noes mbx: ,- >:•...,.- 
 
 8E' 3E Fj ' : : \ FER POOL 
 
 V. 
 
LIBRRRY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of North (Carolina. 
 
 Endowed by the Dialectic and Philan- 
 thropic Societies. 
 
 •^\^;p^<a,ui 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N C AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 00016896904 
 
 This book may be kept out one month unless a recall 
 notice is sent to you. It must be brought to the North 
 Carolina Collection (in Wilson Library) for renewal. 
 
 Form No. A-369 
 
Into t Uraztlitmt &k\t& 
 
 BY 
 
 BETTIE FRESHWATER POOL 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 Sty? Sgro mb (§ttyv §>tmtlim\ $faraB. 
 
 1908 
 
 i 
 
 GEO. P. E. HART 
 
 PUBLISHER 
 
 Elizabeth City, N. C. 
 
Copyright 1908. 
 
 BY 
 
 Bettie Freshwater Pool. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 

 TO THE 
 MEMORY OF MY BROTHER 
 
 The late Judge Charles C. Pool 
 this BOOK IS 
 Most Lovingly Dedicated 
 
 BY 
 
 The Author. 
 
(EfltttetttH: 
 
 I.— Under Brazillian Skies 1—42. 
 
 II.— The Hermit of South Mountains 44-47. 
 
 III.— Foreshadowed 49—54- 
 
 IV. -The Old Brick House 56—59. 
 
Enter IBrajHltan Bkxts 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The bay of Rio Janeiro is a marvel of picturesque beauty. It 
 has a coast line of a hundred and five miles, and is one of the 
 finest harbors in the world. Islands of various size dot the water; 
 many of them hills of volcanic origin, rising- abruptly out of the 
 waves, their sides covered with tropical verdure, and their sum- 
 mits adorned by cozy cottages. Westward the shores of the bay 
 rise first into hills, then into mountains; the Corcovada and the Gavea 
 towering like giants above their neighbors. From the belfry of 
 Gloria Cathedral one may behold a magnificent view of the city 
 and bay. A stone wall five miles long and fifteen feet high pro- 
 tects the lower part of the city from the breakers. On some of 
 the mountain-tops are built summer houses and hotels, which are 
 the resort of the wealthy during the hot season or when an epidemic 
 prevails. Twenty miles distant tower the Organ mountains. On 
 these heights stands Petropolis, where the foreign diplomats have 
 their headquarters, and where is located the magnificent summer 
 palace of the ex-emperor. 
 
 At eight o'clock of a sultry evening in the June of 1890, two 
 men stood on the shore of this beautiful bay, watching the lights 
 flash from hundreds of ships. The bay seemed encircled by count- 
 less stars. The faces of these two men bore the unmistakable 
 stamp of their Hebrew origin. The younger, a man in the prime of 
 life, was tall, athletic and finely proportioned. His jet black hair 
 was streaked with gray. His face was clean shaven, and his 
 features large and well cut. His large, dark eyes glowed with in- 
 tense brightness beneath heavy, black brows. He supported with 
 patient solicitude an infirm old man, who leaned upon his arm, and 
 gazed with an absent, melancholy expression at the twinkling 
 lights in the harbor. 
 
 At last the aged Jew turned with an air of impatience, and 
 
 (1) 
 
2 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 said in a feeble voice: ' 'Ezra, this scene wearies me. Let us return. " 
 
 They walked slowly on for a few paces, when the old man 
 stopped, leaned heavily on the arm of the younger, and gasped for 
 breath. The paroxysm soon passed, and he said, fretfully: 
 
 "Walk more slowly, my son. This cursed climate deprives me 
 of all my strength, strength that I cannot afford to lose. We shall 
 need it, Ezra! We shall need it!" 
 
 "God grant that it may not fail us, father, until our hopes 
 are crowned by fruition. The night has been dark, but let us 
 trust the dawn is not far distant." 
 
 When they had walked on for some distance, and had entered 
 the old part of the city, a figure enveloped in a cloak approached 
 and addressed the aged Israelite in a low tone. The latter start- 
 ed, and uttered a smothered exclamation of surprise. The cloaked 
 figure, evidently a woman, walked on beside them in silence. 
 
 "Zarowski," called a voice from the opposite side of the street, 
 "wait a moment, I wish to speak with you." 
 
 A tall Jew emerged from the shadow of a portico, and joined 
 the group who awaited his approach. 
 
 The figure in the cloak gave a perceptible start at the appear- 
 ance of this man, and walked on some distance ahead, while the 
 three men conversed. At last the old man raised his voice and 
 said earnestly: "I tell you she will never consent, never! Though 
 the Siberian snows lie mountain deep over him. But what proof 
 have you that he is dead? 
 
 "The best of proofs, Zrrowski, a letter just received from 
 Russia, in which is the statement that recently a hundred Siberi- 
 an exiles perished during the long march over frozen ground when 
 the prisoners were conveyed from Tomsk to Irkutsk. Among the 
 convicts were fifteen Jews, the remnant of those banished for 
 political offenses in January, 1889. Only two women survived of 
 our race out of the entire band. My friend was unable to ascer- 
 tain who these were. Ezra, perhaps one of them—" 
 
 "Perhaps, " interrupted the athlete, with a bitter smile. ' 'But 
 as there is no way of ascertaining, we will not discuss the matter. 
 Father, these dews are not good for you. You should not risk this 
 exposure. If the fever should attack you—" 
 
 "True, my son, true! Let us go. Adieu, Beriah. We will 
 talk of this another time. 'Tis sad news you bring! Poor Miriam! 
 
 The father and son walked on for a while without speaking, 
 then the old man said: "Shall we tell her, Ezra?" 
 
 "Not until there is proof that this report is true," replied the 
 son. "Nevertheless, this news may be a source of relief. Better— 
 a thousand times better— death, than a life-long exile in that fear- 
 ful country! 
 
 "Blessed Abraham!" exclaimed the old man. It is enough to 
 make me wish I slumbered with my fathers, where no knowledge 
 of tyranny and suffering could ever reach me. " 
 
Under Brazillian Skies. 3 
 
 They now stopped before a rude stone dwelling in rather 
 dilapidated condition, whose heavy floor of pannelled mahogany 
 closed softly when they had entered. And the shadows of night 
 began to fall. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The house occupied by Alvin Holt, a cinchona merchant from 
 New York, was pleasantly located near the Passeo Publico, the 
 oldest park in Rio Janeiro. 
 
 All the houses in this part of the city are built of stone or 
 stuccoed brick, and every yard is ornamented by a flower garden 
 bright with tropical plants. The dwellings and gardens are en- 
 closed by stone fences several feet high, surmounted by light iron 
 railings. 
 
 The house occupied by the merchant and his family did not 
 materially differ from its neighbors. It was a two-story stone 
 structure with veranda in front, where clustering vines and flower- 
 ing plants filled the air with delicious fragrance. 
 
 In this cool retreat, on a sultry afternoon, sat two women. 
 Dorothy Holt, the elder of the two, was now in the full bloom of 
 young womanhood, and her dark, rich beauty was thrown into re- 
 lief by the flaxen hair, sky blue eyes and fair complexion of her 
 cousin, Li Hie Sessford, who at this moment was engaged in twist- 
 ing some vines into more artistic convolutions over the trellis work 
 of the veranda. 
 
 The younger girl was scarcely seventeen, slender and grace- 
 ful. She was so much occupied with the vine that she did not 
 notice the approach of a man until he addressed her: 
 
 " 'Sweet rose of the rosebud garden of girls, Queen lily and 
 rose in one, ' May I come in? This cool retreat looks very inviting 
 after an hour's walk in the scorching sun." 
 
 When the speaker had entered the veranda and seated himself 
 in a rustic chair between the women, he turned with a smile to 
 Lillie Sessford, who was saying: 
 
 "Mr. Littlefield, by what lucky chance do we meet you in this 
 country? Did you drop from the clouds?" 
 
 "Not exactly. I am travelling with Felix Dayne, an old 
 friend of yours, I believe, and also an acquaintance and admirer of 
 Miss Holt's. Dayne is delighted, charmed, with everything here. 
 He did not even tire of a sea voyage of four weeks' duration, 
 with nothing to break the monotony but an occasional pull up at 
 a prosy island, inhabited by black savages, who assail one with out- 
 landish gibberish as unintelligible as the chatter of crows and 
 magpies. ' ' 
 
]+ Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 "For shame, Mr. Littlefield!" exclaimed Lillie. "Mr. Dayne 
 is quite right. For some of those islands are simply delightful. I 
 was charmed with Barbados and Martinique, and could have spent 
 whole weeks in either place. The shop windows, full of all sorts of 
 curios, quite captivated me. I emptied my purse absolutely, and 
 secured enough treasures to start a museum. Do come inside, and 
 take a peep at my valuable possessions." 
 
 She ushered him into a room airy and cool, and destitute of 
 carpet. The furniture consisted chiefly of small marble-top tables 
 and handsome rugs. These tables were literally loaded with all 
 sorts of bric-a-brac, treasures from sea and shore; stuffed birds of 
 rare and gorgeous plumage, butterflies as exquisite as flowers, 
 beautiful black and red Brazillian beans, ornaments made of the 
 tiniest seeds, fans made of the bright feathers of tropical birds, 
 and some as exquisite as wax, made from the delicate fibre of the 
 Spanish bayonet. 
 
 Fastening some of the butterflies in her hair, Lillie Sessford 
 declared herself the queen of all the fairies. She looked so be- 
 witching in her pink and white loveliness, her piquancy and her 
 youth, that Cyrus Littlefield, blase man of the world though he 
 was, felt his pulses thrill with delight, as he watched her. 
 
 "Dayne is making a sketch of Sugarloaf Mountain this after- 
 noon. He ought to be here to paint you." 
 
 "I never wear artificial roses, thank you; mine are real;" and 
 she touched her cheeks with coquettish grace. "Mr. Dayne has the 
 execrable taste to admire Dorothy more than he does me. When 
 she is by, he has no eyes for any other woman. ' ' 
 
 "What a woe-be-gone expression! Are you jealous?" 
 
 ' Tearfully so. Mr. Dayne is my beau ideal. ' ' 
 
 "I will inform him of your good opinion. Shall I?" 
 
 "Of course not. Let him make the discovery himself." 
 
 "And Miss Holt?" 
 
 "She does' nt care a snap for him. But tell me, is he really 
 in love with her?" 
 
 "Desperately! There is not the slightest chance for any de- 
 signing charmer to win his heart. Absolutely none. So break 
 your heart and die; or else send Miss Holt to Siberia or the North 
 Pole." 
 
 ' 'Heartless man. " She leaned languidly back in her chair, with 
 a rippling laugh, and toyed with her fan of snow white feathers. 
 
 "And you really like Dayne?" 
 
 " Immensely!" 
 
 "This is confidential, I suppose." 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 "And you have kept his image in your heart for a whole 
 year? What a marvel of constancy!" 
 
 "Yes, some women can love a year and a day; not so, men. 
 Hush! here comes Dorothy." 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Mr. Littlefield," said Dorothy, "you have not yet told us how 
 you are pleased with this part of the world." 
 
 "We arrived here just a week ago. Everything is so strange 
 that I suppose I shall be interested as long as the novelty lasts. 
 The Brazilians are so provokingly deliberate and so tiresomely 
 polite that if I did not possess the patience of Job I could not sub- 
 mit to wait two hours when I order a cup of coffee, or smile when 
 a native shakes my hand for the tenth time in six hours. And the 
 way these men have of hugging, and slapping each other on the 
 back looks too ridiculous." 
 
 "Yes," said Dorothy. "And to see wood tied in bundles and 
 strapped on the backs of mules, and turkeys driven in droves 
 through the streets, just as we drive sheep and cattle to market." 
 
 "By the way," said Littlefield, "did you ever see anything 
 half so tough and tasteless as these same turkeys? I attempted to 
 eat some to-day for dinner, and I verily believe it would have 
 choked me but for the timely arrival of a glass of French wine. 
 By the way, how do you folks manage to exist on the abominable 
 diet of these Hottentots?" 
 
 "0, we brought our faithful cook with us. She can furnish 
 us with our native dishes when we like, but I usually prefer any- 
 thing that is foreign. I like to fancy myself a real Brazillian," 
 said Lillie. 
 
 "The Lord deliver me from your foreign dishes!" said Little- 
 field. "Miss Holt, can't you teach your cousin to be more patriotic?" 
 
 "I am afraid Lillie is incorrigible," said Dorothy with a 
 smile. 
 
 "By the way, Mr. Littlefield, Dorothy and I have begun to 
 study Portugese, so as to be able to understand what the girl 
 over the way says to her sweetheart when he comes and stands un- 
 der the veranda to talk with her. He is not permitted to go inside, 
 you know, unless he chooses that all the family shall hear what he 
 has to say to his lady-love. Isn't this an abominable custom?" 
 
 Littlefield laughed and said he did not think it half so bad as 
 the restriction which prevented a fellow from taking his sweet- 
 heart to the opera or any other place of amusement without being 
 accompanied by the entire family, whose admission fee he was 
 expected to pay. 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by Dorothy's father. 
 Mr. Holt was a tall, spare man, with iron-grey hair, florid com- 
 plexion, and an expression of benevolence mingled with intelligence 
 and shrewdness. He had a pleasant smile, which came quickly 
 when he recognized Littlefield. 
 
 "My dear fellow, I am so glad to see you! What lucky wind 
 wafted you to these distant parts?" 
 
6 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 'The wind of chance. I suppose the trade wind brought you 
 
 over. ' ' 
 
 "Yes. I am on the search for cinchona trees, and want to 
 collect vast quantities of bark; so I shall probably be here for 
 several months." 
 
 "What have you done with Dayne? Did you bring him with 
 you?" 
 
 1 'No, he brought me. Having exhausted all the resources of 
 art in his own country, he decided to seek 'fresh fields and pas- 
 tures new'. I found it hard to amuse myself during a season of 
 protracted leisure, so I concluded to come with him." 
 
 "I am now making arrangements," said Mr. Holt, "to leave 
 next week on a tour up the Amazon, for the purpose of examining 
 the trees of the great forest. I expect I shall press you young men 
 into service. I shall be delighted if you will join the expedition, and 
 give me some assistance as well as the pleasure of your company, 
 provided you have nothing better on foot." 
 
 "I will speak to Dayne about it. I imagine nothing would 
 please him better. As for myself, I shall be delighted to accept 
 your invitation. I am sure you may count on us." 
 
 Littlefield took his departure. He walked with his usual in- 
 dolent saunter to join his friend. 
 
 The artist had finished his day's work, and was leaning 
 with an air of meditation against the trunk of a large palm. Upon 
 the approach of Littlefield he arose and said: 
 
 "I have had a delightful afternoon; but where have you been? 
 You have been gone at least three hours. See! It is nearly sunset, 
 and I have finished my sketch." 
 
 "I, too, have had a delightful afternoon," said Littlefield," 
 and I would wager a good deal that you can't guess whom I have 
 
 seen." 
 
 Dayne looked at him enquiringly. 
 
 "Not Miss Sessford and Miss Holt?" 
 
 "The very same. But how, in the name of common sense, did 
 you happen to guess?" 
 
 "Don't know, I am sure. Merely by accident, I presume. But 
 why that quizzical expression?" 
 
 "Look here, old boy, I believe you have forestalled me in mak- 
 ing this discovery, and for some reason you have kept it to your- 
 self. Now own up." 
 
 "You never were more mistaken. I have done nothing of the 
 sort." 
 
 "Then I have it: you had, by some means, gotten information 
 that they were here before you decided to come yourself. Come, 
 confess. I believe I am right this time." 
 
 Dayne laughed. "Well, suppose you are. Have you anything 
 to complain of in my conduct?" 
 
 "You sly dog!" said Littlefield, and he threw back his 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 7 
 
 head and laughed. 
 
 "You seem to find the subject very amusing," said Dayne, a 
 little nettled. 
 
 "Upon my soul, this is rich!" said Littlefield, "I know all men 
 make fools of themselves in one way or another when they fall in 
 love; but I never expected to see one so far gone as to travel five 
 thousand miles for the sake of seeing the woman who had rejected 
 him." 
 
 "Have I ever told you that she rejected me?" 
 
 1 'That was not necessary, my dear boy. I am not blind. How- 
 ever, 'faint heart never won fair lady', and there is no accounting 
 for these women, they frown to-day and smile to-morrow, and 
 vice versa. It is amusing enough to talk with them, but hang me! 
 if one of them, be she the fairest of her sex, shall ever have the 
 satisfaction of making Cyrus Littlefield a greater fool than his 
 Maker intended him." 
 
 "Indeed! I predict that when you fall in love you will be one 
 of the sickliest sentimentalists that ever breathed. You deem 
 your heart an impregnable fortress, but Cupid will one day find a 
 loop-hole through which to send his well-directed, fire-tipped dart, 
 and the wound will be deeper for having been delayed." 
 
 "0, I have been in love a score of times, and expect to fall a 
 victim again and again before I reach my dotage," said Littlefeld, 
 nonchalantly. 
 
 "Do you never intend to marry?" 
 
 "Not I! Give me a life of single blessedness, if you please." 
 
 "I thought last summer that you admired Miss Sessford. She 
 is very beautiful and charming. ' ' 
 
 "So I did, and so she is, but 
 
 'Shall I, wasting in despair, 
 
 Die because a woman's fair?' 
 
 Not if I know myself" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 One bright morning, as Dorothy was enjoying her usual walk 
 through the city, she was joined by an Episcopal clergyman. 
 
