Newspaper Page Text
YOL. VI.
J. fl. & W. B. SEALS } P E $IgS§£S£
ATLANTA, GA., MAY 15, 1SS0.
Terms in Advance; {£*” e K £*&py?1®:
NO. 252
MV nOTHER'R PACE.
By Salome.
Such a beautiful, beautiful face, ,
Though faded, and wrinkled, and old;
As each lfhe of care,
Makes a furrow there.
It grows dearer a hundred-fold.
Time’s rude touch hag left little trace
Of the beauty, that once shone so fair;
But the tender light,
In those dim eyes to-night,
Sheds a lovely radiance there.
The light of mother-love, faithful and true.
Patient, unselfish, enduring;
How it watched o’er the way,
Lest my young feet might stray,
Where evil was fair and alluring.
So often that face has grown pale,
As it bent o'er my couch of pain;
And when came release,
From wasting disease,
How it brightened with gladness again.
Mother, dear, tho’ I’m weary and sad,
And my eyes ache with long rcuressed tears;
’Neath the light of thy smile,
I’ll forget for awhile,
The weight of woman-hood’s years.
But those sweet features grow feeble now,
And I sadly think of the day;
When into our home
Death’s shadow will come,
And bear our dear mother away.
Grant, Lord, that if I at the last,
'Mongthe mansions above find a place;
When I open my eyes
In yon fair Paradise,
I shall know my mother’s dear face.
Hapevili.e, Ga., May, 1880.
EVEN UNTO DEATH;
—OR THE—
Mystery of Monk’s Tower.
BY ROSE ASUEEIGII,
or South Carolina.
Author of “His Other Wife,” “The Wid-
oie’s Wages,” etc.
CHAPTER I.
THE MONK’S TOWER.
“Haunted?”
“Ay, sir. Leastways, it’s got that name ;
so it might a« well l>e haunted if it ain’t.”
“What manner of ghosts ‘do walk,’ about
the old Monk’s Tower?”
“Lord knows, sir. It’s been lo! these
many years since we’ve had a tenant for the
place. All I can tell you is, that in the late
Earl of Creveldt's time the castle was aban
doned to the rooks and bogies. Different
people tried it, but soon got tired of the ex
periment. I don’t know as they ever saic
things, but it was said that doleful noises
kept the dim old chambers alive of nights,
and made ’em most too much for the nerves
of honest folk.”
“How long since it was last occupied?”
“Nigh to fifteen years, I’d saj r , sir. It was
before my time here, and I’ve been steward
going on twelve years.”
“Would you mind showing me over the
castle this morning, Mr. Farnham?”
“Certainly not. sir, if you can wait a bit
till I get a fresh horse. This one is tired, and
we've a good distance to ride.”
“I’ll wait. Be as quick as you can.”
The last speaker turned the head of his
heavy roadster into a patch of sweet young
grass by the highway, and, dismounting,
cast himself down at the foot of a large elm-
tree, while the beast browsed around him,
tethered to his arm by the bridle-reins.
tValt Farnham—steward to the Earl of
Creveldt, upon whose estates the conversa
tion just related transpired—rode on at a
brisk pace up the shaded lane to his neat
cottage on the ridge of the hill.
The man who had been making inquiries
concerning the ill-famed castle of Monk's
Tower looked as if he might be familiar with
the company of evil spirits.
In the swarthy and sinister Italian face
that lav upturned to the canopy of dark
green boughs, through which the air of the
spring morning lightly stirred one could j
easilv discern glimpses' of a nature deeply
tinctured with that pitiless ferocity which
conceals itself under a cloak of soft, sleek
guile. The man to whom this face belongs
might be a gipsy, a bandit, a cut-throat, or
a necromancer. Probably all these combin
ed!
There is no limit to the possibilities of such
a character. It is a compound of man and
devil, which is worse than devil, pure and
simple.
“The place of all others for my purpose,”
muttered the foreigner, in very good English,
yet with an accent deep, distinct, and facile,
as of a tongue accustomed to the use of many
dialects.
