Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 June 1893 — Page 6

THE YELLOW MASK

BY WILKIE COLLINS.

Part Third. CHAPTER I.—Continued. Still Nanina made no answer. To have replied truthfully, she must have confessed that “the talk of the whole city” had no interest for her. The last news from Pisa that had appealed to her sympathies was the news of the Countess a’Ascoli’s death, and of Fabio’s departure to travel in foreign countries. Since then she had heard nothing more of him. She was as ignorant of his return to his native city as of all the reports connected with the Marquis’s ball. Something in her own heart —some feeling which she had neither the desire nor the capacity to analyze—had brought her back to Pisa, and to the old home which now connected itself with her tenderest recollections. Believing that Fabio was still absent, she felt that no ill motive could now be attributed to her return; and she had not been able to resist the temptation of revisiting the scene that had been associated with the first great happiness, as well as the first great sorrow of her life. Among all the poor people of Pisa, she was perhaps the very last whose curiosity could be awakened, or whose attention could be attracted, by the rumor of

1 gayeties at the Malani Palace. But she could not confess all this; she could only listen with great humility and no small surprise, while the steward, in compassion for her ignorance, and with the hope of tempting her into accepting his offered engagement, described the arrangements of the approaching festival, and dwelt fondly on the magnificence of the Arcadian bowers, and the beauty of the shepherdesses’ tunics. As soon as he had done, Nanina ventured on the confession that she should feel rather nervous in a grand dress that did not belong to her, and that she doubted very much her own capability of waiting properly on the great people at the ball. The steward, however, would hear of no objections, and called peremptorily for Marta Angrisana to make the necessary statement as to Nanina’s character. While this formality was being complied with to the steward’s perfect satisfaction, La Biondella came in, unaccompanied on this occasion by the usual companion of all her walks, the learned canine Scaramuccia. “This is Nanina’s sister,” said the good-natured sick nurse, taking the first opportunity of introducing La Biondella to the great Marquis’s great man. “A very good, industri•ous little girl; and very clever at plaiting dinner mats, in case his Excellency should ever want any. What have you done with the dog, my dear?” “I couldn’t get him past the porkbutcher’s, three squares off. ” replied La Biondella. “He would sit down and look at the sausages. I am more than half afraid he mea is to steal some of them.”

. “A very pretty child,” said the steward, patting La Biondellaon the cheek. ! We ought to have her at the ball. If his Excellency should ever want a cupid, or a youthful nymph, or auything small and light iu that way, I shall come back and let you know. In the meantime, Nanina, consider yourself Shepherdess Number Thirty, and come to the housekeeper’s room at the palace to try on your dress to-morrow. Non sense! don’t talk to mo about being afraid and awkward. All you’re wanted to do is to look pretty, and your glass must have told you you could do that long ago. Does the little girl like sweetmeats? Of course she does. Well, I promise you a whole box of sugar plums to take home for her. if you will come and wait at the ball.’’ “Oh, go to the ball, Nanina, go to the ball!” cried La Biondella, dapping her hands. “Of course she will goto theball,” said the nurse. “She would be mad to throw away such an excellent chance.”

Nanina looked perplexed. She hesitated a little, then drew Marta Angrisani away into a corner and whispered this question to her. “Do you think there will be any Sriests at the palace where the larquis lives?” “Heavens, child, what a thing to ask!” returned the nurse. “Priests at a masked ball! You might as well expect to fiud Turks performing high mass in the cathedral. But supposing you did meet with priests at the palace, what then?” “Nothing,” said Nanina constrainedly. She turned pale and walked away as she spoke. Her great dread in returning to Pisa was the dread of meeting with Fat ler Roceo She had never forgotten her first discovery at Florence of his distrust of her. The bare thought of seeing him any more, after her faith in him had been shaken for ever, made her feel faint and sick at heart. “To-morrow, the housekeepers room,” said the steward, putting on his hat, “you will find yofir Pew dress all ready for you." Nanina courtesied, and ventured on no more objections. The prospect of securing a home for a whole year to come among people whom ■he knew reconciled her—influenced as she was also by Marta AAgrisani’s advice, and by her sister's anxiety for the promised present —to brave the trial of appearing at the ball. “What a comfort to have it all settled at laet," said the steward, as soon os he was out again on’ the Street **W» shall see what the

