Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1898-01-20

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! one, and is apt to be affected by
trif1es. But now, mia bella, farewell
until tomorrow tomorrow
when 1 shall call you mine indeed"
A warm flush tinted her cheeks; she
came to me where l stood, and
leaned against me.
Shall I not see you again till we
meet in the church," she inquired,
with a becoming baskfulness.
No. l will leave you this last day
of your brief widowhcod alone. 1t is
not well that l should obtrude myself
upon your thughts or prayers. Stay!"
and l caught her hand and toyed with
! the flower in my button-hole. 81 see
you still wear your former wedding
ring. May l take it OFF,"
Certainly" And she smiled while
I deity drew off the plain gold circlet
1 had place there nearly four years
since
| will you let me keep it?''
/ eff you like. 1 would rather not
see it again.
You shall not" l answered, as
slipped it into my pocket
1T will be replaced by new one
tomorrow-one that 1 hope may be
the symbol of more joy to you than
this has BEEN
And as her eyes turned to- my face
| in all their melting, perfidious Ian
guor, conquered my hatred of her by
a strong effort, and stopped and
kissed her. Had | yielded to my real
impulses l would have crushed her
cruelty in my arms, and bruised her
delicate flesh with the brutal ferocity
of caresses born of bitterest loathing,
not love. But no sign Of my aver
sion escaped me-all she saw was her
elderly looking admirer, with his
smile, and almost parental tender
ness; and she judged him merely as
calmly courteous demeanor, chill
An influential gentleman of good
position and unlimited income, who
was about to make her one of the
most envied women in all Italy.
The fugitive resemblance she traced
in me to her dead" husband was
certainly attributed by her to a purely
accidental likeness common to many
persons in this world, where every
man, they say, has his double, and
for that matter every woman also.
Who does not remember the touching
surprise of Heinrich Heine when, on
Wis ting the picture gallery of the
Palazzo Durazzo in Genoa, he was
brought face to face with the portrait,
as he thought, of dead woman he
had loved-"Maria la morte." 1t mat
tered not to him that the picture was
very old, that it had been painted
by Giorgio Barbareli centuries before
his Maria" could have lived; he
simply declares: ''Il est vraiment d.
une resemblance admirable, ressem-
blant jusqu' au silence de la mort!'
! Such likenesses are common enough,
and my wife, though my resemblance
to myself troubled her little, was
very far from imagining the real
truth of the matter, as indeed how
!
and knowing, as far as anything can
be known, her husband to be dead
and fast buried, is likely to accept
even the idea of his possible escape
from the tomb! Not one!'-else the
Idisconsolate widows would indeed have
reason to be more inconsolable than
they appeari
When l left her that morning I
found Andrea Luziani waiting for me
at my hotel. He was seated in the
outer entrance hall; I babe him fol-
low me into my private salon. He did
so. Abashed at the magnificence of
the apartment, he paused at the door
way, and stood, red cap in hand, hest
tating, though with an amiab1e smile
ON his sunburned merry counte-
nance
Come in, amico," 1 said, with an
inviting gesture, ''and sit down. = All
this tawdry show of velvet and gild-
ing must seem common to your eyes,
that have rested so long on the spark
ing pomp of the foaming waves, the
glorious blue curtain of the sky, and
the sheeny white of the sails Of the
Laura cleaning in the gold of the
sun. Would 1 could live such life
as yours, Andrea!-there is nothing
better under the width Of heaven
The poetical temperament of the
Sicilian was caught and fired by my
words. He at once forgot the splen-
did appurtenances of wealth and the
costly luxuries that surrounded him;
he advanced without embarrassment,
and seated himself on velvet and gold
clair with as much ease as though it
were a coil of rough rope on board the
Laura
You say truly, eccellenza,'' he said,
with a CLEAN of his white teeth
through his jet-black mustache, while
his warm southern eyes flashed fire,
there is nothing sweeter than the life
OF the marinaro. And truly there are
many who say to me, All, ah! Andre!
buon AMIGO, the time comes when you
will wed, and the home where the wife
and children sit will seem better
thing to you than the caprice of the
wind and waves But I-see you'll
know otherwise. The woman L wed
must love the sea; she must have the |
fearless eyes that can look Gods 4
storms in the face-her tender words !
must ring out all the more clearly
for the sound Of the bubbling waves