The Osceola times., 1880-07-10
AT THE GLOANING.
CHAPTER 7.

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quiet deadp'
1t was summer in Italy, summer with
her long days of cloudlees sunshine,
when the fower-ireigh'ed lateen boats
gliden over an almost hvaline sea, when
over all nature there 10y that deep, in
tense hush Of full and perfect beauty, a
time in which to dream only of golden
days in life'e future, to see this earth
life in its sweetest and brightest phase
undimmed by even the most distant
shadow Of Azrael's wings, The soft,
voluptuous beauty Of a Southern night
had fallen over Naples, and the air was
laden with the night-odors from her
fruits and flowers; the sounds of day
were hushed, and her streets deserted
by all save a group or two of men who,
return late from some festive scene,
made the air ring with mirth.
Such 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 OF wild,
bacchanal songs, intermixed with
operate airs or lines from favorite chan
sons, overjoyed, If startled at the un.
wonted noise, they could bring some
wondering face to the easements. When
their songs were loudest they were sur
prised 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.
She hesitated moment, and then sd-
dressed them.
"Signors. will you move on and chant
your songs?" My mother is dying.
Before they could answer she had
gone.
They looked at each other in silence
for minute az the fickering light from
a small window fell on the faces which
had suddenly grown grave and earnest;
then one of the number, young Eng
lishman, spoke:
"What strange girl and what musi-
cal voice she has; how calmly she spoke
too. Let us move on it was my fault we
waited here"
They walked slowly away, their bois-
ferrous ardor damped, and each took his
own road home, leaving the gay choruses
unsung; b.t IN the mind of Henry Aylton
there fingered the memory of that young
face, and in his ears still rang the plain
ttf pleading of the girls voice.
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. 1t
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 q 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 coverlet.
"Motherl Carissima." she mmmured,
softly.
Slowly the dark, violet-hued eyes I'M
closed, and rested on the child.
Little Corail poor little Coral! so
soon TO be alonel shall soon leave you
now, child"
"Hush oh. mother, what shall do?
What shall ! do alone in this worldr"
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 one?"
Yes; see, mother, so close to you.
Look at me, your own little girl. Oh,
my mother, do try to live for my sakev'
flush, dear, | must 90. i have lived
such long while. such long, long
time and life has been so bitter. Lift
me little, darling; must talk TO you
a little while tonight"
Gently the child raised her; and then
she sat and pl iced the poor throbbing
head against her own bosom.
Poor tired mother! Oh, no you will
not die. You will 20 out with me again,
and weave me violet crowns. | 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. | have
known what is life void of mothers
love can be, and had hoped to live till
you were a woman. Still have tried to
find you protector. Long since l wrote
10 England, giving short account of
our lite here, of my own failing health,
and your need. 1t was to one who
once loved us well, my child, that sent
my letter but its answer shall never
see. When am gone, darling, stay on
here until it comes. 1t will tell you to
90 away from Italy to England, and you
must do that, remember it is your
mothers wish; and you will spend your
life in the house where she had many
heppy hours. Coral, let me be buried
where the sound of the sea lulls the birds
to rest, won't you, darlng?" and where
the sun can always shine upon me. And
oh, my Coral, don't let them teach you,
when in England, to forget your mother.
They will say hard things Of me, but |
| tired to act for the best. Come some
times to visit the city of your child 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. lshall soon be over the Jasper
sea, where there never falls the sadness
of the sunset light, and that from my
spirit home shall be always watching
my child"
The continued talking had wearied
| the tired frame, and she sank on the
bed in swoon. The child applied some
Of the simple restorstives tn at were near,
but for long time it seemed as though
the violet eyes were vailed forever, the
fsble voice forever silent. Amer some
time the heavy fringes were again lifted,
and again the look of intimate sadness
was turned TO the child. Her lips
moved, as if in silent PRAYER.