The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1867-01-14
THE EN- GINEER.
ACURIOUs STORY.
1C0ntiRned.l

about three hours ago. / thought she
might be going to confession, so hung
back and followed her at a distance.
When she got inside, however, she went
straight to the back of the pulpit. where
this man was waiting for her. You re-
member him, ,r-an old mau who used to
haunt the shop q month or two back.
Well, seeing how deep in conversation
they were, and how they stood close
under the pulpit with their backs to-
wards the church, fell into passion
of anger and went straight up the aisle,
intending to say or do something,
scarcely knew what, but, ut all events,
to draw her arm through mine, and take
her home. When / came within few
feet, however, and found only big pill
lar between myself and them, l paused.
They could not see me, nor them but
could hear their voices distinctly, and
and listened"
"Well, and You heard"
.sThe terms of shameful bargain
beauty on the one side, gold on the other;
so many thousand francs year; a villa
near Naples-Pah! it makes me sick to
repeat it,"
And, with shudder, he poured out
another glass of wine and drank it at
draugbt.
after that" he said, presently, 81
made no effort to bring her away. The
whole thing was SO cold-bloOded, so de-
liberate, so shameful, that felt had
only to wipe her out of my memory, and
leave her to her fate. stole out OF the
cathedral, and walked about here by
the sea for ever so long, trying to get
my thoughts straight. Then l rcmem-
bered you, Ben; and the recollection of
how this wanton had come between us
and broken up our lives drove me wild.
So l went mp to the station and waited
for you. i felt you ought to know it
all; and-and thought, perhaps, that
we might 90 back to England together"
.The Marchese LOredano!"
1t was all that / could say: all that l
could think. As Mat had just said OF
himself, felt "like one stunned"
"There is one other thing / may as
well tell you," lie added, reluctantly, off
only to show you how false a woman
can be. We've were to have been
married next month"
"Wel WhOi What do you mean"
81 mean that We were to have been
Embellishments and l."
A sudden storm of rage, of scorn, of
ineredulity, swept over me at this, and
seemed to carry my senses away.
"YOuw cried. "Gianetta marry youE
don't believe it,"
II wish had not believed it" he re-
piled, looking up as if puzzled by my
vehemence. "But she promised me; and
1 thought, when she promised 1t, she
meant it,"
"She told me, weeks ago, that she
would never be your wife"
His color rose, his brow darkencd;
bnt when his answer came it was as
calm as the last.
'Indeedw 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 Sc
cret."
"Tell the truth, Mat Price," / said,
wellnigh beside myself with suspicion.
"Confess that every word of this is
false! Confess that Gianetta will not
listen to you, that you are afraid | may
succeed where you have failed. As per-
haps l shall-as perhaps l shall, after
allw
care you madi" he exclaimed. "What
do You mean !"
"That believe it's just trick to get
me away to England,-that don't
credit 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 werc not Benjamin Hardy"
he said, deliberately, 81 would thrash
YOU within an inch of your life"
The words had no sooner passed his
lips, than i sprang at him. have
never been able distincly to remember
what followed. A curse,-a blow.-a
struCgle,-a moment of blind fury,-a
cry.Wa confusion of tongues,-a circle
of strange faces. Then see Mat lying
back in the arms of bystander; my
self trembling and bewildcred,-the
knife dropped from my grasp; blood
upon the floor; blood upon my hands;
blood upon his shirt. And then l hear
those dreadful wOrds,-
80 Ben, you have murdered me"
He did not die,-at least, not there
and then. He was carried to the near
est hospital, and lay for some weeks be-
tween life and death. His case, they
said, was difficult 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.
sat by him day and night through that
sorrowful time. gave up my situation
on the railway; | quilted my lodgings
in the Vicolo Balba; l tried to forget
that such a woman as Gienetta Conegla
had ever drawn breath. / lived only
for Mat; and he tried to live more,
believe, for my sake than his ewn.
Thus, in the bitter, silent hours of pain
and penitence, when no hand but mine
approached his lips or smoothed
his pillow, the old friendship
came back with even more than
its old trust and faithfulness.
He forgave me, fully and freely; and l
would thankfully have given my life for
him.
Atlength there came one bright spring
morning, when, dismissed as GONZALES
cent, he tottered out through the hos
pital gates, leaning on my arm, and fee
bic as an infant. He was not cured;
neither, as then learned to my horror
and anguish, was it possible that he
ever could be cured. He might live,
with care, for some years; but the lungs
were injured beyond hope of remedy,
and q 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
Rocca, 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 tropical plants-cacti, and
aloes, and Egyptian palms. Here we
lodged in the house of small tradesman;
and Mat, to use his own words, 'set to
work at getting we'll in earnest" But,
alas. it was o work which no earnest
ness could forward. Day after day he
went down to the beach. and sat for
hours drinking the sea-air and watch
ing the sails that came and went in the