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gether with Mr. Rosman and Henry, for
whom they had sent. Madame Charlotte
and Louise were not long in making their
appodrance, and when they were all
bled Mr. Rosman turned to the two young
men and said, smiling :
“ No one here is ignorant ot the business
v. hieh brought you toKayaersburg, gentle
men, for tny sister-in-law, Madam© Char
lotte Revel, "and her niece, Louise Armand,
my ward, have come, like yourselves, to be
present at the reading of the will of their
brother and tmcle, Doctor Ilarver.”
jjoti: of the young gentlemen bowed to
Madam Charlotte aud Mademoiselle Louise,
and they returned the salute.
“I thought/’ continued Mr. Rosman,
*• that the reading of the Doctor’s final
wishes might take place at my house, since
chance has brought here all the interested
parties.” * .
Henry replied by a gesture of assent.
All seated themselves, and the notary was
about to break the seal of the will, when
lie paused.
“This will is of a very old date." said
he. “and iti the last months of his life
Doctor Harver several times told me of
his intention to destroy it, so that each of
the heirs might inherit the portion assigned
him by the law. I can only attribute liis
failure to do so to bis sudden death. J
make this declaration to satisfy my own
oonseknee; now ( ask all those interested
if they will not fulfill the Doctor's inten
tion, and with one accord, destroy this will
before any one of them knows whether it
w ill disinherit or enrich him.”
This unexpected proposition was fol
lowed by a pause of several moments.
Mulzen was the first to speak.
“ For my part,” said he, modestly,
“ having no particular cl im on the bounty
of my deceased uncle, I cannot regard as a
sacrifice the acceptance of an equal share,
and 1 willingly accede to it.”
“There shall bo no difficulty as far as I
am concerned,” continued Madam Char
lotte.
“And 1 consent in the name of my
ward,” added Mr. Rosman.
“ Then,” said the notary, ‘‘ it only re
mains for this gentleman,” and he turned
to Henry, who showed some embarrass
ment. “Like my consin,” said he, “I
have no reason to hope tor a testamentary
disposition which will benefit me, but on
that very account I ought to bo more care
ful. Whatever may have been the inten
tions of the Doctor, his will alone can now
bo trusted to explain them; to destroy un
read this record of them would be to
attack at the same time the right, of the
testator and that of the unknown legatee.”
“Bay no more,” interrupted the notary.
“ Nothing but perfect unanimity could
have justified my proposition; catch one
for himself, as Mr. Fortin demands ; and
now listen if you please.”
With these words he tore open the en
velope, unfolded tho will and read as
follows:
“ Os the four heirs who can lay claim to
my succession, I know only two, my sister
Charlotte Revel, and my niece, Louise Ar
mand; but these two have long 3iad but
one interest as they have but one heart,
and in reality are but one single person ;
on this side then [ have actually only
Louise for my heiress. My tirst intention
was to leave her all that 1 possess: but
among my nephews may he found one
equally of my interest ; it only remains to
discover him. Not being able to do so
myself, aim knowing the intelligence and
tact of my niece, I trust entirely to hor
judgment, and declare for my universal
legatee that one of the two cousins whom
she shall choose for her husband.
“ Harveb.”
After fhi- reading there was a long si
lence. The young men appeared < mbar
rassed, and Louise, confused and blushing,
stood witii her eyes cast down.
‘‘ Heaven help ns! the Doctor has given
my niece a difficult task,” cried Madam
Charlotte.
“ Los. - ’ so than you think, sister." said
Mr Hosn;,in, smiling. “I have long known
llarver's will, and in consequence I have
taken pains to inform myself thoroughly.
All that 1 have learned has convinced mo
that whatever may be Louise’s choice, she
will have nothing to fear.”
“ Then let mademoiselle decide,” said
the notary, laughing. “Since there is
every security, it will only beau affair of
inspiration.”
“ I leavo everything to my aunt,” mur
mured the young girl, throwing herself in
the arms of Madame Charlotte.
“To me?” cried she; “but it is very
embarrassing, my love, and indeed—l do
not know —’
As she spoke these words, hesitatingly,
her eyes rested on Mulzeu; Henry per
ceived it.
“All, Madame! your choice is already
made,” said he quickly, “and whatever
regrets it in;c cause me, I am forced to
approve it. Mademoiselle,” he added,
taking Joseph’s hand and leading b in to
the g rl, “ your aunt has seen and judged
wisely. My cousin is worthier than I.”
