The Lady of the Shroud by Bram Stoker (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕
"Sorry. But, of course, you don't understand such things." Then he went on talking before father had time to say a word.
"Let us get back to business. As you do not seem to follow me, let me explain that it is BECAUSE I do not forget that I wish to do this. I remember my dear mother's wish to make Aunt Janet happy, and would like to do as she did."
"AUNT Janet?" said father, very properly sneering at his ignorance. "She is not your aunt. Why, even her sister, who was married to your uncle, was only your aunt by courtesy." I could not help feeling that Rupert meant to be rude to my father, though his words were quite polite. If I had been as much bigger than him as he was than me, I should have flown at him; but he was a very big boy for his age. I am myself rather thin. Mother says thinness is an "appanage of birth."
"My Aunt Janet, sir, is an aunt by love. Courtesy is a small word to use in connection with such devoti
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have received for the nation the splendid gift of the little warship,
which already represents a new era in naval armament, can understand
the great-souled generosity of the man who has restored the vast
possessions of my House. On our way hither from Ilsin, Rupert Sent
Leger made known to me the terms of the trust of his noble uncle,
Roger Melton, and—believe me that he did so generously, with a joy
that transcended my own—restored to the last male of the Vissarion
race the whole inheritance of a noble line.
“And now, my Lords of the Council, I come to another matter, in which
I find myself in something of a difficulty, for I am aware that in
certain ways you actually know more of it than even I myself do. It
is regarding the marriage of my daughter to Rupert Sent Leger. It is
known to me that the matter has been brought before you by the
Archbishop, who, as guardian of my daughter during my absence on the
service of the nation, wished to obtain your sanction, as till my
return he held her safety in trust. This was so, not from any merit
of mine, but because she, in her own person, had undertaken for the
service of our nation a task of almost incredible difficulty. My
Lords, were she child of another father, I should extol to the skies
her bravery, her self-devotion, her loyalty to the land she loves.
Why, then, should I hesitate to speak of her deeds in fitting terms,
since it is my duty, my glory, to hold them in higher honour than can
any in this land? I shall not shame her—or even myself—by being
silent when such a duty urges me to speak, as Voivode, as trusted
envoy of our nation, as father. Ages hence loyal men and women of
our Land of the Blue Mountains will sing her deeds in song and tell
them in story. Her name, Teuta, already sacred in these regions,
where it was held by a great Queen, and honoured by all men, will
hereafter be held as a symbol and type of woman’s devotion. Oh, my
Lords, we pass along the path of life, the best of us but a little
time marching in the sunlight between gloom and gloom, and it is
during that march that we must be judged for the future. This brave
woman has won knightly spurs as well as any Paladin of old. So is it
meet that ere she might mate with one worthy of her you, who hold in
your hands the safety and honour of the State, should give your
approval. To you was it given to sit in judgment on the worth of
this gallant Englisher, now my son. You judged him then, before you
had seen his valour, his strength, and skill exercised on behalf of a
national cause. You judged wisely, oh, my brothers, and out of a
grateful heart I thank you one and all for it. Well has he justified
your trust by his later acts. When, in obedience to the summons of
the Vladika, he put the nation in a blaze and ranged our boundaries
with a ring of steel, he did so unknowing that what was dearest to
him in the world was at stake. He saved my daughter’s honour and
happiness, and won her safety by an act of valour that outvies any
told in history. He took my daughter with him to bring me out from
the Silent Tower on the wings of the air, when earth had for me no
possibility of freedom—I, that had even then in my possession the
documents involving other nations which the Soldan would fain have
purchased with the half of his empire.
“Henceforth to me, Lords of the Council, this brave man must ever be
as a son of my heart, and I trust that in his name grandsons of my
own may keep in bright honour the name which in glorious days of old
my fathers made illustrious. Did I know how adequately to thank you
for your interest in my child, I would yield up to you my very soul
in thanks.”
The speech of the Voivode was received with the honour of the Blue
Mountains—the drawing and raising of handjars
FROM RUPERT’S JOURNAL.
July 14, 1907.
For nearly a week we waited for some message from Constantinople,
fully expecting either a declaration of war, or else some inquiry so
couched as to make war an inevitable result. The National Council
remained on at Vissarion as the guests of the Voivode, to whom, in
accordance with my uncle’s will, I had prepared to retransfer all
his estates. He was, by the way, unwilling at first to accept, and
it was only when I showed him Uncle Roger’s letter, and made him read
the Deed of Transfer prepared in anticipation by Mr. Trent, that he
allowed me to persuade him. Finally he said:
“As you, my good friends, have so arranged, I must accept, be it only
in honour to the wishes of the dead. But remember, I only do so but
for the present, reserving to myself the freedom to withdraw later if
I so desire.”
But Constantinople was silent. The whole nefarious scheme was one of
the “put-up jobs” which are part of the dirty work of a certain order
of statecraft—to be accepted if successful; to be denied in case of
failure.
