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VOL. I.
, <El)e idcefehji,
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Literature aai Information,
Wm:. Peg k,
JCwbf' .d«>i '•ttyfietor.
PUSjLrtflKD' IVBBT' WEDNESDAY, DT
.JP JE&3-1* , i&f-T. I N-jE S.;
IN ADVANCE ! - .' '
Oto op®’, j>ef.irMane.!. . ...... »V..’ $2.00
SjagleisoSic^,'»v.s cents.
jJ^*‘A(iv. ; rfis€cneiits ifljerted
. «/ Jfl lines, for o-ue insiWt jon,. a 0-1 SOfidjlCyftir
eaVli suhsequent iKsertion. A liberal flitfiiilforf
tfi fSe to them* whf>, lhe Yrnr.
' >I 1 ’ill ■ V « | V* 1 ' '■■>*"**
-. ■'.ftfriii.6p > f(^. - WVeklj-.)' ";.
falling rain,
■ \-j, :> *,;■*. v- —
. . .BY, jnuj.l.lE j. SLOAN.
• i: —
■•Tl(j’'rt»rßno»s of i i/ht is approaching,
‘ .ft o'er the plain ;
Tto w’O j sends" the clouds in 4 <rk masses,
•■•vjSuiHejs-bjatald the coming rain.
V[lfiY4t!?i«aeth so wild on the caserent!—
•irbm't.hq roof it re- <-ho s again;
Bqw.liJ^el.v it sounds in the darkness—
..'l-Eia the failing, pattering rain.
*Xi s„a dirge to the day's golden beauty,
. ■ iAkitT-ihe clouds, pall like, cover the past;
As'l listen my thoughts go out drearily,
' .To.'tlie moments too blissful to last.
I tj.v* o'e’r agam my 11 le 11 childhood,
the heart was as free as a bird,
A till wandered i lie broad fields of fancy,.
{Ringing trusting to all that it beard,
: .The ravs of ifope's sun then slmne o'er me,
Making Het-work of amber and gold ;
Bit, alas! t.hose-briglitbeams have all vanished,
fit adversity's dark, cloudy told.
.Hair Hope's sunbeams go wi ll ns to cheer us,
When removed to tile prison-house—clay;
. And gently may the rains patter o'er us,
; As we quietly slumber for aye.
■ ' And may we awake in that Region
» • \Vlie r e rain drops and clouds ne’er come ;
But where gleams bright sunlight forever,
in that peaceful and Heavenly Home.
Mawltta, Ga., 1801.
THE WINE-SELLERS DAUGHTER,
OR
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE
MTZ.S OS’ NEW ORLEANS.
* n't william hßnry rr.cz.
Author of' l ' The Brother's Vengeance” u Vir
s ginia Gtencaire u Saul, the Renegade”
u The Hocioxoon” li The Red Dwarf,.*
li The Family Doom“ The
Black * Phantom 44 The
Corsican," iL Blolf,”
• •' '* dec., dee., dec.
COPYRIGHT SECURED.
CHAPTER 111.
VIOLA.
Paul returned to the saloon and
found his aged friends awaiting him.
“ Ah,” said he, as joined them,
“ there is no doubt of it—my child
loves Victor St. John. Col. Hartly,
my life and services are your at com
mand, in return for your kindness.”
“ I trust the warning has not come
too late, friend Paul,” remarked
Hartly, with a significance well under
stood.
“ Had it been too late,” replied
Paul, with the deep tone of resolve,
I would now be as Virginius when he
slew his daughter. But enough of
.this; you are my friends and have
each a daughter—let no one—”
“It is an affair too sacred for the
ear of the world,” interrupted Ilartly,
while old Valid flushed with honest in
dignation.
Then let us go to Benditio’s,”
said Paul. “It is now eight o’clock.”
“.We have concluded,” remarked
Ilartly, “ that but one of us should
seek him, and as you can inform us of
his place of abode, either Monsieur
Valid ov I' will go there. If we all
.go our number will attract attention.”