•• Wmr behaviour p- oves the contrary,”
said Madame Charlotte, softening, “ but
we already know Mr. Mulzeu slightly, and
then—well, you deserve to know the whole
truth.”
I ell .o, ted me," interrupted Fortin
“ Wei . Lis motto reassures me, while
yours rm.kes me fear. He promises indul
gence; you justice. Ah! mv dear sir,
justice 5 L T ht do for angels, but men must
have charity.”
“ Perhaos you are right, Madame,” said
Henry thoughtfully. “Ye-, since yester
day everything seems to have combined to
give me a lesson. My strict defen eof my
rigid has always done me harm, while my
cousin's benevolence always led to his
good. Yes, Joseph’s motto is better than
mine, for it is nearer the law of God.
Christ did not say : 4 Let each one hove his
right / ‘ but instead : “ Lore your neighbor
ns you rsclf, l)o un to others icha tyo u icon Id
hate others do unto you."
THE ROWER* THE BIRD,
Never wore two sisters more unlike,
and yet more fondly attached to each
other, than Orsala and Francesca, the
daughters of Guglielmo, a painter of emi
nence, whose genius they inherited. He
is chiefly celebrated for his Madonnas,
which breathe the true spirit of the Ro
man and Florentine schools. The sisters,
while vet very voting, took to fresco
painting, a practice hitherto unknown to
female hands, in which they greatly ex
celled ; but such was the similarity of
their execution, bo tty in this and all other
branches of art, that, to avoid confusion,
Orsala was wont to mark her performance
witli a flower, while the younger distin
guished hers by a bird, those symbols
passing, in time, into pet, household names,
so that Guglielmo often called them, in
playful sport, Lis Flower and his Bird.
Orsala was beautiful as a flower, and
almost as fragile ; often drooping over her
high tasks, but never discouraged or
weary in mind—it was the body only that
suffered. She was ambitious and enthu
siastic, habitually serious and thoughtful,
but not gloomy, and kind and affectionate
in her domestic relations.
Francesca, bird-like, sang at her easel,
or as sht? flitted about the house. If not
quite so beautiful as her elder sister, she
was more lovable, and certainly more
gifted. Her genius was like a glad in
spiration—a flash of sunshine, that came
almost without the seeking, and made
bright whatever she attempted; but she
was not industrious. And tho patient,
persevering Orsala, by dint of unremitting
toil and study, kept so close upon her
track that, as wo have said, there was no
telling tbeir work apart.
Both ha I their dreams—what young
girl has not ? Orsala would be great;
Francesca yearned to bo loved! The one
panted already for the world's plaudits!
the other asked no higher meed than her
father's approving smile, or the whispered
praises of their kinsman—Lorenzo Mala
notti.
At the period our story commences,
Lorenzo was staying* at Moncalvo, on a
visit. He had originally come for & few
days only ; but weeks passed away, and
still he lingered. Kind, merry-hearted,
and as generous as he was wealthy, he had
become a universal favorite, more espe
cially with the sisters; and his time was
mostly spent in the pleasant studio of
Guglielmo and his gifted daughters, lie
was evidently struck with the faultless
symmetry of Ursula's tall, noble figure, as
she bent over her employment; or the
radiant beauty of her pale, classical fea
tures. Nor was the girl wholly insensible
to his silent homage; although site cer
tainly thought a great deal more of what
she was about, and tin* absolute necessity
of finishing her allotted portion of the
cartoon before the materials of which it
was composed should become dry and unfit
for use, and so the harmony of color he
destroyed throughout the whole picture—
a necessity which Lorenzo, who was no
painter, could never be brought to com
prehend.
Francesca laughed, and sang, and talked
to him just as if he had been her brother;
consulting his taste oftentimes, when she
knew her own to be the best. A word of
praise from him never failed to make her
gay and happy ail the day afterward, and
she even dreamt about it at night. She
thought it only natural that he should ad
mire Orsala the most. Occasionally, how
ever, Francesca, as she marked Lorenzo’s
earnest and devoted manner towards her
sister, would stop singing, and sigh, and
“wish that heaven had made her such a
lover!" and then a moment afterward her
merry voice was again heard : ‘Time
enough, Francesca! ’
Guglielmo was well content that Lorenzo
Malanotti should marry one of his daugh
ters, and cared but little which. Perhaps
the ill nights and pursuits of the ambitious
and enthusiastic Ursula were most in
unison with his own. But then, what
should he do without his little laughter
loving Francesca—his Li ret ?
