Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

Page 11 text:

THE MISSILE. 7 Sister Cecile’s eyes were filled with tears and her voice held a sad note as she bade the girl good night, say- ing that they would leave in the morning at nine. Marguerite turned again to the window, but now it was quite dark. There was no moon in the sky, and the rain poured silently. The girl leaned her head on the case- ment and let her thoughts wander to years before. When she was only ten years old, her father had placed her hand in that of the little Prince who was only two years her senior, and the priest had pronounced them bound by a sacred promise to become man and wife at the end of nine years. She shuddered now as she thought of it. Every one had said that Mazzie was a handsome lad, but she had been so frightened she had never once looked on his face. Then five years later had come the visit to England, where she met Lorraine. How well she re- membered that day ! The rain had poured in torrents, and the boy had come with his uncle on a visit to the Duke of Louveni. She had loved him when she first saw him, although she was only a child then; and when she returned home, she had cried because Lorraine could not come. The next year she had been placed in the Sacre’coeur Convent and had stayed there two years when her father died. Lady de Gracey had then taken her daughter to England where they took up their resi- dence. Here they lived only a few months when the mother died and Marguerite was placed in a convent. But during that year she had seen Lorraine twice, and he, being madly in love with her, had told her of his love and had extracted a promise from her that when her con- vent life was over, she would marry him. The girl well remembered the day she had come back to the convent.

Page 10 text:

G THE MISSILE. THE CALL OF THE RAIN. T yARGUERiTE DE Gracey stood before her win- 4 4 4 IW if dow in the Sacre’coeur Convent, and tears 41 mjVK rolled down her cheeks as she thought of the morrow when she would have to leave this place her — home — the only home she Tf ' » ' ' ♦ 4l ' 1 ' had ever known. I ' he curtain parted and Sister Cecile entered, but the girl at the window neither saw nor heard her. The nun did not see the tears, but she rightly interpreted her thoughts and with a gentleness which she seldom showed placed her hand on Marguerite’s shoulder. “Mademoiselle,” she whispered,” is it so bad? “Oh, Sister Cecile,” sobbed the girl, “I shall die, I know I shall ! I don’t want to go. I am unhappy as it is, but there I shall be miserable.” “Hush, Mademoiselle,” said the sister gently; you must not talk so. You know not the great happiness which is before you.” “Happiness ?” and the violet eyes blazed. ‘‘How can I be happy when I love him not ?” “But love will come. Mademoiselle. You will learn to love him and with a love stronger and truer than that which you could give him now.” “No, sister,” and the voice was gentle but sad, “I shall never care for him. I have loved but one man. He has my heart, and he shall keep it. I shall marry Prince Maz- zini because of the covenant which my father made with Prince Bohemud, but I shall be true to Lorraine.”

Page 12 text:

8 THE MISSILE. The rain had poured, and how happy she had been! But then she had been reminded of her promise to Prince Mazzini, and during the year she had been at the convent her thoughts had been always with her lover. Now the time had come for her to go back to Rouveen, where her marriage would take place. I he girl turned from the window, and her face was colorless, but she seated herself before the fire, and tak- ing up a book, read, far into the night. The next morning Marguerite left the convent with Sister Cecile, and as the road was fairly good, they reached a small inn some distance from the convent by nightfall. All the afternoon clouds had been gathering but it was nearly nine o’clock before the storm broke. The wind blew so fiercely that Sister Cecile knelt praying for a long time, but it seemed to fill Marguerite’s heart with joy. It had rained on every day that she had ever had any happiness, and the roar of the wind and the beating of the rain on the roof seemed to bring her memories of him — her lover — from whom she was to be separated forever. After a while the storm subsided, and the guests retired, but Marguerite could not sleep. The old clock on the stair struck ten, and with its last stroke the girl sprang up. Very softly she dressed, and going out into the corridor, listened; but there was no sound, and she went softly down stairs to the sitting-room. She was listen- ing breathlessly when the inn-keeper’s daughter, a pretty peasant girl about sixteen years old, came in. “Is Mademoiselle ill ?” asked the girl, dropping a courtesy. “No, Beatrice,” whispered Marguerite,” but quick, get me a man’s outfit.”