Petersburg High School - Missile Yearbook (Petersburg, VA)

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THE MISSILE. 9 ‘‘A man’s outfit?” “Yes,” commanded the girl, “and hurry.” Beatrice was back in a few minutes with an old outfit of her brother’s. “This ?” she whispered, holding it up. “Yes,” answered Marguerite, “and hurry, get me a horse, bring it around to the door, and make no noise.” “Mademoiselle,” the girl exclaimed in an astonished voice, “you must not go out into the night. The storm is barely over, and it is raining yet. The woods are thick and dark.” But before she had finished speaking. Marguerite was out of the door. The girl hastened up stairs to tell her father, but long before men were sent in search of Mar- gurite she was far off through the woods. The darkness of the woods was impenetrable and now as she rode farther into them the horse began to stum- ble. At one of these times she was thrown off and in falling her right arm was thrown under her. She man- aged to mount again but the pain of her arm was almost unbearable, and she was obliged to let the horse find his own way. After riding farther on, the girl heard the clatter of horses’ feet. Thinking it was her pursuers, she tried to quicken her horses’ speed, but the pain in her arm was so great she could only hold to the saddle with her un- hurt arm. Suddenly her horse neighed and was an- swered by another quite near. “Oh, God,” she murmured,” I want to die. Don’t let them find me,” and then she fainted. When the girl awoke, she was in the Inn’s sitting-room, and the morning sun was shining through the half closed

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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.”

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io THE MISSILE. blinds. She heard some one address Prince Mazzini, and turning, saw a tall man in military dress standing near the door. He turned, and Margurite closed her eyes. Surely she was not dreaming. She opened them again, and Lorraine was bending over her. “Lorraine — Prince Mazzini,” murmured the girl, “what does it mean ?” “It means, little sweetheart,” whispered the lover, “that Lorraine and the hateful Prince Mazzini are one and the same.” “Lorraine ’ whispered the girl, “I am so happy.” Q. Spooner Dunn, II. A. THE LITTLE PAGE. 4 || enneth,” came sharply from the lips of the Duke. The dark, brocaded curtains parted Vx t ic and a slender, golden-haired lad of nine. clad in dark green velvet, entered. “Be seat ed.” The Duke waved toward a stiff high backed chair. The little page climbed into the chair and fixed his great dark eyes on the Duke. It was a picture any artist would have been glad to paint. The dark red of the chair made a striking background for the golden curls and the green velvet. Great dark eyes gazed out fearlessly from under long curling lashes, and the full red lips gave color to the pale face; and the tall, dark young man contrasted strangely with the boy. “Kenneth,” said the Duke, “to-morrow I go on a jour-