de broad, main road. Tek de left, an' you go whah yo' fancy tek you." "Good-by," whispered Mary. "Good-by, Miss," said the negro, in the same low voice;[Pg 79] "good-by, boss; don't you fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yan-kee' when you come back. I 'feered you gwine fo'git it, boss." The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half-mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly: "There's the road," pointing at its broad, pale line with his six-shooter. As they entered it and turned to the left, Mary, with Alice again in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, her indifferent horsemanship having compelled him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quickening his pace to regain the lost position, when a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, snatched a carbine from the earth and cried: "Halt!" 46 The dark recumbent forms of six or eight others could be seen, enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward and met the eyes of her companion. "Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As she promptly did so she heard him answer the challenge, as his horse trotted softly after hers. "Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor." "Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back three or four men were just leaping into the road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly cry: "Go!" She smote the horse and flew. Alice woke and screamed. "Hush, my darling," said the mother, laying on the withe; "mamma's here. Hush, darling, mamma's here. Don't be[Pg 80] frightened, darling baby. O God, spare my child!" and away she sped. The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away in a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the same moment she recognized, once,--twice,-- thrice,--just at her back where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering--the tart rejoinders of his navy six. "Go!" he cried again. "Lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the crying, clinging child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips compressed and silent prayers, Mary was riding for life and liberty and her husband's bedside. "O mamma, mamma," wailed the terrified little one. "Go on! Go on!" cried the voice behind; "they're--saddling up! Go! go! We're goin' to make it! We're going to make it! Go-o-o!" And they made it! FOOTNOTE: [10] From "Dr. Sevier." NYDIA, THE BLIND GIRL[11] Edward Bulwer Lytton As Glaucus, a young Athenian, now a resident of Pompeii, was strolling with his friend Clodius through the streets of that renowned city, their steps were arrested by a crowd gathered round an open space where three streets met; and just where the porticoes of a light, graceful temple threw their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket on her right arm and a small three-stringed instrument of music in her left hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating a low, plaintive air. [Pg 81]"It is my poor, blind Thessalian," said Glaucus, stopping; "I have not seen her since my return to Pompeii. Hush! let us listen to her song." THE BLIND FLOWER GIRL'S SONG Buy my flowers, O buy, I pray! The blind girl comes from afar; If the earth be as fair as I hear them say, These flowers her children are! Do they her beauty keep? They are fresh from her lap, I know, For I caught them fast asleep 47 In her arms an hour ago. Ye have a world of light, Where love in the loved rejoices; But the blind girl's home is the house of night, And its beings are empty voices. Come buy,--buy, come buy!-- Hark! how the sweet things sigh (For they have a voice like ours) O buy--O buy the flowers! "I must have that bunch of violets, sweet Nydia," said Glaucus, "your voice is more charming than ever." The blind girl started forward as she heard the Athenian's voice; then as suddenly paused, while a blush of timidity flushed over neck, cheeks, and temples. "So you are returned!" she said in a low voice. "Yes, child, I have not been at Pompeii above a few days. My garden wants your care, you will visit it, I trust, to-morrow, and mind, no garlands at my house shall be woven by any hands but those of the pretty Nydia." Nydia smiled joyously but did not answer; and Glaucus, placing in his breast the violets he had selected, turned gaily and carelessly from the crowd. [Pg 82]Though of gentle birth, for her cradle was rocked at the foot of Olympus, Nydia had been sold when quite young to Burbo, a gladiator of the amphitheater. She was cruelly treated by the wife of Burbo. Glaucus bought her, took her to his home, and her sweetest joy was to minister to the comfort and entertainment of her deliverer. The vines that grew upon the walls of the peristyle were not more graceful, their tendrils not more trusting and tender, nor the flowers woven into wreaths and garlands by her skillful fingers more beautiful than the blind flower-girl of the house of Glaucus. As the months went on what wonder that the kind words and sympathetic voice which had been the first that had sounded musically to her ear should awaken in the breast of Nydia a deeper love than that which springs from gratitude alone! What wonder that in her innocence and blindness she knew no reason why the most brilliant and the most graceful of the young nobles of Pompeii should entertain none other than feelings of friendship for her! When the Athenian drew her unconsciously to his breast, deeming her still a child--when he kissed her cheek and wound his arm around her trembling form, Nydia felt that those feelings she had innocently cherished were of love. What wonder then that into her wild and passionate soul should creep the pangs of jealousy when another claimed the homage of him who was all to her! Glaucus loved Ione, a beautiful young Neapolitan of Greek parentage who had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,--Genius and Beauty. No one ever possessed superior intellectual qualities without knowing them. In the person of Ione, Glaucus found the long-sought idol of his dreams; and so infatuated was he, that he could talk of no one else. No song was sweet[Pg 83] but that which breathed of love, and to him love was but a synonym of Ione. "Play to us, dear Nydia,--play, and give us one of thy songs; whether it be of magic or not as thou wilt--let it at least be of love." "Of love! wish you that I should sing of love?" "Yes." She moved a little way from Ione, who had learned to love her more as a sister than a slave, and placing her light, graceful instrument on her knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain, in which with touching pathos, her own sighs were represented by the Wind, the brightness of the beautiful Ione by the Sunbeam, and the personality of Glaucus by his favorite flower, the Rose. I The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose, 48 And the Rose loved one; For who seeks the Wind where it blows? Or loves not the Sun? II None knew where the humble Wind stole, Poor sport of the skies-- None dreamt that the Wind had a soul, In its mournful sighs! III Oh, happy Beam! how canst thou prove That bright love of thine? In thy light is the proof of thy love, Thou hast but--to shine! IV How can the Wind its love reveal? Unwelcome its sigh; Mute--mute to its Rose be it still-- Its proof is--to die! [Pg 84]Alike in their mornings at the house of Ione, and in their evening excursions, Nydia was usually their constant, and often their sole companion. They did not guess the secret fires which consumed her; the flames of which were ever fanned by the unconscious breath of the two lovers. Yet her fidelity arose above her pitiful pangs of jealousy and in the hour of need she was the tried and trusted. The scene changes; where only the brightness of uninterrupted love had hitherto fallen, now creep the black shadows of tragic sor-row. Ione falls into the clutches of Arbaces, a subtle, crafty Egyptian, who attempted by the magic of his dark sorcery, to win her away from Glaucus. In pursuit of his base designs, Arbaces murders Apaecides, the brother of Ione, imprisons the priest Calenus, the only witness of the deed, and with great cunning weaves a convicting web of circumstantial evidence around Glaucus, his hated rival. Glaucus is tried, convicted, and doomed to be thrown to the lion. Ione and Nydia are also prisoners in the house of Arbaces. Glaucus has been placed in that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals of the arena awaited their last and fearful struggle. Alas! how faithless are the friendships made around an epicurean board! Where were the gay loiterers who once lingered at the feasts and drank the rich wines of the house of Glaucus? Only Sallust shed a tear, but he was powerless against Arbaces who was backed by the corrupt priesthood of Isis. What ministering angel should now come forth as a light out of darkness bearing, even in her blindness, the conditions of deliverance, but Nydia. From the slaves of Arbaces she learned the approaching fate of Glaucus. Working upon the superstition of her special guard Sosia, she manages to escape his vigilance for a time, and creeping along a dark passage she overhears the cries of the priest Calenus lately incarcerated in[Pg 85] an adjoining dungeon cell. From him she learns the circumstances