About the time of which we write
there was a prize offered by the principal
nobility and lovers of art in the neighbor
ing towns of Casale for an altar-piece for
.the Church of the Dominicans. Guglielmo
having already too much employment
upon his hands to care about working lor
mere competition, declined entering the
lists ; but his daughters, young as they
were, eagerly availed themselves of this
glorious opportunity of extending still
further the well-established fame of the
Guglielmo family. Already, in anticipa
tion, did the ambitious and aspiring Orsala
bear away the prize from all competitors ;
while Francesca, less sanguine, and really
caring much less about the result, except
that her dear father w ould be so pleased if
either of thorn should chance to win, sat
calmly down to the contemplation of her
task.
Orsala's very impatience defeated its
own object. All day long she remained
apart, musing over that picture which was
to produce such glorious results, and
scarcely closed her eyes at night for think
ing of it; until at length she fell ill, and
was fit for nothing. Francesca was a kind
and judicious nurse ; she did not peremp
torily forbid Orsala saying a single word
about her picture until she was quite well,
for in that case she never would have
been ; but encouraged her rather to talk
oa tho subject nearest her heart, and then
managed to throw in a thousand little
hints and suggestions, of which she took
no merit to herself; so that by the time
Orsala was able to put them into execu
tion, the whole design of the projected
work, even to the minutest details, stood
out palpably before her—and a beautiful
conception it was!
“Oh, if l have hut strength to realize
it!” exclaimed the enthusiastic artist.
Francesca’s soothing voice and fond
caresses calmed her excited spirit; and
from that hour she slowly recovered, but
so slowly that it appeared almost impossi
ble for the picture to be completed withiu
the allotted time.
“For my part,” said Lcremo who still
lingered with them, but had absolutely
limited his stay until the first adjudgment
of the prize, *T wish the whole affair had
never been thought of! Itonlv makes you
ill. Orsala!” "
“What of that ?” replied the girl, raising
her beautiful eyes dreamily to his. “What
are a few weeks, or even years, of bodily
suffering in comparison with so great a
triumph ? Those who fear thorns must
not expect to gather roses!”
“But there are roses without thorns,”
said Francesca gently.
•‘And without laurel !”
“But sweet, nevertheless, dear Orsala.”
“Yes; only they die so soon! The
laurel for me, sister Francesca, although it
should only bloom over my grave !”
Guglielmo gazed proudly upon his
child, and his eyes filled with unshed
tears, while Francesca looked at Lorenzo
with a sweet confidence, as though sue
would fain make him a sharer both in her
admiration and her fears for this clear
sister.
Although better, Orsala was very far
from being competent to the task which
she had assigned herself-—the working out
of her own beautiful ideal! Her hand
trembled ; her strokes wanted power and
decision ; the whole sketch was teeble, and
she felt it to be so Guglielmo shook his
head ; he was afraid it would not do.
Lorenzo would have praised it had it been
ten times as bad ; partly because, as we
have said, he was but an indifferent judge
in such matters, but principally for the
sake of the artist. Francesca, as usual,
sided with the latter; protesting that it
was the light in which it stood, and
persuaded Orsala to wait at least until
the morning before she destroyed it. And
then, with fond and soothing words, led
her gently to her own apartment where
she remained with her until she was
asleep,
That evening Guglielmo and his young
kinsman sat alone in their usual cheerful
little saloon, for Francesca had also plead
ed a headache, and did not appear again.
It was the first time that Lorenzo had ever
found the hours hang heavily since his ar
rival at Moncalvo.
Orsala awoke early on the following
morning, much refreshed, but sad and
dispirited, and went instantly, with a kind
of desperate resolution, to the studio where
her father and sister were already at their
ta^k.
‘‘Francesca was right, dear child !’’ said
Guglielmo, as he quitted his painting, and
came eagerly forward to meet her: “it
must have been the light in which it
stood. Your design is really beautiful !”
Orsala shook her head sadlv as she
drew back the curtain ; but. was immedi
ately struck by the exceeding grace and
power of her own performance.
“Yes, it will do, said she ; and a proud,
exulting smile played over her paie tea
times.
“Did I not tell you so ?” exclaimed the
no less happy Francesca.
• “It is all like a dream, ’ said Orsala,
•Why, l do not even remember drawing
that exquisite profile.”