44 It is true,” said Valid ; therefore
let me undertate-the affair.”
“No; I will go alone,” remarked
Paul. “For as I have.been Seen.there
before—at least, near there, my pres
ence will attract rio remark.”
“ Are you Sure that you eap trust
this Italian?” asked HaUlyyr''.
“I ;wn ; for unless my eyes played
? me. false, Benditto hates Victor St.
John,”,.. •
“ Shall we await your return ?"
“ No, gentlemen, I have engaged to
meet an acquaintance at midnight,”
replied Paul. Then beckoning to a
young man behind the bar, he said, as
the youth approached :
44 Pierre, you must not leave the sa
loon until I return —though I may not
return until after midnight.”
Pierre bowed and returned to his
post. He was a tall, thin fellow, about
twenty years of age, but with a cold
and thoughtful expression upon his
sharp and sinister looking face that
made him appear much older; with
black and restless eyes, full of cun
ning, avarice and treachery.
Paul .retired to a desk behind the
bar, and taking a pair of pistols from
it placed them in his bosom, buttoned
his coat over them and left the saloon.
tu Southern fitmifurc, IJeM, anb MeM frttkmaticm.
Col. Hartly and M. Vall£ soon de
parted, and then Pierre pulled a cord
whit \ communicated .-with. Rosetta’s
room, and which was a fhucime by which
Paul usually summoned his daughter
to his aid when his customers came too
fast. ,Jlut when Paul used it he was
wontitqjei'k it suddenly and at ran-
Mdin,. Fibrre used it -st) that the boll
: ini’'Rosetta’s room tinkled almost in
iaudibly. ‘ .
A momentafter, the door which
was slightly opened,
Ipnd whispered through the
r ‘efevice,'while feigning to rinse# gob-
‘ firther-gtme eat?”
•'. es. ile has gimdi'’ y.; ■
“ Hid he Say when he would- re
turn V: y v *A
“ Not URtir.after mi<lnight.”
“ IFid hd'go-'artncd.”
“ Up took his pistols.”
The door'Was shut instantly and
Pierre muttered:' , 1
“ She certainly seemed much agita
ted ; and so did my worthy uncle.
110 ! they have their fine secrets and
I have mine. Let us wait. She does
not esteem Pierre llivart as he merits,
and pretends not to know that I love
her. My uncle would kick me into
the street if he suspected it, and she
knows it. But it is not from love for
me that she does not let him suspect
—it is because I am useful to ner.
Iler father has- many golden pieces—
and I love them also. Still the gold
without Rosetta, or Rosetta without
the gold would not satisfy my ambi
tion. I know her secret—she loves
that American captain. It is well.
Let them go on. I will wait.”
So thinking, this son of Paul Arnar’s
half sister, a young reprobate the'hur.
mane wine-seller had rescued from the
bitter struggles of a poverty-sti’jpkcn
orphanage, contented himself'; With
waiting and pilfering from ’the. tiliyjth
the slyness of a fox.
Meantime Rosetta, forgetting.ojvdi's
regarding her oath, as she dreairicti of
danger to Victor St. John, knew not
what to do to warn him.
If I show no light at the rear win-
4^,^!
stuer its absence a refusal to nteet hirn.
for I exchanged signals' with him in.,
the saloon. Assuredly, my father will
meet him, and forgetting, his promise
—eh ! his promise ? Did'l not make
a promise also!’’ .
Rosetta wrung her liiuicU m despair.
“And Ihave no one to trust. Annette
is away—Pierre is jealous, and would
play me false. What shall Ido ! My
father will mcet*Victor and thqy will
quarrel!—Ob, horrible what if he
should kill or wound Victor!”, ’ •
It did not occur to her that Victor
might kill her father ! •*. ■
Her eyes fell upon the shattered
ivory, whereon had smiled the fate
she loved so well, and snatching thfe
fragments from the floor she endeav-'
ored to arrange them, so as to restore,
even a trace of the handsome features.
