The Cook County Herald

NINETTE'S SACRIFICE

Pretty. Ninette skipped daintily along the shore, her bright curls tossing with the breeze, and the gayly colored kerchief, which should have confined them, swinging in her hand.

She was happy, as the birds, and her very heart sung for joy, for was she not on her way to the dear artist's studio, where she spent the happiest hours of the day? Was she not helping to make the beautiful picture which he said was to bring him fame and happiness? And as she thought, her steps grew slower, and the bright, beautiful past rose up before her like a wonderful panorama, each view more entrancing than the preceding one: her memory went back to that early summer's day, when he had come upon her as she sat mending her father's nets on the shore, and had asked her to sit for him each day, while he had put her picture on the canvas with a genius that almost frightened the simple fisher maiden.

Happy days! in which she had learned to love him for his gentle words, his bonny smile and the song and story with which he had beguiled the hours in which she strove with all her soul to embody his meaning, with an earnestness that pleased while it surprised him. Ah! but it was her signor, and he had chosen her from all the girls on the shore, and the picture was hers as well as his, and she gloried in its perfection. Half child, half woman, as she was, she did not understand what it was that made the sun so bright, the sea so joyous, and life so altogether delightful.

To-day she entered the studio with eyes shining like stars, the soft color coming and going in her cheeks, the dewy lips, arched like Cupid's bow, tremulous with excitement and it was no wonder that his artist soul reveled in her beauty.

When the day's work was over he called her to him and showed her the picture, which was approaching completion.

"We shall soon have it done, my dear, and then we will send it away to the big city, where there will be none so beautiful as my little fisher girl; only a few more days and our work is over."

He drew her close to him and pressed a kiss on her innocent lips; which to him was but an expression of thankfulness to the child who had helped him to win the fame he felt sure was within his grasp; but to her it was the awakening of a soul, and he, cold-blooded northerner as he was, did not understand how soon womanhood, with all its joys and sorrows, comes to maidens under a southern sun.

She silently left the room and thoughtfully pursued her way to her home. Her few simple duties over, she crept to her bed, still with this new secret warming her heart and opening out a new vista of happiness in her life.

SHE FALLS OVER THE CLIFF.

Mother she had none; her father, a rough, uncouth fisherman, was seldom at home except to sleep off some drunken orgie; it was strange that so lovely a flower could have sprung from such a parent; but it was said that the mother had been of gentle birth, had married the handsome, rollicking dare-devil; and broken her heart when she came to realize his utter worthlessness.

Some time in the night Ninette awakened from a deep sleep by hearing voices outside the hut, and soon distinguished her father's and those of some of his cronies. As she listened she grew cold as with a sudden chill, as she heard them plan to waylay and rob some one, and she held her breath to catch the name. Ah! heaven, could it be that she heard aright! The "picture fellow," they said, "he has plenty of money and jewels worth taking."

She must save him, he who had caressed her so fondly, her dear friend, for even to herself she scarcely dared call him by any fonder name yet. She would listen to all their plans, and perhaps she could warn him.

"He will be coming home along the cliff road from the chateau that holds his sweetheart," said her father's voice:

"they will think he fell over," he added, with a fiendish chuckle.

"Hist," said another, "the girl may wake."

She could hear no more, for they moved away; but the iron had entered her soul, and jealousy had made a woman of the girl of yesterday. "Over the cliff to see his sweetheart," then she could never be anything to him; she was only a child to amuse him.

Then all her passionate nature rose in revolt; no one else should have his love, she thought; they might throw him from the cliff, she would have the remembrance of that kiss of yesterday, and after he was dead she would go too, and find her lover in the cruel waves where they had flung him, and he should be hers in death.

She covered her head in the bedclothes and shivered and wept until morning; then with the bright sun came better thoughts, and she remembered the grand picture that was to go out into the world—she must save him or it would not be finished. She would go along the cliff road at evening and warn him of his danger. So, alternating between love and jealousy, she spent all the day, and when the sun sank to rest behind the hills she was on her way over the rocks and up onto the cliff, where she could hide herself and watch for his approach.

It grew dark, and the moon was hidden behind black clouds: a storm was coming up; still she did not stir: the thunder rolled, and lightning lit up the heavens with fitful flashes. Perhaps he would not return to-night, and she prayed he might not, although it was agony to picture to herself the lady at the chateau pleading with him not to go out into the night. Hark! that was his voice surely singing softly to himself, and in one of the flashes she saw coming from the chateau road the form of him she loved: in one swift moment she exulted that he had left his lady in spite of pleading: but the feeling was brief, for from the other direction she heard voices, and realized that the evil deed planned in darkness the night before would be executed unless she could prevent it. Nearer and nearer they come until they are almost opposite her hiding place.

Holy Mother! what can she do! There is no time to warn him, as he comes jauntily on to his doom, and she sees like a flash his mangled form on the rocks below, to be washed out by the cruel waves in the morning; then the picture rises before her in all its divine beauty: her brain is bursting with excitement. Unknowingly she rushes out of her concealment, and the ruffians, seeing the form in the darkness, think their victim is in their power.

In her frenzy she has gone too far: one false step and she falls over the cliff; a lightning flash lit up the sky, and there was one shriek as of a lost soul as she went over the edge. The men turn and flee for dear life, thinking in their superstitious fear that evil spirits are pursuing them. In an instant all was over, and, unable to find the cause of the disturbance, the artist keeps on his way home.

The next morning the village rang with excitement, for the frightened men had confessed all, and the body of the girl was found in the surf.

The maiden had sacrificed her life for her friend, and although he never realized that his thoughtless kiss had cost her her life, he undertook the simple burial, and placed a white cross at her head, and he and his beautiful wife make yearly pilgrimages to the little grave of her who gave her life for his.—Boston Herald.