An Old Story [pp. 133-134]

Going down to breakfast, he found a hurried pearance, and asked him after his health. He renote (who had brought it he could not learn) scrawled marked that he had been traveling a good deal; that
on a bit of soiled paper, of which this is a translation: he felt tired and worn, and needed rest. This time
We have been betrayed. I am forced to sus- he found a number of his countrymen and many
" We have been betrayed. I am forced to sus-n
* 1 T *1... ~~~~Englishmen in Venice, most of whom he was intro pect either Libittina or my cousin. My parents dis- Englishmen in Venice, most of whom he was intro A.ct s r.duced to and got well acquainted with. They spent
covered my flight. One of their secret agents must g qy spn
have come on the same train with us. I was ar- their evenings in the Piazza, of course; and one night
nave come on the same train with us. I was ar-''
a bluff New-Yorker, a middle-aged man of the
rested fifteen minutes after I had parted with you. ld wore ilea d an h
world, who had sassed half his life abroad, and who
I cannot tell you more now. I send this by stealth, w r, oe a Bli, and h o
' knew Paris, Rome, Vienna, Berlin, and the other
hoping it may reach you. Everything is uncertain...
atthoings ma h nou seekytoind is uncer - capitals intimately, was talking very egotistically but
at this moment. Do not seek to find me; it is use-. a
'.. intelligently about Venice. He ventured the reless. Pray for my deliverance, and may the Virgin m at ene ete t r e
keep you ISOTTA." mark that he knew something of all its prominent
~keep you ~! I~~so-TA." families, and of the tricks and devices which its peo The note, which bore no date, rather darkened ple put off upon strangers. "One of these," he conthan cleared the mystery. He applied to the police. tinued, "is to pretend to be what they are not, and
They knew nothing of the affair; they supposed by their pretense to dupe greenhorns. Adventurers
the girl had been carried back to Venice, or, still frequently play this game. I remember a devilish
more probably, had been shut up in a convent. shrewd, accomplished, and pretty woman, who has
Some of the old Venetian families were so very proud been in this business for ten years. She looks very
that they would kill their daughters before they young, though she must be over thirty. She is a Vewould permit them to make a misalliance. The netian by birth; but she has lived all over Europe.
police evidently did not quite believe his story, par- She has duped dozens of men, and, in the end, has
ticularly the part referring to the intended mar- robbed every one of them. She is sharper than
riage. But he was obliged to content himself with lightning. She has several aliases; but one of her
their absence of information, and, though he staid favorite names is Isotta Contarini."
a month in Milan, he could learn nothing more. "You are a liar and a scoundrel!" exclaimed
At the end of that time he went back to Venice, Ashley, leaping from his seat.
believing that there he must gain some intelligence The New-Yorker looked at him in amazement
of the Contarini. He deemed silence his wisest for a moment, and was on the point of resenting the
course, fearing if he instituted inquiry that her par- insult, when he remarked, quietly:
ents might take new alarm, and secure her still "Oh, yes, I see: you're drunk, my dear boy."
more firmly. "I will stay in Venice until I learn He had reason to think so. No sooner had Ashsomething about her," he said, "if I have to wait ley spoken than he turned deadly pale, and sank
all my life." back into his chair, dazed, bewildered, helpless.
At the Barbesi he met two of his classmates who Clifford Ashley had learned the first worldly lesspoke to one another of his pallid and emaciated ap- son of his life, and it was a bitter one.
AN OLD STOR Y.
BY MARY E. BRADLEY.
I NEVER meant to wrong you-this is true,
Although you wear a look of unbelief;
No wonder, either, knowing all you do,
But you may trust me, for my time is brief.
These are the last words I shall speak with you,
And then the evil tale of shame and grief
Comes to an ending. It will all be done
Before the shining of another sun.
There was a time you loved me, certainly How long ago it seems, and far away!
I wonder sometimes was it really me
You married, and brought home that summer-day,
That June day, sweet with song of bird and bee,
To the old house that fronted on the bay!
Ah! dear old house! I see the roses still
That used to clamber round the window-sill.
I smell the salt sea-wind that used to blow
Across the marshes; and I hear again
The lapping of the water to and fro,
The screaming of the gulls before the rain
Those little things that happened long ago;
To-night they all come back to me so plainI see the very boats that used to ride
Backward and forward on the shifting tide.
If this were all a dream, and I could wake
And find myself in that old house once more,
And smell the sea, and hear the plash and break
Of lapping waves along the level shore,
I should be glad-so glad! Nor would I make
The misery for you I made before.
Would I had dreamed it all, and could undo
The sorrow and the wrong I wrought for you!
I never meant it, though-you must believe
My dying words. I had no thought of sin,
No thought of anything but to retrieve
Some empty hours, some diversion winFor time hung heavy, and I used to grieve
More than you knew, for my own home and kin;
I missed, in that old house beside the sea,
So much, you know, that had been dear to me.
AXN OID STOR Y.
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