Saint Mary's beacon., 1882-08-03
RONERIL.
A Story IN FoUn CHAPrEns.
CHAPTER 7.

CHAPTER I.
On one Of the pleasant hills round
Florence, little beyond Camerata,
there stands q house 90 small that an
Englishman would probably take it
for q lodge Of the great villa behind,
whose garden trees at sunset cast
their shadow over the cottage and it's
terrace on to the steep white road.
But any Of the country people could
tell him that this. too, is q Casa Sig
norile spite Of ila smallness. It stands
somewhat high above the road, q
square white house with a. projecting
roof, and with four grssn-shuttered
windows overlooking The gay but mar
row terrace. The beds under the
windows would have fulfilled The
fancy Of that French poet who desired
that in his So den one might in gather
ing q ncsegay Gull q salad, for they
boasted little less than sweet basil,
small and white, and some tell, gray
rosemary bushes. Nearer to the door
an unusually large oleander faced a
strong and sturdy magnolia tree, and
these, with their profusion of red and
white sweetness, made amends for the
iearths Of garden flowers. At either
end of the terrace flonrished thicket
Of gum-cistus. syringe, stephantis and
geranium bushes, and the wall itself,
dropping sheer down to che road, was
bOrdered with the customary Floren-
tine hedge Of China roses and irises,
now out Of bloom. Great terra-cotta
howsr-pots. covered with devices, were
placed at intervals along the wall !;
90 IL was summer, the oranges and
lemons. full Of wonderfully sweet
white blossoms and young green fruit,
were set there in the sun to ripen.
It was the 17th Of June. Although
Il was after 4 o'clock the olives On
the steep hill that went down to
Florence locked blindingly white,
shadeless and sharp. The air trem-
bled round the bright green Expresses
behind the house. The roof steamed.
All the windows were shut, all the
jalousies shut, yet il was so hot that
no one could stir within. The maid
sle2t in the kitchen, the two elderly
mistresses of the honse dozed upon
their beds. Not a movement not a
sound.
Gradually along the steep road
from Camerata there came roll Of
distant carriage wheels. The sound
came nearer and nearer, till one could
see the carriage and see the driver
leading the tired, thin cab-horse, his
bones starting under the shaggy hide.
Inside the carriage reclined q hand
some, middle-aged lady, with stern
pro6le turned toward the road; a
yonng girl in pale pink cotton and q
broad bat tFudged up the hill at the
aide.
'Goneril. said Miss Hamelyn, let
me beg you again 70 come inside the
carriage.
'oh 10. Aunt Margaret; I'm not a
bit tired.
But I have asked you; that is rea-
son enough
'It's 80 hot cried Goneril.
sIhatiswhy Iobject toyour walking.
But if It's so hot for me Just think
how hot 10 must be for the horse.
Goneril cast Q commiserating glance
. at the poor halting. wheeling nag.
The horse, probably, reioined
Miss Hamelyn, does not suffer from
malaria. neither has he kept his aunt
IN Florence nursing him TIL the mid
die heat of summer.
True. said Goneril. Then after a
Jew minutes. I'll get in, Aunt Mar
garet, on one condition.
In my time young people did not
make conditions
Very well auntie; I'll get in aud
yon shall answer ell my questions
when you feel inclined
The carriage stopped. The poor
horse painted at his ease while the
girl seated herself beside Mis- Ham,
elyn. Then for the few minutes they
drove on in silence past the orchards,
past the olive yards, yellow under
meath with ripening corn, past the
sudden wide Gde views Of the noun
tains. faintly crimson ia the mist of
heat and, on the other side Of Flor
ence, the towers and domes steaminQ
beside the hazy river.
How hot it looks down there I cried
Goneril.
How hot it feelsr echoed Miss
Hemelyn rather grimly.
Yes. ] am 80 glad you can ges
away at last. dear poor old aunfie.
Then. Q little later, 'Won't you tel
me something about the old ladies
with whom you are going 70 leave
ne