Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1866-12-20

MC W llu. ~ WCuI up W Iuc 5CdIioh du'
/ waited for you. felt you ought to know
; it all and-and | thought, perhaps, tina
r we might go back to England together"
; The Marchese Loredano |"
1t was all that I could say all that
could think. As Mat had just said of him
self, felt like one stunned"
There is one thing | may as well tel
you," he added, reluctantly, if only tc
show you how false woman can be. We
we were to have been married next
month"
We? Who? What do you mean? ?"
mean that we were to have been mar.
rice, d,--Gianetta and l."
A sudden storm of rage, of scorn, of in.
credulity, swept over me at this, and seem.
ed to carry my senses away.
-" You !"I cried. "Gianetta marry you
l don't believe it."
al wish l had not believed it," he re-
piled, looking up as if puzzled by my We.
hemence "But she promised me and |
thought, when she promised it, she meant
it,"
She told me, weeks ago, that she would
never be your wife |"
His color rose, his brow darkened but
when his answer came, it was as calm as
the last.
Indeed p he said Then it is only
one baseness more She told me that she
had refused you and that was why we
kept our engagement secret"
Tell the truth, Mat Price," said, we'll
nigh beside myself with suspicion. "Con-
fess that every word of this is false Con-
fess that Gianetta will not listen to you,
| o. hot 7
where you have failed AS perhaps | shall
as perhaps | shall, after all !"
Are you mad 2" he exclaimed. "What
do you mean 7"
THAT believe it's just trick to get
me away to England, that I don't credit
a syllable of your story You're a liar,
and hate you !"
He rose, and, laying one hand on the
back of his chair, looked me sternly in the
face
If you were not Benjamin Hardy" he
said, deliberately, al would thrash you
within an inch of your life"
The words had no sooner passed his lips
than | sprang at him. have never been
able distinctly to remember what followed
curse,-a blow,--a struggle,---a moment
of blind fury,-a cry,-a confusion of ton
gues,-a circle of strange faces. Then
see Mat lying back in the arms of by
stander myself trembling and bewilder-
ed, the knife dropped from my grasp !;
blood upon the floor blood upon my hands;
blood upon his shirt And then hear those
dreadful words,--
40 Ben, you have murdered me !"
He did not die,-at least, not there and
then. He was carried to the nearest hos
pital, and lay for some weeks between life
and death. His case, they said, was diff
cult and dangerous. The knife had gone
in just below the collar bone, and pierced
down into the lungs. He was not allowed
to speak or turn, scarcely to breathe with
freedom. He might not even lift his head
to drink. l sat by him day and night all
through that sorrowful time. | gave up
my situation on the railway quilted my
lodging in the Vicolo Balba | tried to for
get that such woman as Gianetta Coneg-
liza had ever drawn breath. | lived only
for Mat and he tried to live more, be-
lieve, for my sake than his own. Thus, in
the bitter silent hours of pain and peni-
tence, when no hand but mine approached
his lips or smoothad his pillow, the old
friendship came back with even more than
it's old trust and taithfulness. He forgave
me, fully and freely; and | would thank
fully have given my life for him.
AT length there came one bright spring
morning, when, dismissed as convalescent.
he tottered out through the hospital gates,
leaning on my arm, and feeble as an infant
He was not cured neither, as l then learn
ed to my horror and anguish, was it possi-
BILE that he ever could be cured He might
live, with care, for some years but the
lungs were injured beyond hope of remedy,
and strong or healthy man he could never
be again. These, spoken aside to me, were
the parting words of the chief physician
who advised me to take him farther south
without delay.
took him to little coast-town called
Rocco, some thirty miles beyond Genoa,-a
sheltered lonely place along the Riviera,
where the sea was even bluer than the sky,
and the cliffs were green with strange trop-
ical plants, ,-cacti, aud aloes, and Egyptian
palms. Here we lodged in the house of a
small tradesman and Mat, to use his own
words, "set to work at getting well in good
earnest" But, alas it was L work which
no earnestness could forward Day after
day he went down to the beach, and sat for
lOulo thC oCcS-dll dHO lllC
sails that came and went in the offing. By
and by he could go no farther than the gar
den of the house in which we lived A lit
tie later, and he spent his days on couch
beside the open window, waiting patiently
for the end. Ay, for the end ! 1t had come
to that. He was fading last, waning with
the waning summer, conscious that the Rea-
per was at hand. His whole aim now was
to soften the agony Of my remorse, and pre-
pare me for what must shortly come.
81 would not live longer, if could" he
said, lying on his couch one summer even
ing, and looking up to the stars "If had
my choice at this moment, would ask to
go. 1 should like Gianetta to know that l
forgave her."
"She shall know it," said, trembling
suddenly from head to foot
He pressed my hand
"And you'll write to father ?"
81 will"
| had drawn little back, that he might
not see the tears raining down my cheeks
but he raised himself on his elbow, and look
| ed round