The matter stood thus: Turkey had thrown the dice—and lost. Her
men were dead; her ship was forfeit. It was only some ten days after
the warship was left derelict with every living thing—that is,
everything that had been living—with its neck broken, as Rooke
informed me, when he brought the ship down the creek, and housed it
in the dock behind the armoured gates—that we saw an item in The
Roma copied from The Constantinople Journal of July 9:
“LOSS OF AN OTTOMAN IRONCLAD WITH ALL HANDS.
“News has been received at Constantinople of the total loss, with all
hands, of one of the newest and finest warships in the Turkish fleet-
-The Mahmoud, Captain Ali Ali—which foundered in a storm on the
night of July 5, some distance off Cabrera, in the Balearic Isles.
There were no survivors, and no wreckage was discovered by the ships
which went in relief—the Pera and the Mustapha—or reported from
anywhere along the shores of the islands, of which exhaustive search
was made. The Mahmoud was double-manned, as she carried a full extra
crew sent on an educational cruise on the most perfectly
scientifically equipped warship on service in the Mediterranean
waters.”
When the Voivode and I talked over the matter, he said:
“After all, Turkey is a shrewd Power. She certainly seems to know
when she is beaten, and does not intend to make a bad thing seem
worse in the eyes of the world.”
Well, ‘tis a bad wind that blows good to nobody. As The Mahmoud was
lost off the Balearics, it cannot have been her that put the
marauders on shore and trained her big guns on Ilsin. We take it,
therefore, that the latter must have been a pirate, and as we have
taken her derelict in our waters, she is now ours in all ways.
Anyhow, she is ours, and is the first ship of her class in the navy
of the Blue Mountains. I am inclined to think that even if she was—
or is still—a Turkish ship, Admiral Rooke would not be inclined to
let her go. As for Captain Desmond, I think he would go straight out
of his mind if such a thing was to be even suggested to him.
It will be a pity if we have any more trouble, for life here is very
happy with us all now. The Voivode is, I think, like a man in a
dream. Teuta is ideally happy, and the real affection which sprang
up between them when she and Aunt Janet met is a joy to think of. I
had posted Teuta about her, so that when they should meet my wife
might not, by any inadvertence, receive or cause any pain. But the
moment Teuta saw her she ran straight over to her and lifted her in
her strong young arms, and, raising her up as one would lift a child,
kissed her. Then, when she had put her sitting in the chair from
which she had arisen when we entered the room, she knelt down before
her, and put her face down in her lap. Aunt Janet’s face was a
study; I myself could hardly say whether at the first moment surprise
or joy predominated. But there could be no doubt about it the
instant after. She seemed to beam with happiness. When Teuta knelt
to her, she could only say:
“My dear, my dear, I am glad! Rupert’s wife, you and I must love
each other very much.” Seeing that they were laughing and crying in
each other’s arms, I thought it best to come away and leave them
alone. And I didn’t feel a bit lonely either when I was out of sight
of them. I knew that where those two dear women were there was a
place for my own heart.
When I came back, Teuta was sitting on Aunt Janet’s knee. It seemed
rather stupendous for the old lady, for Teuta is such a splendid
creature that even when she sits on my own knee and I catch a glimpse
of us in some mirror, I cannot but notice what a nobly-built girl she
is.
My wife was jumping up as soon as I was seen, but Aunt Janet held her
tight to her, and said:
“Don’t stir, dear. It is such happiness to me to have you there.
Rupert has always been my ‘little boy,’ and, in spite of all his
being such a giant, he is so still. And so you, that he loves, must
be my little girl—in spite of all your beauty and your strength—and
sit on my knee, till you can place there a little one that shall be
dear to us all, and that shall let me feel my youth again. When
first I saw you I was surprised, for, somehow, though I had never
seen you nor even heard of you, I seemed to know your face. Sit
where you are, dear. It is only Rupert—and we both love him.”
Teuta looked at me, flushing rosily; but she sat quiet, and drew the
old lady’s white head on her young breast.
JANET MACKELPIE’S NOTES.
July 8, 1907.
I used to think that whenever Rupert should get married or start on
the way to it by getting engaged—I would meet his future wife with
something of the same affection that I have always had for himself.
But I know now that what was really in my mind was jealousy, and that
I was really fighting against my own instincts, and pretending to
myself that I was not jealous. Had I ever had the faintest idea that
she would be anything the least like Teuta, that sort of feeling
should never have had even a foothold. No wonder my dear boy is in
love with her, for, truth to tell, I am in love with her myself. I
don’t think I ever met a creature—a woman creature, of course, I
mean—with so many splendid qualities. I almost fear to say it, lest
it should seem to myself wrong; but I think she is as good as a woman
as Rupert is as a man. And what more than that can I say? I thought
I loved her and trusted her, and knew her all
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