The new North-west. [volume] (Deer Lodge, Mont.) 1869-1897, 1886-03-19
A CORRECT MISTAKE.

son-David by name-had early developed
| intellectual tastes; his expenses at school and
| college had been betrayed by wealthy &C.
/ centric kins1nan of his mother The youth
| turned out shy, studious, and dreamy, the
possessor of an enthusiasm for poetry but of
| little practical ability, and of no instructive
knowledge of the world.
Mrs. Murray belonged to a wealthy family
| who had taken umbrage at her marriage with
poor parson Her brothers and sisters had
consigned her to oblivion, and her name was
omitted from her fathers will. But a few
| days before my story opens, a sister, the
| widow of fabulously rich East India mer-
| chant, named Wilton, held out the golden
scepter of reconciliation and MRS. Murray
| touched ii with trembling rapture. u am
| anxious to make the acquaintance of your
| eldest lad," wrote Mrs Wilton. "You
have not yet, I suppose, seen your
way to putting him into any profession.
| am resolved to like the lad; even build
castles in the air for him, and have il. my
head a scheme for his marriage with my hus-
! bands ward, Joyce Balfour, who lives with
me and is my heiress. Send your son to
Florence, to pass the winter here, and to re-
turn with us in the spring. Let him spend
what time and see what places he likes en-
| penses."
Mrs Murray was only too glad to receive
her sisters overtures She told herself, in
her simple piety, that Providence had opened
a way for the provision of her son; she called
on David to rejoice with her
But David refused to rejoice. One clause
in the letter-that relating to possible mar
riage between Joyce Balfour and himself
had aroused his ire.
"Who is this Joyce Balfour, mother?" he
asked, tossing aside the momentous letter.
II know little more of her than your aunt
tells us, dear; she was Mr.. Wiltons ward, is
rather younger than you, fancy, and /
have heard that she has considerable prop
erty. When she inherits my sisters estates,
in addition to her own, she will be enorm-
ously rich Your aunt"-with slight pause
and a wistful look in David's direction-"was
always fond of match making IT her fancy
for an engagement between you two young
people should be realized, your fortune would
be made, David"
"But don't want my fortune to be made
after that fashion," cried the young man
hotly. "What do I know, and what do
care, about Miss Balfour?"
"At least you will not decide in the matter
| till you have seen Miss Balfour, David"
NO. will not decide till have seen her."
"And you will go TO Florence?
David rose, walked to the window and
| looked out But he saw nothing; bis thoughts
| were far away. 'Florence" was a fas-
| cinating name to the untraveed lad he
wished that his errand there were not so un-
welcome.
| ayes, I will CO." he said slowly.
| A few days later the young man started on
| his travels In the excitement inseparable
| from a first foreign tour, the object Of his
| wanderings was almost forgotten He went
through the usual vicissitudes of long jour
ney The usual important package was left
| behind, and its absence. as usual, discovered
too late for recovery. Then came hurried
| meals at railway stations, then views of mo-
| notonous French landscape. with its inevita-
BILE long, straight rowi OF poplars, then
| plimpses of bolder scenery, of chalebs, and of
snow peaks, and then Switzerland burst upon
| David'S view.
At last Italy was reached; at last, Milan
Law like dream behind him, and early
morning found him sleeping fitfully in rail-
| way carriage, and nearing Venice. AT
| o'clock he awoke, rubbed his eyes, opened the
| window and looked out. He was OH the bridge
| nine miles long-which connects Venice
! with the mainland. In a short time the forms
| and clustering houses began to reveal them.
selves against the horizon; the train whizzed
| on, and presently the city of the Adriatic lay,
| broad and clear, before David's eyes. The
Young man held his breath as he gazed. But
| a railway station is the last place for senti-
| mentalisn, and before the platform OF tho
| railway station the train came In few
minutes. to standstill. Before the station
were a number of gondolas, their proprietors
| hailing passengers with deafenlng cries OF
"Gondoli, signori. signori, gondoll, gon-
| dolin
"What hotel does the signore command"
asked. hat in hand, David's gondolier, a
weather-beaten old Venetian, with the man
| ners of a duke.
"The sAngleterre,' returned David.
Soon he was gliding on, along the grand
| canal, under the bridge of the Rialto, past the
| fruit market, with its. wealth of grapes and
| nmpkins. beside world-falncd Gothic or
| Renaissance palaces. He was in Venice at
| last-in Venice the city of dreams, and the
whole scene had come upon him so suddenly
that he failed to grasp the reality OF his sur
| roundings
It was with a sense of good days
work well done that he took his seat
| that evening at table d'hote, stihed a hungry
| yawn. stretched bis tired legs under the table
| and looked about him. The windows looked
| full on the Riva; a plaintive little face
peeped in through she curtains, and plaln-
| tive little voice solicited aims
Excuse me- Do you know whether there
| is to be singing on the grand canal, to-nightw
said a voice in English, in David's ear. Some
| thing in the tone at once arrested and fasci-
| mated his attention He looked quickly down
| to face turned to this, and the blood
| mounted into his own face with rush. The
/ propounder of the question was his nearest
| neighber, young girl, the owner OF the
/ most attractive face that David had ever
seen. From beneath mass Of glorious red
brown hair looked pair of tie merriest,
brightest eyes in all the world The nose
with its slight tendency to turn saucily up
/ ward. the dinpled chin, and the laughing
| mouth with its sweet lips, made up picture
which dazzled and bewildered David.
4I-I-don't know" he stammered "The
WAYS of this place are strange to me; only
| came into Venice this morning. Then he
bent over his soup, feeling strangely shy and
embarrassed.
aIndeed Do you intend to remain long"
The girls manner was, in its frank friendn-
ness, a broad contrast to David's own. It
/ was hardly, perhaps, the manner usually
adopted by ladies in addressing stranger of
4 the other sex, but It's fearless ease had In it
nothing deserving the mysterious adjective
i afast"
.About a week I am going to Florence" !"
aTo Florence," The girl turned on David
rapid, inquiring glance. 4Why! believe"
she said, suddenly laying down her spoon, and
laughing an amused little laugh, @that know
whoyou are"
aWho aman
ayes. How odd that should have come
| upon You so soon. You are Mrs. W1itons
nephew, David Murray"
aDid you gain that piece OF Information
| from your fellow fairiess' David had suf5
cieritly overcome his shyness to venture on
tone of mild pleasantly. and some infinitesimal
/ portion of the admiration which he felt found
its way into his eyes.
1From no one more fairy-ike than Mrs
| Wilton herself am wintsring in Florence
with friend, the lady opposite us" David
/ glanced across the table towards q pompCus-
looking dame, in plum colored silk dress
and lace cap, aand know your aunt well.
i NV frisnd and are in Venice for short
holiday. Mrs. Wilton told us that You were
coming to the .Angleterre,' and determined
to look out for you. You wonder at my
interest Well! Mrs. Wilton told me, too'-ina q
tone of mock solemnity -.about Miss Balfour,
and Miss Balfour and happen to be great
friends
asvhat about Miss Balfourm asked David,
huskily. joyce had retired into the back
eround OF his memory: he was almost angry