Marquis says now. If be doesn’t ajx>logize for calling me a scoundrel the moment he sets eyes en Number Thirty, be is the most ungrateful nobleman that ever existed. Arriving in front of the palace, the steward found workmen engaged in planning the external decorations and illuminations for the night of the ball. A little crowd had already assembled to see the ladders raised and the scaffoldings put up. He observed among them, standing near the outskirts of the throng, a lady who attracted his attention (he was an ardent admirer of the fair sex) by the beauty and symmetry of her figure. While he lingered for a moment to look at her, a shaggy poodle-dog (linking his chops, as if he had just had something to eat) trotted by, stopped suddenly close to the lady, sniffed suspiciously for an instant, and then began to growl at her without the slightest apparent provocation. The steward, advancing politely with the stick to drive the dog away,, saw the lady start, and heard her exclaim to herself amazedly: “You here, you beast! Can Nanina have come back to Pisa?” This last exclamation gave the steward, as a gallant man, an excuse for speaking to the elegant stranger. “Excuse me, madam,” he said, “but I heard you mention the name of Nanina. May I ask whether you mean a pretty little work girl who lives near the Canyx) Santo?” 1 ‘The same. —said the lady. looking very much surprised and interested immediately. -,-r: - ‘lt may be a gratification to you, madam, to know that she has justreturned to Pisa,” continued the steward politely; “and, moreover, that she is in a fair way to rise in the world. I have just engaged her to wait at the Marquis's grand ball, and I need hardly say, under those circumstances, and R she plays her cards properly,her fortune is made.” The lady bowed, looked at her informant very intently and thoughtfully for a moment, then . suddenly walked away tvithout uttering a word. “A curious woman,” thought the steward, entering the palace. “I must ask Number Thirty about her to-morrow. ”

CHAPTER 11. The death of Maddalena d’Ascoli produced a complete change in the lives of her father and her uncle. After the first shock of the bereavement was over, Luca Lomi declared that it would be impossible for him to work in his studio again—for some time to come, at least—after the death of the beloved daughter with whom every corner of it was now so sadly and closely associated. He accepted an engagement to assist in restoring several newly-discovered works of ancient sculpture at Naples, and set forth for that city, leaving the care of his workrooms ab Pisa entirely to his brother. On the master-sculptor’s departure Father Rocco caused the statues and busts to be carefully enveloped in linen cloths, locked the doors, aind to the astonishment of all who knew of his former industry and dexterity as a sculptor, never approached the place again. His clerical duties he performed with the same assiduity as ever; but he went out less than had been his custom hitherto to the houses of his friends. His most regular visits were to the Ascoli Palace to inquire at the porter’s lodge after the health of Maddalena’s child, who was always reported to be thriving under the care of the best nurses that could be found in Pisa. As for any communications with his polite little friend from * Florence they had ceased months ago. The information—speedily conveyed to him —that Nanina was in the service of one of the most respectable ladies in the city seemed to relieve any anxieties which he might otherwise have felt on her account. He made no attempt to justify himself to her, and only required that bis over-courteous little visitor of former days should let him know whenever the girl might happen to leave her new situation. The admirers of Father Rocco. seeing the alteration in his life, and the increased quietness of his manner, said that, as he was growing older, he was getting more and more above the things of this world. His enemies (for even Father Rocco had them) did not scruple to assert that the change in him was decidedly for the worse, and that he belonged to the order of men who are most to be distrusted when they become most : u ued. The priest himself paid no attention either to his eulogists or depredators. Nothing disturbed the regularity and discipline of his daily habits; and vigilant Scandal, though she spught often to surprise him, sought always in vain. Such was Father Rocco's life from the period of his niece’s death to Fabio’s return to Pisa.

