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VOL. I. JOHN H. SEALS, | k^prietor! ATLANTA, GA., SATURDAY, AUGUST 21, 1875. NO. 18. [For The Suonv South.] THREE. BY MARY CARROLL. Over-young is the little girl To learn hard lessons—all too soft. The hand that fondled her dark curl Strays near a fair head oft. The ear that deemed her glad, sweet voice Fit note for throat of any bird, Bends closer now—doth more rejoice At liquid, low tones heard. The lips that kissed and kissed her cheek, And left all day a warm, red glow, Thirst with the wish they dare not speak For one cold, soft as snow. What more ? One clasps the pale wild flowers He gave her once, with all love’s trance; On those that blushed in brightest hours The other deigns to glance. A cold line to the trusting heart That pierces it anti! ’tis dead; And all youth’s love poured out to art, Who smiles and shakes her head. One wed to gold as she would be; One thro’ the years too late grown wise; And one who looks across life's sea So young with wet, dark eyes. [Written for The Sunny South.] EDITHA; OR. The Woman Fiend. Ill AM OLD CONTRIBUTOR. CHAPTER I. The grand old mountains in the distance, the faint glimpses of far-away cities, the sparkling, rushing river, the rocks and waterfalls, the bread, flawery plain, the busy vpity, and over all the purplish, golden haze of an Italian sunset. This is the picture upon which I wish my read ers to fix their mind’s eye. And see ! away up on the side of yonder distant mount hangs, as though in mid-air, a half-ruined castle, wild and gloomy and weirdly grand, with its mossy towers pointing to heaven. The rock upon which it is built seems as though it would be incomplete without the castle; the castle as though no other place could be found so fitting as this whereon to build it. Through a wide cleft of the moun tain on the left flows the river Teverone, leaping from rock to rock, laving the outer wall of the castle, dashing over a rocky barrier some fifty feet in height, gently sparkling over the plain below, and passing through the towns of Paolo and Tivoli, is lost in a larger stream miles and miles away. Near the foot of the mountains, encircled by a grove of olive trees, a graceful villa reared its walls, forming a brilliant contrast to the-gloomy, grand old castle above. Fair and lovely as the rosy dawn, the beauti ful Amalia Guercino dwelt in the villa with her widowed mother. Cruel and haughty, yet grandly handsome, Aloredo, Count of Civitelli, occupied his castle on the mount. And here a tiny cottage on the flowery bank of the river, near where it enters the city, claims our attention, for within its walls there dwells a young artist who has but recently made this lovely spot his home, living retired, with one faithful servitor, not rich apparently, but far happier in his humble home than the haughty Count in his lordly castle. Aloredo, the lord, and Tlieodoric, the artist, are both suitors for the hand of Amalia, and the artist has been smiled upon. Unknowing and unknown, he had come to Tivoli some three months before, an l with his brush earned a liv ing for his servant and himself. Soon he was called in to transfer the features of the young girl to his canvas, and from that day the woo ing of Aloredo prospered not. Until now, Ama lia had looked upon him kindly though not lov ingly, and he had hoped for success after a time. He could hope this no longer, and ill could his proud spirit bear defeat. He, the first favorite of the Duke of Tivoli: he, who had but to smile upon a friend and his fortune was made—-to frown upon an enemy and he was lost; he, the mighty, had been firmly refused by the girl whom he had honored with his preference ! It was not to be endured. He had set his heart upon having her, just as he might have set his fancy upon some costly toy. and he would not be denied. The Duke of Tivoli was his master and friend; nay. more, he was the cousin.of Amalia, the head of her house, and he could, he would compel this fair maiden to bestow her hand upon his favorite. He would away to the Duke at once, his request would be granted, and then not only the fair maid herself, but her glowing vineyards, her tertile fields and heavy eoffers would" be his. If the Duke said it should be so, there were none to say him nay, and all would be well. On this same sunset eve of which we have spoken, he passed the villa and the cottage on his way to Tivoli. The Duke was walking in his garden, and graciously held out his hand as the Count drew near. “Where have you been. Civitelli? AVhat have you found in yonder gloomy castle to charm you away from your master for so long a time?" | asked the Duke reproachfully. THE LADY AMALIA SEIZED BY THE DUKE'S MESSENGERS. “ Send away your attendants, my lord, and I “Three days,” answered Paulo, wondering will answer you,” replied Aloredo, bowing low', what all these questions meant. With a wave of his hand, the Duke dismissed j “If she is too ill to see any but her most inti- his