I do? I am in want of a head clerk. I wonder if he understands business. I will ask him." And he rang the bell.

Melville appeared.

"Good morning," said Mr. Inglis, grasping his hand. "I can have you as a servant no longer. Permit me to esteem you as a friend, for surely you are my equal, and you have laid me under unspeakable obligations to you. Do you know anything of business?"

"What kind, sir?"

"Any kind-shipping business."

"Yes sir, thoroughly. I have been in situations where I learned it."

"Take off this servile dress. Live in my house as my friend, and if you wish, I will take you as my head clerk."

"Your clerk, Mr. Inglis! How-how can I thank you?"

"Think not of thanks. That is my business. Come with me and I will show you what is to be done."

And the two departed. Melville first went to purchase more appropriate clothing, and then went to Mr. Inglis's office.

A year passed away. Melville had been prosperous beyond all his hopes. Immense profits could then be obtained from chartering ships and from exporting wool. Materials of food and clothing for the gold regions at Melbourne, could also be sold at enormous profits. Mr. Inglis had kindly advanced him money to commence independent speculations. This he had so well used, that at the end of the year the original amount had increased ten-fold.

"Ten thousand pounds! In one year too! And at the same time punctually fulfilling every duty as clerk. Mr. Melville, you are the paragon of clerks. With your genius and energy you will soon be among the wealthiest in the country. You have now a fortune of your own. I have long wanted a partner in my business, for I am growing old. You can enter without feeling any great inferiority. Will you do so?"

"You are overwhelming me with kindness," said Melville, in a faltering voice. "How can I ever repay you? To be in partnership with you, is such a grateful thing to me that I can never thank you enough."

"O there is no need of thanks. I am happy to do this. One like you, I may say without flattery, can very rarely be found. But how very strange is the fate which threw you in my way! What wonderful circumstances! A servant in my family! A gentleman like you to be a servant? What led you to it? Surely you could have gained a living in a less unpleasant way."

"It has turned out my blessing," said Melville.

In the evening, Melville, the new made partner sat alone with Emily in the parlor. It was dark, and the heavy curtains which hung before the window increased the gloom. The moon's rays entered and fell softly upon the floor.

"What a strange life yours has been," said Emily.

"Yes. Do you remember when you saw me first?"

"Well-I always shall remember it-the young confectioner with his box of candy."

"I will bless that box of candy forever."

"I have often wondered why you became a servant."

"Ah, why should you wonder? Emily, can you not guess? Would any light cause make me do it?"

She was silent.

"Blessed be the day when I became a menial. I saved you from death through that. O, do you ask what made me? A light had beamed across my path. I had seen you, Emily."

Still no reply.

"I would have done anything. To see you daily-to be near you-to hear your voice. O, it was joy to me such as I cannot describe. And I thought at times that you looked kindly at me--that you saw through my motive-that you-yes, Emily, that you even cared something for me. Did you not, Emily? Did you not?"

A low reply sounded gently in his ears:

"Yes, Henry."

"Emily, my own Emily. Would you call it presumption in me if I told you that I loved you? You know it already; you must know it. Can I hope, dearest Emily?"

A low reply again came, which sent a thrill of rapture to the heart of Melville. He wound his arms lovingly around the happy Emily, and--

"Halloo, what are you two people doing over there in the corner?" said the voice of Mr. Inglis, half suffocated with laughter. "Fine doings-hem. Speak up, sir. What is this."

Melville with his arm around the waist of Emily, and her hand in his, walked up to Mr. Inglis.

"I have been seeking another partner, sir."

"Ho, ho-you have, have you?"

"Yes sir, and I thought--"

"You thought, did you, sir, and pray, sir, what business had you to think? Were you not sure of it-sure of her, you young dog, and of me also? I love you, my brave young friend, and I felt an affection for you when you first came here. Take her and be my son. You saved her life and she is yours. But be silent, now-none of your thanks. I tell you I wont put up with them."

The happy party sat down. Melville by the side of Emily, and Mr. Inglis opposite them, viewing them with the utmost delight.

"But Henry, tell us something of your former life. Whose son are you?"

"I was going to say, 'the son of my father,' but that not being sufficiently definite, I will tell you my father's name. I am the younger son of Sir Edmund Melville, Melville Hall, Warwickshire, England."

"The-ahem!" cried Mr. Inglis. "A baronet's son! Whew, and you were my servant!"

"I entered at Eton, nobody cared for me at home. I went through Oxford, took first honor in the university, then went home, but being only a cipher-alias a younger son, they treated me coldly. My father advised me to join the army. I told him I would see the army shot first. My mind was made up to come here. Two hundred guineas constituted all my fortune. All these I spent either before or during the passage out. When I landed here I only had a half crown!"

"Good heavens, only half a crown!"

"All that I had in the world, except my clothes. I sold them and commenced the business of confectioner. You know the rest."

"Why did you decide to be a servant? Ah, I know now. You look down at that little witch of a girl who is almost crying with joy."

"I'm not, pa. What nonsense!"

"Crying with joy. and she looks knowingly at you. Ah, ha? You have been rehearsing the play of 'She stoops to conquer,' only it was the gentleman in this case. But now all your troubles are over."

"All over. I am happy."

And his large, dark eyes gleamed with the joy which dwelt within him.

"Will three weeks be too soon, Emmie dearest?" said he, in a mysterious whisper.

"Nonsense, Henry," and there came a smothered "don't," for Mr. Inglis had left them alone for a little time.

A few days afterward Melville was standing upon a wharf watching some passengers who landed from a vessel late from Melbourne. Suddenly he started. "Why, Marden," he cried, springing forward to grasp the hand of a forlorn looking individual in a tattered hat and tattered coat. "Where are you bound, young 'un?"

"Home."

"Home? how is that? Have you made your fortune?"

"No. I'm as poor as a rat. Only earned enough to take me back. Hang the gold country! But I declare, you look as if you had made your fortune."

"I have. But tell me, would you go home if you could get a good situation here?"

"No, indeed."

"Then stay. But first come to a hotel and 'renovate.' If you want money, I can lend."

"Hurrah! I don't want money. Since I am sure of a situation, I will lay aside the ragamuffin character, and be once more a gentleman."

"And in two weeks hold yourself in readiness to--"

"To--to what?"

"To attend my--"

"Well?"

"My--well, my wedding."

And he did attend his wedding--and a happy occasion the event proved to all.


[FROM "THE FLAG OF OUR UNION."]


THE CORSAIR OF SCIO.

BY JAMES DE MILLE.


CHAPTER I.



The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung;
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Phobus rose and Delos sprung--
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all except their sun is set.

-BYRON.


IT was morning among the islands of Greece and the dark blue sea on every side showed not a ripple upon its bosom. The sky was as calm and peaceful as the water which reflects its azure hue, and not a cloud appeared to mar its surface. The sun just rising cast a broad gleam of light over the scene, and threw upon the wide sea a long path of ruddy light. Around lay the