The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-07-26

something dark. Mir. Seymour touched it but is did not move. Then he took it up in hi, arms, and, followed by the weeping child, carried it reverently to the inn, which was close at hand.
 
 Nothing vas known in Florence of the dead singer and although Mir. Seymour made the case, with all its attendant cir cumssances, widely known through the Italian press, no one appeared to claim the child. She stayed in the meanwhile with his wife and daughter, both of whom were charmed by her quaintness and beauty. They hogered for some time in Florence, hoping to find out something of her friends. Finally to the dAight of Mary Seymour, the daushtss, who was beautiful and tender-heArted, it was de- cided that Lena should eo ba. k with them to their country home in Devon shire.
 There, for some time, Maddalena was as happy as any child could be. Mary Seymour was her constant companion and teacher and she repaid her with the mos, passionate affection. Mary under stood her. Her songs and wild antics, her outbursts Of passion or. sorrow, her romances, her curious thoughts and breeding fancies, could all be poured out to this dear friend, who, even if she disap- proved of what she heard and saw, did it far too gently to hurt the sensitive child. There came dark day for Lena and her guardians. Mary Seymour, who had for some time been suffering with depres- sion, which arose from her parents re- peated refusals to allow her to ally her self with the man she loved, left home suddenly and secretly. Being of more than full age, she had determined to take her future into her own hands. She went to some friends abroad and was married from their house.
 To Maddalena the consequences were very bitter At first she refused to believe that Mary had left her forever She had gone, but she would certainly send for her soon. She would not be able to live without her Lena. But no summons came, only little letter, telling her that Mary was happy and begging her to be patient and good.
 CuC utCo, pUOI Sukiu. Out II was ndIQ work. for she was t.rribly solitary now. She drew little comfort from her vivid fancies, but even these she could not in- dulge in the house When she laughed or played or sang, or poured out the inn aginary dialogues she had been compos- ing, some one would be sure to hear her, and questions which she could not answer would be asked. And so it became her habit to take refuge in the woods and by the river-banks, where she had little haunts of her own, which she peopled with imaginary friends.
 It was whispered, meantime, in the neighborhood that the foreign child a, the Seymours was not quite like other people. She had been heard talking to herself and capering wildly about her nursery: she was said to indulge in un. governable fits of fury and meaningless ees.asies. MT. Seymour had been seen to look at her gravely. Mrs. Seymour had openly lamented, in the presence of sew eral of her neighbors, that they had ever undertaken to provide for her futnre.
 This mischievous talk, when it came to Lena's ears, filled her with the saddest and bitterest feelings. Everything was hAJ tO hCi. "ny uid pSOplC whom she knew hurry by her without speaking? What was the meaning of the stray words that fell upon her ear {? Poor little Maddalena." That was what they called her. Why was it :. What had she done that even the very children whom she adored should be afraid of her?
 Thinking of these things in her green parlor by the river, Lena found a great dread taking possession of her soul. It was all true, she said to herself She was really creature apart from others. Her joys and sorrows were not those of her friends; they never would be. She was destined all her life to live alone. As the days went by horror of darkness seemed to envelope her. She was fast drifting into state of mental insensibility. What the consequences might have been, if nothing had changed, it is terrible to think.
 Bnt our Father in heaven, without whose will not so much as sparrow falls to the ground, had been watching over Lena through the sad years of her child hood and the day came when she was brough, back to the gentle sympa. :hies of human life.
 She was abou, fifteen years of age when the summons. for which she had never ceased ts look, arrived. She carried it at once to her guardian and laid 1t before him. It was a strange let ter; only a few words, written hastily on a crumpled piece of paper:
 want Lena and she will wish to come to me, know. In memory of old times | ASaaw Aat k~sA 4 ! her. MARY.
 No other signature snly an address in Florence.
 Mir. Seymour was in bed with a lung attack when Lena brought this to him. He read it and looked at her doubtfuliy.
 "You will let me go ?" she cried pas sionately.
 :. If this is Mary's writing, began.
 "It is; it is. See! '" and she put in his hand the last she had received. :" The trembling of the hand makes m d;ffsv.