 "This meeting is most opportune, Miss Dorothy," he said. "I 
 was just thinking of you, and wishing to take you to see a sick 
 child, the son of a Russian Jewess whose family has located here 
 since the late expulsion of the Jews from Russia. The boy receiv- 
 ed an injury in his infancy, and is a hopeless cripple. I accident- 
 ly made his acquaintance, and he has taken a wonderful liking 
 to me. He seems to be a great pet, and the family permit me to 
 
8 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 visit him, and talk to him of our religion, since it pleases and com- 
 forts him." 
 
 "What a noble life is that of a missionary!" said Dorothy, 
 musingly. "Have you made many converts to the faith of late?" 
 
 "No, I regret to say the work is slow; but I am not discourag- 
 ed. We must sow the good seed, and wait patiently for the com- 
 ing harvest. ' ' 
 
 They now stopped before a low stone dwelling. The heavy 
 door of pannelled mahogany was opened by a woman whose face, 
 though pale and worn, bore traces of remarkable beauty, 
 
 "Mrs. Branski," said the missionary, "I have at last brought 
 Miss Holt to see little David. She is the American lady of whom 
 I spoke to you yesterday." 
 
 The Jewess extended her hand, and said cordially: "Miss Holt, 
 I am grateful for this visit. I do not feel that you are a stranger, 
 as Mr. Granby has so often spoken to me of you. Come in and 
 see my sick boy." 
 
 The child reclined on a couch, beside which lay his crutches. 
 A smile lighted his pale face when the missionary took his hand. 
 
 "David, this is Miss Holt, the lady I told you about, and prom- 
 ised to bring to see you. She will read to you, and sing for you, 
 or do anything to entertain you." 
 
 "I am so glad," said the child, with a grateful look on his wan 
 face. ' 'Uncle Ezra sings for me sometimes, and so does my mother; 
 but I like best to hear the sweet church music which they sing in 
 Mr. Granby's church. I go there sometimes with him. Do you 
 know any of those pretty hymns?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and I will sing as many as you like. Which is 
 your favorite?" 
 
 " 'Rock of Ages, ' please sing that for me. And if you play the 
 guitar, take Uncle Ezra's over there. He won't care." 
 
 Dorothy reached for the instrument. She touched the strings 
 with skilled fingers, and in a voice sweet and low sang the old fa- 
 miliar melody. Again and again she sang the sweet, sacred songs 
 so dear to her heart, and the boy listened with his dark eyes full 
 of feeling. And there was another listener unperceived by the 
 occupants of the room— a man who stood spellbound just outside 
 the threshold. His expression would have puzzled even a 
 shrewd observer. His large dark eyes were fixed on the pave- 
 ment; not a muscle of his face moved. Suddenly the music 
 stopped, and as suddenly he turned toward the house, pausing 
 for a moment before entering the room from whence had pro- 
 ceeded the dulcet strains. Dorothy had not even heard a foot 
 step, but she looked up and saw the man standing in the door 
 with his eyes riveted upon her face. A strange thrill passed 
 through her as she met this man's gaze. Her face flushed and 
 paled, and she could hear her heart beat. It was only a second 
 that the man stood thus looking into her eyes, then he came into 
 the room and extended his hand to Mr. Granby. The mission- 
 
Under Brazillian Skies g 
 
 ary arose and presented him to Dorothy as, Ezra Zarowski, 
 David's uncle. The Jew was tall, dark, and distinguished looking-. 
 His manner was graceful and polished. He spoke only a few 
 words to Dorothy, addressing his conversation chiefly to the miss- 
 ionary. In a few moments Dorothy arose, and bidding David good- 
 bye, said it was time for her to be going. As she bowed her a- 
 dieus to Ezra Zarowski, again their eyes met, and again she felt 
 a strange thrill under that penetrating glance. 
 
 'You seem well acquainted with these Jews," she said to Mr. 
 Granby as soon as they left the house. 
 
 "On the contrary I know them but slightly, but they have im- 
 pressed me favorably. This Ezra seems a fine fellow, and interests 
 me greatly; his devotion to David is beautiful. And his father, 
 old Zarowski, is a type well worth studying. Mrs. Branski and 
 her son have aroused my sympathy. I do not know whether she is 
 widow or deserted wife, but she has evidently passed through the 
 deep waters of affliction. They are very reserved. I know al- 
 most nothing of their history. I only know that they are Russian 
 Jews who formerly lived in St. Petersburg. The boy once spoke 
 to me of his father as if he was still living, but seeing that the 
 subject pained his mother he hung his head and abruptly stopped 
 talking. The child is very gentle, and seems kindly disposed to- 
 ward every one, with a single exception. A certain Jew, named 
 Beriah, both he and his mother dislike, although this man mani- 
 fests considerable interest in them. Ezra and the elder Zawowski 
 seem quite friendly with this Beriah. I have several times found 
 them engaged in apparently confidential conversation. I imagine 
 he is an old friend who came with them from Russia. He seems 
 to be very inoffensive; and the thing I can't understand is why 
 Madam Branski and David so much dislike him. They doubtless 
 have reasons, of which I am ignorant." 
 
 "Poor little David!" said Dorothy. "How sad to be so afflict- 
 ed." 
 
 ' 'Yes, but you must remember that 'God tempers the wind to 
 the shorn lamb,' and even in this life gives some compensation 
 for every loss. 
 
 " 'There is no ruined life beyond the smile of heaven, 
 And compensating grace for every loss is given; 
 
 The Coliseum's shell is loved of flower and vine, 
 And through its shattered rents the peaceful planets shine?' " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The moonlight shimmering through the palm branches of the 
 Passieo Publico, fell in long flakes of light on the richly tinted 
 foliage of the shrubbery, and turned the spray of the fountains 
 
10 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 into silver. The air was filled with the music of the nightly 
 serenade, and and the marble promenade which fronts the bay 
 was gay with the bright dresses of the Rio women, who had come 
 with their escorts to this cool retreat. As Dorothy Holt and Felix 
 Dayne entered the park, they made their way to a rustic seat be- 
 neath the branches of a large palm, in a retired spot, where the 
 hum of voices reached, but could not disturb them. 
 
 "How beautiful the park looks by moonlight," said Dayne, "a 
 veritable paradise. But after all, 'the mind is its own place, ' and 
 one word of yours could change this heaven into a hell. Dorothy, 
 you have known for a long time that I love you. I crossed the ocean 
 for the sake of seeing you. A year ago you told me that you did not 
 love me, but now— Tell me, Dorothy, that you have learned to 
 care for me just a little." 
 
 "P'elix, I feel for you respect, esteem, affection; but I do not 
 love you; not as a woman should love the man she marries." 
 
 "Suppose I could be satisfied with the other? But tell me — is 
 there anyone else?" 
 
 There was a pause, then she said slowly: "Years ago, when 
 I was only sixteen, I loved a man with all the passionate devotion 
 of which my young heart was capable. We were engaged to be 
 married, but a misunderstanding arose between us which was 
 never reconciled. I always knew he loved me, but he was proud 
 and unforgiving; a man of adamant. I will not go into particu- 
 lars, suffice it to say, that he was jealous without cause, became 
 angry with me over a trifling matter, and would never forgive me. 
 I wrote him explaining the whole affair, and offering to release 
 him if he desired. His reply was cold and formal, and I know 
 his pride prompted it. 
 
 He said he knew I had never really loved him; that I had 
 broken his heart, and ruined his life, and that he was going where 
 he could never see me again. He did this, went West, and passed 
 out of my life, forever. 
 
 "Is he still living?" asked Dayne. 
 
 "When I last heard from him he was living in California, and 
 still unmarried." 
 
 "Well, said Dayne, "is that all?" 
 
 "That is all. My love is dead; it died long ago; but I have 
 not forgotten what it was while it lasted, and it was entirely differ- 
 ent from the feeling I have for you." 
 
 ' 'The love of maturer years must necessarily differ from a girl- 
 ish fancy at sixteen, Dorothy." 
 
 "Yes, but the romantic fancy of a girl compared with the 
 deep love of a woman is 'as moonlight unto sunlight; or as water 
 unto wine.' " 
 
 "Do you speak from experience?" 
 
 "No, but my woman's heart tells me this. Felix, believe me, I 
 do not fail to value the love you offer me, I wish with all my heart 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 11 
 
 that I could return it measure for measure. Alas! 'we love whom 
 we must, not whom we would love'." 
 
 "Dorothy, I cannot believe that it would be impossible for you 
 to love me. Should you marry me, my deep and undying devotion 
 to you would in time compel your love. I would make you love me. ' ' 
 
 She smiled sadly, turning away her face. He went on: "Dor- 
 othy, without you my life will be merely a valueless existence, 
 joyless, bleak and desolate." 
 
 "Do not say that. One so gifted as you can make life grand 
 and glorious. Fail not to appreciate the value of this great talent 
 which God has given you. Some coveted joys are denied you; 
 what matter? So long as you have your art, your talent, your life 
 will be full of grand possibilities." 
 
 "Not so. Before I met you, no monk in his cell could have 
 been more indifferent to the charms of woman than I. Art was 
 my idol, and I bowed before its shrine in passionate adoration. Bat 
 you came into my life and taught me that there is something high- 
 er and holier than art. I had thought that spiritual love was only 
 a poet's dream. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and now I 
 know that it is the divinest thing on earth. When a man loves a 
 woman as I love you she can make of him what she will. Take 
 me into your life, be my wife, and I shall not fail to achieve all 
 the goodness and the greatness of which I may be capable. Cast 
 me out of your life and I dread to think of the consequences." 
 
 "And does my love, my marrying you, mean so much to you? 
 Is it possible that I, a frail women, have the making or the mar- 
 ring of your destiny?'' 
 
 Her face was as pale as the white flowers on her bosom. 
 
 "Absolutely, Dorothy, absolutely!" 
 
 "And you would be willing to marry me, knowing that I feel 
 for you only respect, esteem and affection?" 
 
 ' 'Yes, for I have no fear that I should fail to win your love in 
 time. Only promise to marry me, and I will wait for months, even 
 years, if you wish. When you have given your pledge, when you 
 feel that you are my affianced wife, you will begin to love me, and 
 the love will grow. Try it, Dorothy. Give me your pledge to- 
 night. Will you marry me some day? Say that some day you 
 will be my wife, my good angel." 
 
 She was deeply touched by his pleading. A faint color rose 
 to her cheek and her voice faltered, as she replied: "Since I love 
 no other, nor ever can perhaps, since all this means so much to 
 you, then I will do as you wish. I — " 
 
 They now perceived the approach of two men engaged in 
 earnest conversation, one of whom Dorothy recognized as the Jew, 
 Ezra Zarowski. His companion, evidently of the same nationality, 
 was unknown to her. As they drew near, Zarowski was saying: 
 
 "As I have before told you, Beriah, I bear you no grudge. 
 You but did your duty. It is just that the wicked should suffer 
 
12 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 for their crimes." 
 
 "If I knew that I had been the cause of unhappiness to you/' 
 said the other," it would give me sincere regret, but: — " 
 
 "Give yourself no uneasiness on that score," replied Zarowski, 
 "I never regarded the event as a misfortune, and only lament the 
 fate of poor Branski, and the blight it has cast over my sister's 
 life. But you know Beriah, I have never considered you culpable." 
 
 The speaker, becoming aware of the proximity of Dayne and 
 Dorothy, who made a simultaneous movement to attract his atten- 
 tion, gave a slight start, hesitated a moment, then advanced, lift- 
 ed his hat, and addressed Dorothy: 
 
 ' 'I beg your pardon for this intrusion, Miss Holt. This spot 
 appeared to be deserted, and to offer a favorable opportunity for a 
 little private talk with my friend. We did not perceive your 
 presence until a moment ago." 
 
 Dorothy face flushed with anger, not at the intrusion, but at 
 the speaker's words. She turned to him with cold dignity, and said: 
 
 "Mr. Zarowski, allow me to present to you my friend, Mr. 
 Dayne." 
 
 The two men greeted each other with a formal bow; then, 
 turning to Dorothy, the Jew said: 
 
 "I cannot but regard this chance meeting as fortunate, Miss 
 Holt, since I have received a commission to deliver a message to 
 you from my little nephew, in whom you have shown such a kindly 
 interest. He wishes me to remind you that your promise to visit 
 him has remained for a long time unfulfilled. Mr. Granby told me 
 this morning that you expected soon to go with your father on a 
 tour up the Amazon, and he begs that you will not leave without 
 again seeing him. He continues quite ill." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was sunset on the great Montana. Along the banks of the 
 Amazon gleamed the white tents of the cinchona merchant and his 
 cascarilleros. Beneath the drooping branches of a large mimosa 
 Dorothy and Lillie were arranging a table for the family repast. 
 At the distance of a few hundred yards, buxom Dinah was per- 
 forming a like office, in preparation for the bark hunters, who 
 were momentarily expected. Littlefield, reclining beneath a tall 
 patawa palm, was idly watching the movements of the women and 
 thoroughly enjoying the situation. 
 
 "0, Mr. Littlefield," said Lily, tripping gayly up to him, 
 "will you have some roasted armadillo for supper?" 
 
 ' 1 could not think of depriving you of your long-coveted dish, 
 though I admit the very thought of it makes my mouth water. I 
 shall expect you to devour the whole animal; shell and all." 
 
Under Brazillian Skies. 13 
 
 "Then your expectation will not be fulfilled, for I shall preserve 
 the curious coat of arms to swell my list of treasures. Mr. Dayne 
 is a perfect jewel. Only think of his capturing an armadillo just to 
 gratify my curiosity? You would not have been so accommodating, 
 sir." 
 
 "I shall slay a jaguar tomorrow, and bring you his skin as a 
 trophy. " 
 
 "I have not much faith in your prowess as a hunter." 
 
 "How have I merited such an opinion? I demand an instant 
 explanation." 
 
 ' '0, 1 judge of your qualities as a hunter on general principles." 
 
 "This is unbearable," said Littlefield, springing to his feet. 
 1 'Now, all ye beasts of the forest, beware, for tomorrow a formidable 
 enemy shall beard you in your dens, and your dead bodies shall be 
 brought as ghastly trophies to this calumnious and blood-thirsty 
 maiden!" 
 
 "Very well then, I shall suspend my judgment until tomorrow, 
 when Mr.* Dayne will take his post as sentinel and give you an op- 
 portunity for displaying your skill." 
 
 At this moment a cracking of branches was heard, followed by 
 the tramp of many feet; and the bark hunters, headed by Mr. Holt, 
 emerged from the forest, with Dayne bringing up the rear. The 
 cascarilleros were native Brazillians, armed with axes and scalping 
 knives, which were used in felling and stripping the cinchona trees. 
 
 "Here comes our Nimrod," said Lily, "what valuable trophy 
 have we this time?" 
 
 She clapped her hands and danced for joy when Dayne exhib- 
 ited a scarlet flamingo, and a large jacana, or water-hen. Mr. Holt 
 brought in a bunch of macaws and toucans, and one of the Indians 
 a capivara. 
 
 All was excitement now, and Lily at once proceeded to secure 
 the crest of twelve black feathers which ornamented the neck of 
 the jacana, also the horny spurs from its wings, which, with some 
 of the scarlet plumage of the flamingo, she added to her stock of 
 curios. 
 
 Our party now sat down to regale themselves after the labors 
 of the day. 
 
 "Mr. Dayne, can I help you to cassava?" asked Lily, passing a 
 plate of bread made from the yucca plant. "It is very palatable." 
 
 "These roasted peach palms are delicious," exclaimed Mr. Holt. 
 
 "I vow, this is a feast fit for the Gods," said the artist, helping 
 himself to mangoes and sweet limes. 
 
 All at once Littlefield jumped up, grabbed a plate, and going to 
 the table occupied by the Brazillians, returned with a huge chunk of 
 armadillo, which he placed before Lily. 
 
 ' 'I have no intention to be deprived of the pleasure of witness- 
 ing your relish of this great dish," said he. 
 
 "0, Dinah! how could you have made such a mistake as to give 
 
1U Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 my precious armadillo to the cascarilleros?" said she, proceeding at 
 once to convey a small morsel to her mouth. It was evident from 
 her expression that the flavor was not agreeable, but she made he- 
 roic efforts to consume a small portion. Littlefield watched her with 
 an amused smile. With a glance at him half merry, half defiant, 
 she declared roasted armadillo superior to anything she ever tasted, 
 and insisted that everyone at the table should try it. They did so, 
 amid a chorus of laughter. Littlefield, making a wry face, declared 
 that next to Rio turkey it was the most abominamble flesh the world 
 afforded. 
 
 After supper the bark hunters retired to their tents, leaving 
 one of their number to keep the first watch. Mr. Holt was fatigued, 
 but before retiring he told the party of the fine mancha of cinchona 
 trees which he had that day discovered, together with serveral splen- 
 did specimens of laxa, which produces the best quality of Peruvian 
 bark. "There are thirty or forty species of cinchona trees, but we 
 have found only eight. I have a number of trees felled, and the 
 bark cut in sections and left to dry. My cascarilleros worked like 
 Trojans, and if we have a like success every day, this forest will 
 prove a perfect bonanza." 
 
 "Did you find many varieties of palm?" asked Littlefield of 
 Dayne. 
 
 "Only three," replied the artist: "the sago, the date, and the 
 busso. The latter has leaves thirty feet long, which are often used 
 for thatching houses. It was a great sight to me. By the way, miss 
 Dorothy, I have brought you a sprig of smilax, and also some floss 
 from the silk cotton tree, which is said to stop bleeding. Be sure 
 to preserve the latter in case it may be needed. " 
 
 Mr. Holt and the artist being overcome by fatigue, now retired 
 to their tent, which was only a short distance from that occupied 
 by the women. To-night Littlefield had the first watch in this quar- 
 ter of the encampment, and as it was quite early, Dorothy and Lily 
 still remained outside, in their hammocks, which were swung under 
 some trees growing conveniently near. 
 
