The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1876-02-02

and voice; and Kathleen stood gazing
f1cdly into the sunset, with eyes that
saw not shade of the carmine glow.
81 thought once that I should never
pity her." unused Kathleen, "but that
was before my babes died. ] have felt
the serpent's tooth in my own heart
since. Poor lady! and she is dying. OF n
broken heart. I wish l could die y
The next evening, as Mrs. St. Leger
was lying on the sofa by the open win,
dow which led out upon marble terraces
and velvet-smooth lawns, slip of white
paper came huttering down upon her
lap as softly rs the floating petal OF an
orange blossom. And, rudely scrawled
upon it with pencil, she deciphered
these words:
"There is one white American flower
among the pomegranate blossoms at
Marco Silvcdo's."
Beatrice st. Legcr's check turned even
palcr than its usual shade of pallor as
she read the mystic lines.
Read, Alfred"
Nelly was drowned ten long years
ago, Beatrice.
"Nelly is alive, Alfred l know it, l
feel it Oh, lose no tinc-inquiro who
and where Marco Silvedo is
81 will inquire" lie said "but, Bca-
trico, calm yourself. Remember how
often We have been deceived before"
eve shall not be deceived again,
Alfred"
Marco Silvcdo sat at his cottage door,
smoking short pipe of some dark,
fragrant wood; IN old, wrinkle-faced
Italian, with a skin as yellow rs parch-
ment, iron-gray hair and keen black
eyes. Two or three children, rs dark as
himself, were playing around him ard
when Mrs. St. Lcger noted the ruddy
crimson hue of health in their cheeks,
she knew what was meant by the words
"pomegranatc blossoms.
Mr.. St. Legcr alighted, and began to
talk to the old man in his own languag'.
"Are these all your children, Signor
Silvedo2"
eyes, signor-all. Two are with tho
saints in glory-three are here"
Beatrice, listening from the carriage,
felt the blood grow chill around her
heart. Was the faint light of hope that
had begun to dawn on her life's horizon
but deceptive mirage, after all.
Mr.. St. Leger was about to re-enter
the carriage, when the old Italian rose
politely to his feet.
"The signor and signora would honor
him by partaking of glass of his own
wine? Nay, he would receive no refus-
III. Elena-Nella!'
A tall, slender girl of fifteen or there
abouts came to the door-a girl with a
skin as fair as driftcd snow, and blue,
serene eyes. She looked wonderingly
ut the strangers.
Mrs. st. Lcger uttered low, smoth-
cred cry. All the changes that had
passed over Nelly's head had not al
tered her to the mothers wistful, loving
eyes. She was tho Little Nelly" of
the weary years ago.
"Nclly! Nelly she cried, wildly,
"don't you remember your mother ?"
And Nelly St. Legcr, with the flood
gates of memory wide open in her heart,
fell, sobbing on her mothers breast.
Il knew | had a mother once, before
I sailed across the sea, she faltered, in
Italian "but thought she had forgot
ten me j.
Marco Silvcdo, who had been gazing
in blank astonisLment from one to an
other, now came forward and told how
the child had been left at his door one
chill November night, how and by whom
he did not know, nor could the be-
wil1rrcI child tell him.
81 Mud just buried my youngest
child." he said, land it seemed as if
the good saints meant this one to take
her place. l shall miss her sorely,
though l loI't grudge her tothe signor.
Kathleen, standing at the door as the
carriage rolled by the next day, with
Nelly sitting between her father and
mntlrer, smiled darkly to herself.
81 had meant that my revenge should
have lasted still longer" she said to her
self; 6 bat the poor lady cannot live long
and, after all, she was not to blame.
Besides, when little Katalccn died, I
buried almost all the bitter smart in her
grave. Let them be happy while they
can
For Kathleen knew that she was
amply avenged.