But Paul’s indignant heel had annihi
lated the image;- ‘
“But he lives in my heart,'--.crie'd'
Rosetta, dashing aside the pieces.- '“I
cannot cease to love;Kim. Why should'
I cease to love him - ? My promise!'
It was extorted from me!”
Then she remembc'red that Paul had
spoken of others whom Victor ' St.
John had pretended to love, and she
paced the floor in a tempest of pas
sion.
“ Still, I must warn him—l must
see him once more—even if only to
tell him he is a traitor. If I could
knoiv he wished to deceive me.”
A timid tapping at her door startled
her.
“ Who is there ?” she asked.
“It is Annette,” replied a female
voice.
.“■..Gome in, Annette,” said Rpsetta,
openitig ths doo.i; ;• tl-a;plain,.slm pi e -
faced", fat v wss*i),i]£qrne of
age, came in; ieToaked' aird bWftn%(ted.
“Ah, how pale you are, rtiy chijd!”
cried Annette, who gave this tender
title to Rosetta, whom she had nursed
in her infancy.
“Ami? lam not well. Sit down,
Annette. Annette, you have had but
a short visit this evening.”
“ True ; the friend whom I wished
to sec was not in, and so I came home
again. But how strange you look—
and I had such a dream about you
last night.”
“ I know—you told me of it this
morning,” said Rosetta. “ You love
me, Annette?”
“What a question!” cried Annette.
“ Why, if you were my own daughter,
I could not love you more than I do
this very minute.”
“ Will you keep a secret if I give
you one ?”
“ A secret! This little child has
a secret!” laughed Annette.
But Rosetta looked so grave that
the honest woman cried out:
“ Something is the matter! Are
are indeed ill ?”
“ Very ill,” sighed Rosetta.
GREENVILLE. GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 24, 1861.
Annete immediately turned to leave,
the room. She was going for a doc
tor on the instant.
*■ Stay I” said Rosetta. “I am not
ill in body—but in mind.”
“ Which is the dreadful sickness, my
dear child—and you so happy all day.
Tell me what it is, my dear, perhaps
I can aid you.”
llosetta hesitated. She needed a
confidante, but feared to speak. At
length she said:
“Were you ever in love, Annette ?”
“Oh, my life!” cried Annette.—
“ This infant is in love, Annette
Tiegan'to laugh as lr the idea was ex
.-ebssively ridiculous. '.. But'-Rosetta
commanded her to be sijenl,'. and-then
told her of she late scene, and of
Paul’s anger.
“ Victor must not' meet, my father,”
continued Rosetta, after felling all.
“ That would be dreadful !”• ex
claimed Annette. “ Your father
would kill him ! . But if he is aa bad
perhaps it would be best'fpr you, my
child,” ' •>. . >.-■•
“ Annette !” cried RpSetfa, stamp
ing her foot. “I know: lie' is.every
thing that is good.” ;.
“Yes—you think sop. my ..child,”
said Annette, shaking-'hejvjiead. •' >< I
thought the same of- '-loVei;—
but if it had not been jfof A . fortune
teller I should have .repeated' it. It
is true, the fortune-.telfe.fc• was in love
with me, but wha-tr.he- S’aid 'came to,
pass; for my first lcrver had already
two wives and was-'sent to prison for
it. Don’t you trust anybody butyourl
father.”
“Do you think a fortune-teller
could tell me anything about Victor ?”
asked Rosetta, absently.
. “Ofcourse —tlipy know everything,”
■replied -Apnette.‘*!-There is one in
tins city—a : ,new-..oTie,'-w;ho lias not
been here fiiivny Weeks4—w-ho can tell
you anything - arid-, ‘every thing, past,
present and uturigif”'
“ What Js.-litfr rtame-i?”
“ Her name? llis name is Ben
ditto.” . 4 "
“ Do-you know where he lives, An
nette ?”
