The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1880-04-30
DESMOND'S MODEL.
III,


Half an hour later, Thorburn passed
out of the gate, under the shrine of "Our
Lady of the Seven Sorrows" and went
his way down the steep road, leaving be-
hind him the forlorn little town on its
rocky height, dark against the dawn, as
last night he had seen it, dark against
the stars. ~Ttf-1E fJ
Beautiful beyond telling was the scene
which stretched out before him, which
dashed in the inetfable brightness and
stiffness of early morning. The bare and
melancholy Apennines, transfgured by
the flush Of sunrise, looked radiant, rose
colored, ethereal. like mountains in a
fairy tale or dream. The valleys were
still white with mist. but here and there
aren't in the gauzy veil disclosed distant
towns and villages, monastery or hill
side belfry cleaning white from amid
the woods of olive or chestnut. The
swallows wheeled high up in the lunin-
ous air; little golden-green lizards basked
in the sunlight; myriads Of yellow butter
flies fitted past, like leaves that the light
breeze scatters in sport.
Everything seemed full Of life and joy
this radiant summer morning, and, in
spite of himself, Thorburn felt the infu-
ence of the scene. He could not alto
gether shake off the vague apprehension
which oppressed him, but he felt, some
how, relieved and reassured. Out here,
in the air and sunlight, supernatural
fears seemed absurd.
( The dew was still on the grass when
he reached St Giovanni-in-the- Vale, a
squalid, stragglingvillage, with one "long
unloyely street," where fowls, pigs, and
children disported themselves indiscrim-
inately. 's-.
On making inquiries he found that
Desmond had not been seen in the place
the day before, but a little goat-herd-a
grinning, white.toothed, sunburned
urchin-had passed him "just after sum
down, on the hill-road. not far from San
dro Morelli's."
Without a moments delay, Thorburn
setoff again. =rast
The road, which wound upward out of
a thickly-wooded valley, was little more
than wagon track, dry and crumbling,
and strewn with pebbles, like the bed of
atorrent. He had followed it for some
distance before he reached any habita-
,tion, and then it was only solitary
farmhouse standing back from the road,
with few poor fields Of maize and corn,
and little grove Of chestnut trees at
one side. :0
A man was digging in the field close
to the house, and Thorburn approached
HIM to find out how far he was from his
destination. .,..t ~ .stgsu-r,..
On being addressed, the other shook
back tangled name of black hair, and
looked up. He was a muscular, broad
shouldered fellow, of the type which,
in Tuscan phrase, is "molded with the
fist, and polished with the pick-ax, with
a sombre, olive-tinted face, and fierce,
haggard, dark eyes. His blue and white
shirt was open at the neck, showing a
massive brown throat; his bare feet were
thrust into wooden shoes.
He stuck his spade into the ground,
and looked his interlocutor over at his
leisure before he replied, nodding over
his shoulder at the house behind them.
"There it is"
THAT! But that is farm, not an
inn."
"Call it what you like. But there is
the house, and here am !, 'Sandro Nor
ELI, If you want me-"
And he went on digging.
The artist turned to look at the house,
and noticed for the first time that the
bough which serves in lieu Of sign at the
humber class of Osterias, hung over the
door. 1t was poor place, roughly built
Of great blocks Of stone, which had evi-
IDENTIFY once served more dignified pur-
pose. No ruins were to be seen from the
road. .f
"a friend of mine, an Englishman, put
up here last night" Thorburn resumed;
"shall l find him in-doorsp'
The man looked up again, shading his
eyes from the sun.
"You are mistaken; your friend did
not put up here. We had no guest in the
house last night" ~
Thorburu started, looking at him in
doubt and incredulity.
"But-but there is no other house
where he could have lodged, and when
last seen he was close to your house."
"When was that7" .t ....
"Just after sunset, yesterday"
81 was out then; my wife may have
seen him pass. You can ask her; there
she is"
The artist turned toward the house,
and found himself in the presence of the
loveliest woman he.had ever seen or ever
dreamed of. She stood in the doorway,
like a radiant picture in a dark frame;
"a daughter of the gods, divinely tall,
and most divinely fair" She was in the
noontide Of her beauty; her figure full,
but not heavy, her small mead nobly set
above the rounded throat and shoulders.
Her complexion was that of warm white.
ness, which an old woman calls "a golden
palor;;" hazel eyes, soft as velvet, looked
out from under level brows; rippled
hair, of rare and lovely shade of tawny
gold, was coiled in superb luxurianct
round her head.