The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1908-04-29

mere and follow you" remarks Burton.
After giving these directions, the
American, desperately fatigued and
nightly sleepy, joys his steed in the
direction of lie Rouse, 20 miles to the
northwest. In the moonlight, the dis
tracted man, though he dismounts
often, discovers no cyclamen flowers
lying in the road. But he doggedly
keeps, on, hoping to find some of the
flowers that may indicate he is follow
ing Marina
Its the only clew we have row to
Marina, and it may lead me to Cipri-
ano," he mutters, as he struggles to
keep himself in the saddle
Finally, arriving at Belgodere in the
early morning and learning from the
innkeeper that no carriage has passed
through, exhausted, worn out and dis
appointed, even Barnes succumbs to
nature. He has been 4S hours under
Roadway, 80 of these on horseback and
eight of them climbing precipices; and
despite despair and anxiety, sleep
claims him-the terrible sleep of utter
exhaustion.
1t is late when he opens his eyes
again and with start wonders where
he is. He looks over the brilliant
mountains, he sees the vines and only
a few miles away, the waters beside
which stands Isola Rosa. The inn
keeper says Breakfast, Signore," and
serves him with crabs and Holsters
from the Gulf of Florence Mine hosts
little daughter places bouquet of
wild flowers on the table. In it
CLEANS the red cyclamen. Barnes re.
members and orders fresh horse.
While this is being saddled he forces
himself to eat. "Anstruther has not
followed me- he reasons. "I'll have a
long ride to overtake him and when
we meet Cipriano Danella 1 want to be
fit-to kill" Mounting fresh steed
he gallops off. retracing his steps. all
the time in his heart one question:
Where is my stolen bride?"
The night before, Edwin, turning to
the east, begins to climb the awful hill
leading to the Morosaglia. A few min
utes after he has left the Corte road,
in the faint glow of the coming moon
light, he springs OFF his horse and
utters an exclamation of delight.
AS he pulls himself sailor fashion
into the saddle, he has branch
Of crimson flowers in his hand.
He is not certain even now that
they indicate Marina; though they
have fallen from no overhang-
ing bough, only beech and Larriccio
frs being near him, he knows cycla-
men flowers are very common in the
island, and the little barefooted boys
and girls sometimes carry them in
their hands.
In the group of hamlets on the hill.
sides called Morosaglia, Anstruther
does not pause.
But as he reaches the confines of
the village, the young husband starts
and his eyes, which fatigue had dulled
glisten with hope. Here are two paths,
a trail leading to the north, the other
and broader one pointing east toward
the Tuscan sea. Along the latter, eye
lamen branches have been dropped
several times in a short hundred yards
Their number is significant, they
have been strewn quite continuously
from the forks of the road. My dar-
ling's message to me-" murmurs An
struther and rides as hastily as his
tired though wiry little horse will take
him.
The branches of the understanding
posles he still encounters ON the trail
hurry him up hill and down HILL over
running mountain streams, through
wooded wales. Yet at least Nature
must have it's meed-despite all efforts
of the rider, his head droops and his
figure becomes lax in the saddle.
His steed with a whinny of joy al
most runs down into little valley and
drawing suddenly up before high
campanile stone building, Anstruther
falls off his horse into the arms of a
good Monk of the Convent of Piedi-
croce, who mutters; Thank the
Saints, you got here alive in time to
drink the water of Orezza." For An
struther's appearance between fear
full fatigue and racking anxiety is now
that of man nigh onto death.
The hospitable friars put the invalid
to bed and at high noon the next day
the invalid, after another glass or two
of the famous youth-giving Orezza wa
ter, which here springs bubbling from
the earth, eats the MONDAY meal the
good friars set before him. RISES gives
them the blessing of strong man and
hurries on.
AS he gallops from the little hamlet,
some cyclamen branches greet him, he
urges on his steed.
And what ride it is, under the
great trees of La Castagniccia, where
chestnuts big as eggs drop upon him,
the giant chestnuts that fed Paoli's
patriot army, the bread of Corsica,
each dozen trees being peasant maid.
ems marriage dover.
But though the woods are all chest.
nuts, Edwin still sees in his road cycla-
men branches, slightly withered now,
their fragrance fading, and hope