As he spoke a wicked something flared out
of bis bright black eyes, and the pointed
ends of his long, jetty moustache went up
enough to show the ivory glitter of sharp,
strong teeth.
It was not a smile, but a saturnine grimace.
Nevertheless, it expressed the secret enjoy
ment wit h which he was entertaining the
idea of possessing Monk's Tower.
Beneath the broad rim of a brown felt hat,
halfslouched over his forehead, thick slimy
black hair clustered in rings resembling coil
ed adders. His skin was dark as an Asian’s,
and his frame slender, supple, serpent-like as
he la\ along the grass flecked over with spots
of sunlight. After a space more of self-com
muning. he said aloud, as if the pleasure of
his thoughts were too keen to be repressed:
“Perhaps Signora il Contessa will be less
chary of her presence when she has only the
rocks and Dr. Raolfo to choose between for
company. Monk's Tower! My lady's fan
tastic taste may find the name as attractive
as I shall find its lonely turret chamber well
suited to my design. But by the Olympian,
the place hath a grim and ghostly aspect.
THE MAD CREATI RE HAD GRASPED BIER II I Yl* AS HE KA’EELED AT BIER FEET-
rgh! "
he warm-blooded Southerner shivered
with natural repugnance as he recalled the
appearance of thi
e desolate, half -ruined old
feudal castle, for which he was at present an
applicant. His reverie was here disturbed
by hearing the clatter of hoof- descending
the bill. In a few seconds -lore the steward
appeared, and Dr. Raolfo lifted himself from
the sunny herbage, and into his saddle, with
the swift ophidian grace than characterized
his whole bearing and movement.
“What manner of man is your Lor 1 of
Creveldt?” asked the Italian of his compan
ion, as they rode on at a gallop towards the
waste domain of Monk's Tower, lying on the
confines of extensive forest lands beyond the
park limits of Rochelle, the present seat of
the Earl of Creveldt.
“Well, that’s a question that hardly any
one could answer, sir. My lord is g man to
himself. I’d say. I never saw one in th i
least like him.”
“How old is he?”
“Forty-nine.”
“Handsome?”
“Depends on what you’d call handsome.”
To my thinking, Lord Creveldt hasn’t got
his match in Britain.”
“No! What is he like ?”
“Why, sir, I hardly know. But it seems
to me, if I were a painter, and wanted a
man to sit for a picture of King Saul, I’d
pick Lord Creveldt out of a thousand.”
“Humph! Rather a doubtful compliment.”
“Not if I’ve got the right notion of what
the awesome Hebrew monarch was like, sir.
Bless your heart! there were giants in those
days, and somehow I always picture King
Saul as one of ’em. though the Scripture
don’ts ay so.”
“I presume, then, that your ‘Lord Creveldt,
is of the Goliath type.”
“Not a whit like that bloated butcher; yet
a match for him in strength, I warrant
you.”
“Why has he never married ?’’
“Not because he couldn’t, that you may
bet on. He’s the sort the women go mad
about—just, i do believe, out of pure contra
riness.”
“Would you call him a lady’s man?”
“Ha, ha, ha! Lord Creveldt a ‘lady’s
man.’ Well, no—don't think he bothers
much with ’em. But my lady, his mother,
is anxious for him to marry, and she keeps
the house full of the London beauties. You
ought to see how they do go on about the
earl!”
“Likely enough. These estates would
beautify a satyr.”
“It ain’t that, and I can’t tell what it is,
only I know there be some as would die for
him if he hadn't a penny to bless himself
with. Not that he's so good neither.”
Here the steward shook his head, doubtf ul-
h'. With all his devotion to and pride in his
master, he could not ignore the fact that ill
things were said of the haughty earl.
“Good! Of course not. Do women ever
die about ‘good’ men? It takes a strong
spice of the devil to make a man invincib le
with the dainty soft creatures.”
“I'd think you ought to have some luck
with ’em, sir.” said the honest Briton biuntly.
as he cast a shrewd glance under the rim of
Dr. Raolfo’s sombrero.
