The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1878-12-12

clothes to receive and entertain my
guests. 1 waited and fidgeted +; but no
visitors. No kind, tender contessa no
angelic Blanca; no perfdious-lookinS
uncle appeared. When the night set in,
I felt angry and disgusted, little Amy,
because I thought my Venetian ac-
quaintances had left Rome, forgetful of
me. The following morning I went to
the dwelling Of the contessa, to discover
whatever I could concerning her de-
parture. Judge of my surprise on learn.
ing that the lady had not yet departed.
1 was shown into the drawing-room by q
servant on whose face I detected the
signs of some trouble ; and waited for
the,rustle of the contessa's dress in the
doorway. But this was not to be. In
her place came Bianca's nurse, pale and
with eyes but newly dried from weeping.
Sinking into chair, she almost sobbed
to me the following words
"Oh Signor Pembroke, the con-
tessa is in an agony. We were going to
see you yesterday, when the contessa
asked for Blanca. She had been play
ing on the steps but minute before,
and then it was impossible to find her.
Ihe house, the garden, the streets, all
have been searched but in vain. We
cannot find my little Blanca. Some one
has stolen her away. And my mistress |
she will surely die |"
Nothing beyond this could I discover
from any one. Blanca had disappeared
as completely and hopelessly as though
the earth had opened and swallowed
her. 1t was not proper for me to in.
trude my presence upon the great grief
of the contessa's household. sadly
withdrew, full of anxiety for the sweet
child, whom had learned to love.
No effort was spared by the contessa
and the Roman police, and apparently
by Count Luigi, to recover the lost
Blanca. But the attempts were utterly
useless and the mother, sick at heart,
,cturned to her home, taking with her
nay picture, which cruel fate seemed to
have transformed from Christmas
present to sacred memento of an angel
forever flown.
Now don't interrupt me. I have not
e lished yet. 1 am going to relate q
rather odd incident that happened be.
fore the time of Bianca's disappearance.
Late one night was crossing the bridge
of SAINT Angelo, which spans the Tiber.
was thinking over the finishing touches
to my child picture, when I suddenly
became aware of boat passing under
me. Prompted by curiosity, I leaned
over the battlement of the bridge and
listened. A man was standing in the
boat, speaking and gesticulating to the
rowers. I saw him clearly in the full
moonlight, and was almost sure that
be was the Count Luigi. Only few
words could I catch from the speakers,
and they we're these, spoken by the
rough voice Of some low rascal of the
Roman populace:
"La tire aesxinaane la banbina sara :"
- Tin three weeks the little girl shall
be-@
The rest of the sentence I could not
hear but the words were enough to
excite strong suspicion in my mind,
when I connected them with Bianca's
disappearance. Gould the man have
really been the Count Luigi? I dared
not reveal to any one what my mind
suggested namely, that Blanca had
actually been made away with by her
uncle, bargained into the hands of a
parcel of scoundrels. How could I
prove it? What reason could I give for
his committing such a crime? More
over, he was a powerful man at Rome,
and could make the place exceedingly
uncomfortable for me if his anger were
once raised against me. Confident that
our Divine Father would in the end un-
ravel the terrible mystery, betook my
self to my painting again. The gener-
ous contessa had not only paid me far
beyond what my toll deserved, but had
recommended me to the great families
at Rome. I suppose could paint
tolerably we'll then, and my patronage
increased daily.
Seven years passed on, my Amy, and
your uncle had in that time become; such
grand artist and earned so much
money that he thought he would come
over the water to his old home in New
York. Accordingly, I hired my little
studio down town and commenced busi-
ness at once. did not have very long
to wait for patrons. A gentleman cali
ed in one October day and conversed
with me about picture he wanted
painted to order for his art gallery.
81 hear you are from Rome" said
he. "You must be a great painter. I
want you to make me a picture of
child who has woke up on Christmas
morning and found her stocking cram
med with good things. And mind you,
the child must be very beautiful"
"All right" said I. "Call on Mon
day next and shall have my sketch
ready for you"
You know artists most generally have
models for such pictures. Hence I set
myself to work to secure one; but I
found this was difficult job. Now, if
you had been a young lady then, 1
should have certainly had you sit for
my painting. But my model came from
an entirely unexpected quarter. 1 had
left my studio one evening, and was
walking up town through an out-of-the-
way street, when heard the music of
harp and violin, just as they sound
when the italian players come under
your windows to drive you crazy with
their awful performances. On drawing
nearer, discovered dark-complexion.
ed and handsome Italian boy twanging
an accompaniment on his harp to an
outlandish song, and near him young
girl airily and delicately drawing her
bow across a battered fiddle. Seeing
me, she stopped, approached, and, hold,
ing out her hand piteously, said:
"Oh mister, gif a poor girl few
pennies. The padrone will be beat us
If we go back without money; and we
have had nothing to eat. Oh mister,
do, please |"
L was touched, and the pennies so
dearly needed quickly came forth. The
girl was uncOmmOnlv haaut;fuI T