“ Certainly, my child. I have
did not wish to ask any one to go with
me.”
“Will you go there now, with me ?”
“ At ni_ht!” cried Annette.
“Wliy not? It is a little after
eight'; and after we have been there
we can contrive some way to Warn
Victor.” ■*
Annette mused in great perplex
ity.
“ It is very wrong,” thought she.
“But the streets are deserted—what
would Paul A mars ay—what wouldn’t
he do ? But lam sure Pierre is de
ceiving me; not that I have not still
powerful attractions,"but it is well to
.look about us. This is an excellent
chance to ask after those silver spoons,
ami that silver mug I have missed.
But what will Paul Amar say ? Where
is your father, my child ?” she added;
•altiad.''
.. “ Gone out, until after midnight.”
It is wrong—but—well, no harm
come of it, I am sure,” said An
nette.
. “ Then you will go with me An
nette?”
• “It is the very first time I have
ever thought of doing anything that
‘might anger your father —but—well,
I will go.”
“ Then let us he off at once,” cried
Rosetta; “for Bcnditto may tell us
how to warn Victor.”
“ I care nothing for him,” thought
Annette, as Rosetta prepared for the
expedition. “ All I wish to know is,
whether Pierre Rivart is really in love
with me, and what has become of those
spoons.”
‘•I am ready Annette,” cried Ro
setta, at length, as she completed her
preparations by throwing a heavy
! Spanish veil over her face. “We
j must go out by the rear.”
They left the roonr, and as they
hurried along the hall heard the tu
multuous voices of the frequenters of
the saloon, which assured them that
Pierre had his hands full of business
below.
“ No one knows that we are going,”
said Rosetta. “Let us haste.”
They were soon upon the pave
ments and on their way to Benditto’s;
but as they crossed one of the princi
pal streets, to enter another less im
posing, a horse attached to a carriage
passing rapidly, stumbled and fell, so
near to Rosetta that she screamed and
ran back to the pavement she had
just quitted. Annette, in her own
terror, fled on and gained the oppo
site side of the street, where she paused,
muttering prayers for the safety of
her mistress. The night was intensely
dark, but the carriage lamps enabled
Rosetta to observe the efforts of the
driver to raise his horse to its feet,
and to whose assistance ran a man
clad in uniform.
“Ah ! it is Victor f ’ cried Rosetta,!
as the., light flashed upon this man’s
face? -
“ \YJiose carriage is this ?’ f asked
Victor, for it was he.
“ 061. Jlartly’s,” replied the driver,
.touching" hjs hat. “Is it you, Cap
.<'fain st', Jo-Ln ?”
“ Cubn,’’-' cried a gentle voice from
the carriage, “open the door.”
“My dear Miss Viola! I trust you
are not -injured. Be not alarmed —
Cuba will soon have the horse upon his
feet again.”
Rosetta tried in vain to catch a
jJiniW i»f tlic face of the lady in. tbe
caridage; but Victor’s form was in
the way, and, with her heart in her
tbrbat, Rosetta was forced to await the
eftd'pf the scene.
?*-The horse is quite dead,” said the
dniyifr. '
! what a misfortune!” cried
the lady. “Captain St. John, what
shaß I do? I received a note from
our friend Miss Allison, telling me
t-hatt her mother was suddenly stricken
imploring her to visit her im
mediately, asher father and brother
ate. with the away—”
.'•'‘.’My life ahj services arc ever at
your-command,” interrupted Victor,
as;hhwing, lie-kissed her gloved hand,
heard-ihe sound of the kiss,
arkl'-ltcr jealous ears placed it not upon
Viola Hartly’s hand, but upon her
lipsr-y; — 1 ' ••-
“Ah, he has been trifling with me,”
thought Rosetta. “He loves-Ajlifl;
kisses Viola!”
“ Bpt what shall I do, Captain'St.
John ?” asked Viola, withdrawing her
hand quickly from Victor’s passion;
ate clasp. .. '.
