The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1880-07-01
With Hearts Of Fire.

Bessie, wish you would write me a
story Of an Opal.n
Ny friends, knowing that have a
habit Of scribbling when l am irritable
or nervOus-being a woman, / plead
guilty to these inexcusable states of body
and mind-Often impOrtune me TO write
upon some special subject, suggested, ,
perhaps, by an incident in their own
lives or those of their friends.
We had been sitting in the moonlight,
discussing the prevalent superstition re-
garding opals. The incessant noise and
clamor that had filled the busy streets
all day had subsided, and the passing
of street-ears, the occasional rumble OF
q carriage, did not disturb Us. The
moonlight silvered the church spire on
the opposite side OF the square, and
made the leaves on the trees simmer
and CLEAN like transformation scene,
and then, stealing up to the window
where we we're sitting, glorified the face
bending over me, as the lips parted tC
prefer the request. The dear, beautiful
face How l wish you could see il as ]
saw 1t at that moment. The ripping
golden hair, brown in the shadow, sill
very in the moonlight; the dancing,
laughing eyes Of blue; the sweet,
M1AA9AAg A41AAaA AlG DAAAEl IDS
through which CLEANED the white,
even, perfect teeth. In the open palm
lay a ring, two diamonds shooting out
steely BLUSH rays, and between them,
beating, thrObbing, smOuldering, like a
soul in pain, sometimes red as the fierc-
est heart Of flame, then paling until al
most cOlorless, was an opal. Watching
its heart Of fire, the story came 10 me
The vesper bells chimed softly out
through the twilight OF a sultry day,
echOing down the narrow valley, throbs
OF silvery sound dying away among the
foothills, waves Of sweet silence. The
door Of the little church stood open, aud
one form after another glided softly in,
and, kneeling before the shrine Of some
bestowed saint, made, with trembling
fingers, the Sign of the cross over a
breast mayhap weary of battling with
the pains and disappointments of life.
and, closing eyes fun Of unshed tears,
mumbled, with quivering lips, a prayer.
Around the altar hung clouds Of incense,
the lamp that is ever burning sboue
like star amid the dusk and shadow,
and the tones Of the organ beat through
the silence like the anguished throbs Of
stricken soul. Just as the last tremu-
lous tones were dying away, from the
MAAn0M "a AAE GUAaEEeAOuAIa IN "a En40-
owed niche at the side Of the chancel.
CLEANED, for single moment, a glance
from eyes that seemed to search every
nook and corner aud penetrate every
dusky shadow. It was only for a mo-
menti and was instantly Withdrawn, as
tall, slender figure entered, shrouded
In lace, despite the clOseness OF the even
ing and passing rapidly up the aisle.
along which her trailing skirts swepi
with ghOstly sound, knelt at the com
fessiOnal, and buried head and face in
the tightly clasped hands. They were
small, shapely hands, covered win
sparkling jewels, and as, after a moment
Of silence, she raised her head, the lace
partially falling, you could see tresses
dark as night aud cheek satin smooth,
crimson and hot with intense feeling
the glorious eyes, full of dangerous fire.
the red lips trembling with excitement.
It cannot be religious fervor; it is no
holy enthusiasm that calls that painting
fear into those eyes, that makes the
breath come in quick, short gasps, and
the bosom heave like a frightened bird.
Listen, she speaks The voice is so low
the waiting priest bends his head lower
TO listen:
"Augelo, be quick I can stay but
q AnVnEnAs nave uIOuEuL the ItW-
els here they are. Take them, aud 1
must 60. l may be watched and fol-
lowed. oh, what would become of you
Of rs both-if we are discovered %
While she speaks, she has torn the
sparklins rings from her fingers, the
diamonds like drops Of liquid light
from her ears; an unclasped from
the slender throat a necklace of
opalsi Wondrous, priceless stones.
tnat gleami even thrOuga tn. shadow
with red, dangerous hg.. Or tbs
dark, barred head bend locs. 49,, 60
fair; into the dusky eyes shool 5I..'l.'s
from others, blue as the spriug-tin,a "
olets, but beaming with ali mans r,s,s-
sionate alteration. The voice thai a1
swers hers shakes with its fatbon,ia.-
depth Of feeling and her tinv bsnds
are clasped so hard that she almost 60
out as she strives to draw them awav
my darling, my poor frightened
dove, what is there to fear ?. Surely no
one would follow you TO the confessional,
See, have the jewels-GOds what are
these stones that jeer and gibe at me
There is something mocking in their
gleam."
my opals! Oh, Angelo, they we're
his wedding gift 10 me. 'Tls said they