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[For The Sunny South.] THREE GEMS. BY MAX MEYERHARPT. There are three radiant geme which form A diadem of light More glorious far than kingly crown. Or hero's bright star of renown, Won on the field of might. The one is Faith—a peerless boon Which God to man hath given To lead him safely on through strife— The struggles of this earthly life— And ope the gates of heaven! And one is Love - fraternal love For all our fellow-men; A brother in bis need to aid. And lead the wanderer who hath strayed To virtue’s paths again! And one is Hope—undying hope, Which brightly may illume Our pathway in the darkest night. And picture to our dazzled sight The life beyond the tomb! Hope, Faith, and Love! O peerless gems Set in a crown of light! May these e’er be the stars I bear, That lead me on to do and dare In brave defense of right! [Written for The Sunny South.] EDITHA; OK, The Woman Fiend. BY AN OI-I> CONTRIBUTOR. “THE DOOK WAS THROWN OPEN AND THE COUNTESS ENTERED.” the doorway, where stood Editha, Countess of Civitelli. Never did a more gloriously beautiful vision dawn upon mortal sight. Never appeared a woman more queenly and dazzling, and at the same time more femininely alluring than did at this moment Editha, Countess of Civitelli—the beaiitiful tiend. whose small, white fingers, glit tering with gems, had clasped the throats of in nocent victims with a grasp of steel—whose rul ing passions were ambition and revenge, and who could smile and murder while she smiled. She had kept her promise to her husband in a way he had not dreamed of. He hardly knew her as she stood before him, so dazzling was the beauty she had heightened to its utmost by art. Dressed in a flowing robe of Persian silk and fleecy lace, resplendent in jewels, crowned with a gemmed coronet that still was not so rich a diadem as her own glorious hair that fell around her in lustrous waves of dark gold, and set off the transcendent fairness of her skin and the bright darkness of her eyes, she seemed a crea ture of supernatural loveliness to the amazed Duke, whose eyes were accustomed to the swar thy complexion and coarse, black hair of his Italian countrywomen. A radiant smile hovered around her beautiful lips, and her eyes were partly cast down, reveal ing their long, curling lashes. Her beauty struck the two beholders dumb—one with ad miration and amazement, the other with dismay. The Count drew back, his cheeks blanching, his eyes, horror-stricken, fixed upon his wife. The Duke caught his breath once hard,- and then, removing his hat from his head, where he had hitherto insisted on keeping it, he advanced toward the lady. Editha courtesied low, and the Duke bent still lower. “Fair lady,” said he at length, taking her hand in his, “pardon me that I have stood be fore you so long without speaking; but now that I have spoken, let me say truth and tell you that your glorious beauty had for the time made me dumb, as well as almost blinded me to aught else. ” CHAPTER VIII. So enamored was Count Civitelli with the won derful beauty of the “young English lady,” whom he Uad been commissioned to ask in mar riage for his master, the Duke of Tivoli, that he was not only ■willing, but eager to marry her at once. For prudential reasons, he desired to be married as privately as possible, and the cere mony took place in the Archduke’s palace, with no witnesses beside the royal family, the Duke of Pavia, and a few attendants. Aloredo wished to keep the marriage secret for a time, and to leave his bride at the court or take her to some neighboring city or villa: but she longed to assume her new position und be installed mistress of his proud castle, and he was too weak of will and too deeply infatuated to oppose her wish. But he trembled with appre hension when, leaving her to examine the mag nificence of her new home, he betook himself to the ducal palace to report to his capricious and cruel master. He found him in a mood most unpropitious forhis purpose of conciliation. He was striding up and down the hall in a towering rage, breaking out into curses of his attendants, and striking and kicking them, as was his habit when enraged. “Ho. Aloredo! You here at last?" was his sahitation. “By my faith, you have not hurried yourself. Did you accomplish the object of your visit?” “ In part, your grace. I found out that the prisoner did not belong to the retinue of the English lady, and that he has never appeared, publicly, at least, at court. There are whispers of foreign spies and plotters in disguise, and of conspiracies on foot that bode no good to the Archduke. But all is kept so dark that nothing,'; as yet, has been discovered.” “Did you keep yourself dark also, Aloredo, and conduct your inquiries secretly, as I ad vised ?” “I attempted to do so. my lord, but Garcia’s spies are watchful. I had not been in the city an hour before I was summoned by the Grand Duke.” The Duke frowned impatiently. “You