Page:The Granite Monthly Volume 8.djvu/273

 Stranger than Fiction.

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��piece of furniture, made of woven branches of dark wood, half lounge, half chair, over which was thrown a rich crimson shawl, and upon that shawl, in almost the precise attitude of that picture lay the figure of the woman I had gone mad for love of! I could never tell how long I stood there gazing at her, but my old prayer went up, that she might move, might open those eyes, which I felt must be as beautiful as the rest of her beautiful person.

At last my prayer was answered, for the fair hands stirred upon the snow- clad bosom, the breath came quick and gasping, the great midnight eyes were gazing into mine, and a fluttering cry escaped the rosy hps. The excitement had been too much, and with a sigh, " At last, at last ! " I fell fainting at her feet.

When I came to I was in the arms of my keeper ; several tourists were look- ing on in pitying amazement, and the occupant of the chair was gone, if she had ever been there ; not a vestige re- mained but the bare rustic chair itself.

As we turned to leave the room, my foot struck something ; I stooped and picked up a book, which I put in my pocket without remark. Later I looked it through. It was an Italian love story, and on the fly leaf I read the name " Carina Russino."

As the name passed my lips a thrill of awe, strange, superstitious awe, coursed through my whole being, and I put the book away silently, making no mention of it to any one.

I was in a high fever the next day, and was not allowed to rise ; indeed, the doctor was called, and entire rest and quiet was prescribed. I demanded books, and they were not denied, then grown bold I asked for pencil and board, and lying there I drew the scene of yesterday even to the book upon

��her lap, which I then remembered see- ing there.

I lay in a half doze, when I was aroused by the rustling of the portiere which di- vided my room, and raising my eyes, I beheld Elinor Travers standing holding aside the heavy^ curtain. She was dressed in that same light-blue satin, wore the same rich veil over her abund- ant black hair, but her beautiful eyes glowed with a living light, and a soft, sweet smile parted the ruby lips. I held out my arms imploringly, and cried :

"Come to me, my love. Oh, come to me. Do not leave me again. I have prayed for you so long, so long," but the curtain fell, and I was again alone, no, not alone, for my excited voice brought my attendant, who soothed me to the best of his ability. I was very much like an ailing child in those days, Harold, and the strange mystery, I felt was killing me. But one day, as I sat at my open window, enjoying the fresh breeze which had sprung up, with m.y friendly keeper reading to me, suddenly a female figure darted down a path leading to a summer house in the gar- den. Half way down the garden she stopped, and turning began to throw kisses to some one on about the same level as I was.

I turned to my companion, and grasping him fiercely by the arm, I whispered :

" Is there a woman dressed in blue in yonder garden path? "

He looked at me in astonishment, I suppose wondering what phase my mad- ness would take on next, but he an- swered politely enough :

" Certainly, sir. That is Signorina Carina Russino, granddaughter of one of the richest men in Florence."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

" She is a great beauty and belle, and

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