The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-08-15

and whispered tender words. But the, won DO response. There swept strange gray shadow over the face-a darkness as of night fell over sight and sense. Tn, ringing of the bells lost all sound, anc the child's soft arms clasped only tn, coldness of clay.
 Terrified, he started up and looked a the changed face-changed even in ,hi. brief time to something wful and unreal and fuli of dread.
 Grandfather, are you dead? Have you left me" moaned the little lad, anc gazed and listened for the res ponse whici would never come.
 He clamoered off the bed. A vagu, terror was upon him, but a strong resolu tion rooted itself ia his childish brain and nerved him to action.
 If l wait here, the priest will return and will take me-" he said to himself must run away from him. No ont must know-not even Maruccia."
 He went into an adjoining room anc took wide, old fashioned hat of Tuscan straw from peg, and little cloak tha old Maruccia had made for him, auc then he paused.
 He was young and ignorant he wa: about to face the world in some fantastic and irrational fashion, such as he had read of in old romances. He had not a friend, or acquaintance or relative, and he was running away in terror of tha, dark power which only meant for him loss of freedom and intending penAnce
 He crept softly back into the dead mans room, and then knelt and prayed to the Madonna which hung above the bed, and bade her tell the old man what he had done, and beg him not to be an- gry. Then he looked for the last time at the old, patient face and the closed eyes, and sob rose in his threat as he kissed the withered, dead hands.
 Then he took the old mans scantily hlled purse, and put on his hat and threw the little cloak over his shoulder. and So, noiselessly and shadow-lke, fitted from the room and from the presence of the sole friend he had on earth.
 Coming out from the cool, dark loggia, the bright sunshine almost blinded him He passed into the tangled wilderness of gardens, and thence, by a way he knew, and through an aperture of the broken l walls, on to the burnt and sloping hill side, from which he could see Rome.
 At sunset the priest would return. Be- fore then he must be far away
 He had some vague idea of going to the old and wonderful city, which had always had fer him a sort of awe which, near as 1t looked, he had never entered {; and where, in his childish credulity. he fancied the great s.. Peter dwelt, sitting on throne of gold beneath that magic dome at which his young eyes had so often gazed.
 In Rome it would be easy to hide. A little thing like himself might easily be lost in that great place, amid those crowded thoroughfAres of which Marruc- cia had told him hundred times So he set out with resolute heart and will, tax. ing the most unfrequented ways, and hiding in bushes and thickets if be by any chance saw a peasant approaching, and, unseen by any one, he reached the gates in the dusk of the night
 In the daytime of these summer months Rome is deserted almost as srAveyard but when the dusk falls and a faint air sweeps up from the mountains, and a sense of coolness comes with the starlight and the plash of filling water from many fountains IS welcome as music to the ear, then the people begin to wander through the streets, and smoke aod chatter, and eat and drink, and the wineshops and the cafes are full, and the wide squares are noisy with song and laughter
 The little lad had come here on im- pulse. He had not even imagined what manner of place it might be, and its mag nihcence, and its size, and its noisy streets bewildered and delighted him. He stopped at stall and bought some fruit and asked for draught of water, and the woman stared curiously at his delicate beauty, and at the broad piece of silver money he handed her in pay ment. But there are many beautiful children in Rome, and his dress was sim. pie and almost coarse; so she did not ask him any questions, and the child himself was too absorbed 10 remark her curious gaze though he bade her buona notte" with courtesy and grace that were inherent, and had been carefully trained by his grandfather, the dead Count di Falconieri.
 Then, refreshed and rested, he wan- dered on, the new delicious sense of lib. erty and unrestraint thrilling every nerve and fibre of his frame and completely banishing all other thoughts.
 Presently he came to narrower and darker thoroughfares, ill-lit and unsavory the poorer quarter of the city. These places frightened him. The strange, dark faces of men and women, the cries aud walls of the children, the closeness, the dirt, and noisome smells appalled, ana sickened his senses.
 He hurried on, moved by vague fear, and came at last to a great open space strewn with fallen pillars and huge blocks of marble and of stone, and amidst them he saw a lofty column, on which the moonlight fell in a white flo d. There was intense silence everywhere.
 Behind the great column stood a pile of buildings, all marble and sculpture, and approached by a steep and massive stairway, and in the wide, open space a silent figure reined in silent steed, and gazed in solemn watchfulness over city that had once held him dear. and snfl