The Italian smiled. He evidently regarded
the remark as subtle flattery, but made no
reply to it.
A gloomy black pile now rose before them
against the clear deep blue of the sky. They
were passing along a broad avenue, so long
abandoned to the promenades of the red deer
and other denizens of the wild wood, that
but for the regularity with which the mon
ster trees grew on either side of it, one might
have fancied himself in some primeval grove
sacred to the awful Druid orgies, and unpro
faned by pruning-hook or forester’s axe.
No sign of wheels ruts remained on the
thick carpet of turf that lay dark and damp
beneath the dense foliage which the sunshine
never penetrated.
The steps of the horses made no sound as
their hoofs sank to the fetlock in velvetv
mould. The two horsemen became silent—
the utter loneliness and desolation of the
spot chilled and hushed them.
Aged rooks fluttered their wings uneasily
as they looked down from their time-honored
perches among giant boughs watching the in
vaders of their dreary wilderness home.
At the terminus of the long avenue, and in
front of the grim stone structure lay the ruins
of what had once been extensive pleasure
grounds. Fragments of fountains, covered
over with ivy and lichens—broken shafts of
discoloured marble, qver which rank creepers
climbed—mutilated statues, mournfully show-
| ing the>r pale faces among the evergreen—
| broken stone benches, and mounds of rock-
I work half hi i by the long, lush grasses, were
all that remained of the Roman garden that
i had once been the glory of the castle which
I reared its fostress-like front still proudly,
1 but with the melancholy pride of an un
crowned king.
From one side of this massive building a
wing of masonry protruded towards the
gardens, and this wing was surmounted by a
tower of octagonal shape, with deep, narrow
casements. Dismal cedars of enormous size
flung their shadows over this turreted excre-
sence, and the least imaginative person must
have found it suggestive of romantic incident
and story.
“What is the legend of the place?” asked
the foreigner, casting his glance upward over
the lO'.e eerie tower, from which the mant
ling ivy swung in rich dark festoons, that al
most concealed the lancet-shaped apertures
of the windows.
“It is said that a company of friars once
occupied the building as a sort of monastery;
that one of their brotherhood sold himself
to the devil, and committed such horrid
outrages as obliged the others to incar
cerate him; and that they erected the tower
as a place of confinement remote from t heir
common habitation. Here the base monk
dwelt in solitude for years, and finally the
fratenity were wakened from their midnight
sleep by unearthly shrieks issuing from the
Monk’ Tower. The bolddest of them went to
to see what aild the wretched captive. They
found the turret chamber empty, but reeking
with fume of brimstone, and still glowing as
if lit by a forge. The devil has come to claim
his own,’ the good friars said, while each
man crossed himself devoutly. Ever since
that time the tower has borne a bad repuata-
tion: but only since the castle has been de
serted by the family who own it have the
ugly tales of goblins and ghosts been afloat.
It is said by some that on the stroke of midnigh
dreary sighs and moans are heard in the lofty
tower 1 but that may be only an old wife’s
tale.
“Open the doors, and let us look at the in
side.”
“Oh, I dare say that paint and furniture
will soon make that comfortable enough for
those who can stand the look of the outside.
Dust and mould are tfie worst that time has
done to these solid stone walls, sir.”
They had now entered the wide low-roofed
hall of the building, where in the mediaeval
times its Norman master may have seated an
army of vassals with ease.
The more recent occupants of the castle
had made little or no change in the ancient
decorations of the interior, which was a mix
ture of styles, as qua nt to the modern eye as
they were rich and costly at the time of
which they were relies.
On the upper story, an immense gallery—
lit by two mullioned casements set midway
between the ceiling and floors—correspond
ed with the hall below, and on either side of
this the sleeing apartments opened,
Tattered tapestries, faded and mouldy, at-
tes'ed the more luxurious customs and tastes
of successive generations up to the time of its
desertion by the later Lords of Creveldt, who
removed their residence to the more splendid
and ornate structure that crested the saiubri-
ious heights of Rochelle, overlooking the sea.