“I do not think you quite know what
,you were doing at the lust,’ replied her
sister affectionately “But we must not
lot vou sit so long to-day—must we,
Lorenzo V'
Her kinsman made no answer ; ho did
not evtm hear the question, but continued
standing before the unfinished sketch, lost
in thought. When lie spoke again, it
was to notice how pale Francesca was
looking.
“I have been several times about to
make the same observation,” said Gugli
elnio. Come and tell me what ails you,
my bird!”
“Nothing, indeed, papa.”
“Perhaps you did 'not rest well last
night ?’-* whispered Malanotti, catching
her hand as she attempted to pass him.
‘ Not very. You .must remember my
telling you that I had the headache ;”
and Francesca cast down her eyes, and
colored deeply beneath his earnest gaze.
Lorenzo released her in silence, but
continued unusually grave and thoughtful
during the remainder of the day.
Inspired by tho beauty of her own
conception, Orsala worked on until she
could jio longer stand to her easel, and
was again carried to bed, and watched
and tended by her affectionate sister.
“This will never do,” said Guglielmo,
when Francesca returned to them at
length ; “she had best give it up at once.”
“No, m>, dear father ; Orsala has set
her heart upon this prize, the disappoint
ment would kill her. Besides, she will
get better again ; and there is time yet.”
Lorenzo said nothing ; he was think
ing at that moment, as his eyes rested on
her beaming countenance, that, after all,
Francesca was quite as beautiful as her
sister, only in a different style. And he
was not sure whether he did not prefer
her simple loveliness of the two.
Orsala continued weak and ailing ; ho
that she could only paint a few hours in
each day, and yet the picture grew in
beauty, and was rapidly approaching its
completion. Francesca worked hard
also, but not with her usual success ;
perhaps because she was far from well
For although she never complained, her
large dark eyes grew heavy, and her
cheeks pale and worn. No brother could
have been kinder than Lorenzo was to
her. Poor Francesca thought she could
guess why ; but was grateful, neverthe
less. Anyhow, his affectionate sympathy
made her very glad and happy.
The pictures were nearly finished.
Orsala worked on with a flushed cheek
and glittering oy''; the beauty of her
own performance infusing* into her, as it
were, anew life.
“Do you believe in spirits?” asked
she one day, after a long pause.
“Li good spirits, most undoubtedly,”
replied Malanotti, who was leaning idly
on the back of Francesca’s chair.
“[ have often thought.” continued the
girl a little wildly, “thist some such must
have helped me to the completion of iny
task. Many a time have I retired to rest,
weary and dispirited with my own work,
but in the morning it was ever bright
and beautiful!”
“For the very reason you have stated,”
said her father, “that you were ill and
weary, and so saw the same things through
a different medium.”
“Well, it might have been thus: but it
seemed strange oftentimes. And so you
are a believer in spirits, Lorenzo ?”
“I believe,” replied Malanotti, earnest
ly. “that angels walk the earth in human
form, and dwell among us, and we know
them not.”
Francesca glanced toward the pale,
radiant face and graceful form of her
beautiful Aster, and smiled softly ; but
Lorenzo's eyes were fixed upon her only.
While Orsala, taking the compliment as
a matter of course, went quietly on with
her painting.
The pictures wore finished at length.
Guglielmo was proud of his eldest daugh
ter; but he pitied the younger. Orsala
read her triumph in his first glance.
Francesca had forgotten herself. She
thought only of her father and sister.
And yet she could not help feeling a little
sorry when she saw him turn away from
her picture without a word, and that even
Orsala was silent; but it could not be
helped.
“X know what you are thinking of,
papa,” said Francesca, gently—“that I
have been very idle and negligent; is it
not so? ’
“Why, truly, my bird ! I fear you stand
but a poor chance of gaining the prize
this time.”
“Never mind, if Orsala gets it.”
“And yet, with your genius, what
might you not have achieved ! But 1
am forgetting how ill vou have been, poor
child!”
[ “Not so often, or so serious!}', as
Orsala,” observed Malanotti. “But then,
j to be sure, Francesca had no good ang-ds
! to work for her !”
i
“Nay, Lorenzo, I must not have even
! you taking part against me!” exclaimed
| the girl, wiih an earnest and pleading
i glance. “I do not care the least in the
i world about the prize, so long as my dear
I father is not angry with me.”
“No, no, my bird! not angry, only a
■ little vexed, for your own sake. You
I could not both win.”
