The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1860-02-09
WASHINGTON D. G.
For the National Era.
4 PALACE IN GENOA.
By EDWARD SPENCER.


Oh, papal" cried she, sobbing as il her
heart were sore indeed, "why have you been
so cruel You are killing us, mother and me
breaking our hearts. Why will you do SO?
You keep away-you shun us-you viii not let
us console you-and all the while, You are
chatting your heart away with some hidden grief
in this dismal, uncouth deni 1t must not be-
you are killing me-killing mel" la,at
Let me not think that, Dearest said he,
gently. az have enough to answer for as it is.
And, pet, will do better now; have some
sense of duty, and can perform it, sometimes,
though you may think otherwise. shall be
better now-oh, Helen, darling" and he shud-
dered pslpably, 81 have so suffered That
must be my excuse. ! have so wished to die
to steep myself in unthoughtl Great God
child, it has been He'll, here in my heart, all
this long time-dark, seething, smouldering
He'll: no hope, no joy-only ceaseless woe,
ceaseless pain, ceaseless despair!"
"But you will shake it off? You will come
to me, to mother, when you suffer most, in
stead of langdishing here-you will come to
us?" said she, eagerly, TREMENDOUSLY, clasping
him to her with warm, loving arms.
d" Yes, dearest, will come"
"And on, my father, promise me you will
give up this horrid cell that you win never
again enter it, but will let me lock it, and keep
the key. IT'S this place has made you suffer
sol know it. That mournfu cry Of despair,
written there upou'the wall, is enough to chill
your blood-oh, promisel !"
II promise, Helen" str
"That is my dearest father! Oh, we will be
so happy together, presently. And mamma
will learn how to smile again. And you--tis
a pity you do not laugh-when you have such
white teethl / am happy already, papa, so
happy-for, dear, was so, so afraid some awful
thing was the matter, and we had lost you, for
ever !, Oh, such an awful fear it was have
dreamed it at night, pa, until l had to start out
of bed and light my lamp to weep by
Dreams" murmured he, as if the shadows
of those terrible presences bad fallen suddenly
athwart him, chilling him like contact with the
black death-hood of Acheron. He shuddered,
paled, and pressed his hand before his eyes.
"But we viii have no more such fearful
Dreams" said she, gaily; "our dreams hence
forth will be all music aud flowers and sun
shine. Yes, you must never come here any
more we must lock all the horrid shadows and
moody thoughts in here-this door will keep
them safe enough, think. And will fix you
up such delicious nook, papa. You know
that little room with the great sun-painted win
dow, between yorr chamber and your parfor 2
Well, there's little carpt will just suit it, and
George shall get some shelves made, and will
cheat you into telling what are just your
favorite books, and, some day, when you and
mamma are out riding on the Cornice road, or
towards Monte Faccio-you must drive her out
you know, for both need exercise and the fresh
air-I will 9ut the shelves up, so that when
YOU come home you will smile to see yourself
suddenly in the company of those beloved old
friends. Won't it be nice, and such glad sur
prise Meantime, the room shall be put in Or
der this very day, and we win have your desk
and papers moved up, and you can study there
in the clear daylight = oh, so much better !
And sometimes, when you are busy, and
gloomy thoughts vex you, you must not stay
alone, bnt send for me, and l will come with
my book or my work, and keep still IS mouse,
so as not to disturb you. Only vixen l see by
your brow that some thought troubles you,
will steal up to YOU, noiselesslx and kiss you
thus-that will drive the shadow away. And
then / will invite you sometimes to write In
ma room; and mamma vii be there, and Ru-
pert-you do not know THAT a noble heart Ru-
pert has, papa, and how much he loves you
and our low talk, instead of annoying, will help
YOU, like the accompaniment Of song. Happy
DAYS in reserve 6r usi Why have we not an
ticipated them ere now?"
She did not know what the painful expression
which fitteS then across his brow meant. To
her. these hings were very easy; one had but
J.oh oil ha I'd oil Rvi
to hiu-Lah, how the black interlining of his
despaf shone through and spoiled the pink silk
en- robes Of JOY which she would fling over his
shoulders Instructed by the past, he dared
nofindulge hopes for the future. And then
bow black the shadow backward thrown from
nose days and nights in the Oubliette!
ave will try to be happy, my darling child I;
and if fail in the effort, twill be no fault of
yours. Already feel your precious sunshine,
Helen. How much l have lost How much
How much! Now, again, dear, l know what
hope is" -. ;, :, .o,,.
have hope? Then all must go well fear sinks
away when hope comes. With you and Italy
how shall smile and sing! How shall grow
up into a real woman!"
"a real woman now, my Helena woman
like your sex
"s When rain and anguish wiring the brow,
A ministering angel, thou
But this letter. 1t is most important. You say
the bearer waits? Where is he? will go see
him. And be careful that we are not inter
rupted."
He is in the tapestry room, papa. But you
must first go to your dressing room, and fix up
little. l am great girl for 'primming, you
know, but / like my sweetheart papa to look
we'll. Who would not, when he is such hand
some man2 will call George; you must be
shaved, your beard is too long; it makes you
look really haggard."
So saying she linked her arm in his, and
went up the stairs with him, dancingly, her
heart full of Joy. While George was shaving
her father she sat by, chatting, commenting
upon sights visible from the window, or reading
him some lively item from late number OF
C0iigRdRi.
George" said Mr.. Lloyd, with q slight
tremor in his tone, "Miss Helen will give you
the key of the-the room in the basement, and
wish you to take the papers on my desk, al
Of tben and burn them. Helen, see that it is
properly done, will you, child? And-do not
rad them"
"Oh, will attend to it." cried Helen, joy
fully; " know that those wicked papers have
done you harm. What bonfire we will have,
won't we, George Pa perfect duto-dd-fe."
George stared at them in very bewildered
sort of way.
q l may tell him ?" asked she, half by wits
per, half by look, of her father then she twirled
the key of the Ou6siette triumphantly in her
hand, saying, with the brightest smile, See
George, good, kind George, this is mine-mine
You know what that means? We are never
going into that dark place any more, but we