The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1905-01-11

/ 0~AS
had been sent with them fluttered to
the floor "Mr. John Harrison Thomp-
SON. it read, as if in silent appeal for
the discarded one. Something in the
injustice of sending Thompson's rose
as an answer to Caspar arrested her,
They had been meant to convey the
same message of undying love to her.
Poor Jack" she whispered. Then rails
Ing her eyes to the window where the
soft moonlight streamed over the floor,
1T was just such night that THAT he
I" She did not dare to finish the
thought for fear the memory of that
night would break down her dutiful
resolve. Still, just for the sake of the
argument, she unused, suppose that she
mad chosen Jack. Her parents, she
knew, would never hear to such a
thing, but suppose that, as Jack had
planned, they had run away. Little
rills and thrills of excitement quiv..
cred through her frame at the mere
fancy. 1t had all been so delicious to
plan! Then, as the wife of an Ameri-
can signore, she would live in the
American part of the town, meet Amer.
lean people, travel, perhaps, over the
great American continent, and come in
time to be herself almost American.
That had been her dearest dream.
Turning to light another gas jet, she
struck match on the sole of her
slipper--a thing no well-conducted
Italian girl would ever think of do
ing, but having once seen it done on
the stage, she deemed it a national
habit.
Another tap at the door. els the
signorina's note ready?" asked AL
fredo..
She had forgotten all about her an
swer in her reverie.
I'm a minute, Alfredo" she an
swerd again, as she cast about for
some token for Thompson. She could
not bring herself to pen the cruel
words, for he had believed so conf
IDENTIFY in her. She might take one OF
the stiff, scentless white things she
had in her hair to send him. She
laughed a hard little laugh at the
mockery of exchanging their flowers.
He could not fail to understand it's
meaning. 1t would be the admission
Of the white feather, and the cold.
scentless thing would tell him as well
as any words that her love for him was
dead. Well, she would choose as small a
one as she could to make the hurt as
small as possible. Poor Jack! She
would probably never see him again,
he would some day forget her and
marry some one else, but she would
always go on loving him because she
could not help it.
"Natalia, Natalia!" came the signo-
ra's voice from the hall.
I'm minute" she answered ner-
vously ut must be ten O'clock"
Run every step of the way, Alfre-
do" she commanded the stiff old serv-
ant, as if it We're through his fault that
she was late, sit is almost ten now, and
you must not be late"
ooh, my dear daughter" the little
signora murmured, weeping anew at
the sight of Caspar's camellias, this
time for joy, Il knew all the time that
you would make the right choice. You
are too much your mothers own
daughter not to see the right course
at last" And drawing her tall daugh-
ters face down to level with her own,
she kissed her tenderly.
The old signore also drew her aside,
and whispered: II am glad to forgive
all the past anxiety your foolishness
has given us, in my content at knowing
you have at last decided, and so wise
w."
The girls eyes beamed with happi-
ness all evening. Not trace of the
storm-clouds that had darkened her
eyes few hours before was left The
guests that came anticipating new rev.
Citations of the rumored scene were
amazed to receive the announcement
of the betrothal of Natalia to her IA
theirs friend, Caspar.
ut must have been mistake" they
began to whisper in disappointed tones
Natalia, although she felt battery
of curious eyes always upon her, re-
ceived the showers of felicitat;on
that were bestowed upon her. and was
correspondingly light-hearted ara hap
Ply. And when the guests had at last
departed, she kissed her parents fond
ly and tripped gayly off to bed. Fling
ing herself down by the window she
gave herself up to the JOY OF the mo-
ment-the JOY of well-doing and the
wholesome, happy consciousness of
having done what was right and being
restored to the favor of her dear par
ents. The willful, wicked girl who had
stood at the same window only a few
hours before seemed a trivial, I'M
worthy thing compared with this good,
dutiful daughter
MY love is like red, red rose!"
Had she slept, and was she dream
ing? Was she to be haunted all her
life by the echo of Jacks whistle?
Again the sound, guarded and low,
but clear, insistent, and compelling.
The window opened softly. ooh,
Jack, go away" timid little voice
pleaded. I'm going to marry Caspar."
Her voice grew firmer as she repeated