The crisis. (Chillicothe, Livingston Co., Mo.) 1877-1878, 1878-08-29

g.; he had seen it blush with
,wrct-laccd Magdalcn. pcnitrnt and ten
4el and smiled with Giorgionr'sb
bnd6.
On an evening in suma.et.. s....,-',
thoughts had flown to their own pardl7 j
far back, far away. recalling the straycd.
rcgainmg the lost, and he never noticed
how the last streak of sunlight had with
drawn, and his spacious dungeon was in
gloom. The soft Italian eve had noatcd
into the softer night. Through the high
window, blocked and barred, his eye
gazrd on two or three stars. which hung
like low-fmcd crcsccnts in heaven.
\ confused mmmur was in the streets.
but the vision of Angiolo's fancy had left
all things ndistinct; and. though con-
scious of the darkness all existence
seemed to dissolve when it came within
the circle of his musing thought.
Suddenly there was Il magical sonnd-a
human voice! Only had he for long
months heard that of his savage janitor,
who daily msultcd the loneliness of his
dungeon, and eyed, half-iccringly, half
admiringly, the paintings ON the roof and
walls. But this was not Pictro's voice.
II was womm'S. It was in Il song-a
rich, passionate voice laden with some
Tuscan melody, laden with some pure
longings, laden with sweetness and sorrow,
musically blended and flowing. in long,
liquid trills, into the night. Angiolo lis
tened.
The sound was near. 1t came from the
next cell. He huShed his breath, and
pressed his face against the window-grat-
ing; for evidently some captive in the cas-
tie was painting against the prison bars,
and in this secret hour soothing her heart
with Il melancholy song.
Not for long months had he heard Il
gentle voice, and never such Il voice is
that. 1t seemed eloquent with the deep
born warnings of the soul; and some
youthful person was imprisoned there
The lady sang awhile, and ceased. No
sooner was there u pause than Angiolo
poured out Il lyrical song answering the
thoughts of her own. She was perfectly
still. He knew she was listening. When
he had finished he struck the wall and was
heard.
He inquired if she was a captive. She
said,
YES, she was the youngest sister ola
powerful FlorcntihC, who had shut her M
for ljvOring the escape Of hereto. d'n-
der the influence of the priest he Mas inn
ploca6lc, and she expected to dig in that
horrible seclusion.
The painter related his own story: and
from that hour, through morning, day and
eve they convcrsCd.
Their place Of confinement was square
tower with long, wide galleries rising onc
above the other, and divided into separate
chambers by thick panclled walls. Thus
Anglolo was enabled to speak to this
young girl, his half-companion, and she to
listen to him. What wonder that they
choered their loneliness by conversation!
To both it was mercy, for they stood
within the magic circle of sympathy;
they shared a mutual sorrow: thcv snf-
fered q kindred wrong.
Who will not know how this commun.
ion grew into friendship AMI bloomed into
love? They had never seen each other;
they knew not each others faces; but they
could speak-and love is not born in the
eyes, but in the soul, which makes itself
visible in words to the sight of another
soul, Sweet thoughts passed like messen-
ger doves between them; and though each
to the other was unseen, their hearts
blended and their hopes and their desires,
and without mutual smile, or a caress.
or clasp of the hand, ,hey were betrothed
by an unwitnessed vow.
Yet Angiolo, thinking of sun-touched
Italy, painted her on the walls, and think
ing of Giannina, would paint her too.
He could not see her, vet an image had
risen before the eyes of his soul which he
could not doubt was hers. He knew, she
had hair flushed with light, and eythsns
Italian blue. But he knew more, forsfb
the thoughts of her heart, its gul, :,