The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1863-07-31
SAINT PAUL. FRIDAY, JULY 81. 1863.

One calm, summer afternoon Maude
and her husband stood gazing down into a
lovely valley beneath the soft, melting
skies of Italy. Their attention was at
tracted to lovely palace, standing by the
side OF the silvery river, and they both
uttered eXclamations of admiration.
Slowly proceeding down the valley they
were saluted by female voise, in beau
tiful cottage, carolng forth sweet song.
They involuntarily paused and listened ;
meanwhile the cheek of Maude blanched
ashy white, for it was song she had often
heard Harry Winner hum during the sit
ting for her portrait.
A flood of recollection thronged her
heart, and she gazed around, expecting
each moment to see her artist lover COM
ing forth to meet her. Suddenly her eyes
rested on a little mound, and on the small
headboard she read, "Harry Winner. -
With moan of anguish she sank back,
and for brief period was lost to life.
When she returned to consciousness she
found herself in the little cottage, her
husband bending over her in tender solic-
itude. while by his side stood young
Italian peasant girl.
"Thank God you have recovered" was
the exclamation of George as he beheld
his wite's eyes slowly unclose.
Retire." was Maude's reply, "retire
at once''
But, dearest, you are not fully recov-
ered."
a proud gesture of the hand was the
only answer, and George silently retired
from the apartment.
"Come hither, GIRL" said Maude in
quick, eager tones to the peasant girl;
know you aught of yonder grave
A shade of sadness passed over the
maidens face as she answered, in her
sweet, musical voice:
81 know it's history, and it is a sad one,
Sgnora.
''Seat yourself here and tell me ALL
The maiden obeyed; and, having seated
herself by the coach, she commenced:
cit is now some three years since
young and handsome stranger came, at
evening, to this cottage. He said he was
an artist, and craved the boon of remain
ing here for a few weeks. His wish was
granted, but day after day he busted him
self with his pictures. My father carried
them to Florence and received large sums
of gold for them. On his return he gave
the gold to the artist, who carefully hoard
ed it. He was always cheerful, but ap-
piled himself diligently to his paintings.
At length he began to fail under his close
attention to his study, and 1 besought him
to lay aside his brush for while"
" "No, VIOLA" said he with sad smile,
6 there is lady iii distant land who has
promised to become my bride, when l am
rich, and | must work.
"One evening Harry Winner, the artist
shall | summon assistance ?''
"No! MOI" gasped Maude, "Go on,
IN mercy s name, go on"
Gone evening my father brought him
papers. He eagerly opened them; and,
suddenly, with a low moan, sank insensi-
bic. From that moment he was changed
being. The gold he had been accumula-
ting he gave to Father Paul, our vigilant
padre, for the poor, and henceforth his
brush was idle. He gradually sank, and
one summer evening, just such as this, as
l sat by his couch, he told me the lady he
loved had proven false. That night he
died. We made his grave just yonder in
that little grove"
During this recital Maude had never
moved, save at the mention of her lovers
name. At its conclusion she sank back,
with low moan, and clasped her hands
in speechless agony. The maiden, terri
fed at her appearance, arose, and was
about TO summon assistance, when, with
an almost superhuman effort, Maude re-
covered herself.
'Stay," she murmured, "did he leave
no token?"
"He did. Just an hour previous to his
death he gave me a note, saying:
"sViOla, should chance ever throw you |
in the pain of Maude Ashton, give her
this
"Give it me !" exclaimed Maude, start
ing to her feet, i've it me, am that
Matde."
The peasant shrank back, terrified at |
the startling change in the lady's appear
ance, and trembling drew forth the tiny |
note, which she passed to Maude. Mauce
slowly unfolded the note and read it:
Maude, though you are faithless,
forgive you. HARRY"
Carefully folding it and placing it in her
bosom she turned to the maiden:
'sYou will tell my husband wish to be
alone tonight. You may retire." she
said.
That night, while the other inmates of
tie cottage were sleeping peaceably, a
white robed figure stole to the grave of
the dead artist.
The following morning no trace of the
beautiful Maude could be found Her hus-
band, totally ignorant of the connection of
the artist, searched in vain, and finally re-
turned to England, where, after the lapse
of few years, he again married.
D Within few miles of the cottage where
dwells Viola, and where Harry Winner
sleeps the peaceful sleep Of death, stands