"I have compiled a little sketch of her history, which I now send you. The first part of it is drawn from my husband's account of his African experience; the rest from the joint accounts of Marie and the good nuns who had charge of her...."
Here the remainder of the letter was torn off, not relating, as Flora supposed, to the little Arab girl. She next took up the manuscript, which ran thus:—
"After the battle in the plain of Cheliff, where the Duc d'Aumale and his little army so bravely captured Abd-el-Kader's encampment, many of the officers left their tents in the evening and wandered over the scene of their late conflict. Among them was Colonel, then Captain de St. Severan. He had strayed to some distance beyond the rest, following the direction which the fugitives had taken, and was about to return, when, standing for a moment gazing back upon the battle-field, he was startled by the sound of a half-smothered cry. A few paces before him lay the body of an Arab; he approached it, and as he shook the cloak which nearly covered it, the cry was repeated. Within the folds of the bernous there was a little child, whose large black eyes were wide open with fright, and little hands stretched out, as if to ward off some coming danger. With no slight effort he drew the child from the dead Arab, and tried to quiet its cries by caresses and marks of endearment. After taking it up in his arms he returned to his tent, and sent for one of the camp women, to whom he related his adventures, adding that he had determined to adopt the child as his own, and confiding it to her care.
"Having been wounded in one of the later skirmishes, Captain de St. Severan was sent back to Algiers with a detachment of troops, when he took care that the woman to whom he had entrusted the little foundling was to accompany them. The child was a little girl of about two or three years old, and was christened Marie. Day by day she became a greater darling—the pet, indeed, of the whole brigade—and was in danger of being completely spoiled, when her protector was ordered again on active service. Of course, he could not take little Marie with him, so he yielded to the advice of his lady friends, and, stipulating that she should learn her father's language, placed her under the good guardianship of the French nuns at Algiers.
"It so happened that he never returned to Algiers, save to pass through it almost in a dying state on his way home. After a long and tedious illness in Paris, which left great depression of spirits upon him, a friend, Mr. Molyneux, induced him to accept an invitation to the family seat of Mr. Molyneux's father in England, and try there the invigorating tonic of English country life. At this house I met him, and the sequel of that meeting was, that a few months afterwards I became Madame de St. Severan.
"I need scarcely say that I heard many stories of Algiers, and of Marie. We had agreed to send for her as soon as we should get to France, but, on our arrival in Paris, my husband was offered an important post in one of the colonies, and thought he could not well refuse it without retiring from the army, which he did not wish to do, therefore he consented to go; in consequence, Marie was left at the convent in Algiers. We remained away nearly ten years, and only returned to Paris last winter, when we wrote at once to request that Marie should be sent to us; being doubly anxious to have her, as we had, alas! lost our own dear ones. But the answer received from the superioress caused us the greatest pain and anxiety. She said, that shortly before our last letter arrived Marie had been missed one evening from prayers at church, when it was found that she had obtained permission to walk in the grounds, as she was suffering from headache, and that, on search being made for her, a door in the garden was discovered to have been forced open from without, and a scarf, which had been worn by Marie, found on the ground there. These, with other facts, left no doubt that she had been carried off by some Arabs, who had before been seen about the place.
"Three months passed without any tidings of poor Marie. At length a letter came containing the joyful news that she had been safely restored to the convent, and was suffering only from weakness and exhaustion.
"Marie's account of what occurred tells us that, having obtained permission, she went out alone and sought shade and repose in a summer-house at the far end of the grounds—a favourite retreat of hers. She supposes that she had been asleep, when she was roused by feeling something thrown over her head and twisted tightly across her mouth, so that she could not speak or scream. She was then carried for a short distance, placed upon a horse by some one, who got up behind her and galloped away. Save the rapid movement through the air, Marie remembers nothing until she found herself lying on a bed of moss in what appeared to her to be a rocky cavern. As she awoke the bright rays of the sun were pouring in upon her, and for a moment she thought she must have dreamed some fearful dream. An old man in a white bernous then entered the cavern, and all the terrible reality was revealed to her. He came and bent over her, when she exclaimed, 'Oh, sir, take me back! What injury have I ever done you that you should steal me away from all those whom I love? Only take me back and you shall have as much money as you like.'
"'Money!' he sorrowfully repeated. 'Can money buy me back my beautiful, my brave children whom the hateful Roumi killed? Can money make the old man young again, and give him new sons to perpetuate his race?'
"'I pity you very much, sir; but what have I to do with your misfortunes? Why revenge upon a poor weak girl like me the death of those who were dear to you?'