The Portland daily press., 1876-10-14
From Appleton's Journal.l
An Artists Adventure.
ICoNCLUDEp.I
BY NJ. E. W. S.

CONCLUDED.
kissed the white hand she held out to me.
kissed it, perhaps, two or three times.
"It has been an episode in my life which I
shall never forget, Mr.. Thornton" said she,
kindly.
at has been the romance of my life, lady
Diana," said /, firmly; for it was pleasant to
let her know, now that we were to part,
probably forever, how entirely I had wor
shipped her.
The beautiful hand was withdrawn; the
lofty, noble head gave me a salutation; the
delicate, red lips gave me a parting smile;
and as suddenly as she had come into my life
Lady Diana Estcourt went out of it.
Yes, went out of it forever
The Villa Lucca resumed its quiet, and 1
returned to my Corregglo. The Madonna
looked at me reproachfully. I had neglected
her; and, as l tried to catch the suble charm
which Correggio has infused into all his wo-
men, failed. thought of pair of great,
blue eyes, of heavy, chestnut, wavy hair, of
lilies and roses, and of that spirited turn of
the head-in fact, dreamed OF Lady Diana,
and she spoiled my work.
went of and pulled on the lake. | even
besought old Luigi, the steward, to let me
prune his trees; l tried various minor indus
tries known to artists, in order to recover my
tone. Nature treated me kindly, and the
long wilderness of garden offered me an un-
ending opportunity for work. 1 was a very
successful pruner, so Luigi thought, and did
good service to the pum.trees. rose early,
and worked late. There was a pain at my
heart which could not eXterminate readily !;
and in my close room, where she had sat SO
recently painting by my side, ii was unen-
durable.
often asked myself why l did not leave
the Villa Lucca; why not give up copying the
Correggio until another Summer; this myste-
rious princess might allow me still another
lodgment in her empty house.
Why did 1 not GO? Because 1 could not.
hugged my pain. loved the remembrance
that wounded me. l could not leave the
room, the grounds, the scenes which still
spoke to me of her.
One morning, after sleepless night, / went
out early to cut away at my plum-trees. The
morning was glorious; the flowers were in
their richest midsummer luxuriance. Old
Luigi was not yet out. l was alone with the
sunrise. Adam in his first morning walk in
the Garden of Eden was not more alone than
l. I thought of our great progenitor as
mounted my ladder to cut off a branch that
was interfering with fruit-laden vine.
"How lonely he must have beenr' thought
1; and, as thought so, looked down and
saw what Adam saw-I saw a woman in a
new Garden of Eden!
Yes, a beautiful young girl in lilac frock
stood looking at the morning-glories. She
was so slight and delicate that, as she stood
on tiptoe looking into the airy bells, she was
scarcely less aerial than they. thought of
my friend lannon's picture of Spring, or Sum-
mer-I forget which-of young girl who
stands on one morning-glory drinking dew
out of another.
'sAhp' thought 'smy friend Luigi has a
pretty daughter. He has kept her very much
secluded, or perhaps she has been away from
home"
then remembered that late the evening
before had seen boat stop at the little
wharf and some two or three people disem-
bark.
"Good-morning, my DEAR" said I to the
young girl; for she was looking anxiously at
my falling branch. II will not allow this to
fall near you but perhaps you had better step
away from this neighborhood for NOM
ent?''
"Save the morning glores p said the girl,
as she stepped away while lowered the al
ready falling bough.
"Yes," said I, CALAMITY. ''if only that you
have admired them;'' and then threw the
bough over the trellis which she had Just
quilted, and descended myself
$50 you are my friend Luigi's little daugh-
ter, suppose? And you came home last
CfOhthSs uu yOot nCu3 yOu &lO OuI CdIlI
this morningP'
She lifted her eyes to my face, and looked
at me with an amused expression.
"Perhaps," "said she, 81 am always an early
riser. Did Luigi-I mean my father-tell
you to prune these trees?"
''Yes; be was doing it laborriously one day,
and came to help him-your father is get
ting DID,"
Yes, and very indulgent," said the girl,
laughing.
She was very pretty, there was no doubt
so delicate, SO slender, so young, with the
soft, wavy, golden hair seldom seen except in
very young children, and gray eyes which had
startled look. Her lilac-muslin dress was
knotted round the waist with a ribbon, and
her long, loose sleeves fell back from her
white, slender arrus, which had yet to reach
their fullest beauty. She was exactly crea-
ture to meet in the early morning, while the
dew was on the flowers she was, at that
hour, herself
"a bud with all its sweetest leaves yet folded"
Sand you are the American artist who
lives in the pavilion, Isuppose, are you not ?"
said Lugi's daughter. after giving me a good
look out of the startled eyes, which no.
ticed had lashes darker than her hair.
Yes, my dear, am he; and when your
good mother brings me my breakfast this
morning, won't you and she come and eat 1t
with me. I feel, assure you, very lonely
since the lady Diana Estcourt and her moth
er left, and think l shall 60 away soon N.Y.
SELF"
''Did you admire Lady Diana Estcourt ?"
said my garden nympb.
"She is very beautiful, very, superb, in
Decd" l said; sin fact, everybody, every
thing that comes to the Villa Lucca seems to
break out with an epidemic of beauty.
hear the DrInppsS ia handcopno oh
never comes here. Have you ever seen
her?"
"Who-I?" said she, rather absently.
ooh, yes 1 have seen the princess"
SIS she, then, so very beautiful?" said I,
for my charming companion was silent, and
liked to hear her talk. She looked more
like Greuze every moment.
''Well, people differ about beauty. I do
not find her very fine," said Lugi's daughter.
The young girl stopped to pick some flow
ers, and then, making me some excuse,
gracefully fitted down an alley and dsap-
peared.
When l went in to the pavilion to my
breakfast, Lugi's wife was in great flutter.
/ could not imagine what had happened to
the good, motherly, calm, Italian peasant
who had attended to my few wants.
swell, Annunziata," said I, "where is
your pretty daughter? have made her ac-
QudiuGduCc ILLS anu nave asked Qor
to breakfast with you and me. Will you both
come?'
"Ah, holy saintr' said Aununziata; ssthe
signor little knows what he has done! That
was madame the princess herself, and here
she comesp'
At this moment my tpretty Greuze, my
Hamon, my Spring personifed, stepped
laughingly into the pavilion, accompanied
by boy of about six years, and tall and
very dgnifed lady.
"Ah, Mr.. Thornton, forgive me. 1 did
not intend to mystify, still less to frighten you.
Forget, I beg of you, that am the prin cess,
title that frightens everybody, and is a
heavy one to wear. Call me here-it is my
pleasure-M adame Louise, and only use the
etiquette which always comes naturally to
every well-bred man of the world when he
talks to lady. My friend here, Madame
Sermoneta, will do me the justice to say that
l am always frank, and mean what saw"
"The princess is to be obeyed in whatever
she may command" said the lady-in-waiting
making deep obeisance.
There were two alternatives open to me-:
one was to jump into the lake and sink or
swim; the other was to make bow and an
apology, and blush it through. l chose the
latter alternative. 1t was not my fault if a
princess chose to look like gardeners
daughter in the simplicity of her dress, and
ko in 41,o