As a matter of course, the priest was one of the first to call at the palace and welcome the young nobleman back. What passed between them at this interview never was precisely known; but it was surmised readily enough that some misunderstanding had taken place, for Father Rocco did not repeat his visit. He made no complaints of Fabio. but simply stated that he had said something, intended for the young man’s which was not received in a right spirit; apd that he thought it desirable to avoid the painful chance pf any further collision by not presenting himself at the palace again for some little time. People were rather amazed at this. They would have been still more surprised If the ‘subject of the masked ball had not just

ihenkxxrapied all their attention, and prevented their noticing it, by another strange event in connection with the priest. Father some weeks after the cessation of his intercourse with Fabio, returned one morning to his old way of life as a sculptor, and opened the long-closed doors of his brother’s studio. Luca Lomi’s former workmen, discovering this, applied to him immediately for employment, but were informed that their services would not be needed. Visitors called at the studio, but were always sent away again by the disappointing announcement that there was nothing new to show them. So the days passed on until Nanina left her situation and returned to Pisa. This circumstance was duly reported to Father Roceo by his correspondent at Florenc; but, whether he was too much occupied among the statues or whether it was one result of his cautious resolution never to expose himself unneccessarily to so much as the breath of detraction, he made no attempt to see Nanina, or even to justify himself toward her by writing her a letter. All bis mornings continued to be spent alone in the studio, and all his afternoons to be occupied by his clerical duties, until the day before the masked ball at the Melani Palace.

Early on that day he covered over the statues and locked the doors of the work-room once more; then returned to his own lodgings, and did not'go out again. One or two of his friends who wanted to see him were. informed that he was not well enough to be able to receive them. If they had penetrated into his little study, and had seen him, they would have been easily satisfied that this was no mere excuse, They would have noticed that his face was startlingly pale, and that the ordinary composure of his manner was singularly disturbed. Toward evening this restlessness increased, and his old housekeeper, ou pressing him to take some nourishment, was astonished to hear him answer her sharply and irritably, for the first time since she had been in his service. A little later her surprise was increased by his .sending her witbra note to the Ascoli Palace,and by the quiqk return of an answer, brought ceremoniously by one of Fabio’s servants. “It is long since he has had any communication with that quarter. Are they going to be friends again?” thought the housekeeper as she took the afrswer up stairs to her master.

“I feel better to-night,” he said as he read it; “well enough indeed to venture out. If any one inquires for me, tell them that I am gone to the Ascoli Palace.” Saying this, he walked to the door; then returned, and, trying the lock of his cabinet, satisfied himself that it was properly secured; than went out. He found Fabio in one of the large drawing-rooms of the palace, walking irritably backward and forward, with several little notes crumpled together in his hands, and a plain black domino dress for the masquerade Of the ensuing night spread out on one of the tables. “I was just going to write to you,” said the young man abruptly, “when I received your letter. You offer me a renewal of our friendship, and I accept the offer. I have no doubt those references of yours, when we last met, to the subject of second marriages were well meant, but they irritated me; and speaking under that irritation, I said words that I had better not have spoken. If T pained you, T arn sorry for iq. Wait! pardon me for one moment. I have not quite done yet. It seems that you are by no means the only person in Pisa to whom the question of my possibly marrying again seems to"have presented itself. Ever since it was known that I intended to renew my intercourse with society at the ball to-morrow night, I have been persecuted by anonymous letters —infamous letters, written from some motive which it is impossible for me to understand. I want your advice on the best means of discovering the writers; and I have also a very important question to ask you. But read one of theietters first yourself; any one will do as a sample of the rest.”

Fixing his eyes searchingly on the priest, he handed him one of the notes. Still a little paler than usual, Father Rocco sat down by the nearest lamp, and, shading his eyes, read these lines: “Count Fabio: It is the common talk of Pisa that you are likely, as a young man left with a motherless child, to marry again. Your having accepted an invitation to the Melani Palace gives a color of truth to this report. Widowers who are true to the departed do not go among all the handsomest single women in a city at a masked ball. Reconsider your determination and remain at home. I know you, and I knew your wife; and I say to you solemnly, avoid temptation, for you must never marry Neglect my advice, and you will repent it to the end of your life. I have reasons for what I say —serious, fatal reasons, which I cannot divulge. If you would let your wife lie easy in her

grave, if you would avoid a terrible warning, go not to the masked ball." “I ask you, and I ask any man, if that is not infamous?” exclaimed Fabio, passionately, as the priest handed him back the letter. “An attempt to work on my fears through the memory of my poor dead wife! An insolent assumption that I want to marry again, when I myself have not even so much as thought of the subject at all! What is the secret object of this letter, &nd of the rest here, that resemble it? Whose inter-

