The Neihart herald. [volume] (Neihart, Mont.) 1890-1901, 1900-08-11
and whisper, Beloved Pietro. thea art

n whisper, Beloved Pietro, thea art
a god"
For a year now he had not heard
from her.
"She must be dead" he thought at
times. IF she were alive she could
not but feel the power of my love,
though the ocean lies between us"
But, like all lovers, he was selfish and
sensitive, and he had sworn on his
honor never to write to her again; and
he could picture her often making love
to Marcello and Valentino, and others
in the vineyards. as she had made love
to him.
A second summer Of silence came,
and Pietro wandered out into the coun'
try and walked among the wood ferns,
crushing them to his breast with his
passionate love of beauty. He wouId
go and spend days under the sky, beg
ging for food as he went. He could
not work. He was stepped, saturated
overcome by the accumulated longing
wiVIin him. The army of Laughing
Fairies and Dominican Monks stood on
their shelves, a neglected array, un-
busted and unsold.
The citizens Of Little Italy" forgot
his very existence. When he did not
appear they concluded that he had
returned to Italy for a time, and they
did not even care to inquire. One day
a little, old woman in shabby black,
with a coarse veil tied around her
head so that her face was wholly con-
cealed, came to Little Italy" and in
CURED for Pietro. She could speak no
English, and she seemed greatly agi-
tatei. The women were consumed with
curiosity, and led her willingly to
PietrO's little workshop. Her terror
was pltiable when she found that Pie
tro had gone and had not been seen
for a month. She called on her saints
in the calendar to help her, and then
on death to relieve her, and she flung
herself on Pietro's couch and moaned
for hours. She barred the door and
covered the window SO that the Curl
Gus ones could not watch her from
without, and she herself only emerged
when she wanted to buy food.
II was some days after this occur
renee that Pietro, walking in the u
try, saw a vision of his Beatricia,
stretching out her arms to him and
crying to him in a sad, distressed way.
The vision was so distinct that for a
moment he thought it was real.
She is dying" he cried to the sky,
"and she is sorry and would ask my
forgiveness, and | cannot go to her.
Oh, God of the poor, | cannot go!"
1t made such d powerful impression
upon his mind that he turned about
Immediately and began to retrace his
way back to the city and to his shop.
When he reached Little Italy" a doz-
en- eager men and women rushed upon
him, seized him bodily, and dragged
him toward his abode.
THY mother, thine old mother. is
here" they screamed. "Ungrateful fell
low, She is alone and awaiting thee"
For the first time in many months
Pictro smiled.
My mother" he whispered, is with
the saints and happy. What canst
thou mean?"
Go, look for thyself, half-witted
~sluggard and beggar," they bawled
out. And they pushed him toward the
door.
The little old woman who had i'm
prisOned herself within caught the
, shouts and the voice of Pietro, and
her heart gave one wild bound, and
she stood trembling at the door, ready
to fling it open.
Pietro stepped cautiously and touch
ed the handle. He did not know whom
he might encounter, so his advance
was timid. AS the door swung back
he gazed stupidity for a moment; then
a cry of joy and pain broke from his
lips as he laid his hand on his heart
to still it's awful beating.
"Beatricia, my beloved! Is it thou?"
he gasped. "Dost thou love me?"
"Madly, Pietro,"
Thou didst come to find me, Beatri-
cia?"
Thou. alone"
Thou hast come. to stay, Beatricia?'
49, -