The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1880-04-29
'DESMOND'S MODEL.

only living creature visible for miles.
Once a conventchime, ringing for the
Benediction Offices, sounded musicaily
from neighboring hillside, and little
church hidden among olive woods in the
valley below, answered with a single
cracked bell. Then there was silence
again: the majestic silence Of the hills
iraught with solemn meaning.
At length, another turn Of the weary
way brought him in sight of his destina-
tion-an ancient, world-forsaken little
town, perched on a rocky eminence, dark
against the stars; its brown, sun-baked
houses nesting round ruined citadel,
athwart whose rents the moonlight
slanted. .-A't'e
Up steep stretch of road, with hor-
iz9ntal lines of rough stone paving at
Intervals, like tberungs Of a ladder; past
a wayside crucifx, with a blind beggar
sitting on the steps at its foot; over a
bridge which spanned the dry bed of a
water-eeurse, under an arch in massive
wall, where a dim oil-lamp burned be-
fore the shrine of "Our Lady of the
Seven Sorrows" in a crooked, dark, ill
smelling street, where the houses seemed
to meet overhead, shutting out the sky.
The days work was over, and the
townspeople stood about in the arched
doorways and on the steep steps Of their
houses to take the fresh air-"pigliare il
fresco''-though it was still hot and close
enough in the narrow ways, where there
was mixed smell of garlic and melons
and wine and polenta, with here and
there Whit of odors less ambrosial.
II Women with white head-gear leaned
out of the unglazed easements; men
lounged on the pavement playing at
"Morra;" brown, half-naked children
played and fought in the cutters. Some
one was strumming q mandoline, and
singing plaintive Tuscan "Rispetto."
The streetemerged into paved square,
on one side of which stood the church. a
! quaint, ancient edifce, with Lombard
tower and an open belfry, where the bats
were fitting in and out among the bell
ropes; and On the other, the inn, flat
rooted, stone-galleried house, with one
wide doorway.
The inevitable group Of gossips lounged
on, the steps; the cooper and baker, and
the little barber from next door, and the
barber's stout wife, with baby ia her
arms, so tightly swaddled that it locked
like wooden doll. The landlord sur
veyed the group from the doorway,
which he completely filed; burly,
good-tempefed looking man, with large,
clean-shaven, olive face, and shining
bald head.
On Thorburn's approach the converse
ton ceased, and halt. . dozen dark eyes
were turned upon him curiously, but not
rudely. The men made way for him to
pass, uncovering with grave courtesy,
while the "padrone' bowed himself
backwards into the house, with a gesture
which placed himself, his establishment,
and all his belongings at the travellers
disposal.
: The door opened at once upon great
bare sala, with stone floor, freseoed walls,
and a raftered ceiling, from which an
oil-lamp was suspended by chain.
"My friend has arrived, l suppose?
the artist said, glancing round.
The inn-keeper paused in the middle
of bow. and looked at him inquiringly.
"The Signor expected to meet friend
herep'
Certainly; he went on first and must
have arrived two or three hours ago."
The other shrugged his shoulders with
deprecating smile, and a gesture Of out
spread palms.
IT have not had the honor Of welcom-
inf this gentleman. The Signor him
self is the first traveller who has arrived
here to-day
Perhaps he has gone to some other
inn," Thorburn began, Though he GER
tainly said"
Excuse me, Signor; there is no other.
LAguila Nera is the only inn Of San
Giovanni"
And the group at the door, who were
interested and attentive listeners, prompt
ly confirmed the padrone's statement.
Thorburn looked perplexed.
II fear he must have lost hi .way,"
he said, after pause. "He was probably
misled by the inscription on boundary
stone, where a path"
"Ecco! that leads to st. Giovanni-in-
the Vale, village two leagues and a
half from here!' half dozen voices ex-
claimed at once.
"Then he will certainly not be here
tonight" the artist remarked, as he
threw his knap-sack on the table and sat
down; "What sort Of place is this
other st. Giovanni? There is an inn, |
suppose, where he could put up"
INA 81, there is an inn--of sort"
mine host assented with a. shrug, as he
spread coarse white cloth on one end
Of the long oaken table. "Alessandro
Morelli's. Not in the village itself, but
on the hill-road, half an hours walk be-
yond. 1t stands on the site Of an ancient
Carthnsian monastery. Morelli bought
the land for song, ruins and all, and
built himself a house out of the old
stones. Some say it was a sacrilege, and
that the house is accursed1
"The man is" put in the cooper, in an
undertone. l. ~
Keep thy tongue quiet, Tonic mic" /"
the host returned, with a grave, caution
ary nod. "We know nothing against
'Sandro Morelli, except that he is sullen