est is it to keep me away from the ball? What is’the meaning of such a phrase as ‘lf you would let your wife lie easy in her grave’? Have you no advice to give me —no plan to propose for discovering the vile hand that traced these lines? Speak to me! Why, in heaven’s name, don’t you speak?” The priest leaned his head on hit hand, and turning his face from the light as if it dazzled his eyes, replied in his lowest and quietest tones: “I can not speak till I have had time to think. The mystery of that letter is not to be solved in a moment. There are things in it that are enough to perplex and amaze any man.” “What things?” “It is impossible for me to go into details —at least at the present moment.” “You speak with a strange air of secrecy. Have you nothing definite to say—no advice to give me?” “I should advise you not to go to the ball.” “You would? Why” “If I gave you my reasons, lam afraid I should only be irritating you to no purpose.” ‘ ‘Father Roceo, neither your words nor your manner satisfies me. You speak in riddles, and, you sit there in the dark with your face hidden from me —” The priest instantly started up and turned his face toward the light. ‘ ‘I recommend you to control your temper, and to treat me with common courtesy,” he said, iff his quieL. est, firmest tones, looking at Fabio steadily. “We will not prolong this interview,” said the young man, calming himself by an evident effort. <; I have one question to ask you and then no more to say.” The priest bowed his head, m token that he was ready to listen. He still stood up, calm, pale and firm, in the full light of the lamp. “It is just possible,” continued Fabio, “that these letters may refer to some incautious words which my late wife might have spoken. I ask you as her spiritual director, and as a near relation who enjoyed her confidence, if you ever heard her express a wish, in the event of my surviving her, that I should abstain from marrying again?” “Did she never express such a wish to you?” “Never. But why do you evade my question by asking me another?” “It is impossible for me to reply to your question.” “For what reason?”

“Because it is Impossible for me to give answers which must refer, whether they are affirmative or negative, to what I have heard in confession.” ' “We have spoken enough,” said Fabio, turning angrily from the priest. “I expected you to help me in clearing up these mysteries, and you do your best to thicken them. What your motives are, what your conduct means, it is impossible for me to know; but I say to you, what I would say in far other terms, if they were here, to the villains who have written these letters: no menaces, no mysteries, no conspiracies, will prevent me from being at the ball to-morrow. I can listen to persuasion, but I scorn threats. There lies my dress for the masquerade; no power on earth shall prevent me from wearing it to-morrow night!” He pointed, as he spoke, to the black domino and half-mask lying on the table. “No power on earth!” repeated Father Rocco, with a smile, and an emphasis on the last word. ‘ ‘Superstitious still, Count Fabio! Do you suspect the powers of the other world of interferingwith mortals at masquerades?” Fabio started, and, turning from the table, fixed his eyes intently on the priest’s face. “Yon suggested just now that we had better not prolong this interview,” said Father Rocco r still snail■tSgl “I think you were right: if we part at once, we may still part friends. You have had my advice not to go to the ball, and you decline following it. I have nothing more to say. Good night.” Before Fabio could utter the angry rejoinder that rose to his lips, the door of the room had opened and closed again, and the priest x was gone. (to be continued.)

A Well of Solid Ice.

St. Louis Globe Democrat; Some weeks ago an underground river was discovered near Augusta. HI., by a farmer who dug a Well. The river is still a mystery, apd now another mystery has been discovered. On R, D. Mathews’ farm, five miles northwest of Augusta, is a well only ten foot deep which, during the month of April, was frozen solid. A year ago last winter, which was a remarkably mild one, great difficulty was expeiie in keeping it from freezing. Last winter,however, it froze early in the season. The wall of the well is about twelve inches above the surface of the ground, and earth is heaped around it. The water stands about on a level with the ground. The well was frozen solid then and showed no signs of thawing. Many good, reputable men vouch for the truth of the story This frozen well Is only about a mile and a quarter northeast of the wonderful well referred to above.

Abolition of Capital Punishment.

Texas Siftings. Mrs. Peterby- I don't believe in hanging. It does not prevent crime. Judge Peterby—lt does as far as the hanged is concerned. There are very few instances on record, of a man committing murder after b« has been properly executed.

CELESTIAL SUNRISE.