“It will do well enough,” said the Italian,
after a cursory view’ of the dim old cham
bers. “How soon can I have possession?”
“As soon as ever you like to dispute for it
with the bats and mice, sir.”
The bailiff answered with a slight creeping
sensation of disgust as they passed out of the
cavernous-arched portal into the fair warm
sunlight that lay upon the flagstones of the
open court. He added;
“We might ride over to Rokeby, the bor
ough town, at once, and arrange about the
lease?”
“The sooner the better. I suppose I can find
workmen tnere who are competent to make
necessary repairs?”
“Yes; and'pretty much all the material you
would need for refurnishing the rooms com-
fortablv. But it's only fair I should tell you
that I do not think lhy lord will stand any
expense about the repairs. Doubtless you
won't care to keep the piace long, and after
you leave it, there will be one chance less
that any other tenant will want it.”
“ Rather than not have it, I shall assume
the expense of refitting so much of it as I
may require.”
-“ Rnu're blessed with a queer fancy, I’d
say. sir. But I suppose you folk from the
south of Europe get to be fond of ruins, and
all manner of relics of the old priestcraft.
Every man to his liking.”
CHAPTER II.
RICHARD, EARL OF CREVELDT.
A goodly man, verily—as any one would
say seeing him step forth from ins own pala
tial threshold this golden June morning.
Stal wart-statured, and of the antique mould
is he, and sombre-browed withal.
Even the shimmer and glow of the full
noontide does not banish from his bronzed
face the shadow of a settled melancholy,
that gives an added dignity to features al
ready majestic. The fine soft hair that lies
close and smooth about his wide brow is no
longer densely black, as in his youth, but
streaked and touched with grey.
Iron-grey, too, is the grim moustache that
almost hides the chiselled lines of a chaste,
sweet mouth, that in his softer moods is ten
der as a gentle woman’s, but can stiffen
sternly enough when he is angered.
There is that something of potency about
the w’hole man that gives assurance of all
phases of pa-sion lying at rest, like chained
that endears the noble to the peasant’s heart.
In a few moments Lord Richard was seat
ed in Walt Farnham’s great leathern chair
in che porch, listening to the farming reports,
neighbourhood gossip, and affairs in general,
of which the bailiff had collected a good
store during his master’s absence on a yacht
ing cruise through the waters of the Levant,
whence he was not expected back in England
for months to come.
The honeysuckle vines, that climbed over
a lattice-work above Lord Richard’s head,
tossed their pearl}’ blossoms in the light wind |
are pretty well over. I’ll leave the foreign
folk to take care of themselves. I guess if
the lady who has excited your sympathies
so muen didn’t like staying there, she’d find
means of escape. Good day.”
! CHAPTER III.
I DR. RAOLFO’S PATIENT.
The occupants of Monk’s Tower Castle have
been domesticated within its grim wails a lit
tle over two months, but no alteration ap-
, pears in the ext* r or aspect of the place.
! Evidently the foreigners like it best in its
| picturesque decay. Not a bough has been
I clipped from the dense foilage that rises an
[ emerald wall on every side. Not even afoot-
path has been trodden out among the rank
herbage and rich grasses that encumber the
broken pavements about the waste gardens.
Within the vast ball one finds traces of
home comfort. The dust and mould have
been careuflly cleared away, and the great
oaken doors stand open. A broad sheet of
hot sunshine lies over the flagstones half way
up the length of the hall. A few wooden
settles, some huge old-fashioned chairs, and
rugs of costly skins are scattered about the
central apartment. A iare Alpine dog lies
sunning on one of the skins in the patch of
sunshine, but no other sign of habitation.
Deep silence everywhere.
Passing up the wide stone stairway to the
upper gallery, we find a “dim religious light”
that falls through the dark stained glass of
the Gothic windows at either end, but only
the life-sized figures of two apostles painted
on the windows seem to hold possession here.