 Littlefield occasionally made a circuit of inspection, carrying a 
 loaded rifle on his shoulder, and a brace of pistols in a belt conceal- 
 ed beneath his scarlet poncho of vicuna wool. All the men of the 
 expedition wore ponchos of different colors and textures. This is a 
 garment much used in South America. It is very much the size and 
 shape of an ordinary blanket, with an aperture for the head, and 
 loosely flowing ends dyed a great variety of bright colors. This 
 garment, which serves the double purpose of a cloak by day and a 
 bed by night, was adopted by our party for convenience. Between 
 the rounds of inspection Littlefield sat with Lily and Dorothy. 
 The situation had a novel and romantic charm for all, especially for 
 Lily, who was very impressionable. She reclined languidly in her 
 hammock, and let her imagination have full reign. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts," said Littlefield, remarking her 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 15 
 
 abstracted expression. 
 
 1 'You'll have to make a more tempting offer. I cannot dispose 
 of them for such a trifle." 
 
 "Well then, my pistols, my poncho." 
 
 "All equally valueless." 
 
 1 'Then I offer you my kingdom, my — anything that I possess 
 for a disclosure of your abstruse meditations." 
 
 ' 'You haven't any kingdom, nor anything worth having, so I 
 shall keep my abstruse meditations' to myself," and she turned her 
 face away from him, and hummed an air from "The little Tycoon." 
 Littlefield laughed. 
 
 "Miss Dorothy, what do you think of such treatment? Your 
 cousin has shocking manners." 
 
 Dorothy smiled, and Lily stopped singing long enough to say, 
 "Evil communication, etc." 
 
 ' 'Littlefield reached over, gave her hammock a toss, then walk- 
 ed to some distance, and stood with his back to her, talking to 
 Dorothy. He questioned her concerning her late visit to little David 
 Branski. She said she hoped on her return to induce his mother 
 to allow him to spend a week with her. 
 
 As Lily had been perfectly quiet for some time— a very unu- 
 sual thing — Littefield walked up to her hammock, addressed some 
 remark to her, and found her sound asleep. There was no moon 
 that night, but a swinging lantern within the tent threw a flickering 
 light on the face of the sleeper, and Littlefield was loath to turn 
 away from the fair vision. He whispered Dorothy not to awaken 
 her until his return, as it was now time to make his round again. 
 
 All was still in the vast forest, save now and then the scream 
 of the alma perdida, or lost soul, a night hawk whose mournful 
 cry has given rise to its gloomy appellation. 
 
 Seeing nothing to excite his alarm, Littlefield was about to 
 return to the women, when his attention was arrested by a whirring 
 noise. Going to the back of the tents, he saw old Dinah sitting in 
 the door, fast asleep, her head lolling on her breast. He found the 
 noise to proceed from the wings of some bird hovering over the 
 old woman's head. A few drops of blood trickling down her neck 
 caused a horrible suspicion to enter his mind. With a blow from 
 his rifle he struck down the creature, and picking it up beheld the 
 hideous from of the phyllostoma, or blood-sucking vampire. The 
 large membranous wings, long snout, and red hair of the bat gave 
 it a very repulsive appearance; and Littlefield, securing it to the 
 branch of a tree by a stout cord, concluded to say nothing of his 
 adventure until morning. The remaining hours of the watch seemed 
 very long to him, as the women had retired at ten o'clock; but he 
 managed to while away the time taking notes of the wonders of the 
 great forest. At twelve o'clock he called Dayne, and turned in 
 for the night. 
 
 Dayne took his post, and for an hour nothing happened to dis- 
 
16 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 • 
 
 turb him; when suddenly he was startled by a distant roar which 
 shook the forest, and was almost blood-curdling in its ferocity. 
 
 "Carrambo!" cried the Indian sentry. "The jaguar! the jagu- 
 ar!" 
 
 For a time all was excitement and dread, but the roars soon 
 sounded farther off, and finally ceased altogether; and silence again 
 brooded over the scene. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Holt and the other bark hunters made 
 an early start for the cinchona mancha, and the artist was left in 
 charge of the camp. He took his sketching material beneath the 
 shade of a great zamang tree, which towered seventy feet high. 
 Looking up from his work he observed Dorothy, standing with 
 a preoccupied air, beneath a tall patawa close by, with a clus- 
 ter of the violet fruit in her hand. Other clusters of the same 
 oval, plum-like fruit hung over her head, just peeping from beneath 
 the green leaves. She wore a clinging white dress, and was with- 
 out other ornament than her own natural charms; and Dayne was 
 forcibly struck by her Madonna-like beauty. He immediately shift- 
 ed his material, as the idea occured to him to paint her portrait as 
 she stood before him. She remained so long without moving that 
 the artist had time to make a hasty sketch before she observed him. 
 He saw with delight that he had faithfully caught her attitude and 
 expression. 
 
 Lillie was in the door of the tent examining with much interest 
 the vampire bat which Littlefield had killed the previous night; 
 every now and then frightening old Dinah by bringing the horrid 
 creature in too close proximity to her bare feet, by means of a stick 
 which the mischievous girl held in her hand. 
 
 "Bless de Lord," exclaimed the old negress, "jest ter think 
 dat creeter had his tumble snout stuck in de back er my neck just 
 a suckin' my blood fer dear life. I might ha' been er dead corpse 
 ef it hadn' been fer Mr. Littlefield. It makes me feel creepy jest 
 to study 'bout it." 
 
 The bark hunters took lunch with them and did not return till 
 sunset. When they made their appearence they were preceeded by 
 Littlefield, who held aloft the spotted, yellow skin of some animal 
 he had slain, while Lillie running to meet him, shouted. 
 
 11 'Hail to the chief 
 
 Who in triumph advances!' " 
 
 As the beautiful hide was flung at her feet, Littlefield said, 
 ' 'Behold, fair lady, the savage ocelot— first cousin to the dreadful 
 jaguar, slain at the most deadly peril, by the bold hunter whose 
 courage you dared yesterday to question. " 
 
 "I blush for my short-sightedness, and humbly solicit the par- 
 don of the brave champion who has this day won his spurs in sin- 
 gle combat." 
 
 "Queen of love and beauty," quoth Littlefield, kneeling on the 
 trophy at her feet, "deign to bestow upon the victor some token of 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 17 
 
 your regard.'' 
 
 Smiling", she graciously extended her hand to Littlefield, who 
 kissed it with much gallantry. Dorothy and the artist now came 
 up. The latter, waving his sombrero over his head, exclaimed: 
 "Fortuna juvat or denies!" 
 
 "Veni, vidi, vici" replied Littlefield, rising and going towards 
 the camp. 
 
 Mr. Holt now joined them and gave a description of some curi- 
 ous trees he had seen that day. Those which interested him most 
 were the valador, with its flying seeds, the marima, or shirt tree, 
 and the pashiuba palm, with its pinnate leaves, and protruding 
 roots, rising to a distance of twelve feet above the ground, so 
 that a man could safely stand beneath the trunk. The fruit of 
 this tree is oval and red. 
 
 That night Mr. Holt occupied himself between the rounds of 
 inspection by removing the wax from the leaves of the wax palm, 
 for, the purpose of making on the morrow, a new supply of candles. 
 One of these waxen tapers burned within the tent of the women. 
 
 Presently his attention was arrested by a stir among the bush- 
 es to the north of the tent. Walking cautiously in the direction of 
 the noise, he saw the form of a large animal, with gleaming eyes, 
 and crouching attitude. Its tail oscillated from side to side, and 
 its aspect was ferocious and threatening. Mr. Holt had cocked 
 his rifle, and was about to fire, when he heard a hissing noise, as 
 of something passing rapidly through the air. The next moment 
 the animal uttered a fierce growl, and turned as if for flight, but 
 not before a rifle ball had pierced its side. It fell at full length, 
 and died instantly. Mr. Holt now approached, and found the an- 
 imal to be a large puma, the maneless lion of South America. Its 
 long body, of a reddish yellow color, was pierced not only by the 
 rifle ball, but by a poisoned arrow, shot from the gravitana, or 
 blow-gun, of the Indian sentinel on duty. 
 
 The next morning preparations were made for the return jour- 
 ney. A number of rafts had been loaded with bark and dispatch- 
 ed at an early hour. Mr. Holt had gone on ahead, with the tents 
 and other luggage, to the steamer which awaited their arrival a 
 few miles up the river. 
 
 Dorothy and Dayne were in one canoe, and Lillie and Little- 
 field in another. Lillie held in her lap a beautiful white umbrella 
 bird, while at her feet, in the bottom of the boat, lay an ibis, or 
 tiger crane, (with markings like the jaguar) and a large king vul- 
 ture, with orange head and cream plumage. Her stock of curios 
 had been greatly increased in the Montana, and now she was the 
 proud possessor of these three rare birds, which she would have 
 mounted by a taxidermist at Para. 
 
 Quiet reigned in the great forest, only broken by the cries of 
 the howling monkeys, and the screams of the water birds that dis- 
 
18 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 ported themselves on the river's bosom. King-fishers, gypsy 
 birds, and boat-bills wheeled in airy circles overhead, and ever and 
 anon darted beneath the water in search of prey. 
 
 When they had reached the steamer, and all were aboard, as 
 the boat moved away on the broad bosom of the Amazon, all waved 
 their hats and handkerchiefs in token of farewell, and Littlefield 
 leaning over the ship's railing, exclaimed; "Adieu, enchanted for- 
 est! Adieu land of adventure, romance and dreams! 
 
 'All that's bright must fade! 
 
 The brightest still the fleetest. 
 
 All that's sweet was made, 
 
 But to be lost when sweetest.' " 
 
 CHAPTER VII. » 
 
 A few days after the return to Rio, Dorothy took little David 
 to see the Zoological Gardens. After tiring of watching the huge 
 snakes and monkeys, David had been listening to the Brazil-mock- 
 ing bird, which so perfectly imitates the human whistle that the 
 sound can scarcely be distinguished from it. David was greatly a- 
 mused by this bird, which whistled several familiar airs with al- 
 most perfect accuracy. 
 
 Suddenly perceiving his uncle standing a short distance from 
 him, he exclaimed: "0 Uncle Ezra, come and listen to this funny 
 little bird whistle." 
 
 Zarowski and Felix Dayne approached at the same time. 
 
 As the former stood almost directly in front of her, Dorothy 
 could not help observing his splendid physique. The artist looked 
 like a mere boy beside him. There was a calm dignity about this 
 Jew, and a slight hauteur of manner which gave him a distinguish- 
 ed appearance. His eyes possessed a peculiar brilliancy and mag- 
 netism. Dorothy seemed impelled by some mysterious influence 
 to meet their glance. The man's powerful personality dominated 
 her whenever she was in his presence. 
 
 Dayne soon withdrew, and standing at some distance from 
 the group, sketched with masterly strokes the profile of the Jew, 
 which was thrown into strong relief against the glowing sky. 
 
 Zarowski, finding himself alone with Dorothy and the child, 
 seated himself on the rustic bench beside them. 
 
 "Were you ever in Russia, Miss Holt?" 
 
 "No, never," replied Dorothy. 
 
 1 'Then you can form little idea of the contrast between that 
 country and this." 
 
 "You are a native of Russia, Mr. Granby tells me." 
 
Under Brazillian Skise 19 
 
 "Yes, and have spent most of my life there." He paused, 
 then added, " There are many attractions in this city; but 'an exile 
 from home pleasure dazzles in vain.' I cannot help sighing some 
 times for the snow-capped hills and cold winds of the frigid zone." 
 
 Dorothy felt her interest and sympathy aroused. She was a- 
 bout to reply, when little David said: 
 
 "You would not like to go to Siberia would you, uncle Ezra, 
 where—?" 
 
 ' 'No, " replied the Jew with a perceptible change of countenance, 
 "I do not like to think of that country, and I certainly have no de- 
 sire to see it. No, David, I was thinking of St. Petersburg, 'There 
 is no place like home.' " 
 
 His face settled into an expression of deep melancholy. Pres- 
 ently he said, with an air of apology: 
 
 "The subject of exile is too gloomy to dwell upon in a spot 
 like this, where everything seems to smile beneath the splendor of 
 the tropic sun. Did you find your sojourn in the Montana enjoyable, 
 Miss Holt?" 
 
 "Extremly so. We lived in tents, and the whole situation 
 was novel and romantic. It was so delightful; an experience it 
 will always be a pleasure to remember." 
 
 "Mr. Dayne tells me that he and his friend, Mr. Littlefield 
 accompanied the expedition." 
 
 "Yes, and they made themselves very useful." 
 
 Zarowski smiled. ' 'No doubt the situation had a romantic 
 charm for them also." 
 
 His penetrating glance rested for a moment searchingly on 
 her face, and she was annoyed to feel her color rising. She tried 
 to look unconscious, but those dark eyes seemed to penetrate her 
 inmost thoughts. Presently he surprised her by asking abruptly 
 "How long do you remain in Rio?" 
 
 "Only a short time, I think. " she noticed he changed coun- 
 tenance slightly. 
 
 At this moment Dayne and Littlefield joined them, and Zaro- 
 wski took his leave. 
 
 "What has Zarowski been saying to you?" asked the artist 
 with a smile. 
 
 "I can recall nothing of consequence that he has said, except 
 that he is an exile from Russia, and we had heard that before." 
 
 "How very entertaining he must have been," remarked Lillie, 
 "to sit here an hour and say nothing." 
 
 Dorothy smiled, and colored. ' 'He should be called Ezra of the 
 silent tongue." 
 
 "And speaking eyes," said Dayne. "See if this is a good 
 likeness," he continued, displaying his recent sketch. 
 
 Dorothy's eyes were riveted upon the picture. She held her 
 breath. 
 
20 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 "What do you think of it?" asked Dayne. 
 "It is life-like," she exclaimed," hastily rising. She suggest- 
 ed that they return home before the night-dews began to fall. 
 
 As they entered the city, David was attracted by the colored 
 glass balls which adorned so many of the yards. Almost all the 
 yards of the wealthy are ornamented by these balls, and beautiful 
 marble statuettes. Very few flowers are seen, but the foliage of 
 the plants is variagated and beautiful. The trees are evergreens. 
 No blighting frost strips them of their foliage, and their unfading 
 leaves are an emblem of the never-ending warmth and beauty of 
 this land of the tropics. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Holt took Lillie and Dorothy to the 
 Botanical Gardens, six miles out from the city. These gardens are 
 famous for their magnificent avenues of royal palms. The princi- 
 pal avenue is half a mile long and fifty feet wide. The trunks of 
 the palms tower straight as an arrow, having no branches within 
 ninety feet of the ground. Their heads are crowned by a tuft of 
 foliage whose verdue never fades so long as life endures in the 
 tree. Other handsome avenues ornament these gardens, where 
 the coffee tree, with its exquisite white flowers and bright green 
 and red berries, the mango, the bread fruit, and other beautiful 
 trees flourish. 
 
 "This is a veritable Paradise," said Lillie, seating herself be- 
 neath a tall palm. 
 
 "I believe we have at last found the most delightful spot in 
 Brazil," said Dorothy, sinking languidly on the seat beside her 
 cousin, with a preoccupied look on her face. 
 
 They had not been long in the park before they were joined by 
 the artist and Littlefield. The latter was in one of his talkative 
 moods. 
 
 1 1 saw a very amusing sight today, " said he. ' 'I was standing 
 in front of my hotel idly watching the passers-by, when I was at- 
 tracted by the angry tones of two men on the opposite side of the 
 street. They were talking in Portuguese, so I could not understand 
 a word of what was said, but it was very evident that they were 
 quarreling. ' They jesticulated most frantically, waving their arms 
 over their heads in a very grotesque manner. For some time they 
 refrained from actual combat. At last one of them became so in- 
 censed that he struck the other on the breast; and then followed a 
 quick succession of blows from both sides. In a few seconds a 
 policeman came up and quietly arrested them. I understand they 
 will be sentenced to a long imprisonment for this violation of the 
 peace and dignity of the state. 
 
 "These Brazillians are queer characters, sluggish, deliberate, 
 unemotional. Lord Chesterfield could not approach them in polite- 
 ness. If you step on a man's toe and grind his corn to powder he 
 smiles and politely begs your pardon for having his foot in your way. 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 21 
 
 Speaking of their deliberation, I was forcibly struck by it this 
 morning. 
 
 "A gentleman at the breakfast table got a chicken bone in his 
 throat and was terribly choked. A physician living on the next 
 square was hastily summoned. He refused to come unless a car- 
 riage was sent for him. This was done, and he arrived in about 
 two hours, and removed the bone, the poor man in the meantime 
 having suffered torments."" 
 
 "Be careful how you eat, hereafter," said Lillie. 
 
 "I certainly shall, especially when I am gnawing bones." 
 ' 'Now you may talk about the Brazilians as much as you please, ' ' 
 said Dorothy, "but in what other country con Id a monarchy 
 have been overthrown with so little bloodshed? They have given 
 an example to the world that should embalm their memory in glory. 
 Think of the contrast between the recent revolution and others. 
 If we could have abolished slavery in our country by some method 
 as well planned and systematically executed, how infinitely better 
 it would have been." 
 
