The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1886-05-15

the matcn DOyS, anu Une DdIelOOtSu ocdlOh-
ers for cigar ends. He did not tell him
self that it was in search of one face that
he scanned each group of promenaders or
idlers. But, as in passing one of the
tables before the Cafe Florian he caught
sight of the lady who had accosted him at
table d'h6te, and who was now slipping
coffee and talking with her friend, he felt
somehow as if long search had been re-
warded. He raised his hat and passed on,
blushing ike girl when he received a
responsive bow and smile. Then he walked
slowly back down the Riva to his hotel, sat
up late over his sonnet, tore it up in angry
discomfort, and fell asleep to dream of an
animated face and pair Of bewitching,
bright blue eyes.
The days passed quickly. 1t was glo-
rious Autumn weather. Every morning
David visited, in obedience to directions in
his guide book, some famous churches or
palaces, or he made his way to the studio
of modern artist; every afternoon he fol-
lowed his own sweet will, strayed along the
narrow streets, listened to the voluble sell
lers and the depreciatory buyers at the
shops and stalls near the Rialto, and tried
his own inexperienced hand at bargain,
or perhaps he took gondola and was
rowed to the Lido, or some other island of
the Lagoons, returning at sunset, when
the gold and crimson of the sky were re-
fected in the water. At table d'h6te he
related his adventures to his neighbor, who
interrupted him with merry questionings,
and who sometimes, if she happened to be
in communicative mood, deigned to res
pond with variations of her own doings.
All day long David looked forward to the
tete-a-tete of the dinner hour. Every
evening he went to the Piazza, and march
ed up and down in solitary state, his eyes
continually travelling in one and the same
direction, or he sought table at the cafe
where he could furtively watch his new
friend, who was pretty sure to be in sight.
In his letters to Whitechapel he never
once mentioned her For one thing he did
not know her name Once, in fit OF
more than ordinary curiosity, he had cur
sorily glanced through a list of names in
the "Visitors Book" but among them all
how could he distinguish the one in which
he was interested? ? The ladies we're known
by the waiter fraternity of the hotel as les
danes du numfro viatit-cinq, the number
of their sitting room. When speaking to
his neighbor David had often had at his
tongues tip downright question concern
ing her name, but he had hitherto been
too shy to utter it. He fully intended to
be bolder one day. Meanwhile, in his
verses-she had found her way into most
of his verses written at this periodic
chose, for some fanciful reason of his own,
to call her "Hera,"
1t turned out that the length of the
girls stay in Venice was identical with
David's; they were both to leave on the
same day.
On the last evening in Venice David
and Hera found themselves walking to-
gether, and actually uuaccompanied, along
the Piazza incoming along in his usua
fashion, the young man had happened tc
brush against the ladies' as both he anG
they were bound for the "Angleterre, il
was natural that they should walk together
But the elder lady of the company was
presently pounced upon by an Italian
Countess, who insisted on monopolizing hel
attention. David moved on with Hera
he could hear ceaseless stream of foreign
sounding English flowing on behind him
A strange silence came over the youns
man. Iutently-almost breathlessly-ht
watched his companion. She had drawn
off one Of her gloves; on one Of her fingers
was ring, with forget-me-not in tur
quoises. David wondered, with touch o.
utterly unreasonable jealousy, whose hanC
had placed it there.
The silence seemed oppressive to tht
girl. "Let us hurry toward the Riva ant
see the moonlight on the water" she said
"Moonlight on water is the most correct O.
all Venetian beauties"
Certainly" David tried to shake of
his taciturnity-to emulate his compan
ions gayety But the attempt ended il
failure he was obviously dull and miser
able,
Oh, the beauty of the evening-an even
ing never to pass from David's memory
How grand and solemn the Ducal palace
looked in the moonlight how still was the
water, how sweetly came the sound o
singing voices from the Grand Canal Oh
the top of the steps of one the many
bridges on the Riva both walkers cam,
simultaneously to standstill.
$50 this is our last evening in Venice I
said the girl, resting her arms on the tol
of the bridge, and looking musingly dow
into the water,
@Why do you tell me that? surely
know it, burst out David, savagely. Th'
girl glanced up, startled by the sharpness
, of his voice,
"What's the matter ?"
"Ah me Sic transit gloria naundi."
II beg your pardon"
Il beg yours; l was quoting Latin
What l want to say is that-that-th
prospect of bidding you goodbye is-wel
is the reverse of an enlivening one t.
me-"
"How solemn you are" with laugh
"And for no reason at all. We shall Otter
meet again
"ShaIl we p David leaned his elbow OIL
the top of the bridge; he beant his heat
down close to the girls, her hair almos
brushed his cheek.
"Of course" little impatiently, "My
friend and ! go to Florence tomorrow
and, as | told you, am great friend o
Mrs. Wilton's / look in upon her ever.
Z day"
''Rut am not going to Mrs. Wilton's.
David spoke in suppressed voice; he die
not raise his head
| "What do you mean y
"What 1 say. l cannot go to her now
+ 1 had not been day in Venice before
l grew aware of that fact. But l could no
; forgive me-resign the pleasure of stay
ing on here with you. My expenses a
Venice must be refunded-somehow-
J with grim smile. "You are going tc
morrow; then I leave the same day fo
! London"
4 gGood graeiousp The girl raised her
+ self from her STOPPING position. "Ho1
: changeable and incomprehensible 20
e are What has happened since you lei
: home to change your plans so suddenly
!, h,n<. hoe boppar,ad - Half m.