The daily phoenix. [volume] (Columbia, S.C.) 1865-1878, 1867-03-22
THE PAINTERS 1MtFE.
CONCLUDED.

CONCLUDED.
''When that clock strikes twelve.
Cyrllla Thornhurst, you will have
lived your life
de spoke with the quiet. unlesi-
tating conviction Of tone of one who
sees before Il foregone conclusion,
from which it is impossible that he
can swerve in the slightest degree
''What have I done to deserve so
terrible a fate at your lands?" burst
out Cyrilla
You have wrecked the happiness
OF my life, ;; said the Italian, '.wreck-
eed 1t utterly and irretrievably. That
| might have forgiven You; but |
have promised my friend the man
dar1n-for state reasons, which it
would be breach of confidence in
me to reveal-to kill on. to Kill your
husband, and to kill your child. 1t
IS sufficient to state that your lives
are required by the great dog star,
whose hierophant am Ask me no
further. The initiated would under
stand me at once; for there is
transcendentalism in these matters
which is as the language of Fi-Fo-
Fun to those whose eyes have been
anointed with grease from the Great
Bear. Your time in this world is
reduced to ten minutes and five
seconds"
With the putting away of the
poignard for time, Cyrilla had taken
her eyes off the Italian, and now sat
with her chin sunk Oh her breast, and
her hands tightly clasped, brooding
over what she had just heard. To
kill her husband and childl That
would be thousand times worse than
death to herself Theodore might
come any minute now-come step
ping jauntily in through the French
window, to be sprung upon by this
madman, and stabbed before her
eyes. eff only / could steady nv
mind to think" she kept repeating
to herself. What was it she had heard
and read about the peculiarities of
mad people? If she could only bring
it to mind
The Italian was watching her
narrowly from under his bent brows.
Suddenly, with that abruptness which
marked all his movements, he cot
up, and striding to the easel, flung
back the sheet with which it was
covered. He started at sight of the
picture; but next moment bis poign-
ard was out, and the canvass stabbed
through IN a dozen places. "Out!
out! cursed likeness of false-hearted
tiendn' he exclaimed. .'Oh. that q
soul so vile should lie in a hnslz so
SWEET
If she could only bring it to mind.
All at once something seemed to
catch her breath, and she pressed
her hand to her heart for q moment.
while q strange expression crept over
her face, which subsidized presently
INTO one of her sweetest smiles. Then
she half rose from her easy chair. and
turned her large soft eyes full on
the young Italian. ''Piet'io mic, ;"
she said; and there was Il world of
meaning III her way Of saying those
Two little words
The dark frown vanished like a
cloud from the face OF the vouno.
Italian, and the light of passion
faded from his eyes when he heard
himself addressed thus; and he turned
on Cyrilla a look half bewildered.
half suspicious, and felt with one
hand for the haft of his poignard
She was standing with her head a
little on one side, smiling at him;
and while he was looking, her rosy
lips whispered Come" and as if it
We're command impossible for him
to disobey, he came towards her
tlnNdly, cautiously and suspiciously,
but still step by step nearer. AS she
sank hack in the easy chair, still with
the same fixed smile on her face, her
hnger pointed 20 low footstool