The Press., 1893-09-28

The guest was SpeaklnS very earnestly in a low voice in Italian. and his audi ence listened with evident difference.
 Pat heard distinctly Carlotta's name. Who can blame him for lingering just moment to be doubly sure he was not mistaken?
 But no, he heard it again. and then something about money-''a thousand dollars"-and the mother and father of the girl smiled, and while they exchanged glances nodded assent.
 For the first time since he had been a teetotaler Pat staggered as he walked to the staircase, and. when he reached his attic room he sank into his chair, trem- bling as if an ague possessed him.
 He was bewildered as much at his own sensations as at that which had pro- duced them What did it mean? It was bad enough, but why were cold chills running all over him? Why did he think of the night he heard of his mothers death? Why was he sobbing before he could control himself?
 Oh, Patrick Rooney, is it possible that you are in love?
 It was even so, and the sudden revela- tion of the truth to himself seemed to seize and shake him to the foundations of his being.
 The exquisite agony of the first dis covery soon spent itself in emotion, but all night long he sat as one dazed, lost in wonder. bewildered.
 CHAPTER II.
 When at last the day broke, when the explaining suns rays lifted the veil that the moonlight imposes, and instead of shadows Pat began to see things clearly, he cast his eyes about him as if to reas- sure himself and get his bearings, Ev- erything in his meager apartment seemed to hold some association with the child Cariotta. Hanging upon the wall were the little worn red shoes, his first gift to her, bearing yet the impress of her baby feet. Within the lid of his big trunk open before him swung the tiny brass hook he had placed there so that she might safely fasten herself within, and hiding here until the storm was over she had escaped many whipping from her mother. A row of auger holes along the back, running the trunk, had further fit ted it for her safe retreat. And she had never told. She had always been rare child.
 Every picture summoned by the asso- citations was charmingly pretty, and when finally he cast his eyes down upon him. self-upon his toll stained garments, his rough hands, his one untidy shoe-he felt as if he were blushing at sense of his utter unftness for her.
 Seizing his mirror, triangular frag. ment, he closely scrutinized his unshav- en face and unkempt hair, and as he laid the glass down he turned his vision in- ward and backward upon the years of his life at the Di Carlos and before. He thought of Carlotta when first he saw sweetened and cheered his life ever since he had known her.
 She and this sacred love that had come to him were holy things. but what should he do with them-he, poor, miserable, penniless. clumsy old cripple? It was a terrible. terrible folly this love. and yet, despite the hopelessness of it, despite the vividly lulicrous view of it which his Irish perception afforded. he felt transported by it into state of painful ecstasy What should he do with himself? Where go?
 For one thing he must bathe and shave and cast off these ugly. dusty garments The sacred thing that had come to him required this much of him.
 It was late in the morning before his toilet was complete. His ordinary hur; ried ablutions flor dacency's sake were performed with reference to the world Today his own consciousness demanded that he should be clean. Even his old wooden leg received it's first baptism. the rite being applied with soft soap and a scrubbing brush. The hard old oak, pol ished from long use, shone like the Di Carlo biscuit board, and it must be un- derstood that the signora was of the clean sort, unfortunately in the minority among her class.
 Pat had just readjusted his peg with new leather straps when two little black eyes appeared above the stairway.
 .Mr. Pat, dey got colored lady down stairs what want her shoes mend" It was the boy Pasquale, and he was all the Way uD now