 "Speaking of the late revolution," said Littlefield, "here are 
 some verses that our poet artist composed on the other side of the 
 sea, when he was enthused by the reports of the wonderful birth of 
 the republic. I think I have them in my pocket-book, which is a 
 general receptacle for all sorts of rubbish. Yes, here is the pro- 
 duction; I thought I had it. Ladies, attention! 
 
 BRAZIL. 
 
 "Rejoice, all nations of earth, 
 At the new republic's birth! 
 Now there floats, o'er land and sea. 
 Brazil's fair flag of liberty. 
 
 "How that matchless, glorious word, 
 Liberty, men's souls hath stirred! 
 How that name hath glory shed 
 On heroes who for it have bled — ! 
 
 "Empire ne'er hath fallen before 
 But the land was stained with gore, 
 Kings their crowns have never lost, 
 But countless numbers felt the cost; 
 
 "But thou, Brazil, thy fetters broke 
 With one grand and master stroke! 
 Without flow of blood or tears 
 Its head the new republic rears. 
 
 "Unnumbered suns will rise and set 
 
 Ere the nations can forget 
 
 Thy example, and the skill 
 
 With which thy people wrought their will 
 
22 Under Brazillian Shies 
 
 "One night an empire thou didst stand, 
 Seeming held by iron hand; 
 Ere another morning's dawn 
 A grand republic had been born. 
 
 "All hail to thee, fair tropic clime! 
 Let thy bells with rapture chime, 
 Let thy people with one voice, 
 Give thanks to God, and all rejoice. ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 On their return home our party came in contact with a funeral 
 procession. The hearse and coffin were blue, and long plumes of 
 the same color decorated the heads of the mules which conveyed 
 the silent occupant to his last home. This bright color indicated 
 that the body was that of a litte child. Either pink or blue deco- 
 rations are always used on such occasions. 
 
 The funeral procession consisted exclusively of men, women are 
 not permitted to witness the solemn rites of the dead, in Brazil. 
 
 As the long procession filed slowly down the street, all hats 
 were removed. 
 
 "This custom of the Brazillians is a solemn and heartiful one," 
 said Dayne. 
 
 "Let's follow in the rear of the procession, and witness the 
 end of the ceremony," said Littlefield. 
 
 When the cemetery was reached, and the service for the dead 
 solemnly pronounced in Latin, the body of the child was removed 
 from the coffin, and deposited in the grave. The tiny, shallow blue 
 coffin was then put back into the hearse, and returned to the under- 
 taker from whom it had been hired for the occasion. The poorer 
 classes of Brazil are buried in this way. 
 
 ' "I find there are no protestant churches in Brazil" said Little- 
 field. "Different religious denominations send missionaries here, 
 who have houses of worship, which are forbidden by law to have 
 either steeple or bell, or in any respect to present the appearence of 
 a church. 
 
 "A singular restriction," said Dayne. 
 
 The next morning Lillie and Dorothy went to Dayne's Studio. 
 He was nicely fitted up, and had quite a selection of paintings. He 
 had just completed a fine oil painting of the Bay of Rio. His touches 
 of color in this exquisite picture were inimitable. A setting sun 
 threw a flood of amber light over the scene, and the western clouds 
 were as gorgeous as a panorama. Another fine picture was a land- 
 scape in which the Corcovada and the Gavea loomed in the distance. 
 Midway up the Corcovada was a man whose face and figure bore a 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 23 
 
 perfect resemblance to Ezra Zarowski. A storm was gathering, 
 and the clouds hung in heavy masses over the mountain tops; but 
 the figure of the Jew, thrown into bold relief against the dark back- 
 ground, bore a fearless aspect, as though he defied the gathering 
 tempest to impede his onward progress. At the foot of the mountain 
 sat an old man, with snow-white hair and beard— a perfect repre- 
 sentation of the elder Zarowski. He was leaning upon a staff, and 
 gazing wistfully after the figure ascending the heights. 
 
 Daynenow showed them several forest scenes, —among them a 
 fight between a jaguar and a crocodile. Last in the collection was 
 a sketch of the banks of the Amazon, with Dorothy standing under 
 the patawa palm. 
 
 "Mr. Dayne, that is exquisite," said Lillie. "I must have a 
 copy." 
 
 "Let me show you my favorite picture of all, "said he, and he 
 led them to a large oil painting — a moon-light scene in the Passieo 
 Publico, with the lights flashing through the avenues of palms. 
 Dorothy divined what had been in his thoughts when he painted 
 this picture. Their eyes met in one long gaze, then she turned sadly 
 away without speaking. Lillie congratulated him on his success in 
 painting the beautiful scenery of Rio. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 When Ezra Zarowski reached home it was after dark. His face 
 wore an expression of deep gloom, and he walked without heeding 
 his surroundings. He was met at the door by his sister, who drew 
 him aside a moment, before entering, saying as she did so, "Ezra 
 prepare yourself for sad news. Father has had a sudden seizure. 
 He has been unconscious for several hours. His heavy breathing 
 and ghastly pallor make me fear the worst. Dr. Eliot has just left. 
 He gave me but little hope." She spoke in her native tongue. 
 
 The expression on Ezra Zarowski' s face changed to one of 
 anxiety and alarm. Almost before his sister had finished speak- 
 ing, he entered the room where his father was lying, and sat down 
 beside him, feeling his pulse and listening to the beating of his 
 heart. Being somewhat reassured by his examination, he motioned 
 his sister to a seat beside him, and inquired if his father had had 
 any premonition of this attack. 
 
 "No," she replied, "he seemed unusually cheerful and bright 
 after your departure. I hope he may revive sufficiently to speak 
 to us." 
 
 Ezra did not reply, but sat with his head resting on his hands, 
 watching intently every movement of his father. The draught left 
 by the physician, was administered every hour, but it was near 
 
2k Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 midnight before the old man showed any signs of consciousness. 
 At last he opened his eyes, and recognized his son. After a few 
 feeble attempts to speak, he said in Russian, ' 'I am glad you are come, 
 Ezra. Do not leave me again, for my hours are numbered. The 
 blow has fallen at last— the blow that I have so long anticipated, 
 and the sands of life are running low." 
 
 He ceased speaking, and closed his eyes. His son took his hand, 
 asking hoarsly if there was anything he could do. The sick man 
 shook his head. 
 
 "Where is little David?" he asked. "Ah! I remember, he is 
 with the Amercian lady. Do not send for him. Take care of the 
 boy, Ezra." 
 
 "Do you suffer, Father?" asked Mrs. Branski, anxiously. 
 
 "The pain is all here," he said, putting his hand to his breast. 
 "It is better now, but it will return." 
 
 He soon dropped into a light sleep, from which he presently 
 awoke with a start, and sat up in bed. 
 
 "The box, Ezra— the box!" he cried excitedly. Bring it to me. 
 It is in the chest yonder." 
 
 His son hastened to execute his command, and soon returned, 
 bearing in his arms a heavy metal box about two feet long. The 
 old man motioned him to remove a key from the chain which he 
 wore around his neck. Having done so, Ezra proceeded to unlock 
 the strong box, which he placed on the table close beside the bed. 
 He started with surprise at its contents. The box was more than 
 half filled with gold. In one compartment were some large rolls of 
 manuscript in his father's hand writing, together with deeds, 
 bonds, contracts and other documents. 
 
 "See," said the old man, pointing to the gold. "All this I have 
 saved for my children. They could not deprive me of all. Take 
 care of it, Ezra. It will keep the little one from want, and you 
 will need a good sum to carry out your plans; the papers are all 
 here, you see. Guard them as you would your life. Rest not, day 
 nor night, until our object is accomplished. Do not give up the 
 search. He will return! He will return! He cannot escape you 
 for long. Pursue him, and confront him with these proofs, and 
 claim your just inheritance." 
 
 The old man was for a moment prostrated by the intense ex- 
 citement which gave him for a time unwonted strength. He gasp- 
 ed for breath, and a deadly pallor overspread his face. Ezra, in 
 alarm, administered a large dose of the cordial left by the physician. 
 Being somewhat restored by the drug, the old Hebrew pointed to the 
 roll of MSS. , saying feebly, ' 'I have had a secret, Ezra. I have been 
 writing a history of our race. I have dwelt at some length on the 
 condition of the Jews in Russia, and the Czar's inhuman tyranny. 
 Finish the book, Ezra, and when you can have it printed, circulate 
 it through the length and breadth of the land. God will avenge 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 25 
 
 our wrongs some day, for He is just." 
 
 Ezra bowed his head, promising all that his father requested. 
 The old man continued, 'They will try to wean you from your re- 
 ligion, but forsake not the faith of your fathers', my son. The 
 time will come when our race will be restored to all its old time 
 honor and glory. We are the chosen of God, and though now 
 scattered like lost sheep, we will one day return safely to the fold, 
 and reinhabit our former stronghold in the East. Pray for the 
 speedy arrival of that day, my son, pray without ceasing." 
 
 There was a change in his face, and the perspiration stood in 
 large drops on his forehead. The watchers knew it was the dew 
 of death. His breath now came in long gasps, and his chest heav- 
 ed painfully. 
 
 "The light grows dim. Ezra— Miriam — farewell." 
 
 He stretched out his hands, and turned his eyes toward the 
 ceiling. 
 
 "I see the host triumphant," he exclaimed. 
 
 His hands fell back listlessly on the bed. A spasm passed 
 over his face, and then it gradually settled down into the calm of 
 death. 
 
 The brother and sister knelt by the bed-side for a few moments, 
 clasping eachother's hands. Then Ezra, replacing the strong box 
 in its accustomed place, left the room, returning presently with 
 Beriah Jacobusky. 
 
 Mrs. Branski now retired, and the two men were left alone to 
 perform their office for the dead. They conversed fitfully in low 
 and awe-struck tones until morning, when Jacobusky took his leave. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 After the funeral David was sent for. The child was deeply 
 affected by his grandfather's death. 
 
 His spirits drooped, and he soon began to lose the good effects 
 of his visit. He missed the old man sorely, and asked his mother 
 many questions about death and the hereafter. 
 
 A talk with the missionary appeared to reconcile him some- 
 what to his loss; but he still dwelt upon the subject to such an ex- 
 tent as to seriously undermine his health. Dorothy and the mis- 
 sionary paid him frequent visits, and the former insisted that he 
 should return to her house and remain for several weeks. David 
 was strangely averse to this proposition, notwithstanding he had so 
 much enjoyed his former visit. The fact that his grandfather had 
 died during his absence, seemed to make him shrink from leaving 
 home; so the project was abandoned. A physician was summoned, 
 and pronounced the boy in a critical condition; advising that the 
 
26 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 utmost pains be used to divert his mind from the sad thoughts 
 so unusual for a child. Consequently Dorothy saw him almost 
 daily. He seemed to love her society more than any other. 
 Mr. Granby or Felix Dayne always accompanied her on her visits. 
 Frequently Ezra Zarowski was present. He was always respect- 
 ful and attentive, but still maintained his dignified reserve. 
 Dorothy began to wish he would not sit so much in the 
 room when she was talking with David; and whenever he was 
 absent she felt relieved. And yet, when such was the 
 case he was more than ever in her thoughts. What strange 
 power of fascination was this? She shrank from it with all the 
 force of her strong will, and all the time felt that she was powerless 
 to escape the infatuation. What was the secret of this attraction? 
 Sympathy, and an indefinable something which she could 
 not analyze. She was always glad when Dayne accompanied her. 
 She felt a sense of security in his presence— security from her own 
 disloyal thoughts. She meant to be true to him — true to her, vow, 
 but felt more and more that she had been deceived in her estimate 
 of her-self. The feeling she entertained for Ezra Zarowski was 
 gaining too great a mastery over her. It must be crushed— tram- 
 pled under foot. She seemed in the midst of a labyrinth from which 
 she felt powerless to extricate herself. She could not turn a deaf 
 ear to the pleadings of the sick child, who was evidently approach- 
 ing his end, and she dreaded the long hours of watching in that 
 solemn chamber with Ezra Zarowski so near. His sad face haunt- 
 ed her day and night, and gave her no rest. Sometimes suddenly 
 raising her eyes, she would encounter the fixed gaze of the Jew. 
 He seldom spoke to her; but she felt that nothing she said or did 
 escaped him. There was a mystery about this man. Something 
 in his face and manner told her that some shadow, darker than 
 that of exile, hung over his life. Sometimes she was pained by his 
 look of hopelessness. What was the character of the sorrow or the 
 sin that had cast this blight upon him? She longed for, yet dread- 
 ed the revelation that she felt would one day come. Mrs. Branski 
 could not bear for her brother to leave her. She clung to him with 
 an intensity of devotion, born of the knowledge that every other 
 earthly tie would soon be severed. 
 
 One evening the Death Angel seemed hovering over the strick- 
 en household. David was sleeping — he scarcely breathed; and his 
 pale, emaciated face, with the dark circles under the eyes, looked 
 as if the spirit had already deserted its earthly tabernacle. Mrs. 
 Branski and Dorothy sat on one side of the bed and Zarowski on 
 the other; while the missionary knelt at the foot, in fervent prayer. 
 When Mr. Granby arose from his knees, he observed that the boy 
 was awake, and that his face wore a sweet smile. 
 
 "Mr. Granby," he said, "I am not afraid to die. Don't let my 
 mother grieve. I am very happy. " He slept again. Mrs. Branski 
 
Under Brazillian Skise 27 
 
 overcome by grief, left the room. Ezra followed her. but she would 
 not allow him to remain. When he returned, he found Dorothy- 
 alone with the boy, the missionary having - been summoned to anoth- 
 er part of the city. 
 
 The two silent watchers did not look at each other until 
 the child again awoke, and feebly stretching out his hands 
 to Dorothy, said' ''You're so good, and I love you very dearly. I 
 wish Uncle Ezra loved you, too. Then he would believe what you 
 say about the Christ." 
 
 Ezra Zarowski seemed strangely moved by the boy's words. 
 He gave Dorothy one quick look, then turned away his face. 
 She turned pale to the lips, and sat as immovable as a statue. 
 The child's mind now began to wander, and he spoke occasionally 
 in broken sentences. Once he said suddenly, "There she is, Uncle 
 Ezra, —the wicked woman! Send her away! Send her away!" 
 
 The man started violently, and the blood mounted to his fore- 
 head. 
 
 The child began to sob. "They have carried him off ;— he will 
 never come back! — so cold, so cold, so bitter cold!" He shuddered. 
 Dorothy took his hand and spoke to him gently. She soon quieted 
 him, and he sank into a deep sleep, from which he never awoke. 
 His breath fluttered out so quietly that the watchers did not know 
 his soul had fled, until life had been for sometime extinct. 
 
 Mr. Granby now returned for Dorothy. As she arose to depart 
 she stretched out her hand in silent sympathy to the Jew. He 
 clasped it eagerly, in a long warm pressure, turned away without 
 speaking, and then thanked the missionary for his kindness, with 
 much feeling. He said that some of his Jewish friends would soon 
 arrive, and render all necessary assistance. Mr. Granby and Dor- 
 othy accordingly took their departure. The sorrow they had just 
 witnessed rested like a shadow upon them. They pursued their 
 way in silence and meditation, scarcely exchanging a dozen sen- 
 tences before they parted at Mr. Holt's gate. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 One sultry afternoon Dorothy stood alone by the grave of Da- 
 vid Branski. Her thoughts were far from earth, and so absorbed 
 was she that she did not observe the approach of a man until he 
 stood beside her on the oppsite side of the grave. 
 
 "What sweet flowers,"' said Zarowski. "I wonder if David 
 knows who put them there." 
 
 "Yes I believe he does," said Dorothy. 
 
 "Death is a great mystery. But we are surrounded on all 
 sides by others, as deep, and baffling. Can we ever be sure of 
 
28 Under Brazillian Shies 
 
 anything? Before I met you, I was a Hebrew of the Hebrews; be- 
 lieving that I could by no possibility waver from the faith 
 of my fathers. But now I doubt the truth of all I have been 
 taught from my earliest childhood. You have been a revelation to 
 me. I see, I feel, the divine beauties of the religion I once dis- 
 pised. 'Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.' Is there 
 any comfort in your religion for a broken heart?" 
 
 ' 'Come and see." 
 
 He looked at her a moment with deep sadness in his eyes. 
 
 "I know not what Ararat rises for me, 
 
 Far away o'er the waves of the wandering sea; 
 
 I know not what rainbow may yet from far hills, 
 
 Lift the promise of hope, the cessation of ills'." 
 
 A peal of thunder shook the air. Dark clouds were gathering 
 overhead. Dorothy extended her hand to the Jew, and said she 
 must hasten home immediately. 
 
 "I cannot allow you to go alone. The sky is threatening," he 
 said. ' 'The storm will overtake you long before you reach your 
 destination." 
 
 They walked on for some distance in silence, quickening their 
 pace as the clouds gathered more portentiously overhead. They 
 were not far from Acclamation Park, famous for its cascade grotto, 
 when the rain began to fall. As this grotto offered a convenient 
 shelter, Zarowski led Dorothy to it, and they made themselves 
 comfortable on the rustic seats provided for visitors. 
 
 "I fear this storm will continue till dark," she said, some- 
 what anxiously. 
 
 ' 'I hope not. As soon as it clears up a little I will go for a 
 carriage. But there are indications of a severe storm." 
 
 Scarcely had he finished speaking, when a blinding flash of 
 lightning, was followed by a terrific peal of thunder. Another 
 flash. She sprang to her feet, and involuntarily stretched out 
 her arms toward the Jew. The next instant they dropped to her 
 side; but not before he had seen the movement. They looked at 
 eachother, and the speaking eyes of Zarowski revealed the pas- 
 sionate love his lips had never uttered. She sank back on her seat, 
 and he stood before her with folded arms. 
 