bungled, of course, or he would not have found you out. Now, his suspicions are aroused.” “Not so. my lord. I hastened to him at once and informed him that I had been sent by your grace to return thanks for the loan of his phy sician. and express a hope that his health had not suffered in Dr. Gastani's absence.” “That was very good for an impromptu lie,” replied the Duke, smiling grimly. “ But Garcia may keep his physician next time and welcome. The old hypocrite shall never enter my doors again !” “Why, may I ask, my lord?” “Devil take him ! I believe that he connived with that scapegrace son of mine to escape from the room where I had him confined in order to keep him from getting to your friend, the beg garly artist prisoner!” “ Has Paulo gone ?” “Gone? He has indeed—gone in the dis guise of the Doctor’s page. It seems old Gastani must send in a message to Paulo on the morning \ he was returning to court. Paulo persuades the guard at the entrance of the chamber to lock the door and retire, when he compels the page who Ibrought the message to exchange clothes with | him, and the guards, drunk as usual, fail to dis cover the disguise, and let the boy pass out. mount the page’s horse and gallop after old Gas tani, who was in the secret, no doubt.” “Have you sent after him. my lord?” asked the Count. “No; I’ve done better than that. I saw at once how the matter stood, and planned my re venge. I pretended not to see that it was Anto nia, raved at the insolence of the Doctor's page in binding my son. ordered him to be dressed in the finest of Paulo’s clothes, called him Paulo, and ordered the first man to be hung who called | him Antonio or treated him with aught but the ! respect due my son and heir. What do you think of that, Aloredo ?” “It will frighten Master Paulo terribly,” said Aloredo. “But how long does your Highness intend to keep it up ?” “ Always !” said the Duke. “ If yonder young fellow who followed Dr. Gastani returns to Tivoli, he will be whipped from my gates as an impostor ! Oh ! I’ll be revenged on any one that dares to overreach me !” Aloredo stood aghast. If this was the pun ishment he had meted out to his son for merely 1 eluding his vigilance, what was in reserve for him—the faithless ambassador, the ungrateful favorite, the false friend, who had deceived a too partial master? “Enough of this,” continued the Duke; “you [ understand my wishes concerning Paulo. Now, tell me of the fair stranger. What is her name, Aloredo ?” “Editha Beaumont,” replied Aloredo. “And is she as report makes her out to be? Did you think her worth}’ of my hand ?” asked the Duke, eagerly. “ By no means, my lord !” exclaimed Aloredo. “She is not nearly so beautiful as Amalia. Her hair is a hideous red, and her large eyes are as cold as a statue. I know not why they called her beautiful.” While Aloredo spoke thus falsely, he was trem bling with eagerness to get back to his beautiful I bride, who had chosen on this occasion to he as j sweet and loving in temper as she was fair of form and face. “ You did not offer her my hand then, I trust!” exclaimed the Duke. “No, my lord,” answered Aloredo, wondering how he was to tell his master that he had offered his own. “Well, I am disappointed,” said the Duke. “I was really charmed with the accounts of her beauty, and hoped to have a lovely wife. Well, Aloredo, you have done your best for me; now I will gratify you. There is a priest in the house— one who cares more for my will than anything else. He shall unite you to the lady of your af fections immediately !” Aloredo remained silent. “What’s the matter, Count?” exclaimed the Duke, in surprise. “My lord, circumstances have — something has — the Archduke ” and then Aloredo paused in helpless embarrassment. “ What do you mean ?” cried the Duke, sternly. “Quit your stammering and speak to the point.” ‘ ‘I—I found the lady not beau tiful, but wealthy, and though not a mate for my master, yet not to be disdained by his servant.” said the Count, desperately. “And you offered her your own hand?” said the Duke, slowly, while a slight flush crept over hit, brow. *’ ' “Yes, my lord, and she—the Duchess also— the Duke ” Again Aloredo paused and looked imploringly at his master. “Well, what did they all say?” asked the Duke. “Say it all out at once. Aloredo. Iam very glad for you to find a wealthy bride, if you prefer wealth to love.” “I will speak out, my lord, since you are so kindly indulgent,” said Aloredo, taking cour age. “ I find myself forced to prefer wealth to love and beauty, for in truth, my coffers are nearly empty; and since the fair Amalia is lost to me “Who said she was lost to you, Aloredo?” interposed the Duke. “ Is she not the wife of Theodoric ?” asked the Count. “Aye, true; I had forgotten the fellow,” said the Duke. “Go on with your story, Count.” “Yes, my lord. As I was saying, my coffers being empty and Amalia a wife, I signified my readiness to comply with the conditions pro posed by Editha when