“ Honor me, Miss Viola, by ac
cepting my escort, either to voifr
home or to Gen. Allison’s,” said. Vic
tor, in persuasive tones.
Evidently the young lady did hot
like this conversation to proceed fur
ther in the dark, for she cried out r i
“Cuba, bring one of
here, that I may see how" to place my
,foot upon the step.”
While the driver, bewildered By the
accident, made several false attempts
to unfasten dne of the carriage lamps,
wh icllwe yivang fa iTy t-e pi leu : ■ ■
“ Captain-St. John! this is no time
to speak that matter. Besides, I
g'ave you my final answer this morn
>Ag-”
■ “ You drive me-to despair, Viola,”
said Victor, in a tone of deep sadness.
“ lie calls her Viola !” thought the
unhappy . Rosetta. “ Ah, Benditto
needs not to tell me that Victor is
perfidious-!”
“Cubrt! Will you hurry?” ex
claimed Viola, almost frightened by
the earg.erness of passion which gleam
ed from Victor’s eyes, despite the
darkness, and really alarmed as she
detected the fumes of brandy recking
in his-breath.
“ In a second !” cried Cuba, as he
tore away the obstinate lamp and has
tened to his lady ; but not until Ro
setta;---wfeo- had drawn dangerously
near, heard Victor say:
“ Viola Ilartly, you know I madly
love you —let me hope that your an
swer is not final.”
“It is final, sir; and I reject your
proffered escort. Leave me, Captain
St. John.”
Cuba was now too close for Victor
to venture more than a bow, which he
made and turned to depart, boiling
with rage, when Col. Ilartly and
Mons. Valid reached the spot, as they
were, on their way homeward.
“Ah—iny dear father, I am jsb
happy to meet you,” exclaimed Viola,
and then hurriedly related the cause
of her presence there.
“ J am much obliged to Captain St.
John for his kindnes,” said Col. Hart
lys-i#-*-tene of icy haughtiness, and
not deigning to look at Victor, as he
stood near. “I trust my daughter
will never be in so unfortunate a situ
ation as to be forced to ask Captain
St. John’s aid in anything.”
“Why this insult, Col. Ilartly,”
demanded Victor.
“Are you really insulted?” asked
Col. Ilartly. “I saw my friend,
Mons. Valle, fail to insult you not
lon<r since- But enough of this; we
wish to see Captain St. John at our
house no more.”
“ The loss will be yours and not
mine,” retorted Victor, with great bit
terness, and then hurried away, too
speedily for Rosetta to address him.
She would have followed him, but
feared to lose Annette, who had re
_gaincd..lisr side.
“ Come,” whispered Annette. “The
patrol is coining this way—you know
the city is under martial law.”.
“ I have not seqn her —-this Viola
Hartly,” replied Rosetta ; whose heart,
though greatly wounded, took much
consolation in the \hought that her
faithless lover was not loved by Viola.
“Imustseo if she is as beautiful as
report says she Is—for, in truth, I have
never seen her, save at a distance.”
Bat Annette forced her #vf»y, *tid
when Rosetta said that she had no
need of a fortune-teller, replied:
“ What fickleness ! What is Viola
Ilartly or Viola Anybody to you?
Since I have been so terribly scared,
and am so near Benditto’s, by my
faith, I’d feel like' A fool to go home
without learning what has become of
those spoons! Besides, I have the
password, and don*t fear the patrol.”
Rosetta, half stupified, made no
further resistance..
THE VEILED PORTRAITS.
In the meantime Benditto had reach
ed his home, towards which he had
directed his steps immediately after
leaving the saloon.
While on his way thither he dex
trously avoided the various patrols in
his path, and instead of walking fee
bly, as became one of bis apparent
age and infirmities, sped along with
rapid steps, firm though noiseless, un
til he reached a quarter of the city
quite remote from the saloon.
