Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-09-04

he said. with a Renaissance of the opera,
| and half smile.
YES" she said, little scornfully, "but
| it means Carlotta-Charlotte. you know
| Some girls call me Charley" she added,
hurredly.
Il see-Cara-or Carlotta Franti"
To his surprise, she burst into a peal of
| laughter
4 reckon not yet Franti is Marks
name, not mine. Mine is Murano-Car-
lotta Murano. Goodbye" She moved
| away. then stopped suddenly and said:
| I'm comm again-some time when the
| thing is working and, with a nod of her
| head. away. He looked after her;
| could see the outlines of her youthful fig
ure in her slim cotton gown-limp and
clinging in the damp sea air, and the sud
den revelation of her bare ankles thrust
stockingless into canvas shoes.
He went back into his cabin, when
presently his attention was engrossed by
an incoming vessel. He made the signals
half expecting, almost hoping that the
girl would return to watch him. But her
figure was already lost in the sand dunes.
Yet he fanced he still heard the echoes of
her voice and his own in this cabin which
had SO long been dumb and voiceless, and
he now started at every sound. For the
first time he became aware of the dreadful
disorder and urtidiness of it's invaded prf-
vacy. He could scarcely believe he had
been living with his stove. his bed and
cooking utensils all in one corner of the
bsrnJike ROOM and he began to put them
strongly suggestive of mis- convict exper-
fence. He rolled up mis- blankets into
hard cylinder at the head of his cot. He
scraped out his kettles and saucepans,
and even washed down the foor-after-
ward sprinkling on 1t clean. dry sand, hot
with the monday sunshine, on its half
dried boards. In arranging these domestic
details he had to change the position of
little mirror, and. gaacing at it for the
first time in many days, he was dissatisfied
with his Struggling beard-grown curing his
voyage from Australia-an1, although he
had retained it as disg Lise, he at once
shaved it off, leaving only a mustache End
revealing face from which a healthier
life and out-of-door existence had removed
the last trace of vice and dissipation. But
he did not know it.
All the next day he thought Of his fair
visitor, and found himself often repeating
her odd remark that she was mot that
kind OF girl,-with a smile that was alter
nateiy significant or vacant. Evidently she
could take care of herself, he thought, al
Though ner very good looks, no doubt. had
exposed her to the rule attentions of fish
eimen or the common drift of San Fran
cisco wharves Perhaps this why her
parents brought her here. When the day
passed and she came not, he began to
vaguely wonde-- if he had been rude to her
Perhaps he had taken ner simple remark
100 seriously; perhaps she had expected he
would only laugh. and had found MIN dull
ana stupid. Perhaps he had thrown away
an opportunity. An opportunity for what?
~ itIcW HIS Oiu lie ana n2pltS! NO, no.
The horrors of his recent Imprisonment and
escape were still too fresh in his memory;
he was not safe yet. Then he wondered if
he mad not grown spiritless and pgeon-liv-
eIed in his solitude and loneliness. The
next day he searched for her with his
glass and saw her playing with one of the
children on the beach-a very picture of
child or nymphlike innocelce. Perhaps it
was because she was not that kind of
girl that she had attracted him. He
laughed bitterly. Yes; that was very fun
ny; he, an escaped convict Drawn toward
honest, simple innocence. Yet he knew--he
was positive-he had not thought of any il
when he spoke tc her. He took a singular
ridiculous pride in and credit to himself
Tor that He repeated it necessarily to
himself. Then what made her angry?
Himself, The devil! Did lie carry, then the
record Of his past life forever in his face
in his speech-in his manner? The thought
made him sullen. The next day he would
not look toward the shore; it was wonder
ful what excitement and satisfaction he
got out of that strange act of sef-denial: it
made the day seem full that had been so
vacant before yet he could not tell why or
wherefore. He felt injured. but ne rather
liked 1t. Yet in the night he was struck
with the idea that she might have gone
back to San Francisco and he iay awake
longing for the morning light to satisfy
him. Yet when the fog cleared and from
a nearer point, behind sand dune he dis