The Albany register. [volume] (Albany, Or.) 1868-18??, 1875-01-08
TOLD AT NIGHTFALL.

18ntIW uGe10 villa OF ETaScat1, near
Rome, high over the rounded tops of |
woods now lurid in the red setting sun.
Beneath leaden sky the gloomy Cam
pagna stretched like dead sea, and
with its fair rim cut the disk, porten-
tous blood-red ball, slowly, slowly
sinking.
Guy and I had been old friends and
schoo1-fellows in England. He was two
Or three years older than myself, but
that had made his frienship for me all
the tenderer, and mine for him reveren-
tial. Besides, had looked on Guy as
q kind of genial young saint. had
always felt rather wicked in his COM
pan3, because he really seemed, quite
naturally, never to do anything wrong,
or to have SO much as wrong thought.
He would have chosen art as his pro-
fession, knew, had he been allowed
voice in the arrangement of his own fu-
fure; but the bilious old father who
ruled his destiny made civil engineer
of him, without the slightest reference
to any possible fancy or protest of the
lads. Naturally, he did not take kind
1y TO his work, though he buckled to it
conscientiously.
When / came to Italy to study art,
Guy and I kept up pretty brisk COR
respondence for about a twelvemonth
But in my second italian summer his
letters suddenly ceased to arrive. I
wrote to him in vain hope of answer for
six months, and then let the correspond
ence go with sigh.
easily ascertained that he was alive
and well, but could lind out nothing
else about him that VIZ more reliable
than the gossip retai1ed by certain En-
glish military men, who had tapped
their lazy fight across the sea one win
ter, and Perched in Rome. Got into
a serape about q woman, and didn't
behave well to her, or something of the
sort, drawled out one of these amiable
gentlemen. And this was all could
discover about poor Urquehart.
But at last I heard from Guy him
. small fortune from distant relation !;
he had thrown civil engineering over
board he was coming to Rome forth
with to study art in earnest at last !; and
We must spend the ems mig summer in
Vineggiatura together, eating figs at
Tusculum. At the time my story be-
gins, he had been about siA weeks in
Rome, and had already painted ole or
two capital little pictures.
No village in the world drives such a
roaring trade in scandal as grand old
Rome You have seen how Urquehart's 8
character went before him, as Sir Petel
TeazIe's stayed behind, for the comfort
of the community, and what Iaercy it
met with. Now, when circumstances
are served up in this mixed way, there
are generally certain facts which one
may trace like pebbles through disturb
ing waves. felt convinced that I
should do so in Urquehart's case, if ever
it pleased him to give me his conf
dence.
But 1 could not try to thrust myself
into any chamber of his past not freely
opened to me. I could not help guess
ing that there was q shut and locked
door, behind which lurked the solution
of mystery. This mystery was the
great and grievous change in my friend,
not to- be accounted for by the mere
lapse of two or three years. And this
change was all the more remarkable that
it was not always obvious. No two men
could be more unlike than Urquehart
to Urquehart in different moods. II
seemed to me as If much evil had flowed
into his heart by some rent where much
good had run out, but that the poison
had never mixed with the healthy juice
OF his life.
On this September evening as we sal
together, Guy had been muttering some
very bad sentiments, which would have
Rrieved me more If had not attributed
them in part TO some unripe peaches
and the state of his stomach.
stGuys said 1, suddenly, 1--we
found q key to much that makes people
gasp and stare at you. !"
ssWhat do you mean?" returned he
rather roughly.
Most persons I went on, esare
half.angel, half-devi, they say. But
your angel and devil seem to share
their lodging on the most curious terms
of mutual forbearance. They seem to
a 49, H. -