I offered my hand, upon which compliance rested her acceptance.” “And what were those conditions, Count?” asked the Duke. “That I would marry her at once and bring her to Tivoli with me!” said Aloredo, with an effort. “Then you are already married !” exclaimed the Duke, in surprise. “Yes, my lord,” answered the Count, bowing his head. “And you have brought your bride with you to Tivoli?” “Yes, my lord; she is now in my home.” “Really, Aloredo, you have been most expe- j ditious,” said the Duke, with a disagreeable j laugh. “You must bring your bride and pre sent her to me.” “ I will be most happy,” answered the Count; “in a few days, my lord, when she has rested.” “ In a few days!” repeated the Duke. “I can not wait so long, Aloredo. You say truly,—she must be fatigued with her journey, and it would be discourteous for me to exact her presence just now. So, Aloredo, as she is the wife of my ! old and trusted friend, I will go to see her.” “Oh ! my lord, you do us too much honor,” ! said the Count, bowing with an air of deep hu mility. “ It is nothing— nothing,” said the Duke, wav ing his hand. “ I will return with you at once, Aloredo. See that my horse be brought forth.” i “At once, my lord?” gasped Aloredo. “Yes, at once!” repeated the Duke. “I shall j think you are reluctant to show her, Aloredo, if you make any more excuses.” “No, my lord: oh, no !” exclaimed the Count, j ‘ in an agony of apprehension. “I will have your horse got ready instantly.” “ That fellow is playing me false in some way,” 1 said the Duke to himself, as the Count hurried from the room. “He is playing me false, and I : will find out in what way !” The Duke stood in a musing attitude a few moments, then drawing his hat down over his brow, followed the Count. CHAPTER IX. At the castle window overlooking the road stood Editha, Countess of Civitelli. She had been looking over the grand, old-fashioned re ception-room, and determining in her own mind what changes she would have made. Over and over again she had repeated to herself, “Editha, Countess of Civitelli ! I am at last a Countess, if not a Duchess, and I will be the observed of all in the grand receptions of the Duke of Tiv oli ! ” In looking through the apartment where the Count kept his papers and jewels, she found, in a small, iron-bound casket, an antique coronet | of fine gold encrusted with jewels. “Ah !” said she, “ here is a good omen ! This is doubtless the coronet of the last Countess. It is now mine!” She passed from the room, bearing the coro net in her hand. As she passed the window, ■ she saw ihi. Count rotuining Tivoli, and by his side rode another gentleman, while two others followed at a short distance. “A right gallant-looking knight,” thought Editha: “but not so tine as the Count, if he would but hold up his head. Something must have happened to him. They are about to enter the castle. I must prepare for them.” She withdrew to her apartment and awaited a message from her husband. In a few minutes the Count himself entered. He bad ushered the Duke into the reception-room and entreated permission to prepare his wife for the honor awaiting her. It was granted, and now, while the Duke was waiting below, he stood trembling in his wife’s presence. “Ah ! my dear lord, you have returned !” said Editha, in a soft, fond voice. “I am glad that you have come. This castle is very lonely. We must live in Tivoli, love.” She leant upon his bosom and looked into his face with her beautiful, treacherous eyes, softly caressing him with her hands—those soft, dainty ; hands, with satin-smooth skin covering bands of iron. But the Count knew nothing of this— he knew not that those rosy fingers which he pressed so fondly to his lips had been clasped around the throat of more than one. “We will think of that hereafter, Editha,” an- ! swered the Count. “I do not think that we can live in Tivoli. I must throw myself upon your love and mercy, darling. I have deceived you!” “In what way?” asked Editha. “Are you not the Count of Civitelli ?” “ Oh ! yes, I am the Count, Editha; but I was sent by another to offer you his hand in mar riage—for fame spoke loudly of your beauty, dearest—and instead of offering his, I offered my own. Surely, love, you can forgive me for a fault—if fault it was—to which I was impelled by your beauty ?” The Count tenderly embraced his wife as he ceased speaking. “And what do you wish me to do, Aloredo?” asked Editha. “ He is in the castle, Editha. He has come to see you, and I want you to make yourself as ugly as possible. I know that is a hard thing to ask of a beautiful woman, Editha; but for love of me, and to save my life!”