These stand out in bold relief as the torrid
sun beams upon them from without, lighting
the gold aureoles about their ugly blows, and
restoring the gaudy tints of their robes.
Along the wall.--, a few time-stained pic
tures that had not been deemed worthy of a
place in the new mansion at Rochelle hang
from the heavy cornice of black oak. They
are all of a piece with the building—grotes
que and gloomy.
Far down the gallery on the western side a
door stands open, and a brightness issues from
its threshold. We approach to look within,
andlo! a transformation scene. No longer
are we amidst the sombre remains of dead
centruries, but, as if a sliding panel of the
wall had sprung aside, and by enchantment
revealed one of those exquisite Venetian “in
teriors” with which the pencil of art delights
to dally, we are in a new age. Wails and
ceilings covered with pale lavender silk, bro
caded in flowers of hues so fresh and living
that the clusters of roses seem newly to have
blossomed out upon the delicate lustrous fa
bric, and to breathe their dewy odour on the
warm sunny air.
Softest velvet pile from Persian looms on
the floor; furniture in ivory inlaid with gilt
placed with careless elegance throughout the
suite of chambers thus embelished; pictures
about the earl’s bare brow-; and the steward | and statues, and bits of art splendour every
where. Beyond, an open balcony filled with
thought as he gazed affectionately on his
master and visitor, that the shadows had
deepened on his grave face.
Perhaps it was only that the hot suns and
salt winds of the tropics had tanned it to a
richer olive. But winds, neither hot nor
cold, honest yeoman, can bring to any man’s
face the brooding care that looks out from
Lord Richard’s.
The steward had not evinced bad taste or
pool fancy when he likened the earl to the
Bible hero, King Saul.
The fixed gloom that lurked ever under
frown or smile of that noble face might easi
ly have shadowed the brow of Israel’s mon
arch when confronting the pale spirits con
jured to his sight by the hag of Endor.
On wbat painful visions of the past those
jars of growing plants. The chamber opens
to this balcony by sashes let down to the floor.
Before this casement a woman sits at an easel
of carved cedar wood, on which a small oil
painting is receiving the light loving strokes
with which a true artist softens down the
outlines of his work.
In one of her bands the woman holds a por
celain pallet, on which various colours are
mixed; the wide sleeves of her white muslin
robe are looped up to her shoulders with pins
that her hands may be untrammelled by the
delicate lace ruffles that edge tbe hems.
Slender arms, like the Ariadne's, are thus
left bare for the soft summer wind to kiss
their pure white flesh, and deepen the blue
veins that glean along the transparent skin.
It is a face full of that strange, subtle pow
er that we call magnetism which bends over
the painting. Soft black hair grows smooth
ly and gracefully about a broad low brow
that is sad and thoughtful, a scarf of pale
blue silk ties back tbe straight, loose tresses
that are left unbraided over her shoulders.
ipirits beneath the surface calm of his aspect, , dark-veiled eyes might be gazing, with their
The profile of his dark face outlined against> sad ’ fal '-away loo . k \ ma y not he written,
the white marble of the column by whfch he I ‘ S ™ n after a * tal “ n £ hls majority,theyoung
stands reminds one of a bronzed caste of some e * r J • * £? ne to the Crimea, and, at the head
mvthical hero or demigod-its contour is so 9? h . IS , re giment. had won for himself a sol-
massive, yet so fine and clear. The lids droop d f r s laurels. But when he returned to his
his^-iiv eves 1 " that onlv hirid liS°Mt 1 recognked^nthe grave,’sternman who came E -'' es > Sl>ft and grey, like the sea when it is at
showunder'tbe tng^algbt^iXs?!, d S to I ^fr™ “,¥ d ° f tri ““P h and ^ ^ US ^
this peculiarity his physiognomy owes much ^"lliant and happy young officer who left
of its unique and impressive character, which j ta ?, m '. ,
is variously interpreted. Proudly poised j faring many subsequent years he spent
upon a throat singularly delicate and nervous I “ U , chl ? .t 111 ' 6 , a ^ rf ;‘, ad ’ ?, nd }} wa ® K P d
considering his great size, his perfect head 1 and believed that he led a wild life. He did
i caij uc uau uitrauij. uau tiuuuitru as iLiey
gaze out over the landscape to which she has
now turned them.
