"Fear nothing," answered a deep and manly voice. "No harm is intended thee; no harm shall befall thee. I swear it on the word of a Cossack chieftain."

Alvina was tranquillized at once by the evident sincerity of the a.s.surance.

"You are alone now in the world," pursued the stranger "I strove to save your bridegroom, but he fell before I reached him."

"I loved him not," answered Alvina, coldly; "I mourn him not."

"You may hate me for the deed," said the stranger, "and I would fain escape that woe; but here I vouch it in the face of heaven, Count Willnitz fell by my hand. My sabre clove him to the teeth. Years had pa.s.sed, but I could not forget that he once laid the b.l.o.o.d.y scourge upon my back."

"Alexis!" cried Alvina, now recognizing her preserver.

"Yes, dear but unfortunate girl," cried the Cossack leader, turning and gazing on the young girl, "I feel that thou art lost to me forever. I have slain thy father. Love for thee should have stayed my hand; but I had sworn an oath of vengeance, and I kept my vow."

"Alexis," whispered Alvina, "he was not my father. He was my bitterest enemy. Nor am I n.o.bly born. Like you, I am an orphan."

"Say you so?" shouted the Cossack. "Then thou art mine--mine and forever--joy of my youth--blessing of my manhood!"

"Yes, thine--thine only."

"But bethink thee, sweetest," said the Cossack; "I lead a strange wild life."

"I will share it with thee," said Alvina, firmly.

"My companions are rude men."

"I shall see only thee."

"My home is the saddle, my palace the wide steppe."

"With thee, Alexis, I could be happy any where."

"Then be it so," said the Cossack, joyously. "What ho!" he shouted, at the top of his ringing, trumpet-like voice. "Comrades, behold your hetman's bride!"

From mouth to mouth the words of the Cossack chieftain were repeated, and oft as they were uttered wild shouts of joy rose from the bearded warriors; for they had loved the gallant Alexis from the moment when, a wayworn, famished, and bleeding fugitive, he came among them. They galloped round and round the hetman and his fair companion in dizzying circles, like the whirling leaves of autumn, firing their pistols, brandishing their lances and sabres, and making the welkin ring with their terrific shouts. Alvina clung, terrified, to the waist of her lover, and he finally silenced the noisy demonstrations by a wave of his hand. Then, under his leadership, and in more regular order, the formidable band of hors.e.m.e.n pursued their march to those distant solitudes where happiness awaited their chieftain and his bride.

MARRIED FOR MONEY.

"Jack Cleveland!" exclaimed a fast young man in a drab driving coat with innumerable capes, (it was twenty years ago, reader, in the palmy days of Tom and Jerry and tandem teams,) as he encountered an equally fast young man in Cornhill; "what's the matter with you?"

"It's all over, Frank; I've gone and done it."

"Gone and done what, you spooney?"

"Proposed."

"Proposed what?--a match at billiards, a trot on the milldam, or a main of c.o.c.ks?"

"Pooh!--something more serious," said Cleveland, gravely; "I've offered myself."

"Offered yourself? To whom?"

"Widow--Waffles--shy name--never mind--soon changed--one hundred and fifty thousand--cool, eh?--age forty--good looks--married for money--sheriff would have it--no friends--pockets to let--pays my debts--sets me up--house in Beacon Street--carriage--can't help it."

"You're a candidate for Bedlam," said Frank; "I've a great mind to order you a strait jacket."

"Be my bridesman--see me off--eh?" asked Cleveland.

"Yes, yes, of course--it will be great fun."

And so it was. Jack Cleveland was united to the widow Waffles in Trinity Church, and a smashing wedding it was. The party that followed it was, to use Cleveland's own expressions, "a crusher--all Boston invited--all Africa waiting--wax lights--champagne--music--ices--pretty girls--a bang-up execution."

During the honeymoon Jack Cleveland was all attention to his bride, (_il faut soigner les anciennes_,) but he promised to indemnify himself by taking full and complete liberty so soon as that interesting period of time had been brought to a close. Besides, his chains sat lightly at first; for the widow was one of those splendid Lady Blessington kind of women, who at forty have just arrived at the imperial maturity of their charms, and she was deeply enamoured of the young gentleman whom she had chosen for her second partner in the matrimonial speculation. Moreover, she paid the debts of the fast young man with an exemplary cheerfulness. The only drawback to this gush of felicity was that her property was "tied up;" not a cent could Cleveland handle except by permission of his lady. Then she kept him as close to her ap.r.o.n strings as she did her Blenheim spaniel; she required him to obey her call as promptly as her coachman. Galling to his pride though it was, he was even forced to go a shopping with her; and the elegant Cleveland, who once thought it degrading to carry an umbrella, might be seen loaded with bandboxes, or nonchalantly lilting bundles of cashmere shawls. The only difference between Mrs.

Cleveland's husband and her footman was that he received wages; but then the footman could leave when he chose, and there the parallel ended. Jack's habits had to submit to a rigid and inexorable censorship. "Those odious cigars" were prohibited, and then "his list of friends" was challenged. Frank Aikin, the bridesman, was tolerated the longest of all, and then he was "bluffed off" by Mrs. Cleveland, who determined to make her husband a domestic man. It was the old story of Hercules and Omphale modernized to suit the times.

Jack began to think the happiest day of his life had made him the most miserable dog alive, and, like Sir Peter Teazle, "had lost all comfort in the world before his friends had done wishing him joy." But his debts were paid--that was a great consolation. Several streets in Boston, which were blocked up by creditors, as those of London were to the respected Mr. Richard Swiveller, were now opened by the magic wand of matrimony. He could exhibit his "Hyperion curls" in Washington Street, without any fear of a gentle "reminder" in the shape of a tap upon the shoulder.

One morning, however, a lady was ushered up into the splendid drawing room in Beacon Street, being announced as Madame St. Germain. She was a showy French woman, about the same age as Mrs. Cleveland, and the latter waited with some curiosity to learn the object of her visit.

"You are Mrs. Cleveland, I believe," said the French woman.

Mrs. Cleveland bowed in her stateliest manner.

"You have undertaken, I learn, to pay the debts of Monsieur Cleveland, contracted before your marriage."

Mrs. Cleveland bowed again.

"I hold a note of his drawn in my favor for a thousand dollars, payable at sight, with interest, dated two years back."

"What was it given for?" asked Mrs. Cleveland, with some asperity.

"Pardon me, madam--I cannot state that without the permission of your husband."

Mrs. Cleveland applied her hand vigorously to a bell-pull communicating with her husband's dressing room.

He made his presence in a splendid _robe de chambre_ and a Turkish cap with a gold ta.s.sel.

"This woman," said his better half, "says you owe her a thousand dollars."

"Monsieur cannot deny it," said the French woman, fixing her keen black eyes on the thunder-struck Cleveland.

"It's all right--pay her up!" said Mr. Cleveland.

"Not till I know what the debt was incurred for."