 "Dorothy," he said slowly, "I love you. Struggle as I may 
 to suppress — to crush this passion, it has gained a giant's strength. 
 It is a white heat which suffuses every thought, every emotion of 
 my soul. You are going soon away. I may never see you again. 
 Even now, at any moment, we may be hurled into eterninty. 
 Then listen to me! You have guessed, I am sure, that some 
 shadow darker than exile hangs over my life. That shadow is the 
 fetter which binds me to a woman for whom I feel only contempt 
 and hatred. My wife is an exile in Siberia — banished for life, and 
 justly. She is a creature unworthy to touch the hem of your gar* 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 29 
 
 ment. She has wrecked and ruined my life as well as her own. 
 And yet, until now, I have not cared to free myself from this 
 hateful bondage. Exiled for life I have felt that she could not 
 molest me further. I thought my heart was dead to love. The 
 idea of marriage with any woman has long been repulsive to me. 
 But— I met you. There is no other woman on God's earth like you, 
 Dorothy! At first I fought with myself, I determined I would not 
 love you. But I could no more help loving you than I could help 
 loving flowers and music and all sweet and beautiful things. I had 
 lost all faith in women. It was your purity, your goodness, your 
 beautiful, stainless soul that compelled my love. As I have said, 
 you were a revelation to me." 
 
 "Remember that your wife still lives!" 
 
 "Dorothy, such exile is civil death. She is wife in name only. 
 But the time has come when I must have my perfect freedom. 
 I must break every barrier which stands between you and me." 
 
 ' 'Those whom God hath joined together let no man put a- 
 sunder." 
 
 "I endorse that with all my heart. God did not forge the 
 chain which binds me to that woman, any more than He has plann- 
 ed the foulest murder which was ever committed. < That marriage 
 was the work of man, and of the devil. God put in my heart the 
 love I feel for you —the beautiful, holy love I feel for you." 
 
 "Mr. Zarowski, say no more, I will not listen to you." 
 
 "You will not listen to me?" He stood before her looking 
 down into her eyes with a smile in his own. 
 
 "Dorothy, to-day I know your secret— I know that you love me. 
 I read the story in your beautiful eyes, I hear it in every tone of 
 your sweet voice. And the knowledge is the very breath of life to 
 me." 
 
 She rose to her feet, with imperious jesture, "Have I not said 
 that I will not listen to you? Leave mef 
 
 "How white you are! Forgive me, sweet Goodby. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. 
 
 June 15, 1891. 
 
 Dear Dorthy: 
 
 "I was born in St. Petersburg, in the year 1850. _ My earliest 
 recollections are of a happy home, where my young life was spent 
 in quietness and contentment. I was the eldest of three children, 
 the youngest of whom died before he had reached his fifth year. 
 
30 Under Brazillian Sides 
 
 My sister, Miriam, had always a thoughtful, melancholy disposi- 
 tion, but she was sweet-tempered and affectionate, and her devot- 
 ed love for me is one of the sweetest recollections of my life. Our 
 mother died when we were quite young, and we were left to the 
 care of a maiden aunt, who was so indulgent and kind that we 
 did not miss our mother's care as we otherwise should have done. 
 My father was very wealthy, and supplied us with all the comforts 
 and luxuries of life. He was fond of my sister, but his chief 
 affections were centered upon me. 
 
 "I was the only male representative, besides himself, of the 
 house of Zarowski; I was carefully educated, and when I had 
 arrived at maturity chose literature as a profession. At first this 
 was up-hill work, but at last my efforts were rewarded with success, 
 and I acquired some reputation as a writer of fiction. 
 
 "When quite young, my sister married David Branski a dis- 
 tant cousin of ours, whom she had loved from childhood. Before 
 his marriage, Branski had a persistent and dangerous rival in the 
 person of Beriah Jacobusky, whose consuming and over-mastering 
 passion for my sister had caused her no little anxiety and annoy- 
 ance, since he was of a fiery, impulsive disposition, which some- 
 times led him to commit rash deeds upon slight provocation. But 
 he truly loved my sister, and this love, all absorbing as it was, pre- 
 vented him from wreaking the vengeance on his rival which his 
 fierce and wild jealousy prompted. 
 
 "After her marriage with David Branski, Jacobusky enlisted 
 in the army; and for many years we lost sight of him. David was 
 a kind and indulgent husband, and he and Miriam were devotedly 
 attached to each other. When they had been married about six years, 
 a family from Moscow located in our neighborhood, consisting of a 
 Russian gentleman and his three daughters. The eldest of these 
 women was remarkably beautiful, and from the hour I first beheld 
 her I was her devoted admirer. 
 
 "After a short courtship we were married, and I took her to 
 the home where I was born, and where I subsequently lived during 
 my residence in St. Petersburg. 
 
 "My wife's family were in reduced circumstances, and she 
 evidently considered that she had made a very desirable match. 
 I fondly believed that I had married a woman as noble and 
 good as she was beautiful, and cherished the hope that our wedded 
 life would be rendered happy by a love and devotion on her part 
 equal to my own. But alas! I was quickly and cruelly undeceived, 
 and learned to my dismay, that, in the blind haste to secure a 
 prize, I had rushed into marriage with a woman utterly without 
 conscience or character; and who did not hesitate to tell me, on 
 the slightest provocation, that she hated me with all the bitterness 
 of a concentrated aversion; and had only married me to secure the 
 wealth she so much coveted. 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 31 
 
 "She led me a miserable life, and her presence soon became as 
 odious to me as mine was to her. I chafed beneath the galling 
 fetters of the chain which bound me, and sought consolation and 
 oblivion in a life of excitement and dissipation; which I pursued 
 with such mad recklessness that my health was almost shattered, 
 and I was advised to travel abroad. My father, alarmed at my 
 condition, accompanied me, and my wife was left at home with 
 only my poor old aunt for company. But she was too fond of society 
 and admiration to pine in lonely seclusion, and during my absence 
 indulged to the fullest extent her taste for the unlicensed pleasures 
 upon which my father s presence and mine had imposed some 
 restraint. 
 
 4 'But to return to ourselves. 
 
 "We traveled extensively on the continent and in England, 
 and then visited the United States. While in New York we form- 
 ed the acquaintance of a gentlemen who had just returned from a 
 trip to South America. My father was so much pleased with this 
 man, and so favorably impressed by his business qualifications, 
 that he was induced to invest the greater part of his capital in a 
 business enterprise, in which the German was about to engage in 
 Rio. Leaving me in New York the two went to Brazil, to further 
 investigate matters. The German remained there, and my father 
 returned, after an absence of three months. He gave glowing 
 accounts of all he had seen, and fully expected to realize an in- 
 dependent fortune from this new venture. 
 
 "My health by this time was fully restored, and as we had 
 been absent from home nearly a year we concluded to return. 
 
 "Upon my arrival in Russia, I learned, for the first time, that 
 my wife and my sister's husband had been condemned to a life- 
 long banishment to Siberia. The letter bearing this intelligence 
 for some reason miscarried, and failed to reach me; so I was 
 ignorant of the situation when I reached home. I found poor 
 Miriam utterly crushed, and for a long time I seriously feared 
 that her reason would desert her. I learned from her that my 
 wife had been accused of some political intrigue, and also of 
 complicity in a plot against the life of the Czar. By a clever 
 strategem she had managed to implicate poor Branski in her in- 
 trigues, and he was convicted, receiving the same sentence of exile 
 as herself. 
 
 "I also learned to my horror that this wicked woman had 
 formed, during my absence, a passionate attachment for Branski, 
 and had used every means in her power to lure him from his al- 
 legiance to my sister, but in vain. In her rage and disappointment 
 because of her failure, she vowed eternal vengeance against him, 
 and declared that in some way she would accomplish his ruin. 
 This malevolent purpose was executed in the way I have related, 
 and my sister was left broken hearted. I will not tire or shock 
 
32 Under Brazillian Sides 
 
 you by entering into the details of the machinations of this accurs- 
 ed woman, who now suffers for her crimes in the frozen solitudes 
 of Siberia; unless, before this, she has been called to give an ac- 
 count at the judgement-seat of the Great Tribunal. 
 
 "I have not yet told you that shortly before all this occurred, 
 Beriah Jacobusky returned to St. Petersburg, and was an import- 
 ant witness in the trial of my wife and Branski. His testimony 
 was the strongest evidence against them. It appears he _ had been 
 an eye witness to some of my wife's intrigues, and in his loyalty 
 to the Emperor had informed against her, notwithstanding his 
 friendship for me. He did not know beforehand that Branski was 
 implicated, but my sister has never forgiven him. 
 
 "I must frankly admit that the banishment of my wife caused 
 me no pain; and I rejoiced in the freedom from a bondage which 
 had grown intolerable. May God forgive me that I could be happy 
 in another's misfortune, but He alone knows the terrible suffering 
 this heartless woman has caused me. 
 
 "For many years, I have regarded the exile system as cruel 
 and barbarous, and have groaned in spirit over the woes of my 
 unhappy countrymen. So many are banished for trifling offences, 
 and some are as innocent of the crimes imputed to them as new- 
 born babes. May the time one day arrive when the whole civil- 
 ized world will be aroused to a full realization of the magnitude of 
 the suffering which this system imposes, and rise up in arms to 
 overthrow it. Let it be crushed by the weight of the righteous 
 wrath of a just God! Let it be trampled under foot by the marsh- 
 alled hosts of all nations conbined! And may a more reasonable 
 and humane system of punishment be established, than the present 
 penal code of a country, which in many respects holds rank with 
 the greatest nations on the globe. May the Czar and all the great 
 dignitaries of state awake to a realization of their error, before 
 the hand-writing of doom appears, and the rivers run red with the 
 blood of slaughtered thousands. 
 
 "Forgive this digression, but I feel very deeply on this 
 subject; and listen with patience to the remainder of my story, 
 which now approaches its conclusion: 
 
 "You are acquainted with all the causes which led to the late 
 expulsion of the Jews from Russia, so I need not enter mto the 
 particulars of a subject fraught with pain to me, and which calls 
 up all the resentment of my nature. Suffice it to say that % like 
 thousands of our race, my father and I found ourselves adrift in 
 a world, which sad experience had taught us, we need not expect 
 to find a bed of roses. 
 
 "My poor aunt was now dead; so with my sister and her 
 child we came to this country, where we hoped to realize a com- 
 petency from the funds invested by my father in the business 
 enterprise of his New York friend. But misfortunes have follow- 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 33 
 
 ed each other in quick succession. When we arrived here we 
 found that Mr. P. had been dead for some time; and our investiga- 
 tions convinced us that we had never received our proper share of 
 the dividends. Mr. P's son, who now has control of the business, 
 I find to be unscrupulous, and indisposed to allow us our jusl 
 dues; but I hope soon to establish our claim, and make demands 
 which he will find it impossible to refute. 
 
 "My father thought for sometime of settling in the United 
 States. He spent several years in that country during his youth, 
 and was greatly pleased with its free institutions. 
 
 "I think I have never told you how we all became so familiar 
 with the English tongue. Father, after graduating from the 
 University of St. Petersburg, took a post-graduate course at Ox- 
 ford, where he acquired considerable proficiency in English, and his 
 knowledge of the language was further augmented by his resi- 
 dence in the United States. 
 
 ' 'Upon his return to Russia he taught a class in English, for 
 several years; and my sister and I were instructed in this language 
 almost from our infancy; and little David was almost as familiar 
 with it as with Russian. 
 
 "My father always cherished the hope that I would one day, 
 through my knowledge of English, be able to establish a literary 
 reputation on this side of the sea; and I admit that I have had 
 similar aspirations. Perhaps some day I may realize my dream; 
 but that will depend upon many things. Somehow, of late, I 
 have been filled with gloomy forebodings. A dark cloud is hang- 
 ing over me, which shuts out the sun. I seem groping blindly in 
 the darkness. If you would only stretch out your hand to me, and 
 lead me to the light. Ah! Dorothy, you little dream how great is 
 my need of you. You cannot conceive what a blank my life will 
 be without you. I never imagined myself capable of an absorbing 
 love like this. The fear of losing you lies upon my heart like a 
 leaden weight. 
 
 ' 'As long as I buried my passion in my own breast I was more 
 courageous; but now that I have spoken — now that I know the 
 state of your heart — the crushing grief that consumes you as well 
 as myself, my trouble seems greater than I can bear. 
 
 "Dorothy can it be right to ruthlessly wreck such lives as 
 ours, all on account of a mistake committed in my youth? I can 
 not believe so. The tie that binds me may, for all we know, have 
 been severed by death, ere this; and if it still exsists, the law 
 would liberate me. I shall use every means in my power to as- 
 certain if my wife be still alive. 
 
 ' 'At least, promise me to wait a little while before placing be- 
 tween us the barrier of your own marriage. You do not love the 
 man you are to wed. Can you think it right to vow, at God's altar, 
 eternal fidelity to him, when your heart is given to another? My 
 
31f Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 darling, you are swayed by false ideas of duty. Consider well be- 
 fore you take a step that will entail upon youa lifetime of unhappi- 
 ness. No man of honor would hold you to your promise under the 
 circumstances. Do you dream that you could render him happy? 
 You will never love him, Dorothy; and in time he will discover 
 this fact, in spite of your every effort to conceal it. There are 
 depths in your nature that Felix Dayne can never fathom, and you 
 will feel this more and more. I implore you not to wreck your 
 happiness and mine by refusing to listen to me. 
 ' 'I await your answer. 
 
 "Yours until death, 
 
 "Ezra Zarowski." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 After reading Ezra Zarowski's letter Dorothy sat for a long 
 time with folded hands and sad, tearless eyes. In this reverie she 
 reviewed her whole life, and looked deep into her heart. She felt 
 that she had never really loved before, that the love of her youth 
 compared with this was indeed as "moonlight unto sunlight' ' or as 
 "water unto wine." Yet what could she do? In what direction 
 lay her duty? 
 
 Could she crush every hope of him who so truly loved her— so 
 greatly needed her? He had suffered so much already. Her heart 
 went out to him in passionate love and pity. Ah! if she might only 
 be permitted to render the remainder of his life happy— his life so 
 warped and broken— if she might only direct his faltering faith to 
 the true source of all light and joy. How her heart yearned over 
 him. How she longed to help him — and yet, could she? Could she 
 break her plighted troth to one who trusted her entirely? Could 
 she reconcile herself to marry a man who sought a divorce for the 
 purpose of making her his wife? She shrank from such an idea 
 with the repugnance of a high-toned, sensitive woman. And yet 
 suppose he were already free— how her heart bounded with joy at 
 the thought; quickly following this came the realization of 
 the disappointment that would blight the hopes of her artist lover. 
 What should she do? She fell on her knees and buried her face in 
 her hands. Long and earnestly she prayed, but the tumult in her 
 heart would not be stilled. She arose from her knees, took up her 
 writing materials, and tried to collect her thoughts. Sheet after 
 sheet was filled with her small hand-writing, and then destroyed. 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 35 
 
 At last she penned the following reply to the letter before her: 
 
 1 'I can only say good bye, 
 
 "Your friend always, 
 
 "Dorothy Holt. 
 "Wednesday eve, June 15, 1891." 
 
 The next afternoon as she and Felix Dayne were walking on 
 the shores of the bay, he turned to her and said abruptly: 
 
 "Dorothy, whrt has come over you of late? You look positive- 
 ly ill; you are not like yourself; there are times when I believe you 
 regret your engagement to me." 
 
 "And if it be so, v/hat would you think of me, Felix?" She 
 raised a white, imploring face to his. 
 
 "I could not blame you, Dorothy. I could only blame myself! 
 You told me in the beginning that you did not love me. I have 
 been trying to convince myself that you were mistaken. I have 
 signally failed. The truth has been dawning upon me of late that 
 you are unhappy, that our engagement is the cause of it. ' ' 
 
 "I have tried so hard to love you Felix, to be true to you, and 
 —I cannot. We have made a terrible mistake. Can you not see 
 it?" His face was deadily white, but he replied calmly: 
 
 "Yes, Dorothy, I see, and my heart is breaking. Take back 
 your freedom! I would not, for a thousand worlds, lead you to the 
 altar an unwilling br*de. " 
 
 "Felix, forgive me. I have been much to blame." 
 
 "No! No! The blame all rests with me. I simply played the 
 fool, and deceived myself. I have lived in a fool's paradise, shut- 
 ting my eyes to the most palpable truth; but the paradise was a 
 world of bliss; I reveled for a time in its beauty, and did not note 
 the presence of the serpent until it stung me. ' ' 
 
 She started, and glanced quickly up into his face. 
 
 "Dorthy, you might have loved me had not another won your 
 heart. I see how it all is. I do not blame you. I give you back your 
 freedom; and I thank you for giving me the happiest hours of my 
 life. My happiness was brief, but the memory of it will linger 
 with me through life. And now goodbye. I wish you all happi- 
 ness in your love." 
 
 ' 'There will never be any happiness for me, Felix. It is true 
 that I love and am beloved; but there are insurmountable barriers 
 in the way. I shall never marry any man. Do not question me. 
 I can tell you no more. In parting let me say this: However wide- 
 ly separated our lives may be I shall always watch over your career 
 with interest, and rejoice in your every success. I shall always be 
 your true friend. And you— will you not be mine?" 
 
 "I shall be your friend. I shall love you, through time and 
 through eternity," said Felix Dayne. 
 
36 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Late in the autumn Littlefield took Lillie for a last visit to the 
 Passeo Publico. They stood for some time on the marble prome- 
 nade, and watched the play of the moonlight on the water. 
 