A glimpse of the German Ocean comes to
her through an opening in the forest.
Something in that gleam of silver tides
gives one the key to his whole nature Bsl 1 not P retend to any special sanctity, and was i stirs here emotions, for the delicious lines
ance and power are beautifully blended- 1 chlefl - v n ° ted fo ” a c ° o1 sublimity of daring j and curves of her sweet, sensuous mouth
-i - -• «*-•— . . - ■- - - 1 i in any sort of enterprise to which he attach- grow tremulous and the witchery of a ma
ture and tender womanhood is over her from
the lighted flame within her soul.
One could hardly tell whether or not she is
there are no inequalities, but a full develop- i „, , ., - . ,
ment of each organ. | eJ himself, whether in politics, war, love,
His frame matches his head. From crest to : „„„ ,, . „ , . ,
heel there is no fault in Richard, Earl of Cre-! • ^ b ere w as a reckless energy in all his de-
veldt. ! I ; 1 ^ ns tka t made himi a conspicuous target for ; beautiful. The charm of her surpasses the
He is drawing on a pair of ri ding-trio ves 1 V, anc * • e indifference j me re forms of beauty so far that it seems
over large, handsome, patrician hand< ^ith which he received their shots upon his rmt. tn nmt.fpr if chp l«r*lrs t.h*» roorniofif-v nf
invulnerable shield of self-esteem
His clothing of dark brown velvet fits bim i , Sf n- „ seiI "
like a Crusader’s harness. I te H. d to Palliate his offences.
uP° n ni * j not to matter if she lacks the regularity of
did not i features by which the artist shapes a perfect
face. And she does Jack this quality very
Now he passes down a paved walk hedged : 6 slns he had not committed—according decidedly, critical reader. Not a single line-
with roses. His coal black blood horse is'«! Da i£ e u' un , d -'P wou , d , ke easier named an , en t could bear to be put into cold marble;
waiting for his ponderous form. - tnan those be had, and it was well known i f or nothin? of her is strictlv classic, unless
for nothing of her is strictly classic, unless
Flickerings of a fiery temper leap out from ear , 1 i n ^' el I ref ut ? d the char- the fine, pure structure of the bead: but the
Rudiger's vicious eves when he feels the bur- h lld at his door b} that veracious lady. mdefinal le something that makes a woman
den of his master’s'weight settle firmly upon ,? ased Mcmk I'T 0 "’? h Z’ y h p in the j ovelv and often irresistible, is pre-eminent
ly wi- wwaw if™ J^“ r _ ml l u P° n fiend’s name wantei to live in that old bar- I ly th 'is woman's own. It is in her eyes, in
her fresh colouring, in her full, ur
form, in every motion of her body.
his back, bestriding him centaur-wise so 1 „i-c -it , -r, • , , , , . , , a > vuu nuuiau a v»»«. xu 10 >u uci c*c». m
that nothing less than a mortal shockmay nn d w . hen hi sste ward her fresh colouring, in her full, undulating
set them asunder unless the rider pleads ^ amiounced the fact of his having a tenant for ' - • .....
Rudiger vauits intpan; ami piroutces upon .. The fiend in persop! j should ^ if l
, . . - „ , . „ , „ . r— lue ln uerson i snomn rav it i i “I verily believe that you imitate the Ithi-
his iron-fibred hind legs for a second, then judged our tenantry his’ looks mv lord I I can f l ue « n . signora, and rub out at night
takes counsel of his pimdence feeling the dou^ffMiy^nfore e-iffi spirit^than himself w hat you achieve during the day on that
flanks, and sets off in a haunts the mined tower Dr Renlfn w whet picture of yours. B ill it never be finished?”
