The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1889-02-20

cottages looked like the brown nets of big
birds amongst the ever-flowing foliage.
Huge barges and flat-bOttOmed boats, with
painted sails, leaning motionless on the
lazy air, passed him laden with grapes and
gourds, amber pears and rosy-cheeked
apples. The far hills were sweet and fair
with all the colors of the opal and the
amethyst in them. But the beauty of the
scene was lost on him.
He was thinking ever of the Nj Helen
peccat.
When he reached the water-stairs of the
villa, with steps of marble shelving down
into the bulrushes and vellowing water
lily leaves, the day had grown dark. 1t
was the hour OF reunion in the great CEN
tral hall with columns and sculptures of
SansOvino and a domed ceiling where
frescOes of TiepOlo's were lost in the i'm
mense height of the vault. Its owner was
accustomed to gather her guests about her
there before dinner in the autumn even
ings, when the great olive and oak logs
burning on the enormous hearth under
its porphyrv caryatides had a welcome
warmth as che cold vapors of night sue
ceeded to the warm sunshine of the passed
day.
He felt out of mood for that gay circle;
for once, when he had changed his clothes
and joined it, the brilliant gathering,
where the men had the wit of Carlo Gozzi
and the women the beauty OF Teresa
Venier, Jared upon him in its brilliancy
and mirth.
"You have taken a chill on the water"
someone said to him. He answered alb
sently, Moves perhaps"
Much later IN the evening Beatrice Soria
herself noticed his preoccupation.
You have heard something which dis
pleased you of your wife. she mused, for
her quick intuition let her read the souls
of men, even in their secrecies, like open
books.
She had taken means to inform herself
of the manner in which Gladys had chosen
to live, though her name had never once
been mentioned between them.
To Beatrice Soria she was a woman
beaten, forsaken, Indifferent, insignificant; !;
she pitied her and never spoke of her.
But. she unused, it was so like a man be-
cause he had deserted her to think of her,
even to think of her regretfully! Men
were such children; such weak, wayward,
fearful children-as she had said once on
the banks of the Thames to Aubrey-al-
ways wanting that which they have not !;
eli ~ > IlANlI ONAA eCNlOAAo MAl6n
it is too late to etface them, always put
tingthe blame on Fate which is due to their
own folly. caprice or instability!
1t is always The woman tempted me
and l did eat, in the wilderness of the
world as in the Garden OF Eden.
'You are i'll at ease and out of spirits, !"
she said as she passed him. "Do not look
so ; people will say that / tyrannize over
you; nothing is more absurd than that"
81 cannot tutor my looks" f" he answered,
with impatence. Perhaps am not well.
l do not know"
They were unobserved for a moment; !;
others were dancing. He looked at her
with an imploring gaze.
"You do love me?" he added. Tell me
again"
"What child you are" she said with a
smile. "What is the use Of saying what is
proved ?"
''But is it proved?"
"What can you possibly mean?"
az mean, in this gorgeous life OF yours,
flattered, amused and adOred as you are,
what room is there for any great or exclu-
sive feeling?"
at seems to me, my friend, that it is
verv late for that doubt to come to you"
"Perhaps | am Jealous. You have so
dulgent with them"
"Do not become Othello because we are
in the Veneto 1t will not suit you in
any way, Your love has always been gal
anterie."
Not always"
eyes. always. I think, at heart"
''That is cruelty unjust. What greater
evidence"
Goodness and anger came into her eyes.
DO not remind me OF your sacrifices.
It is very bad taste"
Sacrifices! Who spoke of sacrifices d?
I simply meant, what more could any
man do than l have done ?"
II do not know, my dear. that it was so
very much that you did. You were tired
OF your English wife; what we are tired of
it does not cost much to renOunce, and
some people do say that it was rather your
wife who renounced you than you your
wife"
"That is utterly untre."
'ltmav be-" said Beatrice Soria with q
gesture of entire indifference. 81 sup
pose YOU quarreled. We will not quarrel,
my dear; it is the sorriest and the mean
est grave that love can ever find"
She passed her hand lightly over his
hair as she spoke, with something which
was compassionate anu ulOuILlluI III lLe
lingering caress.
'Now 90 and join those dancers and
look happy. l cannot have my people
think l make you otherwise than happy.
In truth, you will never be happy very
long, for YOU are life's spOilt child"
He kissed with passionate fervor the
whiteness of her arm as it was near his
lips.
"You have made me as happy as a god
this whole long year,"
''Then it should seem a very short year
to you" she said with her low sweet
smile, and left him to join her guests.
His eyes followed her with worship.
Alone for her had he ever approached that
strength and constancy of passion which
is the love of the poets. 1t was foreign to
his temperament, and i'll akin to all his
inconstant habits, but it had been illumin-
ed in him for her. A vague and painful
sense perpetually haunted him that though
he again possessed her he did not again
possess her soul; that though he had re-
newed his position toward her, he was
powerless to regain over her that vital
ascendency which he had once owned
and had waltonly thrown away; and this
doubt increased the influence she had
upon him by the perpetual consciousness
which he felt of uncertainty and inequal-
ity.
When he had had power to make her
absolute wretchedness. to be her arbiter of
fate, to cause her tortures by days abb