“Weeping May Endure or a Night but Joy Cometh in the Morning. it ■The Thrashing Machine” of Life's Trials— Dr. Talmage’s Sermon. v. Dr. Talmage preachea at Brooklyn last Sunday. Subject: “The Thrashing Machine.” the text being from Isaiah xxviii, 27, 28, “For the fitches are not threshed with a thrashing instrument, neither is a cart wheel turned about upon the cummin, but the fitches are beaten out with a staff and the cummin with a rod. Bread corn is bruised because he will not ever be thrashing it.” There are three kind of seed men tioned -fitches, cummin and corn. Of the last we all know. But it may be well to state that the fitches and the cummin were smalt seeds, like the caraway or chickpea. When these grains or herbs were to be threshed they were thrown on the floor and the workmen would come around with staff or rod or flail and beat them until the seed would be separated, but when the corn was to be thrashed that was thrown on the floor, and men would fasten horses or oxen to a cart with iron dented wheels. That cart wouM be drawn around the thrashing floor, and so the work would be accomplished.

—The great thought that the textimpresses upon us is that we all go through some kind of thrashing process. --Afhe fact that you may be devoting your life to honorable and noble purposes will not win you any escape. Wilberfarce, the Christian emancipator, was in his day derisively called “Dr. Cantwell.” All the small wits of London had their fling at John Wesley, the father of Methodism. Even amid the joys and hilarities of life trouble will sometimes break in. As when the people were assembled in the Charlestown theater during the revolutionary war, and while they were witnessing a farce and the audience was in great gratulation, the guns of an advancing army ,vere heard and the audience broke jp in wild panic and ran for their lives, so oftentimes while you are seated amid the joys and festivities of this world you hear the cannonr ade of some great disaster. My subject, in the first place,, teaches us that it is no compliment to us if we escape great trial. Yet there are men who suppose they are the Lord’s favorites simply because their barns are full, and their bank account is flush, and there are no funerals in the house. Next my text teaches us that God proportions our trials to what we can bear. The staff for the fitches. The rod for the cummin. The*iron wheel for the corn. Sometimes people in great trouble say, “Oh, I can’t hear it.” But you .did bear it. God would not have sent it upon you if He did not know that you could' bear if

You sometimes feel as if our world were full of bludgeons flying haphazard. Oh, no! They are thrashing instruments that God: just suits to your case: There is not a dollar of bad debts on your ledger, or a disappointment about goods that you expected to go up but that have gone down, or a swindle of your business partner, or a trick on the part of those who are in the same kind of business that you are, but God intended to overrule for your immortal help. Oh, my hearer, are you not ashamed to be complaining all this time against God? Who manages the affairs of this world anyhow? Is It an infinite Modoc, or a Sitting Bull savage, or an omnipotent Nana Sahib? No; it is the most merciful and glorious and wise- being in all the universe. Yon cannot teach Omnipotence anything. You have f retted and worried almost enough. Do you not think so? Some of you are making yourselves ridiculous in the sight of angels. Again, my subject teaches that God keeps trial on us until we let go. The farmer shouts “whoa!” to his horse as soon as the grain has dropped from the stalk. The fanner comes with his fork and tosses up the straw, and hesees that the straw has let go the grain and that the grain is thoroughly thrashed. So God. : Smiting rod and turning wheel both cease as soon as we let go. We hold on to this world with its pleasures and riches and emoluments, and our knuckles are so firmly set that it seems we could hold on forever. God comes along with some thrashing trouble and beats us loose.

We thought that friendship was a grand thing. In school we used to write compositions about friendship, and perhaps we made our graduating speech on commencement day bn friendship. Oh, it was a charmed thing, but does it mean as much to you as it used to? You have gone on in life, and one friend has betrayed you, and another friend has misinterpreted you, and another friend has neglected you, and friend ship comes how sometimes to mean to you merely another ax to grind. So with money. We thought if a man had a competency he was safe for all the future, but we have learned that a mortgage may be defeated by an unknown previous incumbrance; that signing ycrup name on the back of a note may be your business death warrant; that a new tariff may change the current of trade; that a man may be rich today and poor to-morrow. And God, by all these misfortunes, is trying to loosen our grip, but we still hold on.