followers, and turned with an air of aroused mate friends, why did she receive the stranger, curiosity toward his faiorite. j Theodoric?” “Now then, Aloredo, what is it?” 1 Paul’s face flushed brightly. “A woman, my lord,” he answered, smiling. “He is an intimate friend of mine, my lord.” “A woman! You are jesting, Count!” j “Of yours, and of hers, too, I suppose,” ex- “No, my lord,” replied Aloredo, with a slight ' claimed the Duke. frown wrinkling his forehead, “I am in sad, sober earnest. The lady of my love has scorned me!” “ Who is the lady, Aloredo?” asked the Duke, an answering frown darkening his brow. “I wonder there is a woman who could deny your suit. Does she know your position, Count?” “ She knows me well, my lord, for it is of your cousin. Amalia Guercino, that I am speaking.” “Amalia ! Is it possible that you have allowed your fancy to be caught by that child? I am astonished, Civitelli. And she has refused you. Did you say she had refused yon?” “ She has, my lord; she has rejected me coldly and firmly. I asked her to take time to consider; but no, she would have not a moment for reflec tion—her mind was already made up. Nothing— no inducement that I could hold out would ever prevail with her to become my wife. That is what she said, my lord; judge you if it is a re fusal. ” “Did she give you no reason for this denial?" “None, my lord; but I suspect she has an other lover whom she favors,” answered Aloredo, gloomily. “Jealous !” cried the Duke, laughing. “Why, my friend, you are far advanced in your experi ence of the tender passion. Aloredo really in love ! I can hardly credit the avowal!” “You may laugh, my lord; I am glad it af fords you amusement; but I assure you I am in no humor for laughing myself.” “Nay, I’ll laugh no more,” returned the Duke. “I perceive you are in earnest; I will be so too. You think she has another lover; who is he?” “ I suspect the young stranger, Theodoric, the artist,” “Theodoric, the artist! Surely your jeal ousy has made you unreasonable, Aloredo. Think you that one of my house would wed a nameless stranger? Why do you suspect him?” “I will tell you, my lord. Yesterday evening, I went to her house, and they told me she was ill and could not see me. Not half an hour after ward, I saw the artist enter the door; it was two hours before he lett her." “He may have been painting her portrait,” said the Duke. “In the evening, my lord?” returned the Count, shrugging his shoulders contemptuously. “True, I will see to this. Ah! there comes Paulo. He has been with his cousin all day. I will ask him if she is ill. Paulo, come here !" In obedience to this summons, a bright, hand Paulo bowed. “Why don’t you answer, boy?” “ He is a friend, my lord.” “A lover, perhaps ?” said the Duke. “I doubt not he does love her, my lord,” re plied Paulo reluctantly. “Who could help lov ing my cousin Amalia?” “ And does this low adventurer aspire to the hand of Amalia Guercino?”-eried the Duke an grily. “By my dukedom',..this thing shall go no further! Go, Paulo; I have learned all that I wish to know from you. And now, Aloredo, what do you want me to do? I will help you in this matter to the extent of my power !” “Send for Amalia, my lord, and compel her to marry me,” answered Aloredo viciously. “I will do it!” answered the Duke." “Go home now. Count. To-morrow I will send for Amalia, and you shall fix the wedding-day your self.” Aloredo bowed low before his master, and with many murmured words of thanks, v\ ent his way. The Duke, looking savagely about him, re-entered his house. He did not see a slight form that, hidden in the dusky twilight, had listened to his last words with the Count It was Paulo, who rapidly ran over the plain to ward his cousin’s house as soon as the Count was out of sight, Paulo had left his cousin but half an hour before, and he knew well where to seek her. He paused a moment at the garden gate, contemplating with loving eyes the picture before him. Out on the wide piazza sat Amalia, and at her feet her lover, Theodoric, the artist. His soft- blue eyes were fixed upon her face with a look of rapt devotion, his fair hair was tossed care lessly back from his white brow, where rested the hand of Amalia. A light breeze rustled over the plain, bearing the balmy breath of flowers on its wings. The young moon hung trembling in the clear sky, and all things breathed of peace and love. Swiftly sped the moments while they were seated thus, murmuring now and again a word or two of love. But suddenly there came a change. Paulo hastily entered the garden, and springing up the steps, reached Amalia’s side with a bound. “The Duke, my father, knows all!” he ex claimed with panting breath. And what does he say ?” asked Amalia, the we can send for your mother. I would gladly sacrifice an empire for your sake; how readily, then, a dukedom.” “I haven’t an idea what you are talking about, Theodoric!” exclaimed Paulo; “and I don’t think you know how queerly you do talk. But we have no time to spare. Fly