 ' "This reminds me of the night I first saw Zarowski," said Lit- 
 tlefield. "He was supporting his aged father, and I was struck by 
 his personal appearance. My interest in him has increased with 
 every subsequent meeting; but he is an enigma to me. What do 
 you think of him, Lill Fair Fair?" 
 
 "I don't rave over him, like the rest of you. He is too dark 
 and sober to suit my fancy. I don't like people who never smile." 
 
 "You mean who never smile on you, Miss Vanity. I will 
 wager a good deal that Miss Dorothy has s§en him smile. Ask her 
 if she has not. " 
 
 "Dorothy dosn't like Mr. Zarowski; she always avoids him." 
 Littlefield smiled. 
 
 ' 'You women pride yourselves on your perspicuity in affairs de 
 coeur, but in this case, even I, though afflicted with the short-sight- 
 edness imputed to my sex, have the advantage of you. For once 
 your judgement is in error."' 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean that Miss Dorothy is by no means, as indfferent to the 
 Jew as you suppose. Do you know that she has broken her en- 
 gagement with Dayne?" 
 
 "Yes, she has told me. But what has that to do with Mr. Zaro- 
 wski?" 
 
 1 'More than you think, perhaps. I have seen for some time 
 how affairs were drifting. Poor Dayne is badly done up." 
 
 Lillie faced him with a look of surprise and indignation on her 
 face. 
 
 ' 'Do you mean to say that Dorothy prefers this Jew to Mr. 
 Dayne?" 
 
 "You will admit that Zarowski is attractive. One cannot help 
 observing what takes place under ones very eyes." 
 
 "And pray, what have those Argus eyes of yours observed? I 
 believe you always sleep with one eye open." 
 
 "I did in the Montana at any rate." 
 
 "0, the dear old forest," said Lillie, her thoughts flying back 
 to the merry life in the tents on the Amazon. "Some time we shall 
 visit it again, I hope." 
 
 "When you are Mrs. Littlefield you may go whenever you 
 like," he said with a smile. 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 37 
 
 "Promises are like pie-crust. A man will promise anything to 
 the woman he wishes to marry." 
 
 "Of course! otherwise no woman would ever marry him." 
 
 "I don't deny that; but he ought to fulfil his promises." 
 
 "That would be an easy matter! I, at least, shall fulfil all of 
 mine, particularly the one I have just made." 
 
 "All right, I shall expect to spend half of my time in the Mon- 
 tana, so you may as well make up your mind to turn bark hunter." 
 
 "Well, I shall not object to that. It is a very agreeable occu- 
 pation, and my recent experience will serve me in good turn. I 
 expect to amass an immense fortune in this way." 
 
 "If you do you will want to leave the Montana. There will be 
 no opportunity to spend your fortune there." 
 
 "0, we shall only spend part of each year in the forest. We 
 shall own a yacht, and go whenever we please, and wherever our 
 fancy leads." 
 
 "I see! And when you tire of me you can get rid of me by or- 
 dering the captain to scuttle the boat." 
 
 "No, that would not do, for in that case I too, might be drown 
 ed. You are such a tiny creature I could easily toss you overboard. 
 
 "Easier said than done," she laughingly replied. 
 
 "Lillie, will you marry me? I love you." 
 
 "Mr. Littlefield, you are perfectly exasperating! Do be serious. " 
 
 "I was never more serious in my life. And I repeat, I love 
 
 i > 
 
 you. 
 
 H 
 
 "] 
 « '1 
 
 'How much?" 
 
 'I love you immeasureably." 
 
 "Mr. Littlefield-" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Tell me how much." 
 
 "As much as you love me." 
 
 ' 'You are decidedly the most impertinent and conceited man a- 
 live," she said with a blush and a pout. 
 
 "Lillie, I love you. Will you marry me?" 
 
 "No! most decidedly, no!" 
 
 "Lillie you love me. Will you marry me?" 
 
 "Havn't I answered you?" 
 
 "Come to my arms, darling, your place is here." 
 
 She did not move or answer, but stood before him with down- 
 cast eyes. 
 
 "Praying all I can, 
 If prayers will not hush thee, 
 
 Airy Lillian, 
 Like a rose leaf I will crush thee, 
 
 Fairy Lillian." 
 
 He deliberately took her in his arms and kissed her. 
 
 "Mr. Littlefield, I hate you!" 
 
38 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 1 'Forgive me, sweetheart. But positively you looked so sweet 
 and beautiful that I couldn't help it." 
 
 She flashed an indignant look at him. 
 
 "Look here, Lillie! A man is not made of stone. If I did not 
 love you with all my heart and soul, and aiso if I did not expect to 
 make you my wife, I should not—" 
 
 "What right have you to say that I love you? Did I ever tell 
 you so?" 
 
 1 'Tell me now, then, 'Whisper softly, whisper low, ' do you 
 love me?" 
 
 He bent his handsome head close to her ear, and looked into 
 her eyes with the most ardent love-light in his own. "Tell me 
 truly, sweetheart, do you love me?" 
 
 "What is the use of speaking? You are so sure of it already." 
 
 The pout had disappeared from the ruby lips, and a subdued 
 and happy light shone in the soft blue eyes. 
 
 "Just because I want to hear those sweetest lips in all the 
 world say the words, I love you." 
 
 "Bend your head a little lower then." 
 
 He stcoped until his dark curls touched her golden tresses, 
 
 "Cyrus, I love you." 
 
 "Will you be my wife?" 
 
 Her answer, spoken scarcely above a whisper, caused a wave 
 of joy that almost swept Cyrus Littlefield off his feet. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Dorothy sat alone on the veranda, awaiting the return of her 
 cousin. Her heart was oppressed by deep sadness. She was 
 going away on the morrow and had written a note of farewell to 
 Zarowski. She felt that she had in all probability looked her last 
 upon his face. To-night, more than ever before, she realized how 
 completely her heart was his. She knew not how long she had 
 sat on the veranda, perfectly still and buried in deep thought, 
 when she was startled by hearing, not far off, a stifled groan. 
 Looking quickly in the direction whence it proceeded, she saw the 
 figure of a man, leaning against a tree on the opposite side of the 
 street. She got up and leaned on the railing of the veranda. As 
 she did so a flood of moonlight fell over her, and the figure under 
 the tree quickly crossed the street, and in another moment stood 
 almost beneath her. Long before he spoke she had recognized 
 Ezra Zarowski. 
 
 "Stand as you are, Dorothy," he said beseechingly. "I could 
 not let you go without seeing you again, at least for a moment. 
 You have no pity for me. You do not care for my suffering. You 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 39 
 
 can leave me with only a few written words of farewell, while I 
 have been consumed with the dcs're to see you, if only to receive 
 from you i- lips a fresh sentence of banishment." 
 
 His words and the haggard look on his face, went to her heart. 
 She trembled in every limb, and every particle of color deserted 
 her face. This parting seemed to tear her very heart asunder, 
 and yet she did not waver in her decision. As soon as she could 
 steady her voice she said, "I wished to spare you — to spare myself 
 — this pain. Do not intensify the sadness of the situation by re- 
 proachful words or thoughts. In your heart you do not believe 
 what you say. You know me too well for that." 
 
 The Jew had not taken his eyes from her face, and her pallor 
 and tremor did not escape him. He relented somewhat. 
 
 * 'Dorothy, is it that you are so much stronger then I, or is 
 your love less deep and consuming? I find it hard to believe that 
 you could leave me thus, if you cared for me as I for you. No 
 power on earth could make me give you up, except your own in- 
 flexible resolve. You have hardened your heart to my appeals, 
 and pretend to think you are doing right. 'Let woman beware how 
 she plays fast and loose thus with human despair.' " 
 
 "I cannot leave you in that bitter mood," she said with a sigh. 
 "Came up here and let me talk to you." He was by her 
 side in a moment, and she gave him her hand. He held it in both 
 of his, and pressed it to his heart. She withdrew it gently, and 
 sank into a low chair, motioning him to a seat by her side; but he 
 shook his head, and stood leaning on the railing of the veranda, 
 looking at her. 
 
 "Well," he said presently, "what have you to say to me?" 
 
 For a moment she could not master her emotions sufficiently to 
 speak. She covered her face with her hands. "Dorothy," he 
 said passionately, "the struggle is useless. You cannot give me 
 up. You are breaking your own heart as well as mine. There is 
 yet time to relent. There is yet time—" 
 
 "Spare me!" she cried imploringly. "Do not force me to repeat 
 what it pains you to hear me, to utter. You once said that so long 
 as you possessed my love you could bear anything. Know 
 that my love is unchangeable, that however widely severed our 
 lives may be, I shall always keep your image in my heart. I shall 
 expect you to be strong and brave." 
 
 He did not speak for a moment, but kept his dark eyes riveted 
 upon her face. "Dorothy," he said presently, it is useless to talk 
 to you. I see I shall not be able to change your resolve. So be it. 
 We must part. It remains then only for me to say goodbye. ' ' 
 
 He held out his hand. She arose and placed hers in it. "You 
 know that I love you? You forgive me?" she asked tremblingly. 
 
 "Yes," he said hoarsely. He stooped and pressed one long 
 kiss on her lips, and the next moment was gone. 
 
40 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 Littlefield and Lillie, coming in a few minutes afterwards, 
 found Dorothy lying upon the floor entirely unconscious. It was 
 some time before she could be restored, and she looked so ghastly 
 pale that Lillie was in an agony of alarm. Upon regaining con- 
 sciousness she smiled at her cousin's tears, and declared that the 
 attack was nothing serious— only a slight swoon— and that she 
 should soon be herself again. No one ever knew she had seen 
 Zarowski that night. 
 
 The next morning saw them all safely embarked on the home- 
 ward voyage. 
 
 As the last traces of Rio faded from sight Lillie could not re- 
 press a few tears. Littlefield laughed at her, and threatened to kiss 
 the tears away before all the passengers if she any longer permit- 
 ted herself to indulge in such weakness. Dorothy sat pale and calm. 
 Her heart felt like a leaden weight in her bosom. For once Felix 
 Dayne did not observe her, though she sat not far from where he 
 stood leaning against the ship's railing. His thoughts still linger- 
 ed in the fair land he was leaving behind. He felt that he had 
 looked his last on the bay and mountains and other picturesque 
 beauties of Rio de Janeiro. The world was wide, and the heights 
 of fame were steep and difficult to climb. He must not look back- 
 ward, but press on toward the goal. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Mrs. Branski sat alone in her cozy sitting room one after- 
 noon late in September. On her lap was a worn copy of the Talmud, 
 and so deeply absorbed was she in its contents that she did not 
 hear the ring of the door-bell until it was twice repeated. Her 
 visitor was Beriah Jacobusky. He entered the room a little doubt- 
 fully, as though not sure of his welcome. He felt restless and ill 
 at ease, and hesitated how he should address this cold and self- 
 possessed woman who took so little notice of his presence. After 
 a moment of awkard silence, he remarked: 
 
 1 'It gives me great joy to see that book in your hand. The 
 faith of my fathers is as dear to me as life, and I have been fear- 
 ful that influence would be brought to bear which would — " 
 
 He hesitated and looked at her doubtfully. 
 
 "Our religion cannot be dearer to you than to me," she said 
 calmy. "The faith of my childhood has attained too strong a 
 growth ever to be uprooted. It is planted deep in my heart; noth- 
 ing can touch or change it. ' ' 
 
 "Thank God," said Beriah devoutly. After a moment of 
 silence he continued, "Your brother's apostasy has grieved me be- 
 yond measure. To think that he, my friend, from whom I had 
 
Under Brazillian Skies J^l 
 
 hoped such great things— he who was once a Hebrew of the He- 
 brews, should have been influenced by these miserable Christians 
 to espouse their religion, and desert the work his father had 
 planned for him. It is incomprehensible." 
 
 "You do him injustice, I assure you. If you refer to the his- 
 tory of our race which my father began and requested Ezra to 
 complete, you are under a false impression. My brother will be- 
 begin work on that, as soon as our plans are settled. I will not 
 attempt to conceal that I am deeply grieved because of Ezra's 
 apostasy; but I do him the justice to believe that he is perfectly 
 sincere in his changed convictions. It was not without a struggle 
 that he relinquished his old faith. So infatuated is he with 
 Christianity that he says he will never be content until he sees me 
 a proselyte also. But that he will never see." 
 
 "I have done you injustice," said Beriah with a smile. "I 
 might have known that you would be as inflexible in your religion 
 as in every other thing. Your love, your hate, your resolves 
 never know change. Am I not right?" 
 
 "My love is unchangeable, surely, and I believe that I am 
 quite resolute; but I am not aware that I hate any one." 
 
 ||Not even me?" 
 
 "Oh, no! My dislike never deserved the name of hatred. 
 
 And I do not now dislike you. I now believe that you are innocent 
 of all intended injury to my husband; and I have long since for- 
 given. But—" 
 
 "0 Miriam, I have longed for this confession! It is like a 
 draught of water to a thirsty man. But I also forgive you. All 
 your coldness, your indifference, your injustice cannot extinguish 
 my love for you, which but burns the brighter as I constantly 
 witness all your loyal devotion to the dead." 
 
 "My husband lives, " said Mrs. Branski in a low, firm voice, 
 looking Beriah full in the face. "He lives; and I cannot, and 
 will not listen to your protestations of love again. ' ' 
 
 Jacobusky turned white to the lips. 
 
 "This is a delusion," he said hoarsely. "There is every evi- 
 dence that he and your brother's wife perished with others of our 
 race in the removal from the Tomsk forwarding prison to Irkutsk. 
 You only say this in order to be rid of me. I understand." 
 
 "You are mistaken. Listen, and I will convince you that this 
 is no fabrication, and no chimera of the brain. 
 
 "My brother received a letter yesterday from a friend in St. 
 Petersburg. This gentleman has made diligent search and inquiry, 
 and has discovered that Ezra's wife has been dead for more than 
 a year. He himself visited her grave, and sent us a physician's 
 certificate of her death. The same letter bore the welcome intel- 
 ligence that my husband still lives. Mr. Gomanoff has seen and 
 conversed with him. His health is much shattered; but thank God, 
 
If2 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 he still lives! And best of all, Mr. Gomanoff is very influential, 
 and has the confidence of the Czar; he will use his influence to ob- 
 tain pardon for my husband. I know he will succeed. I have not 
 felt so happy for years. " 
 
 As she turned to Jacobusky and saw the look of suffering in 
 his face, the light faded from her own. 
 
 "Beriah, you cannot rejoice with me in my new-found happi- 
 ness. Ah, well! some day I hope you may become reconciled to 
 your disappointment, and wed some good woman who will love 
 you as I never could. I forgive you fully, and have every good 
 wish for your welfare. Are we friends at last?" 
 
 She held out her hand to him. He looked at it in a dazed way, 
 as though not half comprehending what she was saying. She 
 sighed as she turned away. She felt that she had been un j ust to this 
 man, and longed to say some comforting word at parting. In a low 
 and timid voice she referred to their childhood, their friendship, 
 and their estrangement. He spoke not a word, and she never 
 knew whether he understood half she said. She begged him to 
 forgive her injustice, and accept her friendship. He slowly took 
 her proffered hand, raised it to his lips, and staggered from the 
 room. She never saw him again. He was found next morning 
 on the pavement beneath her window with a bullet through his 
 brain. A tragic end to a tragic life. 
 
 That night Ezra Zarowski stood for many hours on the marble 
 promenade fronting the Bay of Rio. The twinkling lights in the 
 harbor, > the glitter of the moonlight on the water, the island 
 mountains crowned by picturesque cottages formed a scene of fairy- 
 like beauty, upon which the Jew gazed with a dreamy delight. 
 As he stood there alone, long after the promenade was quiet and 
 deserted, he reviewed his whole life, with its early sunlight and 
 subsequent shadow. 
 
 At last, after so many years of misfortune and calamity, he 
 was about to realize a greater success and prosperity than his 
 imagination had ever pictured. 
 
 He was now able to establish his claim to an inheritance of 
 wealth which had accumulated for years, until it had reached an 
 almost fabulous sum. All at once, it seemed to him, God had 
 rained down blessings upon him far beyond his deserts. 
 
 He was free at last. He felt as wildly exultant as a Galley 
 slave might, who after years of bondage had obtained his liberty. 
 
 Far away across the water love and bliss awaited him. He 
 stood in a happy reverie, picturing Dorothy as he saw her last, 
 and as he should see her again some day, some glad, sweet day. 
 
 The hours flew by unheeded. As he turned his footsteps 
 homeward he noticed that the night had passed, and the dawn of 
 a new day empurpled the East. He hailed it as the type of his 
 life, and felt supremely happy and thankful. 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 
 
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 Sty? ijmnti nf £>m\t\x Mtmntmm. 
 
 I will open this story with the statement that I am a physician, 
 and have been engaged in active practice for twenty years. Two 
 years ago I became interested in the "new psychology," and have 
 since taken special interest in those cases which have baffled the 
 ordinary practitioner. My experience has taught me that there 
 are many so-called incurable physical disorders which are amen- 
 able to treatment only through the mind; and I unhesitatingly ex- 
 press the opinion that no man can meet with any remarkable 
 success in the practice of medicine who is not a metaphysician. 
 
 One of the most interesting and peculiar cases of physical dis- 
 order produced by a mental condition came under my observation 
 shortly after I became interested in the occult sciences. 
 
 I relate my experience with little expectation that the public 
 will credit me with veracity. However, the public is an unknown 
 quantity. There may be a few persons of inquiring mind, who 
 having delved into the profundities of psychic phenomena will find 
 at least a passing interest in this narrative. 
 