The house in which he lived was an
old fashioned, two-storied edifice, built
of stone and plaster many years be
fore, when Louisiana belonge to Spain.
He entered this house by an alley way
that admitted him to the rear, and
which led to a strong and iron bound
door fitted into ths solid wall. Clos
ing and locking this after liis hasty
entrance he hurried to a small apart
.Cl.snt in the front, and upon the ground
!floor, shouting:
“Mario! are you awake, Mario ?”
The figure of a man lying upon a
couch, and dimly seen by the dying
rays of a feebly burning lamp arose
at the summons, and replied:
“lam awake, Benditto.”, . .
“ Then let us have more light, Ma
rio. I have found him,' Mario! I
have discovered him L;V-'exclaimed
Benditto. .. . ‘ «'J •
Mario uttered a cry oVjoy, and
hastily trimmed the lamp. As its
freshened rays shot forth their radi
ance, Paul Amar, had he been, there,
would have imagined himself in the
presence of two Bendittos, fbf .Mario
was the exact counterpart of Benditto
in the jmA Bgftditto in t]frc aa^
toon the exact image of Mano in Uie
house of the fortune-teller. But as
these two men stood facing each other
at this moment, one could have per
ceived that Benditto no longer stooped
and trembled with age, though quiver
ing with excitement, while Mario’s
stoop was unfeigned. . * -
“ You are certain of this Benditto ?”
“I am certain of it. \\‘e have
sought him thrice fifteen years, Mario
—on land and sea, in cities,_ towns
and forests—wherever we fancied we
saw or heard of a trace. You have
sought him by day, and -I by night.
Mario, I have found him !”
“ Does he still live Benditto ? Did.
you not drive your dagger to his
heart?” ; ;
“He lives, Mario ; for the deeds he
wrought demand a greater punish
ment than sudden death,” Said Ben
ditto. “An Italian demands sweeter
revenge than the mere death of his
his-.enemy.”
“True, Benditto. And now under
what same and cloak does he garb his
villainy.?”
“ Victor St. John !”
“Ah ! He comc3 here to-night,''
Benditto!”
“’Comeshere, Mario ! For what?”
*• Is your Victor St. John a tall arnd
superbly handsome man, with eyes
like flame, a voice that is as sonorous
as a bell —and wears he the Uniform
of an American Cavalry Captain?”
asked Mario.
“The same. He has a haughty
and imperious air.”
“ Then he comes here to-night to
pawn jewels to Benditto the fortune
teller,” said Mario. “ I met this man
this morning, while on the Place
D’Armes, and he asked me if I was
npt Benditto the fortune-teller. I re
plied that I was. ’He said that he had
heard that I was also I money-lender
—to which I answered that I would
advance money upon jewels—as has
been our custom, to keep our purse
Strong enough for this “mission of Ital
ian vengeance. 4 1 have some rare
jewels,’ continued he, ‘and need gold.
Tell me when we may make a fair ex
change, and I will show them to you.’
4 Let it be this night,’ I said ; and he
appointed the hour of ten.
“ But there must be no mistake in
this affair, Benditto. An innocent
man must not suffer for the guilty.
Victor St. John may not be the Henri
Le Grand whom we have sworn to
destroy. Come, let us go studjr the
features of Henri Le Grand in the
portrait painted when he was twenty
two, and compare them with our re
collection of those of Captain St. John,
who seems scarcely thirty. For if he
is but thirty, he cannot be Henri Le
Grand—ivho, if he lives, must be thir
ty-eight years old.”
44 Ya# have a miniature painted from
the portrait, Mario ; so hate I.”
“A portrait painted from a por
trait, Benditto, is abut a poor crite
rion.”
“ A portrait painted upon the bgart
is best of all,” said< JBenditto, quickly.
“Time will fade that also,” repllifi
Mario, with a mournful smile, scarcely
visible beneath his beard. “ Come,"
we will go to tbe portraits.”
