Litchfield enquirer., 1874-06-11


 borhood of strange old mountain towns. The country was blooming with early flowers and foliage, and my friends lived in sIie open air. Mrs. Washington sketch ed Tn water colors. Adina gathered wild nosegays, and Scrope lowered contented- II between them-not without an occa.
 sional frank strictnre on the elder lady's
 ai'e of her pigments and Adina's combina-
 tons of narcissus and cyclamen. All seemed to me very happy and. without
 nEnature, l felt almost tempted to won. der whether the most desirable gift of the gods is not thick-and-thin conviction o1 ones own impeccability. Yet even Iov. els with bad conscience might be cheat ed into disbeliefin retribution by the un- bargained sweetness of such presence in hls life as Adina Waddington's.
 spent the night at Albano, but as l had pledged myself to go the next morn Ing to funzlone with my fair cousins in Rome.-''fair" is for rhetoric; but they were excellent girls:-I was obliged to rise and start at dawn. Scrope had offer cd to go with me part of the way, and walk back to the inn before breakfast; but declined to accept so onerous ia vor, and departed alone, in the early twi- light. A rickety diligence made the tran sit across the Campagna, and had five minutes walk to the post-office, while it stood waiting for it's freight I made my way through the little garden of the inn, as this saved me some steps. At the sound of my tread on the gravel, figure rose slowly from bench at the foot of a crippled grim statue, and found myself staring at Angelo Beati. I greeted him with an exclamation, which was virtually a challenge of his right to be there. He stood and looked at me fxedly, with a strangely defiant, unembarrassed smile, and at last, in answer to my repeated in- quiry as to what the deuce he was about, he said he supposed he had right to take stroll in a neighbours garden.
 "A neighbor ?" sad I. ssHow-?"
 'sEh, per bio! don't I live at Lariccia?' And he laughed ill almost as simple Q fashion as when we had awakened him from his dreamless sleep in the meadows. had had so many other demands on my attention during my friends absence that 1t never occurred to me that Scrope had lodged himself in the very jaws of the enemy. Rut I began to believe that, after all, the enemy was very harmless. If Angelo confined his machinations to sitting about in damp gardens at malarial hours, Scrope would not be the first to suffer. l had iancied at first that his sense of injury had made a man of him; but there seemed still to hang about him a sort of romantic ineffectiveness. His painful impulsion toward maturity had lasted but day and he had become again an irresponsible lounger ill Already. But he must have had an Arcadian constitu- ton to brave the Roman dews at that rate. ''And you came here for purpose, 3 I said. ''It ought to be very good one to warrant your spending your nights out of doors in this silly fashion. If you are not careful you'll get the fever and die, and that will be the end of everything. '' He seemed grateful for my interest in his health. ''No, no, &gnori,ao mio, I'll not get the fever. I've fever here"-and he struck blow on his breast-'' that's a purpose in coming here, but you'll never guess it. Leave me alone; shan't harm you! But now, that day is beginning, I must go; l must not be seen."
 grasped him by the arm, looked at him hard and tried to penetrate his mean- ing He met my eyes frankly and gave q little laugh. Whatever his secret was. he was not ashamed of it; I saw with some satisfaction that it was teaching him pa- tience. Something in his face, in the i'm pression 1t gave me of his nature, reas- sured me, at the same time, that it contra dicted my hypothesis of moment before. There was no evil in it and no malignity. but deep, insistent, natural desire which seemed to be slumbering for the lima o O1vc% of He thought, apparently, that his face was telling too much. He gave another little laugh, and began to whistle softly. ''You are meant for someting better," I said, ethan to skulk about here like burglar. How would you like to go to America and do some honest work ?" had an absurd vision of helping him on his way, and giving hlm letter of introduc- tion to my brother-in-law. who was in the hardware business.
 He took off his hat and passed his hand through his hair. "You think, then, am meant for something good ?"
 eff you will 7! If you'll give up your idle idea of revenge and trust to time to right your wrong."
 ''Give it up?-Impossible P he said, grimly. ''Ask me rather to chop off my arm This is the same thing. It's part of my life. l haUe trusted to time-I've waited four long months, and yet here I stand as poor and helpless as at the be- ginning. No. no, I'm not to be treated like a dog. If he had been just, I would have done anything for him. I'm not a bad fellow; never had an unkind thought. Very likely I was too simple. too stupid, too contented with being poor and shabby. The Lord does with us as he pleases; he thought needed little shaking up. I've got it, surely! But did your friend take counsel of the Lord? No. no! He took counsel of his own self ishness, and he thought himself clever enough to steal the sweet and never taste the bitter. But the bitter will come: and it will be my sweet"
 That's fine talk Tell me in three words what it means"
 "Aspetti-H you are going to Rome by the coach, as suppose, you should be moving. You may lose your place. have an idea we shall meet again" .sHe walked away, away, and in moment I heard the great iron gate of the garden creaking on its iron hinges.
 was puzzled, and for moment, I had es NN1OA oO OtCA WAbn ny friends. But on the one hand, I saw no definite way in which I could preserve them from annoyance; and on the other, was confidently expected in Rome Be- sides, might not the dusky cloud be the sooner dissipated by letting Angelo's pro- ject, t,-substance or shadow, whatever it as,-play itself out? To Rome accord ingly I returned; but for several days I was haunted with suspicion that some thing ugly, something sad. something strange, at any rate, was taking place at Albano. At last it became so oppressive that l hired light carriage and drove back again. I reached the inn toward the close of the afternoon, and but half expected to find my friends at home. They had. in fact gone out to walk, and the landlord had not noticed in what di- recton. l had nothing to do but ts stroll about the dirty little town till their re- turn. Do you remember the Capuchin convent at the edge of the Alban lake? walked up to it and, seeing the door of the church still open, made my way in. The dusk had gathered in the corners, but the altar, for some pious reason, was glowing with an unusual number of can dles. They twinkled plcturesquely in the gloom; here and there kneelino f;oure