 Late in the autumn of the year 18— while crossing the South 
 Mountains of Western North Carolina on horse-back, I was over- 
 taken by one of those terrific storms which sometimes sweep 
 down with tornado-like violence in this locality. I was alone, ex- 
 cept for the companionship of my horse. As far as eye could 
 reach stretched the wild solitudes of the mountains, over which 
 hung black, threatening clouds. Night was rapidly approaching, 
 and soon descended with pitchy blackness. The rain fell in torrents, 
 the wind howled most dismally, flash after flash of lightning was 
 followed by most terrific peals of thunder, until the very earth 
 seemed to quake beneath my feet. 
 
 Night and darkness and storm, with no shelter near, and only 
 my trusty steed for company. I was miles from any human hab- 
 itation, or such was my belief, when my attention was attracted by 
 the faint glimmer of a light in the distance. Guided by the steady 
 gleam I cautoiusly directed the footsteps of my horse toward it, 
 not knowing whence it proceeded or whither it would lead me. 
 Upon nearer approach I found the light to gleam from the window 
 of a rude mountain cabin built of logs. At once it flashed upon 
 
Under Brazillian Skies U5 
 
 me that this was the abode of the "hermit of South Mountains," 
 concerning whom there were various and mysterious rumors afloat 
 in Burke county. 
 
 About ten years previous to the opening of this story a very 
 eccentric character had located in this vicinity. He had paid his 
 hotel fare in advance, refused to register or to tell his name, and 
 had at once made known his intention to purchase a small tract of 
 land as remote as possible from human habitation, where he 
 purposed locating. He built him a rude log cabin among the 
 mountains, where he had lived all these years in the strictest se- 
 clusion. When he went to the nearest town for his mail he was 
 always incognito, assuming various disguises to avoid recognition. 
 Upon one occasion he had confided to his only friend in Burke 
 county that years ago he had registered a solemn vow never to 
 speak to another woman. 
 
 A story was abroad that a traveler, overtaken by a storm, had 
 sought refuge at the hermit's cabin. Before retiring, the recluse 
 had told his guest not to be alarmed should he hear any mysterious 
 noises in the night, such as the opening and shutting of doors. He 
 then explained that it was his nightly habit to walk among the 
 mountains from twelve to two o'clock, through all weathers. 
 
 Excited by the novelty of the situation, the traveler had found 
 it quite impossible to sleep. The storm was making wild havoc 
 without. The rain fell in torrents, and the spirits of the night 
 seemed to be holding a sort of demoniac carnival. At last the 
 traveler fell into a light slumber, from which he was aroused by 
 the creaking of a door. Scarcely believing it possible that the 
 hermit would voluntarily subject himself to the danger of facing 
 such a storm, the traveler opened the shutters of his window and 
 peered out into the darkness. A vivid flash of lightning revealed 
 the figure of the man pacing slowly to and fro, at a distance of a 
 hundred feet from the cabin. 
 
 This digression has been necessary in order to give the reader 
 some idea of the character of the man whose home I was about to 
 enter. 
 
 On the night in question I sprang from my horse, knocked 
 loudly on the door, and in a few moments a figure appeared on the 
 threshold. 
 
 "Did I hear a knock? Who goes there? Ah, a refugee, from 
 the storm! Come in sir, you are welcome to what accommodation 
 I can give you. Pray be seated." And he placed a chair for me 
 before a bright crackling wood fire, which roared up the huge, old- 
 fashioned chimney, and threw a ruddy glow across the worm-eaten 
 timber of the room. 
 
 When I introduced myself as Dr. Danforth of Asheville, he 
 began to study my countenance with a curious attention. I return- 
 ed the compliment with interest, and saw before me a man still in 
 
It.6 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 the prime of life, whose face was seamed and wrinkled, and over- 
 spread with an almost ghastly pallor. His dark eyes were sunken, 
 and their expression conveyed to my practiced eye some mental 
 disorder which his whole appearance thoroughly corroborated. 
 After studying me closely for a few moments he exclaimed: "You 
 are a physician, and you see that I am dying. I am dying from an 
 incurable disease of the heart, It is only a question of a very short 
 time when my heart will be completely petrified and I shall cease 
 to breathe. Even now, it feels like a lump of stone in my breast. 
 Put your finger on my wrist and you will be convinced that I speak 
 the truth." 
 
 I felt his pulse as he requested. It was quick, weak, and irreg- 
 ular. After making a careful examination I assured him that he 
 had no organic heart disease, that the affection of the heart was 
 only sympathetic, being superinduced by the neuresthenia from 
 which he was suffering. He listened attentively to my diagnosis 
 of his case, then shook his head, and said with a faint flicker of a 
 smile: 
 
 1 'No doctor on earth can deceive me. My heart is turning to 
 stone, literally turning to stone.'* 
 
 Perceivng clearly that my patient was a victim of delusional 
 insanity, I knew that nothing I could say would change the fixed 
 idea implanted in his mind. I saw that his mental condition had 
 produced such serious physical disease that death was in reality 
 imminent unless relief could be found. 
 
 Knowing that there is never an effect without a cause, I began 
 to question my patient concerning his past life, hoping that I might 
 find some clue which would unravel all this mystery. In reply to 
 my questions he merely shook his head, obstinately refusing to 
 give any satisfactory answer. 
 
 Suddenly he drew his chair directly in front of me, extended 
 his arm and looked at me steadily. 
 
 "Here, put your hand on my wrist," said he, "look deep into 
 my eyes and you will be able to read my whole history." 
 
 Merely to gratify what I supposed to be his insane fancy, I did 
 as requested. And now follows the strangest part of my story: 
 As I held my fingers on his pulse and gazed steadily into his eyes, 
 the man's life seemed to stand before me like an open book. 
 
 "Speak" said he, "and tell me what you read." 
 
 And under the influence of some strange and mystic spell I 
 spoke the thoughts that came into my mind: "Your name is Rufus 
 Chester, and you are a native of Liverpool, England," I said with- 
 out hesitation. "You were an only child, and had just completed 
 your education when your father died, leaving you a large fortune. 
 A great deal of this money you squandered, and at the age of 
 thirty you found yourself almost bankrupt. About this time you 
 lost your mother, to whom you were devotedly attached. You be- 
 
Under BraziUian Skies 47 
 
 came deeply depressed, and remained in this condition until you 
 became enamoured of a most beautiful and attractive woman, 
 whose name was Isabel Gray. She was a coquette, encouraged 
 your attentions and accepted your offer of marriage. You had 
 not told her of your financial embarrassment, and she was under 
 the impression that you were still weilthy. The night of your 
 marriage arrived, the guests had assembled, and three hours before 
 the ceremony was to have taken place you strolled out on the 
 lawn and sat for a few moments in a summer house overshadowed 
 with vines. While sitting there, you overheard a conversation be- 
 tween your fiance and the man you had considered your best friend. 
 Unaware of your presence they had stopped beside the summer 
 house. You heard the woman you loved declare to the man be- 
 side her that her heart was his, that his extreme poverty was all 
 that had kept them apart. You heard her say that she mint have 
 money, and was marrying you for the purpose of carrying out 
 certain cherished plans; that all her professed love for you was the 
 most artful sham, simply a decoy set to entrap you. With your 
 heart on fire with rage and jealousy you sprang from your retreat, 
 and flung in the teeth of the woman every scathing anathema that 
 your lips could frame. You saw her fall in a death-like swoon; 
 then with your heavy cane you dealt your rival, who was bending 
 over the woman, a savage blow at the base of the brain, which 
 killed him instantly. You saw what you had done, and fled pre- 
 cipitately from the scene. When your reason had returned you 
 completely disguised yourself, took an assumed name and embark- 
 ed on a sailing vessel for America. You finally drifted to this 
 spot. Grief and remorse have preyed upon you until your health 
 has become completely shattered. These nightly walks through 
 all weathers are simply a self-inflicted penance for an unpunished 
 crime." 
 
 For a few moments silence fell, then my patient most emphat- 
 ically declared that every word I had spoken was absolute truth. 
 
 Now whether this story was only the freak of a vivid and ex- 
 cited imagination accepted and believed in by a mad man, or 
 whether it was a remarkable instance of thought trans ferrence I 
 am to this day unable to decide. 
 
 For three successive months I gave this man hypnotic treat- 
 ment tri-weekly. During these periods of hypnosis I made to him 
 such powerful suggestions of health, both of body and mind, that 
 the impression became indelible and accomplished a complete cure. 
 Yes, I repeat, it was simply the belief of cure, implanted by me in 
 his sub-conscious mind, during hypnosis, that accomplished a cure. 
 
 This is only one case out of many of somewhat similar charac- 
 ter which have come under my observation during the past two 
 years, and which I have treated successfully on the principles of 
 "the new psychology." 
 
48 
 
 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 ft' 
 
 <b 
 
 % 
 
 S 
 
 
 
Under Brazillian Sides 49 
 
 SfarealjabouwiL 
 
 The hall clock struck ten. I stirred the fire in the grate to a 
 brighter glow, and drew my chair closer to the welcome warmth. 
 It was mid December. The bare branches of the trees creaked and 
 groaned as the wintry blasts swept through them. How pleasant 
 the brightness of the room, the warmth of the fire, on a night 
 like this. 
 
 I sat for a long time listening to the wind, and thinking of all 
 the happy days I had spent with Jack Hardy, my girlhood friend 
 and confidante. To think that dear old Jack, my chum and play- 
 fellow, should write me an ardent love letter, offering me his heart 
 and hand! I drew the letter from my bosom and read it again, 
 and again fell to dreaming. Jack was now a rising young lawyer, 
 handsome and talented, with every prospect of a brilliant career. 
 Any woman might be proud to win him. And I? Did I love Jack 
 Hardy? As I asked myself this question, another face, strong and 
 impressive, would look at me, and Jack's would fade. 
 
 I had met Dr. Bernard just three months previously in Phila- 
 delphia. He was in some respects one of the most remarkable 
 men I ever knew; cool, calm, dignified, with a knowledge of the 
 world and a mastery of science that compelled my admiration. 
 His talents had already won recognition, and he was heir to an im- 
 mense fortune. This man also had offered me his heart and hand. 
 A splendid catch, the world would say. What did my heart say? 
 
 "What is love, spiritual love?" mused I! "Is it not, after all, 
 only a poet's dream?" 
 
 Not a sound broke the stillness save the sighing of the wind. 
 I grew drowsy, and leaning my head back on the velvet cushion of 
 the chair in which I reclined, I soon fell into a deep sleep and 
 dreamed: 
 
 I saw a river whose water was clear as crystal, flowing through 
 a country landscape restful and beautiful. It wound like a narrow 
 ribbon for miles and miles over a bottom of pure white sand. Long 
 stretches of level land, covered with green grass, flowering plants 
 and shade trees, extended as far as the eye could reach. Not a 
 house was in sight. It was night— a most beautiful night— with 
 a full moon and numberless stars. I was in a small row-boat with 
 
50 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 three men, on the bosom of this river, drifting slowly with the 
 tide. We had neither hooks nor lines, but we were fishing. We 
 simply leaned over the sides of the boat and dipped up the fish, all 
 glittering like silver, with our hands. Not a sound broke the still- 
 ness, until I turned to one of the men in the boat and addressed 
 him thus: 
 
 ' 'Come, go with me to yonder bridge, and examine those fish 
 that shine so; there is something peculiar about them." 
 
 He smiled, bowed his head in assent, took my hand, and we 
 stepped out of the boat and walked on the bottom of the river in 
 the direction of a low stone bridge, which spanned the stream in 
 the shape of an arch, a long distance ahead of us. 
 
 The boat and its occupants disappeared from sight, and we 
 two walked down the river alone. We were dressed in long trail- 
 ing white robes, and I could see our bare feet gleaming white a- 
 gainst the pure sand on the river's bottom. When we reached the 
 bridge we stopped and faced each other, each leaning an elbow on 
 the stone arch. I looked in my companion's face— a most 
 beautiful face— with eyes dark and deep, from which his very soul 
 looked forth. 
 
 All at once I heard a voice, as clear as a silver bell, singing an 
 exquisite melody. I looked at my companion. The voice was not his. 
 I felt mystified. I looked up and down the river, and observed that 
 innumerable fish, all the color of silver— fish by the hundreds and 
 thousands and tens of thousands — were swimming from all direc- 
 tions, and gathering in a glittering shoal at our feet. We seemed 
 to be drawing them by some magnetic power. 
 
 The voice sang on divinely. Suddenly glancing down at my 
 feet I saw a big fish, and he was singing— yes singing the beauti- 
 ful strains to which I was listening. No sooner had I made this 
 discovery than I looked into the face of my companion. He smiled 
 and bowed his head, but spoke not a word. Audible speech seem- 
 ed entirely unnecessary between us. I had but to look into those 
 dark eyes to read the thoughts that were back of them. 
 
 Then, all at once, every fish in the river took up the strain. 
 And such music! Soprano, alto, tenor, bass, —a choir of ten thou- 
 sand voices. ' And all these voices were singing of love. Suddenly 
 it flashed upon me that in reality these were not fish, but men in 
 the guise of fish. I saw that my companion had made the same 
 discovery. Then one, by one, I recognized, in the shining fish at 
 my feet, many familiar faces of friends. As I recognized each 
 separate identity I glanced into those dark eyes bending over 
 me, and saw there the same recognition. The wonder, the amaz- 
 ing realization of the whole situation was so overwhelming that I 
 suddenly awoke. And as I opened my eyes, I distinctly heard a 
 voice say slowly and impressively: "Follow me, and I will make 
 you fishers of men." 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 51 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Green, my next door neighbor and in- 
 timate friend, called to inquire about my health. I had been con- 
 fined to the house with a severe cold for more than a week. Mrs. 
 Green was a religious fanatic. She had not been in my room ten 
 minutes when she branched from the subject of my health to one 
 of more absorbing interest to her. 
 
 "Florence, my dear, howl did wish for you at church last 
 night. We had a beautiful sermon. I thought all the time how 
 you would have enjoyed it." 
 
 "Indeed? What was the text?" 
 
 " 'Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.' I declare it 
 is too bad for you to be ill just at this time! Philip Melville leaves 
 tomorrow, and you have not seen him. " 
 
 "Philip Melville? Who is he?" 
 
 "He is the young minister who filled Mr. Crosby's pulpit Sun- 
 day morning and evening, and the whole town was electrified by 
 his marvelous sermons. I never heard anything in my life to equal 
 them. The man seems inspired." 
 
 "Sorry I could not hear him. What is he like?" 
 
 "lie is tall, and splendidly built; a most imposing figure, and 
 a face of wonderful beauty. And he possesses such marvelous per- 
 sonal magnetism. He thrilled his entire audience. The church 
 was literally packed last night, and during his flights of impacsion- 
 ed oratory you could have heard a pin drop. That vast congrega- 
 tion simply held its breath to listen. You don't know what you 
 have missed. He is from Virginia, and since his ordination, five 
 years ago, he has been rising rapidly into prominence. I have 
 heard of him before, but was entirely unprepared for the wonder- 
 ful sermon of last night." 
 
 "And he preached from the text, 'Follow me, and I will make 
 you fishers of men?' What a singular coincidence!" 
 
 I told my friend of the strange dream I had the night before, 
 and that I had distinctly heard a voice repeat those very words: 
 "Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." 
 
 The following June I visited an old school friend living in a 
 mountain village of Virginia. Can I ever forget that summer? 
 Gertrude and I often took long horseback rides over the mountains. 
 One delightful Sunday afternoon, when we had ridden for many 
 miles we came to a little country church beautifully situated in a 
 grove of elms, pines and maples. Hearing the notes of an organ, 
 we decided, as we had nothing better to do, that we would go in, 
 and attend service. 
 
 As we entered the little church the congregation knelt in 
 prayer. We knelt also. Then I heard a voice, so musical, so deep, 
 so full of impassioned feeling, that I felt strangely moved. I can 
 never forget that prayer. The words burned into my memory. 
 The speaker seemed talking face to face with God. When I arose 
 
52 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 from my knees my eyes were dim with tears. After the mist 
 cleared away, I looked at the figure in the pulpit. My heart stop- 
 ped beating; my brain grew dizzy— I saw before me the face— the 
 never to be forgotton face— I had seen in my dream. I knew noth- 
 ing, I saw nothing but that face for the next few moments; then 
 I heard the same beautiful voice repeat the text: "My soul is ex- 
 ceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with 
 me." 
 
 It was not long before I forgot everything else, and became 
 absorbed in the sermon. As the speaker portrayed that scene in 
 the Garden of Gethsemane, the soul agony of the Christ— agony 
 more awful than the death on Calvary— I trembled from head to 
 foot, and cold drops of sweat stood on my forehead. 
 
 "And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strength- 
 ening him." 
 
 The voice spoke on. I could see the garden, the kneeling figure 
 of the Christ, the sleeping disciples, the white-robed angel. I 
 could hear the moaning, sobbing wind. I could feel the drops of 
 blood as they fell from that breaking heart. Then I saw the angel 
 fold around the prostrate figure its white wings, whispering words 
 of comfort and of love. 
 
 Not once did I take my eyes from the speaker's face. When 
 the last hymn was sung, and the congregation dismissed, I walked 
 from that church feeling like one in a dream. 
 
 As we reached the open air Gertrude looked at me strangely. 
 "Florence" she said, "you look as if you were under the influence 
 of an overdose of hashish. Wake up! Are you hypnotised?" 
 
 "Gertrude, who is that man?" 
 