! “That was what I thought!” said Fran
! cesca ; and then she paused abruptly,
1 while a burning flush spread over neck
1 and brow.
But those few words had afforded
Guglielmo a faint glimpse of the real
truth.
Intent on the contemplation of her
picture, Orsala hoard nothing of
passing around her. Her woman’s nature
struggled vainly against the prevailing
selfishness of an all-absorbing ambition;
and therein lies the danger—the not alto
gether fabled poison of the laurel when
unmingled with, unblest by, the sweet
home-flower of domestic affection.
During the interval that necessarily
elapsed between the sending in of the
pictures and the final adjudgment of the
prize, Orsala was restless and impatient,
but not desponding ; for she could not
but be conscious of the rare excellence of
her own performance. Francesca, rapidly
recovering her health and spirits, returned
to her ordinary tasks with renewed cheer
fulness, and once more sang as she work
ed Again the sisters laughingly com
pared their fresco-painting, plating, upon
each that distinctive symbol, without
which it was impossible to tell one from
the other. Orsala found leisure to wonder
at Francesca's first failure, and to pity her
for it with many kind, soothing carcs'-es ;
but this time Guglielmo never said a word,
and yet he was far from guessing the
whole truth ; imagining only that she had
purposely taken less pain than usual, in
order that she might not rival her sister
in the possession of a prize upon which,
from the very beginning, she had set her
heart. Malanotti, was, however, more
keen-sighted; and poor Francesca often
blushed and trembled under kis scrutiny,
or at the hints bo threw out, but trusted
nevertheless to his love fbr Orsala to
make him keep her secret.
It was a proud and happy day for Gugli
elmo and his children when the prizes
were at length awarded, and Orsala
unanimously declared to be vietoross over
all her competitors. How beautiful she
looked; her eyes flashing her cheeks
burning, and her heart throbbing with
the anticipation of that future fame, of
which the present triumph was but an
earnest and a prophecy ; while Francesca,
equally glad and joyous (and, as Mala
notti thought within himself, and that not
for the first time, equally beautiful), hung
about her sister’s neck, and laughed and
wept by turns. She kissed both Orsala
and her father in the wild exuberance of
her delight, and seemed very near doing
the same by Lorenzo ; but fortunately
or rather unfortunately, according to his
idea—recollected herself in time ; and
he was forced to be content with the small
white hand, so frankly extended as if to
demand his glad sympathy in the general
happiness.
There was a festival that night at Mon
calvo, in honor of Ursa la’s triumph, who
moved among her guests like a queen—so
at least thought Guglielmo and his daugh
ter ; and the hitter wanted Malauotti to
say the same, but he would not, and yet
she never doubted that it was in his heart,
and only laughed and shook her head at
his silence.
“You do not believe me ?” said Lo
renzo ?”
“Why, net exactly. But you need not
look so grave about it.”
“Let us go into the open air, Francesca,’’
said her companion, “it is too warm
here.”
“With all my heart," replied the
maiden, passing her arm carelessly through
his. And then pausing on a sudden, she
added quickly—‘But you are ill,
renzo!”
“No. it is nothing. I want to talk to
you very seriously, Francesca ”
‘Ah, 1 know what is coming,” thought
his companion, as they passed into the
quiet moonlight. But after a pause, and
observing that he still continued silent,
she said, timidly—“ Lorenzo, you are not
angry with me for what I have done ?
You will not betray me to my father, or
Orsala, who is now so glad arid happy !
for her sake, you will not?”
“Say rather, for your own, dearest ?
That were the more powerful plea.”
“Well, then, for my sake, Lorenzo!’’
replied Francesca, coaxingly.
But her playful gaze sank before his:
and a burning blush spread over neck and
brow. She would have fled fr >m him,
but Malanotti held her hands firmly in
both of his, while he poured forth into her
wondering, and yet joy ul heart, the long
concealed affection of his own. lie con
fessed to having been struck, just at
bv Orsula’s rare beauty ; and how soon
the impression had passed away to be
succeeded by one, which, in the phrase of
all true lovers, “death could only educe!
while bke all true women, 1' raucesca be
lieved him with a ready faith. He told
her how he had watched her steal from her
chamber at the dead of night, when the
weary Orsala slept at length, and take her
place until dawn, carefully erasing the
feeble touches of a weak and unsteady
h an d, and working in bright, warm tints,
so exquisitely blended with the original
• hat it was no wonder the artist should