with him Amalia; von can but be brought back. Listen to me, Theodoric. Make Amalia your wife this very night; then, if you are overtaken, how can they force her to be the wife of another?” “Shall it be so, Amalia?” cried Theodoric, eagerly. • “It is very sudden,” answered Amalia; “yet if no better plan offer, I am willing.” “ Go, then, Paulo, and bring to us some wor thy priest who will unite us. Do you know of svch an one?” asked Theodoric, clasping Amalia with his arms. “Yes, I know one. Father Antoine loves Ama lia dearly, and will not refuse her this service.” “Yon are right, Paulo, ’ answered Amalia, lift ing her head from Theodoric’s bosom; “ he will not refuse me. Go bring him, Paulo. Tell him that I am in sore perplexity. He knows how cruel is Aloredo of Civitelli-how stern, Luigi I m “ sler ’ lu “' of Tivoli. He will not refuse me his aid; and ; J, g . as - a Pp ene ~ . may Heaven bless you, my dear cousin and ' - S P nllgl - ng from - hls horse, Theodoric rushed friend.” your heart with sad thoughts. Give me but time ; to place Amalia in safety, and I will return for you. I will leave yon now for a short time. I | must make some hasty preparations at my cot tage, and then I will return for her.” “ Better take her away at once, and make your preparations afterward,” said Paulo, glancing uneasily around. “Surely, you magnify the danger, Paulo,” re turned Theodoric. “You forget that she is my wife now, and they cannot take her from me.” “Theodoric !” cried Paulo impatiently, “you are older than I am, but you are as innocent as a babe. You must have been shut up in a con vent all your life. They can’t marry Amalia to any one else, but I am sure they can take her away from you. You need not look so brave and determined; they would find means to put you out of the way, and then who would protect Amalia?” “Your words are wise, my child,” said Father Antoine, who had been listening silently to their conversation; “but do not lose patience. The odoric, yon would do well to give heed to him; you do not know the Duke as we do. An hour will be sufficient time for your preparations; go then, and when you return, Amalia will be ready also.” “In an hour, then,” said Theodoric; and kiss ing his newly-made bride, he hastened away, followed by the priest. When they reached the garden gate, Tbeodo- ric pressed a purse into his companion's hand, with the whispered words: “For the poor.” “But you are yourself poor,” said the priest, “and cannot afford this sum.” “ Rest content, father; I have enough and to spare. If more is needed, apply to me.” “My son,” answered the priest, “I will give you a few words of advice in return for your kindness. Hasten! If you love your life, hasten ! If you love Amalia—I know well what I am say ing —hasten!" He turned quickly away as he finished speak ing, and was lost in the shadows of night. “My faith!” murmured Theodoric, with a vague fear disturbing his hitherto happy secu rity, “ it seems there is some unknown danger threatening me. I will secure my safe-guard and jewels (I must have them for my journey), bid Miguel follow me, and return at on’e to Amalia.” He continued his course in a swift run and soon reached his cottage, where he found Mig uel awaiting him. “I was just about to go out to seek for you,” said Miguel, as Theodoric bounded into the room. “ Haste, Miguel!” was the reply. “ Go bring the jewels; we must away from here. This hour just gone, the Lady Amalia has given her hand to me in marriage. Her cousin, the Duke of Tivoli, had destined her to be the bride of Alo redo. They will doubtless pursue us; we must hasten.” “What will Master Percy say?” exclaimed Miguel, lifting a plank in the floor and bring ing forth a small box of jewels. “When he knows her, he will say that it is well,” answered Theodoric; and while he spoke he was carefully securing a paper in an inner pocket. “ But why not declare your name and station to the Duke? He would not dare to say no to yon,” said Miguel. “And lose my head for my pains?” replied Theodoric. “Go get the horses, Miguel; I am ready. We will find the Lady Amalia’s own pony waiting for her. We must lose no time.” With swift hands, Miguel completed the nec essary preparations, and within the hour allowed by Father Antoine, they reached the garden gate. “I see no lights, Miguel!” cried Theodoric, in sudden alarm. “No, master, there is not a glimmer. Some- into the house, calling aloud for Amalia. No She bent forward and kissed the boy’s cheek answer was ret V r . ned to>is frantic cries; and as she ceased sneakine having procured .rom Miguel the means of mak- ' L i • . , ? e , ,, . . .. ing a light, he darted from room to room, still Paulo immediately left the room and Amalia | sought her mother, telling her, in a few words, ca “? ng for Amalla ' of the urgent necessity that had brought her bridal hour so near. Theodoric stood beside her while she spoke, weaving sweet white flow ers among the rippling masses of her hair. “This is very