“ngsweepmj gallop along the«ide stretch ^“^hinSdf^ t0Wer ‘ Dr ' Ra ° lf ° "
of the drive extending through acres of deep “What is w>
forest land beyond the pleasure gardens
around the Rochelle mansion.
The earl draws his rein at the gate of
Walt Farnham's cottage. The bailiff, who is
“Heaven knows! When or how he got in
to his dainty quarters, or who he has there
with him, are still mat ers of speculation-”
picture of yours.
This query is spoken in a voice dulcet as the
angel Israfel’s. and proceeds from the lips of
Dr. Raolfo, who is leaning against the lintel
of the door on the gallery, with his arms
folded over his chest, and his head a little to
one side. He is looking at the picture curi
ously, as if to discover in its workmanship
s ; gns of the treatment he has just ascribed to
it.
-‘Have you been to offer them any atten- Meantime, the lady has turned her face to
tion? Strange neighbours ought to find civil j him. It is full of annoyance; her lips
’ ... straighten themselves coldly, and all the soft,
porch%rin-s to hls “feat F wUh an^ f ^ ““P®* hi^etiSie^Ne'it^r^f ’em^speak
.urprije, 3 ““““
In the name of all the holy saints, where
did you drop from, my lord?”
^ -f a ? , least - Wa,t: and I treatments
. me n°ly samts keep much account “1 did go once to say that, in your lord- seductive curves harden perceptibly,
from hi- 2o'q!?! ent "'' Sald ear ’ alighting ship’s absence, I was ready to do all in my i says, with indifference:
R , , ., , , e - .... power to make our new neighbours comfort- i “What can it matter to vou how long I am
i d 1 “°at oeheve some restless imp able. The doctor received me very politely, in finishing my picture?”
ri ea „ s ,; U P and down the earth, like Satan _ but declined all offers of service, and seemed “Only that 1 cannot bear to see you at such
j’ .. f a y er the sons of men! I thought ’ no wav anxious to encourage visitors, so I monotonous work always. It dulls the brain.
6 atx>arct 5, ' a Iky nor, out in the took my leave. Just as I mounted to depart You should be more active—more in the air
hY-^, ranean l-! n -'i Jorc1 ' I happe'ned to glance up at one of the win- and the sunshine.”
tv ir°R ™ turtes are a little involved. ; dows. and there stood a woman—a lady, I “And you should know that nothing in true
nafnrr, l - i . 1S ” 1? . F ou hkeu to the infer- , should have said—with a face I shall always art is ever ‘monotonous.’ or can ‘dull the
.I .:.,- '1 le ' l iet ! me teli y ou taat tbe ‘sons of remember. It looked to me like the face of an brain.' Besides, I have air and sunshine here
P re F to me.” “Hardly ; angel, but maybe it was seeing it up there in in plenty.”
v. s ,ughte7 s, then, my lord, else RocbeUe I that dismal old devil's den that made it seem “But to live eternally shut in a suite of
had long since owned a new mistress and my , so fair.” ! rooms! Bah! I should suffocate.”
laa\, your inother, the daughter in law she “Very likely your imagination got the bet- “Perhaps. But we are of different natures,
is so anxious for. j ter of your judgment, Walt. ‘An angel’ you and I, signore. ”
\ nA e° r - Ue , uga . , s , Deflher. wouldn’t desire to keep company with such a She spoke contemptuously, turned her eyes
’ nin S? n 8, bridle to a groom, the fellow as you have described Raolfo. It was to her canvas, and resumed her work,
fry*. em P na su5ed his last remark with the his wife, I presume.” j “You do not invite me to enter, signora,
ugnt. caustic laughter that characterized his “Heaven help her if she belongs to that Mav I?” This with a gleam of deviltry in
more trenchant moods, as he offered his hand man! But maybe You'll go over and find his glittering eye, as if he knew how distaste-
to nn, steward in the kmdly greetiug—void ; out for yourself, my lord V ful his words were, and enjoyed the power
alike of condescension and of familiarity- “Thahk you, no, 'Walt. My quixotic days ! to say them.