The Russellville Democrat., 1880-07-15
AT THE GL0AMING.
CHAPTER |,

CHAPTER I.
 1 "Rest to the weary spirit! peace to the quiet dead~ If was summer in Italy, summer with her long days of 3loudless sunshine when the hower-freighted lateen boats oliden over an almost hvaline sea, when over all nature there lay that deep, in tense hush of full and perfect beauty, a time in which to dream only of golden days in life's future, to see this earth \ fife in its sweetest and brightest phase undimmed by even the most distant shadow of Azrael's wings, The soft, youptuous beauty of Southern night had fallen over Naples, and the air was hlen with the night-odors from her fruits and flowers; the sounds of day were hushed, and her streets deserted by all save group or two of men who, return late from some festive scene, made the air ring with mirth.
 Such a group stationed themselves near the dim archway of house on the quay, and appeared in no hurry to separate. They stood there railing laughing, singing snatches ot wild, bacchanal songs, intermixed with operatic airs or lines from favorite chan- sons, overioyed, If startled at the un- wonted noise, they could bring some wondering face to the easements. When their songs were loudest they were sur Nsed by the sudden appearance of a young girl, whose years might perhaps have numbered fourteen, who came from the shadow of the doorway, and stood in their midst. -re
 She hesitated moment, and then ad- dressed them. .ee ss,.s E
 "Signors. will you move on and chant your songs?" My mother is dying.
 Before they could answer she had gone. -E fli ? sJs.A 5s.r.a
 They looked at each other in silence for minute as the flickering light from a small window fell on the faces which had suddenly grown grave and earnest; then one of the number,s young Eng lishman, spoke: disl yaAss1ss ee lg
 "What a strange girl and what musi- Seal voice she has. how calmly she spoke too. Let us move omit was my fault We waited here." eaf s1 s
 They walked slowly away, their bois- terous ardor damped, and each took his own road home, leaving the gay choruses unsung; but Tn the mind of Henry Aylton there fingered the memory of that young face, and in hls ears still rang the plain If pleading of the girls voice. e
 Meanwhile the subject of his thoughts had quickly returned to the tiny room which had been for several years of her life, the only home she had known. It was chamber poorly furnished, yet bearing here and there, in some tiny canvas, some delicate sculpture, or some vase of quaint workmanship, the signs :. of better days. On the bed was lady whose face bore traces of great beauty, but whose gray and and ashen hue told plainly that soon she would be far away from the cares of the earth-away in that land where beauty is immortal.
 The girl crossed quietly to the bed, and knelt beside it, taking in her own, one of the tiny, fragil hands that lay on the ooverlet. tr -..
 Mother! Carissima" she muImured, softly. .
 Slowly the dark, violet-hued eyes un- closed, and rested on the child.
 Little Coraill poor little Coraill so soon to be alonel I shall soon leave you now, child"
 "Hushl Oh, mother, what shall do? What shall do alone in this world?"
 The mothers face was shadowed with care as she closed her eyes again; and the child cried on silently until her mother again spoke.
 "Coraill Are you there, little oneY"
 Yes; see, mother, so close to you. Look at me, your own little girl. Oh, my mother, do try to live for my sake!'
 sHush, dear, must go. l have lived such long while. such a long, long time, and life has been so bitter. Lift me little, darling; must talk to you little while tonight"
 Gently the child raised her; and then she sat and pllced the poor throbbing head against her own bosom, .... =.
 Poor tired motherl Oh, no you will not die. You will go out with me again, and weave me violet crowns. l cannot believe you are going away tonight. Oh mother!"
 Coral, child, God knows what is best He is taking me home to be at peace, and could go gladly but for the thoughts of you, little one. l have known what is life void of a mothers love can be, and had hoped to live till you were a woman. Still have tried to md you protector. Long since wrote to England, giving a short account of our lie here, of my own failing health, and your need. It was to one who once loved us well, my child, that l sent my letter, but it's answer I shall never see. When am gone, darling, stay on here until 1t comes. It will tell you to go away from Italy to England, and you must do that, remember it is your mothers wish; and you will spend your lie in the house where she had many hepDy hours. Corail, let me be buried where the sound of the sea lulls the birds to rest, won't you, darling?" and where the sun can always shine upon me, And oh, my Corail, don't let them teach you when in England, to forget your mother They will say hard things of me, but ttried to act for the best. Come some times to visit the city of your childi ood where you have made sunshine in my shadowed life"
 The child bowed her head, words would not come; her whole frame was shaken with sobs.
 Coral, you must not weep. Think dear one. Ishall soon be over the jasper sea, where there never falls the sadness Of tla gunuat En,bt and fhat from, VaN