The Dickinson press., 1894-12-29

daughter. came to see her.
She was married now, and q sober,
matron. with a baby to look at
ter. 1t was ate, and the evening had
fallen dark and chill. Genna was sit
ting by the fire, busy plating the long
pale wisps Of straw that lay beside her.
She looked up with some surprise at
her visitor.
us that you, Tercsina?' she said.
"You arc welcome. 1t is long since I
have seen you"
Eyes; l have little enough time for a
gossip with a neighbor, or a run down
to the market now" said the plump,
brown-faced woman. seating herself
by the fire. "But I have come up to-
night to tell you some news. Gcnna.
You " go to town nOw-yOu hear
nothing. and this may interest YOU"
What is it:' She spoke quietly,
but her thin cheeks turned paler, her
hands trcmblcd Il little, and the plaits
Of straw grew slightly uneven under
the movement of those shaken fingers.
"a man has come from Rome to-
day to see my people on business, and
| heard what he was saying of the
doinss of the great city yondcr. They
talk Of nothing else save n new artist
and his painting SO DIM says. He las
painted Il woman. She is lovely-evcry
n is full of it. They flock in crowds
to see the picture, and some great noble
has bought it for the palace. Genna,
l thought suppose it should be Mia,
and the painter
The straw fell from Gcnna's hands.
She turned tiercely on the woman.
'WM you never be silent on that SUBJ
ject" she said. II have told you /
never wish to hear her name-most Of
all from lips to whom her shame is n
jest and Il by-word."
Every WE'LL" said Tcrcsina,, offended
at this rough reception of her news, II
! will tell you no more, though the best
Of the tale remains. Perhaps Mia is
no shame to you after all; perhaps She
has done better for herself than we all
believed. and is safely married, and
a great lady to boot. But then you do
not care. Why do l trouble to tell you
anything Of her?'
"Nay. dear Tcrcsina," cried Gcnna,
imploringly, forgive me! l was rough
and rude. but indeed it hurts me that
tongues should speak lightly of Nita-
my little Nita whom I nurScd from her
b%abyllOOd, and loved as l loved
another earthly thing. oh. my dear,
il your news be good, tell me-tell me.
My heart is hungry for a word of the
child, the child whom for three long,
weary years l have never secn."
The intense anguish and longing of
her voice softcned the offended wom-
an. She took her seat once more.
WELL" she said. ''of course it is for
your sake l tried to learn as much rs
I could. and from what l hear it is the
wife Of a rich noble who is making
such n sensation by her beauty, and
the description of her is very like
Nita."
"Well?" said Genna, hurriedl.y.
Does not that please you" asked the
woman in wonder. Fancy Mia a
great lady. With wealth and honor and
jewels and fine drcsses-Nita. who used
to run bare-headed through the fields.
and was the widest and sauciest girl
on the whole country-side!w
"Nita, who was your friend" inter-
rupted Genna h%aughtily. land whom
you were the first to speak ill Of"
ut looked SO bad,' said Teresina, n
little shame-faccd at the rcbukc. But
I should be heartily glad if this were
true. Dear me; why, l should like to
go to Rome on purpose to see her. 1t
would be so fine! Would she speak
to us, think you?"
But Genna was silent. Her thoughts
were busy, and full of a great wonder,
an intense thankfulncss. Nita's faith
lessness was still an unalterable fact,
but still, to know that she was safe,
happy, hOnOred-that was indeed COM
fort.
Seeing how quiet and absorbed she
was, Teresi!a soon rose and took leave
of her. Genna was ever Il dull COM
panion-tnat she knew Of Old-sO she
went away to her own home, and re-
| lieved her mind by incessant chatter
to her patient husband as she gave
him his supper.
Meanwhile Genna sat on by the fire.
| light, her straw Plating forgotten, her
busy hands idle for once. ut is no
better after ALL" she said at last. "POor
or forsaken, she would have come back
to me; great, rich, honored, she will
forget. 1t is as If she were dead!"
Yet those few words Of Teresina's
haunted her the long night through.
"To go to Rome-to see her-to know
If this were tr;ie?"
With bent head. with tight-clasped
fingers, with batcd %breath-so she sat
and thought-tllought, while her pa
tent eyes grew dim with the slow
tears that filled them, and rolled down
her worn, thin cheeks.
AS the hours passed, and the night
deepened, SO did a resolve that those
careless words had first awakened in
her mind. She looked at the old, ia.
miliar, quiet place around which the
| fibres of her heart had tWincd them.
selves, making every homely article
from the wooden settle where her
mother had been wont to sit, to the
copper pans, whose brightness was
so dear to her houscwifely eyes-al
precious and dear alike.
II must go to Romc,' she said. and
sighed unconsciously as she said it
The idea was terrible, yet not so ter
rible as it had seemed once. Her at
fec:ions were rooted in the home Of
her birth. but yet a great longing t
gaze once more upon her sisters face
took possession of her. She must teal
herself away. and then
II will not stay. I will return" she
said, half aloud, as though in cxplana
ton of her resolve. as her gaze dwell,
yearningly, tenderly, on every n o,
the familiar and inanimate objects
around; and yet, even while she made
the promise, n dim foreboding crep
into her heart-a fear that she could
not and dared not analyZe.
In the morning she gave the plac,
into the charge of the peasant whit
worked on the farm now, and bad,
him bring his wife, and stay in til,
house during her absence. Then, with
out a word to any n else, she Sc
out for Rome.