unexpected,” answered her mother; “and though I would rather have had a longer time for preparation, yet I feel no fear in resigning you to Theodoric’s care.” “Does she not look like a bride, dear mad- ame?” said Theodoric fondly. “She does, indeed; but it would be better if she would exchange that white robe for some- The servants sleeping in the upper part of the house were awakened by his cries, but they could tell him nothing. Scarcely a trace left of the bride; only, here in the room where they were married, a chair overtuned, the muslin curtain torn from the window as if grasped by violent hands, and the sweet blossoms he had woven in Amalia’s hair scattered on the floor. They were gone,- and this was all! Yet no—here upon the table lies a handkerchief stained with blood! “Alas! they have taken her away—perhaps murdered her ! What shall I do ?” groaned poor thing more substantial, if you are to leave the T> ] j , ■ , th handkerchief house to-night,” replied the mother. 1 , e} es nxecl u P° n tne , K . r c , “There will not be time inst now ” answered “Pardon me, my master, responded Miguel; Theodoric; “for if I mistake not, th^re is Paulo 8ure J? if >' 0U ™ to declare yourself—” now „ ’ ’ ! “I would as surely lose my life, answered Theodoric. “I do not know why you cannot understand this, Miguel. Luigi of Tivoli is the favorite of the Archduke Sforza. and he could While he spoke, Paulo, accompanied by an aged priest, entered the room. But a few minutes passed, and with no other witnesses than Paulo and the mother of Amalia, they were married. While the young bride was still pressed to her mother's bosom. Paulo inter rupted them: “Dear aunt, we cannot wait for these embra ces, sweet as they are. Theodoric, now that my cousin is your wife, I hope that you will take color fading from her cheek. her away from here quickly !” “ That he will have none of it! Look to your- | “Why, Paulo !” exclaimed Amalia, in a gently | self. Theodoric; the Count of Civitelli is your I reproachful tone; “are you so anxious to get some youth of fifteen years came rapidly up the most bitter enemy. Look to yourself and to j rid of me?” garden path, and bowed to the Duke and his Amalia!” j “No, dear cousin; you know that I am not. companion. “Speak plainly, dear Paulo. What evil do You know .right well that it is for your sake that " \\ here have you been all day. Paulo?” asked you fear?” asked Theodoric anxiously. I hurry you: but you do not know my father as the Duke, though he knew perfectly well. “The Dukew-ill send for Amalia in the morn- well as I do.” “ I have been spending the day with my cousin ing,” answered Paulo; “and when once he has • The boy shivered slightly as he spoke. her in the castle, all is lost, for he will force her i “Dear Paulo, I thank you for your kind to become the wife of Aloredo of Civitelli!” thoughtfulness,” said Amalia, gently pressing “Ah! Amalia, if you had but fled with me j his hand: and then turning to Theodoric, she when I first urged you, you would not have asked: “When will we leave this house, Theo- been in his power now,” exclaimed Theodoric doric?” do his master no greater service than to put me out of his way. Miguel, if you value my life, breathe not a word. I must wait until Percy tells me that all is well before I can claim my own. Do not, then, continue to torture me with the shadow of a power which, if I possessed it, would at once return Amalia to my side.” “What, then, will you do?" asked Miguel. “Follow her!” answered Theodoric. “And remember, Miguel, not a word of Percy; and don’t forget that I am Theodoric, the artist.” Amalia, father,” answered Paulo. “Why have you been there, Paulo?” contin ued the Duke. “Is she ill?” “Not ill. my lord,” answered Paulo, with a rapid glance at the Count, “but far from well.” company, is she not ? ” regretfully. Too ill to receive asked the Duke softly. “Yes. my lord, unless a very intimate friend, like myself.” “ How long has she been so indisposed?” en quired the Duke kindly. "By morning’s light, sweet wife,” answered “Alas ! it is too late to think of flight now,” Theodoric, smiling in Amalia's blushing face, replied Amalia, clinging to his arm. “What “Oh, guard her well!” cried the mother, shall we do. Theodoric?” “Stic lifts npvpr rpt left mv cidp ” shall we do, Theodoric ? “If you are willing to fly with me, even now, Amalia, we will go. When safe in another land, She has never yet left my side.’ “Dear madame and mother,” said Theodoric, respectfully kissing her hand, “do not trouble CHAPTER II. When Theodoric left the villa for the purpose of securing his jewels and papers, he was watched at a distance by four armed men, who scarcely waited until he was out of sight before entering the house. “A note from his Highness,” said the fore most,” removing his cap and bowing low to Amalia. “Read it, Paulo,” gasped Amalia, her fingers trembling so violently that she could not open the elaborately folded billet. Paulo took it, and his cheeks grew pale as he read.