Reading Memorial High School - Pioneer Yearbook (Reading, MA)

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The Pioneer Page Ten and without, realizing it he had flayed melodies which were strangely beauti¬ ful. One he played a number of times, until it grew into a piece which seemed to tell of the man’s hopes and fears, his struggles,—and there came a few happy, hopeful notes to prophe¬ sy the fulfilment of his dreams. Two months later, on a bleak, cold February morning, Vineron had an overwhelming surprise,—a letter from the Duchess asking him to come and play for her that afternoon at four. Promptly at that hour, Vineron was at her home. The butler showed him into a small room, and told him the Duchess would like to have him be¬ gin playing then. The cold had put Vineron in a lively mood. He com¬ menced to play a fast waltz of his own composition. As he became warmer, the quick piece changed into a slower, more solemn strain, like a stately, majestic march. When he had finished he glanced up. Before him stood Pier Majesty Queen Marie. “Oh! quel musicien!” she ex¬ claimed. Vineron, startled, and not knowing how to behave, rose, made a deep bow and rushed from the room. He hurried on until he encountered the Duchess. After some explanation, he went back and asked the Queen’s par¬ don for his strange behavior. The Queen replied that under one condi¬ tion she would grant it. Vineron was only too glad to do something to make amends for his shameful behavior. The Queen went on to state that the condition was that he should be leading court musi¬ cian. Vineron could only bow acknowledgment, but he knew that his chance had come. DOROTHY B. SKILLEN, ’13. HANNAH WOOD’S STORY It seems only yesterday and yet it has been sixteen years since Sir How¬ ard Wood sent for me to come to the Towers and live with him and his motherless daughter Bertha, a baby of two years. I remember the first time I saw little Bertha and exclaimed of her beauty, how her father had said, “She will never be as beautiful as her mother.” Howard was wrong. At eighteen, Bertha was very beautiful, tall, and slightly built, with perfectly shaped hands and feet. Straight dark brows over-arched the deep blue eyes, and rich masses of golden brown hair were drawn from a face more lovely than her mother’s had been. Glancing out of the window, I saw r her and Godfrey Wood walking in the garden. Bertha was holding a bunch of roses in her hands, and Godfrey, handsome and eager, was stooping and whispering to her earnestly. Then he took a rosebud from the bunch; put it for a moment to her smiling lips; then kissed it reverently, and put it away. A few moments later they both came in, Bertha blush¬ ing, and my soldier nephew, Godfrey, looking handsomer than ever, with a proud light in his dark hazel eyes. They did not think that I guessed their secret, and that I knew the white rosebud was already fading against the soldier’s heart.

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Page Nine The Pioneer the Duchess to give back the money; he had not even stopped to count it. It was a long walk, but Vineron quickly reached the steps. A butler came in answer to his ring, and Viner¬ on thrust the bills into his hands, and turned to hurry away. The next day, as Vineron was going- out for his morning walk, he encount¬ ered a young lady on the dark, nar¬ row stairs. “Pardon me,” said a very sweet voice, “am I speaking to Monsieur Vineron?” “Yes, Mademoiselle,” came from Vineron in a surprised voice. “Do you want me?” “Yes, let us go out into the street.” So Vineron obediently followed, hardly knowing what to think. Be¬ fore the door stood a carriage from the Gerolstein livery. “Come with me, we can ride and talk!” She stepped into the carriage and Vineron stood on the curb, won¬ dering whether to go, when someone said, “Come!” in such a commanding- voice that he immediately stepped into the carriage, and the footman slammed the door. “You are probably aware of who I am, but are wondering what my er¬ rand can be. I received the money wTiich you would not take, and I can see the reasons for which you return it. I haven’t the courage, however, to tell my mother; she must never know for it would be too great a shock in her present condition. There are also many reasons why you should take it. My mother engaged you to play for her; she paid her other musicians, and they have ac¬ cepted the money. Besides, it would help you to gain your great chance of w ' hich my mother told me. It would give you a little comfort, and my mother a great deal, to think that she had perhaps helped you a little.” Vineron sat staring at Frances Rancouras. She talked to him so earnestly. Why was she so anxious about him? What was he to her? No one had ever been so kind to him before. She saw that he was not going to answer, so she added, “I have done all in my power in pleading -with you for the sake of my mother. Can you be so cold-hearted as to refuse the money now?” “Money is not what I want. It is my chance.” “I will promise you the best chance possible if you will only take this money. You do not realize that my mother is eccentric on the subject of money. She thinks everyone must accept her money when she wishes to give it away.” They were back at Vineron’s door. He stepped out, and she held out her hand, which contained the money. All that she said was “Please!” Yet the tone and manner in which she said that single word would have made even a king stoop. Vineron took the money from her hand, and thrust it into his pocket. Bowing, he turned and walked into his lodgings. This morning seemed to put a new feeling into Vineron. He picked up his violin, as was his custom when he came in from his morning walk. The music came with no effort on his part. He sat playing for hours,

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Page Eleven The Pioneer Sir Howard, little as he seemed to know how his daughter spent her days, was very quick to find out that Godfrey loved Bertha. “Hannah,” he said to me one day, looking out of the window to where Bertha and Godfrey were, “I want you to see that Bertha is not with God¬ frey so much. He is getting too fond of her, and besides, Sir Robert West has asked me for Bertha’s hand.” “Sir Robert West,” I exclaimed, trembling at his words. “Howard, he is a bad man. Would you give Bertha to him?” “I choose that my child shall be¬ come mistress of West Hall,” replied Howard in a voice of determination, and T said no more, though from w r hat I had seen and heard of Sir Robert West, I had rather have laid Bertha in her grave than see her be¬ come his wife. One day my brother announced that Sir Robert West was coming over to dinner, and was going to stay a few days at the Towers for shooting Bertha made up a face, and said, “That dreadful man; he gives me the horrors.” “Bertha,” said her father, speaking sternly, “speak with more respect of Sir Robert after this.” The next day Sir Robert West came to the Towers, and I trembled when I saw his dark, cruel eyes rest on Bertha’s fair face. Bertha was soon told by her father that she was to marry Sir Robert West. She begged and pleaded, but his only answer was, “I lay my com¬ mands upon you, and I expect to be obeyed.” Then turning his eyes toward Bertha’s face, he said, “Never will I consent to your marrying God¬ frey. He has had the assurance to ask for your hand, and I have forbid¬ den him to enter the Towers until after your marriage.” Bertha’s whole frame shook with sobs but they were of no avail. Bertha obeyed her father, and within three weeks she accepted Sir Robert West, and with a look of tri¬ umph on his evil face, he placed a diamond ring of great value on her reluctant hand, looking straight into her sad eyes as he did so, while Bertha shivered from head to foot as she returned his gaze. As soon as he had gone she burst into tears, and I wept to think of the life before her. Howard so carefully guarded Box tha that she had not been able to see God¬ frey since the day of the rose inci¬ dent, though he had tried in vain to see her. The time drew near for the wed¬ ding, and Sir Robert’s face grew dark with rage to see Bertha growing paler and paler. At last, returning from a walk one day, Bertha exclaimed that she was going to a ball which Sir Robert had desired her to attend, and which she had declined. Sir Robert seemed pleased at her determination, and bought her a dia¬ mond necklace. “You must wear this to the ball,” he said. Bertha thanked him in an agitated manner and allowed him to clasp the necklace around her slim white throat, but when he stooped and, whispering, “my privilege, fairest Bertha,” kissed her, she turned pale as death.