Among the Ashes; or, Doomsday (with illustration) (Christmas Supplement) [pp. A001-A032]

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AA1OAT~ TilE ASiTES.
[CHRIsT~&ks,
"I beard a prefty little story in a
strange old Flemisli inn where I stayed
last year," said the lady to whom be
turned as be spoke. This was a selfpossessed young American, who, wfth
ber mother, had just returned from Lurope in time to lose every thing in the
great fire, and who seemed to think
there was nothing very remarkable or
out of tbe way in ber present strange
surroundings, and who began, with as
much calmness as if sbe bad been still
sitting in the Sherman House drawingroom, this story -
A WILL 0' THE WL~WP.
"Rix~ ding! tinkle, tinkle, ting!"
rang the chimes in tbe cathedral tower,
beginning to play their airy tune in the
clouds, as a bewitched old lady came into
the town of Dindans one evening, following a will 0' the wisp
Dindans is a dreamy old Flemish
town with canals full of yellow-green
water, and brown boats with little scarlet flags; with strange old beetle-browed
houses overshadowing the streets; with
a market-place and fountain; a multitude of pointed gables; a cathedral
covered with saints and angels; little
children in muslin caps, and bells that
make delicate music aloft in the air. A
real traveller stopping at Dindaus is a
rare apparition, and people came out of
their houses that evening to gaze at the
little old Englishwoman who trotted hebind the truck which jolted her luggage
along the pavement.
When the tired little woman stopped
before the wide entrance of fl~e queer
old inn, La Gru~, there was no one
about, ar~d she walked into the sanded
hall and glanced through the opening at
the other end down the long, ancient
court-yard, with its vines and gallery,
and rows of little windows, and on to
where apple-trees and scarlet geraniums
were blushing through the sunlight from
the garden. A curious stone staircase
wound out of the hall, and there were
doors on each side of her. She hesitated,
and glanced all round the unpeopled interior, until the sound of a voice came
out of the nearest door.
"With her hands on her knees, and
the knitting lying in her lap," said the
shrewish voice of a woman in clumsy
Flemish French,"though I told her yesterday that the stocking must be done
immediately.'
"Thou hearest," said a man's voice,
"thou must be more industrious."
"And with a look on her face that
would sour the wine," continued the
woman; "enough to make people think
one was unkind to her."
"Thou must be more cheerful," grambled the man.
"And see! There are travellers at
our door, and here she is gossiping, so
that we do not even perceive fl~em!
A door, which had been ajar, was
quickly opened, and a young girl caine
out with a pale face, and eyes heavily
encircled with the redness of suppressed
tears. The young figure looked so much
more refined than any thing one could
have expected in the place, that the traveller forgot her own business in the
surprise. At the saine moment a waiter
came running to take the lnggage, a little man with a keen and perturbed face,
and something like a hump on his shoalders. This was the oldest inn in Dindans, explained the giA. There were
not many chambers ready, for travellers
did not often stop to pass a night in the
town. There was a suite of small rooms
running round the court-yard, but they
were at present used as fruit-lofts or
lumber-closets. Over the archway into
the garden was a little apartment, like a
glass case, which was occupied by a gentleman who bad been long established
here, and must not be moved. But madame should have the best chamber, cccupied by monsieur and his wite when
nobody came. It should be made ready
for the dame Anglais at a moment's notice.
The stranger had had an intention
of trying to escape, but something in the
girl's manner mysteriously vanquished
her. She took possession of an ancientlooking room, with heavy, dark wainscots and one window, in which the only
things noticeable were two well-painted
portraits on tlie walls. They were Monsieur and Madame van Melckelieke, explained Jacques, the waiter, painted by
Monsieur Lawrence, the English artist,
who lived in the little glass chainber, and
studied all his evenings in the paintingroom of the Cerele des Beaux Arts, up
above in the tower; a very respectable
club, which reflected credit on the
house. Their meeting-room for social
purposes was behind the sa11e-d-rnan~r
Madame, the stranger, got rid of her
dust, and made herself at home in her
chair by the window, feeling herself to
be a disappointed old woman, who bad
been flitting about the world for years,
seeking an object which it now seemed
folly to think of finding
In the pleasant court-yard the evening sunlight was gilding the peaks of the
little windows, and the grapes that hung
from tiie vines, but leaving a cool well
of shadow about the old archway,
through which flamed softly the illuminated garden, brilliant wiM~ scarlet and
~reen, and bristling with gold - tipped
apple-trees. As madame looked, a man's
head was thrust from 1;305]one of the queer
little windows in the glass chamber, an
English head, brown-haired and thoughtfully intelligent. It leaned out of the
golden background, glanced at a deserted
ironing - table, which stood under the
vines below, withdrew itself quickly, and
disappeared. This was Monsieur Lawrence, no doubt.
Our little old woman bad returned to
her own perplexities, when the maiden
who had received her again appeared at
her door, a ray from the window touching the girl as she announced that madame`was served. Her face shone upon
the traveller out of the shadows under
the doorway-a pale, delicate-featured
face, with a distinct beauty of its own,
which was partly owing to its subdued
intensity of expression. The eyes had
still that look of suffering from unshed
tears; the mouth had a look of heroic
patience. She hovered on the threshold, while madm~e fixed a sudden stare
on her and made a sharp ejaculation in
English.
"Madarne's dinner!" said the girl
thinking that she had not been understood in French. But the stare was not
removed from her face till she fell back
abashed across the threshold, and closed
the door,
"What is it?" cried the little Englishwoman to ha'self with piteous energy.
"A likeness? No, not a likeness! Yes
-no-yes. Certainly not! With brooding over this matter I am becoming silly!"
Madame reflected, and made up her
mind that she was too hungry and tired
to think to any puipose. She dined, and
Jacques brought her some coffee in her
chamber.
Madame could not refrain from questioning Jacques. For many long years
it had been the business of her life to
question. Stine was the girl's name.
She was the niece of mon sleuTh and her
fate was sad.
"Why do they treat her badly?"
"It seems to come by nature," said
Jacques. "At present she is in great disgrace because she refoses to marry me
although I have declared to monsieur that
I will not have her."
"But is she not good and nice?" cried
madame.
"Cependant," persisted Jacques, "I
will not have her. She likes inc as it is;
she would hate me if I pressed her to
marry me. Mon Dien! Heaven must do
someflAng better for her than that."
Our traveller was on her way to England, and had broken her journey to rest