—his voice sank to a husky whisper,—“to save my life, Editha (do you understand?) you will do this, will you not ?” “Whocthen, is this unknown would-be suitor of mine?” asked the Countess, lifting her head from her husband’s shoulder. “Who is he that has power over the Count of Civitelli ?” “The Duke, Luigi of Tivoli,” answered the Count, gazing imploringly at his wife. “The Duke of Tivoli !” echoed Editha, a mor tal paleness overspreading her face, leaving the light tinting of color artistically applied plainly visible, and realizing in a moment that the Duchess Sforza had spoken falsely. “Do not fear!” exclaimed the Count, throw ing his arm around her. Go—do what you can to disfigure yourself. Paint black circles around your eyes, color your lips blue—do anything; but be in haste—the Duke is waiting.” “The Duke is in the castle! He has come here to see me!” exclaimed Editha, with ashen lips. . _ “Yes, he is here; but do not be so fright ened,” answered the Count, entirely misinter preting her emotion. Editha mused a moment, and then looked up smilingly. “Go to the Duke, Aloredo,” she said; “amuse his Highness as best you can. I will be down as quickly as possible, and I promise you that you will scarcely know me.” “ I am indeed pleased that my poor looks have found favor in the eyes of your Highness,” said Editha, looking full into his face with her beau tiful eves. * Sdf husband u hca.i f'. knew that she would make known the full ex tent of his treachery to the Duke. “ The sun still shines, and the evening air is not chill; will you walk with me on the terrace?” asked the Duke, offering his arm as if it were to a queen he was speaking. “ My lord, you honor me highly,” said Editha, taking the offered arm and suffering him to lead her out on the terrace, where, unbidden, the others dared not follow. “Surely, I have cause to congratulate myself that I am the wife of one so dearly loved by your Highness that your kindness is extended to me.” “You mistake me, fair Countess,” said the Duke; “it is for your own sake, not for the love I bear yonder faithless friend.” “Faithless friend, did you say, my lord ? Ah ! in what way has the Count been so unfortunate as to offend you ?” “Would it grieve you deeply if I were to say that I am very angry with him ?” asked the Duke. “Nay, my lord, unless you extended that an ger to me,” answered the designing woman. “That can never be!” exclaimed the Duke warmly; “and therefore, I will say that I am extremely angry with him. and that you are the cause!” “I the cause? I the cause of your Highness’ displeasure? What have I done?” cried Editha in well-simulated distress. “You have committed the crime of being too lovely!” answered the Duke, smiling. “All! surely your Highness will forgive me for that ?” exclaimed Editha, clasping her hands with a pretty little gesture of entreaty, and smil ing bewitchingly up at him. “I scarcely know how I can,” answered the Duke, more and more fascinated with the arch deceiver every moment, and his desire of reveng ing himself on the Count growing deeper. “What has the Count done?” asked Editha. “Robbed me !” answered the Duke sternly. “Robbed you!” exclaimed Editha, as though she understood him not. “Surely, the Count cannot be so base! Of what has he robbed you, my lord ?” “Of a treasure, fair lady, for which I would willingly have bartered my crown ! ” replied Luigi. “ Of so great a treasure ?” cried Editha. ‘ ‘Alas ! my lord, how can he ever replace it? Is it still in his possession ?” “It is,” replied the Duke, thinking (poor dupe) how cunningly he was entrapping the Countess. “He still has it? Oh, tell me where it is!” pleaded Editha, clasping her hands. “Tell me where it is to be found, and I will restore it to you!” “You will?” cried the Duke eagerly. “You will restore it to me? Do you promise this?” “I promise !” answered Editha. “ Will you swear it?” asked the Duke, extend ing his hand. “My lord,” answered Editha, drawing herself up to her full height, “my promise would have been enough; but tell me where it is and what it is—then, in spite of men and devils, you shall have it My lord, I swear it!” She placed her hand in the Duke’s, and he lifted it to his lips, saying: “Beautiful lady, it is yourself!” Editha drooped her head, as though she had not known this all the time, and still kept her eyes fixed upon the ground while the Duke rap idly explained to her how it happened. When he ceased speaking, Editha lifted her head. “ The base villain !” she exclaimed; “ the vile, ungrateful friend ! My lord, before this, I re- AVell pleased* the Count returned to his mas- garded him with feelings of perfect indifference; ter, who, with unwonted good nature, listened to his talk and waited a full hour before the Countess made her appearance. The Count was gaily relating some amusing incident of his journey, when the door was thrown open, and the Countess entered. The day was growing late, and the setting sun threw one brilliant bar of light directly across I now loathe and despise him beyond any power of mine to describe ! I felt none of this before, but from the first moment my eyes rested upon your face ” She paused abruptly, apparently in great con fusion. “ What do you say?” cried the Duke, raptur ously. “ Can it be possible that you would have