The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1910-08-05
(Continued.)


 I did not accept your fathers hos pitality-that is, why refused food | and drink when I visited your house | that night of the concert?"
 'I suppose because you were not hungry, and as you said, you never drink intoxicants,'' she said, utter l ing the first answer that came to her | lips.
 "No, it was not that. I know, too, that my action in refusing his cigars was rude. Even I know enough of l your English laws of hospitality for that. I wanted to walk back with YOU to tell you about this. Shall I tell you?"
 .I never thought of rudeness. T thought you meant what you said. Tell me, if you wish" a .I refused because I thought you resented my presence. Forgive me if I misinterpreted your face. You looked as though you were angry at what I said"
 "I am exceedingly sorry if any act 1 or look of mine gave pain to guest l in my fathers house. Nothing could ! be further from my wishes. Neither did I interpret your refusal to ac- cept what was offered in that light"
 And yet you grew pale when I
 refused to take whiskey." | Olive was silent.
 | 'eI will admit I should have done that under any circumstances" he | went on. There the Mohmmedans
 have much superiority over Christ | ians. Not that I am Mohamme- | dan-what religion I believe in is | Christian; but whiskey, no. The | depths into which it has dragged so | many are too deep. Nevertheless you grew pale as I mentioned.
 wonder why"
 l Still Olive did not speak. The l dead past was rising all around her | again, and yet, strange to say, she did | not think of Leicester with tender 1 ness. Rather, although the memor- | ies associated with him rose thick II | dim distance.
 | "I am glad I was mistaken" went | on Ricordo; "and may I also accept | that as your consent to my approach Il ing your father, with view to my
 becoming your neighbour"
 ..I am sure, if you decide to live
 here, I hope you will be happy" said
 Olive.
 sHThank you; you make my sun shine brightly" was the response.
 whether I shall live here much, I II cannot tell, for the East always claims the man upon whom 1t has
 cast it's spell. And it has cast it's spell upon me. Yes, some time l
 must claim your consent to tell you about my life there. I may, may l not?"
 Before she realized what she was doing, she had given her consent. The mans presence suggested mys1 teries which she desired to know. They had now turned down the hill. and were walking to Vale Lin den. She was almost sorry that their walk would so soon come to q an end, and she wished that he would tell her something of the past as they walked. But as they near ed the village Signor Ricordo became moody and silent, so silent that their
 walk became almost painful. When
 they came to the park gates, how ! ever, he spoke again.
 "1t is kind of you to have pity on a lonely man." he said, "aye, and one who is a stranger, grown old before ! his time.''
 "Old, signore % she said, with a laugh that was almost forced. "Yes, old, signorina. How old should you think?"
 She lifted her eyes to his face, and as she looked she felt a shiver pass through her.
 .I should not like to hazard a guess,'' she said.
 'sNo," he replied, 'I suppose not; and yet, would you believe it, I am but little older than you. As I told you when first saw you, I have been in hell; down in it's very depths. And it ages a man-yes, it ages him it gives him not years, but it gives
 him wisdom. Good-day, signorina. ' Olive felt strangely depressed as he parted from her, and she found ' herself wondering at many things he
 said. Indeed, he was in her ! thoughts during the rest of the day
 She was strangely interested in him < and yet she had kind of fear of
 him. He was different from the rest
 of her world, different from her fa- ther, different from Herbert Briar-
 field, different from any of the guests
 who had come to the house. IT
 many ways he reminded her of Lei cester, and yet from that day Lei i cester became more and more 9 a memory to her.
 A few days later she heard that
 Signor Ricordo had taken rooms al
 Linden Manor Farm, a rather fine 1 cid house, occupied by a farmer by