The two old men left the room,
Mario bearing-the light, and
to another and much.larger apartment,-
furnished in luxurious style, bul con
taining nothing remarkable except
three veiled pictures. 4
Two of these pictures were of the
same size ; but between them was the
third, much smaller. All were draped
in black crape.
Mario drew aside the sombre veil
from one of the larger pictures, and
revealed the portrait of a youth in the
full bloom of young manhood, whose
remarkable beauty would have attrac
ted the most careless eye.
The old men gazed upon it long and
silentty, their eyes flashing with pas
sion, and their frames quivering with
all the fierceness of baffled but undy
ing hate.
“ The curse of Heaven blight, if it'
hath not already blighted, that beau
ty !” said Mario, extending his arm
and shaking his lean forefinger at the
portrait. , —■
“So fair an exterior ! The face of
an .angel, with the heart of a devil!”
murmured Benditto. ' •
“Victor St. John wear£ a mous
tache, and his chin is hidden by his
heavy beard,” continued. Mario.—
“ Henri.Le Xlrand was as beardless
as a girl—his eyes beamed with gen
tleness—at least so this portrait de
clares.*’
“ I have seen them when they
gleamed with all the cunning of
the serpent!” exclaimed Benditto.
“ ’T-was fifteen years ago in Florence
when. —”
“Do" I know nothing of that?”
cripd Mario, grasping Benditto’s hand
fiercely. “ Can I. forcet the day
when assassination ended the outrage
that drove me, broken-hearted, to
roam this world, longing only for
\Vhat think.
'you? Is Victor St. John, Henri La
Grand ?” ; ' -
“ As I live I believe it,- replied Ben
ditto.
“ Could he recognize this?” asked
Mario, unveiling the second large pic
ture.
“ If he is Le Grand he will,” replied
Benditto, turning bis back from the
portrait and covering his eyes with his
-hands.
This portrait represented an Italian
girl in gala-dayalross, and was of rare
and superb loveliness.. Its prevailing
expression was one of maiden inno
cence and modesty ; and so truly had
the painter portrayed the delicate
blush of unspotted and artless girl
hood, that one in gazing upon the glo
rious beauty, might have fancied tbe
warm rich blood of conscious beauty,
and unconscious purity, coming and
going over the lifeless canvass, as the
shadows of the clouds come and go
over some fair field of summer time.
Mario knelt before this magnifi
cent work of art, and murmuring :
“She was perfect! Fairer form
and sweeter face never blessed the
home, of man ! Oh God !” bowed his
head to his breast, and seemed suffoca
ting with grief.
“ We must avenge her,” said Ben
ditto, in a harsh and bitter tone, as if
greatly displeased. “ Weep not for
her, Mario—nor'bless her memory.—
She deserted her father, her fond and
doting father, for the false love of a
villain.”
“ She was a wife!” cried Mario,
rising quickly, and darting a penetra
ting glance upon Renditto. “At
least no finger could point at her
father, and no voice say, ‘ Behold the
father of an unmarried mother ?’ And
her father has forgiven her.”
“ I have not,” said Benditto, gloom
ily, and gazing steadily at the por
trait of Le Grand.
“ I have forgiven her,” continued
Mario, “as she would have forgiven
this one had this one lived to be de
ceived.” As he spoke he unveiled
the smallest picture.
Benditto glanced but once upon the
the infant face then revealed, and
stifling a cry fell upon his knees be
fore the portrait saying:
“ Thou hast been spared much woe
in dying, Clara. Pray for-us P’ „
“Do we know that she is dead,
Benditto?” said Mario sternly.
“Would it not be agony for us to
think her living, Mario,” replied Ben
ditto, as he rose to his feet. “As we
have bu’-ied her in our hearts, let us
think she lies buried in thecjrth.”
Mario turned his eyes once more
upon the portrait of Henri Le Gfand,
and after a long and silent scrutiny,
said :
“lam in doubt, Benditto. Victor
St. John may not be the original of
that portrait.”
NO.- 12
