San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1925-08-23

'eFather Giovanni awaits" the
friar said, his fat face very
solemn. blessing upon you, my
children"
Tony's lips dried suddenly.
Gust IA moment"-he stam-
mered slightly, but managed to
keep his voice calm. "Will you
please tell US what-what these
customs are?" I
Father Giovanni smiled pater-
nally.
sit is but a peasant custom, but
many centuries DID," he said. SIN
Corsica and other of the islands
YOU will find it. In the old days
it was the custom for young
man to run away with the woman
he loved to the other side of the
island, where the priest would
unite them. Today, the lovers of
San MARITIME come to Tagliari,
and are sent upon their way by
wandering frairs, and sheltered in
the hostels. 1t was thus that /
knew, some hours since, that you
were coming to me. For what
other purpose would you and the
maiden walk across the rough
paths to Tagliari?"
"Tony" faltered Panchita.
"Oh, forgive me, Tony! l did not
know. You t'ink 1 catch your
"You're-you're compromised.
little girl, now" he said with
crooked smile. SIN fact-both of
us"
"Com' away, Tony" whispered
Panchita.
She was shivering. Tony touched
her comfortingly. A queer thought
passed through him. What if he
. did indeed marry this little peasant
dancing-girl who had a happy-go-
lucky soul like his own? Men
sometimes did marry from impulse
men, who in deliberate love al
ways came a cropper, as he HIM
self had done.
. LET him marry US, Panchita,"
he said unsteadily.
A tremor passed through Pan
chita's rigid body. She turned
with bright, pious eyes.
'For the pity, eh, Tony?" she
said in the husky contralto that
came to her in moments of pain
and passion. Because am COM
promised, Ell? Poor liz Panchita
wit the broken reputation! All,
no, | will not marry you, Tony, for
all your good-man's pity. l am
content; Judy is your woman. I.
will not! ! will not, Tonyp
A sob boke in Panchita's throat.
Without another word she turned
blindly and ran like the wind out
of the gateway of the monastery.
Tony Buckenham barely waited
to stammer apologies to Father
Giovanni before he himself fol-
lowed Panchita hastily out of the
courtyard of the monastery. When
he reached the sleepy street of the
village, she was nowhere to be
seen. In the garden of a house
among the expresses he thouoht he
saw the fiutter of skirt for an
instant. But before he had crossed
the whitewashed bridge, it had
gone.
She had vanished utterly. No
man or woman in Tagliari APP
peared to have seen her. Wher-
ever she had gone she had quilted
the village. Before nightfall the
sense of abandonment had wiped
out all the gipsy-humor from
Tony BuckenhaIn's SOUL. and left
him sullen and FIJI of sClf-com-
passion.
1t was late in the forenoon next
day before he could find galera
to take him upon his journey. He
drove alone, and, like Jehu, fur
iously once he had left the village
behind. The road, quivering in its
limpid glare of sunlight, was de-
serted. But suddenly, where an
olive-grove threw cool shade, ia
miliar CLINT of color on the ribbon
of brown made Tony's blood
bound with an eagerness that half
dismayed him. He leaped to his
feet in the light, swaying carriage
and waved his whip. AS he did so,
the slim figure ahead hesitated,
and then vanished among the
olives.
Tony Buckle nham's mouth
closed tightly. The lash fell upon
the flanks of the mule with a hiss
that sent the animal leaping for
ward Tony jumped down at the
point where Panchita had disap-
peared, without stopping the
carriage.
"Panchitap' he called.
There was no answer. But deep
in the twilight of the olives a
CLEAN of a blue dress flashed.
With a strange feeling Of panic at
the thought of losing his gypsy
companion again, Buckenham
plunged into the grove, and was
running between the aisles of
twisted trunks and through the
piled driftage of leaves. In a
bank of breast-high bracken he
lost her, but saw the CLEAN of her
again, like will-o'- the-wisp, in a
dark hollow. He crashed head
long down to her as she turned.