 "Hush! Here he comes to speak to us." 
 
 So I met Philip Melville. I felt so dazed and bewildered that 
 I can recall but little of what he said that day. But afterwards I 
 came to know him well. He was a frequent guest at the home 
 of my friend. 
 
 One day, when we were sitting alone in the summer house on 
 the lawn, I asked Philip Melville if he believed in dreams. 
 
 1 'I often think that some of our dreams are more real than what 
 we call reality; at most, they are certainly significant. My idea is, 
 that these significant dreams are telepathic impressions received by 
 the subconscious mind while the conscious mind is wrapt in oblivion. " 
 
 "Do you believe in telepathy?" 
 
 "Yes, and in dreams. One night I had a strange, allegorical 
 dream, like those visions of old Bible times. It was before I ever 
 met you. That night you preached in my native city from the 
 text: 'Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men' In my 
 dream I distinctly heard those very words. Let me tell you the 
 dream. ' ' 
 
 Philip Melville listened with intense interest as I related my 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 58 
 
 dream of the fish. When I had finished, there was a strange look 
 on his face, and he seemed wrapt in deep thought. Presently he 
 said, "Miss Sutherland, that dream has a meaning, and my belief 
 is, that some day it will be made clear to you. 
 
 'There are more things in heaven and earth 
 Than are dreamed of in our philosophy.'' " 
 
 "Give me your interpretation of the dream." said I. 
 
 "I am afraid I am not skilled in that line," he replied. "But 
 let me have time to think it over. Perhaps the interpretation will 
 flash upon me by inspiration some day. Who knows? However, 
 there is one thing I predict: that some day you will meet the man 
 whose face you saw in your dream, and that he will prove to be 
 your affinity." 
 
 I felt the color leap to my cheeks, and imagined that those 
 dark, penetrating eyes were looking into my very soul. 
 
 "That dream might be explained by telepathy, Miss Suther- 
 land, he continued, "one of those strange instances of thought 
 transference that we hear so much about these days. Yet some- 
 how, I think there is a deeper meaning in it." 
 
 "What meaning?" 
 
 "Wait. 
 
 " 'God's plans, like lilies, pure and white unfold; 
 We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart; 
 Time will reveal the calyxes of gold.' " 
 
 One day, as we stood on the bank of a beautiful mountain 
 stream at sunset, Philip Melville's face had an expression of such 
 exquisite beauty that it held my gaze spellbound. He had not 
 spoken to me of love, yet I knew that day that he loved me. 
 
 "Do you know Mr. Melville, that sometimes I believe in rein- 
 carnation. It would explain many things otherwise inexplicable. 
 I believe that I have known you in some former existence, ages 
 and ages ago." 
 
 He smiled— the same beautiful smile I had seen in my dream. 
 
 "I have precisely the same feeling about you, he said, "yet 
 I do not believe in reincarnation. Do not attempt to solve this 
 mystery, Miss Sutherland. 'The most potent influence is the un- 
 analyzed.' " 
 
 He had removed his hat, and stood watching the sunset clouds. 
 
 Presently he turned abruptly and met my gaze. 
 
 "Tell me, what were you thinking of just then?'' 
 
 ' 'I was only wondering why I first saw your face in a dream. 
 You look to-day precisely as you did that night." 
 
 I had expected him to look surprised. I was mistaken. But 
 his whole face was illumined by an expression I can never forget. 
 Suddenly he smiled and looked deeply into my eyes 
 
 "Mystery of mysteries, now past finding out! But some day 
 the scales will drop from your eyes, and a great flood of light will 
 
54 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 be poured in upon your mental vision. Then you will understand. 
 Until then, wait, and do not question." 
 
 And so we parted. 
 
 I did not see Philip Melville again for many weeks. He was 
 called suddenly away the next day by the illness of a distant rela- 
 tive, and I returned home during - his absence. 
 
 Weeks passed, and I looked in vain for a letter from him. At 
 last it came. I broke the seal, with beating heart, and read what 
 to me seemed the sweetest letter a man ever wrote to a woman : 
 
 "My dear Miss Sutherland:— You have doubtless seen through 
 the papers that I have pitched my tent on a new camping ground. 
 
 I am pleased with M , but I regretted exceedingly to leave 
 
 my friends in the dear old mountain valley, where I spent four of 
 the happiest and best years of my life. I loved my people there, 
 and it was my earnest desire to be a blessing to them; to lift them 
 to higher conceptions of life and the kingdom of Christ; to broaden 
 the horizon of their spiritual vision, and to enlarge the circle of 
 their sympathies. 
 
 "Now other voices are calling me, and other fields are white 
 unto harvest. 
 
 "There are multitudes of breaking hearts and dying souls 
 around us, and I must go among the suffering thousands, and be 
 about my Master s work. 'The harvest truly is plenteous, but the 
 laborers are few. ' 
 
 "And you — come go with me (as you did in your dream) down 
 the river of life to the bridge of death. Be my wife. I love you, 
 even as Jacob loved Rachel. I long continually for your presence, 
 your dear companionship. We were made for eachother. God 
 himself has planned our union. It is to be. He sent you that beau- 
 tiful dream. He sent you me. Other men will drift from you, 
 even as did those in the boat, (do you remember?) and you will 
 take my hand, and we shall be, 
 
 " 'Two souls with but a single thought, 
 Two hearts that beat as one. ' 
 
 "And as we journey hand in hand, doing the work that God 
 intends, the hearts of men will be drawn unto us and unto Him. 
 And when at last he calls us home, 'we shall go rejoicing, bring- 
 ing in the sheaves.' This is my interpretation of your dream. 
 The promise is given, and He will fulfill: 'Follow me, and I will 
 make you fishers of men.' Your lips have not spoken the words, 
 but I feel that you love me, even as I love you. God is calling you, 
 and I am calling you. Will you come? 
 "Yours now and always, 
 
 "Philip Melville." 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 55 
 
 fr 
 
 % 
 
 M 
 <# 
 
 m 
 
 
56 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 uJlj? (§lh Irtrk irntap. 
 
 On the banks of the Pasquotank River, about three miles from 
 Elizabeth City, stands a dipladiated structure known in this locality 
 as the "old brick house."' As one approaches this picturesque old 
 building by a road half a mile long, branching from the main high- 
 way leading to the great Dismal Swamp, the desolation, the air of 
 mystery surrounding it, is forcibly impressive. It stands just at the 
 bend of the river; the location commands an extensive view up and 
 down the picturesque Pasquotank, the approach of a vessel from 
 either direction being plainly visible. 
 
 Every portion of the architecture of "the old brick house" 
 bears the unmistakable stamp of antiquity. The walls are several 
 feet thick; reminding one of the old English castles of feudal days. 
 The basement and gable ends of the house are built entirely of 
 large and heavy brick. The front and back portions are partly of 
 wood. 
 
 A broad central hall runs the entire length of the house, from 
 which an old-fashioned staircase leads to the upper floor. The 
 walls of the large front room to the right are finished in beautifully 
 carved panelling reaching from floor to ceiling. This room has a 
 brick chimney, with fireplace surmounted by a mantlepiece of 
 elaborately carved wood. 
 
 On the left side of this mantlepiece is a china closet, with a 
 sliding panel opening into a secret closet some six feet square. By 
 touching a spring ingeniously concealed in the carving of the ad- 
 joining room, a trap door springs open, admitting to the hidden 
 apartment. At the right of the fireplace is a good-sized butler's pan- 
 try, that originally had steps leading into the basement, 
 which was also reached by another flight of steps in the hall. In 
 former times a subterranean passage led from the celler of "the 
 old brick house" to the Pasquotank River, some hundred yards 
 away. Traces of this passage may still be seen. 
 
 There is a tradition, which seems to be well founded, that this 
 dwelling was once the headquarters of the notorious pirate, Edward 
 Teach, popularly known as Blackbeard, and that he conveyed the 
 stolen treasure from his ships through this underground nassage. 
 Certain it is that the initials "E. R. T." and the date "1709" are 
 cut on the stone at the steps; also, that the situation and structure 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 57 
 
 of the house made it admirably suitable for a piratical retreat. 
 There could scarcely have been found a safer repository for stolen 
 treasure than the secret closet already described. This compart- 
 ment was accidentally discovered by a Federal soldier during the 
 civil war. When this astonished Northerner gazed into the dark 
 recess, all that he saw was an old and faded pair of pink silk slippers. 
 None of Blackbeard's gold was anywhere in evidence. 
 
 Edward Teach, the most notorious pirate who ever sailed 
 American waters, delighted in the picturesque. When about to 
 engage in some horrible crime of sea robbery and murder, he would 
 plait his hair and his long, black beard, which descended below his 
 waist, and decorate them with blazing tapers, according to the 
 legends. He would burn sulphur and brimstone in the hold of his 
 ship, and chew glass until the blood trickled from his lips. Then 
 he would go on deck and engage in a sort of devil's dance, until 
 his followers were terrorized into implicit obedience to his com- 
 mands. With a fleet of six vessels thoroughly manned by a horde 
 of desperadoes and cut-throats, he kept the whole coast in a state of 
 constant terror. 
 
 When a luckless craft chanced to encounter one of Blackbeard 's 
 fleet, woe to passengers and crew. They were either made to 
 "walk the plank" or were murdered in cold blood. Those bold 
 buccaneers not only plundered all ships which contained valuable 
 booty, but often went ashore, and, armed to the teeth, marched 
 through cities and towns, leaving death and destruction in their 
 path. It was no uncommon thing for them to enter a man's dwell- 
 ing, kill all the inmates, and possess themselves of everything of 
 value the house contained. 
 
 Blackbeard is reputed to have had seventeen wives, and it is be- 
 lieved that many, if not all, of these women were victims of this 
 insatiable murderer. There is a story that one m >rning, as Black- 
 beard's ship "The Queen Ann's Revenge," sailed into Charleston 
 harbor, the pirate captured several vessels, taking a number of 
 prisoners. Shortly after this the piratical crew fell sick and were 
 sorely in need of medicine. Blackbeard wrote a letter to the gov- 
 ernor of South Carolina, demanding that a chest of medicine be 
 immediately sent to him, and stating that if his wishes were not 
 complied with at once he would decapitate all his prisoners. The 
 medicine chest was immediately in evidence, the governor not dar- 
 ing to refuse the pirate's demand. 
 
 A price was set upon the head of Blackbeard, but in many a 
 bold and bloody encounter he came off victor. At last Lieut. May- 
 nard of the British navy determined to capture him or perish in the 
 attempt. Thoroughly equipped for fight, Maynard encountered 
 Blackbeard near Ocracoke Inlet. As the naval ship approached 
 "The Queen Ann's Revenge" it ran aground, and for a time all 
 seemed lost. The pirates at once opened a volley upon their enemy, 
 
58. Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 and several of Maynard's men were killed. At last the brave lieu- 
 tenant hit upon a clever stratagem to capture the pirate. He order- 
 ed his men to retire with him to the hold of the ship, leaving only 
 the dead and dying on deck. The pirates, supposing that their 
 enemies were in their power, boldly sprang aboard the unlucky 
 ship. Quickly from his retreat rushed Maynard with twenty brave 
 followers thoroughly armed. A bloody conflict ensued, in which 
 Maynard met Blackbeard in a hand-to-hand encounter, and ran his 
 sword through the pirate's body, inflicting a mortal wound. See- 
 ing their leader fall, the whole piratical crew became panic-strick- 
 en. Many of them were captured, many were slain. Maynard 
 cut on? the head of Blackbeard, and putting it in a conspicious 
 position on the bow sprit of his ship, sailed in triumph to Bath. 
 There is a tradition that after the head of Blackbeard was severed 
 from his body, the headless trunk swam three times around his 
 captor's ship. 
 
 At many points along the Pasquotank River and on Buzzard's 
 Island, a vast amount of Blackbeard's gold i3 supposed to be 
 buried, and a human head is said to be buried with every 
 pot of gold as a ghostly protection. The superstitious 
 natives of the Albemarle section believe that this old pirate cannot 
 rest quietly in his grave; that his spirit revisits his old haunts in 
 North Carolina. To this day a mysterious light is sometimes seen 
 on dark nights going from point to point at a certain locality on 
 Pasquotank River, which is known as ' Teach's Light. ' ' Its origin is 
 unkown, and it is supposed to proceed from the phantom ship of 
 Blackbeard, the pirate. 
 
 Now, listen to a romantic legend connected with ' 'the old brick 
 house," which adds not a little to its interest. The story runs that 
 this house was built centuries ago by an English lord, who brought 
 all the material for its construction from "the old country." 
 This lord had a beautiful daughter, who was deeply in love with a 
 man far below her in station. The match was bitterly opposed, 
 and, as is usual in such cases, the greater the opposition the brighter 
 burned the fire of love. At last, fearing a clandestine marriage, 
 the old lord secretly conveyed his daughter to America, and forced 
 her to live in the strictest seclusion in "the old brick house." 
 which was built with a view to this concealment. 
 
 The secret closet was for a time the prison of the beauti- 
 ful daughter of the old lord. Her nourishment was supplied 
 through the sliding panel in the china closet. At last, the health 
 of this imprisoned beauty began to fail, consumption was stretch- 
 ing its skeleton hands toward her, and her father reluctantly al- 
 lowed her a small degree of freedom. She was allowed to mingle 
 with the young people of the country around, and the roses were 
 beginning to bloom again in her cheeks. During all these months, 
 nothing had been seen or heard of the disappointed lover, and it 
 
Under Brazillian Skies 59 
 
 was supposed that he had abandoned all hope of finding his lost 
 love, and had consoled himself in the usual way. 
 
 Time passed, and the young man was forgotten by all save the 
 girl, in whose heart still lived the sad but beautiful memory of her 
 love. At last one night a grand ball was given at ' 'the old , brick 
 house, "and fair women and brave men "danced away the hours 
 with flying feet.'' Music, mirth and revelry reigned supreme. 
 The clock struck twelve, the gayety was at his height, when 
 suddenly the ballroom door was flung violently open, and on the 
 threshold appeared a ghastly spectacle. There stood the old lord, 
 a bloody sword in one hand, and the other grasping by the belt the 
 lifeless, blood stained form of his daughter's lover, who had come 
 an uninvited guest to the ball. 
 
 A thrill of horror ran through the assembled company; women 
 fainted and men turned pale. With a bold stride and a look of in- 
 sane rage upon his face, the murderer dragged his victim through 
 the crowded room and threw him, with a curse, at his daughter's 
 feet. A despairing cry rang through the house, and a woman's 
 face, white with anguish, bent over the lifeless form. A moment 
 more, and the delicate white-robed figure, with its wealth of golden 
 hair, swayed like a willow in the blast, and fell, and lay motionless 
 by the side of the dead man. Sympathetic faces bent over her, 
 but the beautiful eyes stared vacantly into space, the heart that 
 had loved "not wisely but too well" had ceased to beat. These 
 two ill-starred lovers are buried side by side in the shade of a 
 forest near ' 'the old brick house. ' ' They sleep in unmarked graves, 
 with the silence and peace of the forest about them, and the song 
 of the birds as a requiem. 
 
 THE END. 
 
60 Under Brazillian Skies 
 
 THE EYRIE AND OTHER SOUTHERN STORIES 
 
 BY 
 BETTIE FRESHWATER POOL. 
 
 Decorated Cloth, 12mo : Price $1.00. 
 
 FRONTISPIECE: 
 
 "The Nag's Head Picture of Theodosia Burr." 
 
 "This book is the author's first volume of fiction, and discovers 
 her as an author of advanced rank. The dialect sketches are re- 
 markably clever, being more truly 'darkey' than those of Page, 
 Harris and a score of well-knowns. 
 
 "The Jiyrie has truly been pronounced a gem. It is a beauti- 
 ful gift book for the holidays."— Fairfax Enterprise. 
 
 "This new book of Southern stories, the first effort of the 
 author, gives evidence of unquestioned talent, both in story-tell- 
 ing and in writing dialect. 
 
 "The stories deal mainly with Southern incidents 'befo' de 
 wah, ' and the author's knowledge of the negro character is perfect. 
 In her sketch, 'The Nag's Head Picture of Theodosia Burr,' Miss 
 Pool has given to the students of history a story that will attract 
 interest and investigation." — Raleigh News and Observer. 
 
 "The author of The Eyrie, Miss Bettie Freshwater Pool of 
 Elizabeth City, N. C, is a women of brilliant parts. She wields a 
 facile and versatile pen, and rarely fails to charm her readers. She 
 has placed the reading public under lasting obligations in giving 
 out this book of short stories and poems. Her negro dialect is al- 
 most faultless, and the portrayal of the tender relationship exist- 
 ing between ante bellum slave and master is indead touching. Her 
 'Nag's Head Picture of Theodosia Burr' is of real historic worth. 
 Some of her poems — fifteen in number— possess the artistic finish 
 and spiritual touch of poetic genius." — Littleton Herald. 
 
 ' 'This is a book of pleasing sketches and poems. Their style is 
 clear and concise, and their several themes decidedly interesting. 
 The story which closes the volume, 'The Monstrosity' (by Gaston 
 Pool) is so fascinating that one is fairly rivited to it after the first 
 paragraph. The story is well told, and the seemingly marvelous 
 occurences which give it life are in the end divested of their mys- 
 tery by the light of science." — Town Topics. 
 
 "Some of these stories are in negro dialect and are remarka- 
 bly good specimens of the language actually spoken by the negro. 
 They are as far removed from what generally passes in story-books 
 for dialect as light is from darkness." — Magazine of Southern 
 History. 
 
 Send all orders to Miss Bettie F. Pool, Elizabeth City, N. C.