God .smites us with a staff,, but we hold on. And he strikes is with a rod, and we hold on. And he sends over us the iron wheel of misfortune, but we hold on. Oh, let go! Let go! The best fortunes are in heaven. There are no absconding cashiers from that bank, no failing in promises to pay. Set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth. Let go! Depend upon it that God will keep upon you the staff, or the rod, or the iron wheel until you do let go. Another thing my text teaches us is that Christian sorrow is going to have a sure terminus. My text says, “Bread corn is bruised because be will not be ever thrashing it.’ Blessed be God for that! Pound away, O flail! Turn on, G wheel! Your work will soon be done. “He will not be ever thrashing ft.’ T Now, the Christian has almost as ranch use in the organ for the stop tremulant as he has for the trumpet. But after a while he will put the last dirge into the portfolio forever. Sc much of us as is wheat will oe separated from so much as is chaff, and there will be no more need of pounding. They never cry in heaven because they have nothing to cry about. There are no tears of bereavement, for you shall have your friends all around about you. There are no tears of poverty because each one sits at the king’s table and has his own chariot of salvation and free access to the wardrobe where princes

get their array. No tears of sick-" ness, for there are no pneumonias on the air, and no malarial exhalations from the rolling river of life, and no crutch for the lame limb, and no splint for the broken arm, but the pulses throbbing with the healtn of the eternal God in a climate like our June before the blossoms fall, or our gorgeous October before the leaves scatter. , , ; Qh, my hearers, is there not enough salve in this text to make a plaster large enough to heal your wounds? When a child is hurt the mother is very apt to say to it, “Now, it will soon feel better.” And that is what God says when he unbosoms all the trouble in the hush of this great promise. “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” You may leave your pocket handkerchief sopping wet with tears on your death but you will go up absolutely sorrowless. They will wear black; you will wear white. Cypresses for them, palms for you. It is sunrise! Glorious sunrise! 1 see the light now purpling the hills. and the clouds flame withthe cominc day. Then the gates of heaven will be opened, and the entranced soul, with the acuteness and power of the celestial vision, will look ten thou sands of miles down upon the ban nered procession—a river of shimmering splendor. Oh, that I could administer some of these drops of celestial anodyne to-those nervous and excited souls It you would take enough of it, it would cure all your pangs. The thought that you are going to get through with this after a while, ali this sorrow and all this trouble! We shall have a great many grand days in heaven, but I will tell you which will; be the grandest day of all the million ages of heaven. You say, “Are you sure you can tell me?” Yes, I can. It will be the day we get there. Some say heaven is growing more glorious. I suppose it is. but I do not eare much about that Heaven now is good enough for me.

At the Wellesley Commencement.

Truth. “Mr. Yaleblue, 1 want to ask you a question,” remarked the Wellesley maiden to her partner as they entered the conservatory. “A thousand if you like, replied the gallant collegian. “What is a kiss?” The young man was taken aback, but quickly pulled himself together, and firmly said: “This is.” ‘Sir,” replied the indignant seekere after higher culture, “you misunderstand me. The interrogation I put to you was a mathematical problem which I thought might interest a student from Yale college." “It does, it does,” said the junior,’ as he twirled his light mustache, ‘ ‘but if it’s a conundrum I give it up.” The maiden’s eyes sparkled, and there was music in her voice as she threw out the answer: “Why, it’s nothing, divided by two."

Iced Tea and Coffee.

The secret of delicous summer beverages is their iciness, writes Florence Wilson in an article on “Summer Beverages” in the June Ladies' Pome Journal. They may be uuwholesome in they- frigidity, but in this way only their “true virtue lies." Iced tea and coffee are probably the least injurious of summer drinks. To prepare the former pour a cup of freshly-boiled and boiling water over three teaspoonfuls of tea, set to steep, when add one quart of freshly-boiled water. Five minutes l»ter strain into an earthen ]ug, and when cool —not lukewarm—add one or two large pieces of ice. Serve with a large quantity of finely chopped ice, granulated sugar and thin slices of lemon. If iced coffee bo desired make a fresh pot of very strong coffee, and when cold serve with large quantities of ice and sugar; cream is but seldom used.

Where to Look.

* Puck. j Stranger—With all the talk about j immigration 1 haven’t noticed many I foreigners here. i Host —Wait till you see a nominating convention. ■ ft