San Marcos free press. [volume] (San Marcos, Tex.) 1877-1892, 1878-02-16

To walk on frescoes. n princess mus
walk, and that gracefully and freely
too, but she couldn't walk an hour IN
such things as these. See!" and he
thrust his long finger right through the
frail web ut the toe. Your stockings
are not fit for princess. They are fine
in texture, but coarse in taste. They
are inappropriate; they are vulgar they
are not decent"
"Oh, uncle"
"Not decent, say. They are nsthet-
ically improper; they show the extrava-
gance of the plebeian, not of the noble"
He grew more excited with every word.
His eyes flashed fire. "Your training
has not made princess of you in heart
and mind, and, corpo di Bacco! your
marriage shall not make princess of
you in name, and you arenone of mine"
With grasp he swept up the bundle Of
stockings. "Your trumpery here shall
90 back to the fools who made it, and
you shall go-I don't care where, but
out of my sight. Away! I'll none of
you"
The Cardinal gathered up his skirts,
and, crossing the room, passed out like
whirlwind. The girl screamed aloud
in her terror of the old mans fearful
passion; for much as she had heard of
the violence of his disposition, she had
never been made the victim of it before.
But the scream never checked the firm,
relentless fall of his steps as it died away
along the corridor; and there lay little
Beatrice, shaken with heart broken sobs,
prone across the footstool, where she
had fallen when in his violence he flung
away from her. She lay there q long
time, crying and wiping away her tears
with the unlucky stocking she had been
displaying on her hand, and in the
spasm of her terror had been crushing
and rolling up until she forgot it was
not her handkerchief.
So the Prince found her, as he was
ushered in to pay his usual daily call
upon the Cardinal. She naturally turn
ed to her betrothed for consolation.
She told him all about her uncle's an
ger, all he said, all she was suffering,
and expected the shield of his love be-
tween her and her wrong. But the
Prince looked grave; he WINGED at the
Cardinals words about disowning her,
and finally volunteered to see the old
man himself, and let her know by letter
how matters really stood. ..
Beatrice went to her own apartment
somewhat quoted by the sight of her
lover, but still most unhappy. She
waited, with what patience she could,
until evening, and then note came from
the Prince. 1t was short note, care
fully and beautifully written. 1t ran
something like this: Your uncle,
am grieved to say, formally disowns
you. LISA cruel edict, my dear friend,
for me, loving tenderly as / do, but it
seems the will of Heaven, and must
submit. May we meet again at some
calmer and happier time!"
She swept her pale hands across her
swollen eyes, believing that her Jig
deceived her, and read again and again
those neat and formal lines-the spe-
cious, cowardly lines-and all the bitter
that lay between the lines.
He had renowned her too! The storm
of grief that her uncle's cruelty had
reused was healthy and consonant with
her young nature, but the look she wore
after reading her lovers letter never
should come to such sweet and tender
face. 1t spoke of the deepest wrong
woman can sustain-her affection spurn-
ed and sighted; the worst insult that
can be offered her-a marriage from
sOrdid motives. In an hour this gentle,
loving Beatrice was changed to re-
solved and indignant woman. She had
Owed this man, and he had wronged
her. The world-the petty Roman world
Of gossip and slander-should not stare
1t her curiously, nor wound her with its
thousand wicked tongues. Then the
uncle that she had loved had cast her :
off. 1t was secondary thought now,
out still bitter one, and in the turbu-
ence and keen sense of injury of which
only proud and gentle character is
capable, she took hasty resolve. AL
most as she was, save with some jewels
If her mothers, her rich trousseau left
behind, its splendor scattered all over :
Ter apartments, she left the palace-left !
I in the silence and darkness. and went