HEPPNER GAZETTE TIMES, HEPPNER, OREGON, THURSDAY, FEB. 28, 1929.
PAGE THREE
HE DC
IUUSfRATD BY IMNK3JDRUEN
WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE 1
Palmero is the scene. There an exile,
Leonardo dl Marlonl, has come for love
of Adrlenne Cartucclo, who spurns him.
He meets an Englishman. Lord St. Mau
rice, who falls In love with Adrlenne on
sight. Leonardo sees his sister Mar
gharita, who tells him his love for Ad
rlenne is hopeless. But he pleads with
her to arrange an accidental meeting,
to say farewell, between Adrlenne and
him.
She consents. That night the English
man is informed of an attempt being
made to carry off Slgnorlna Cartucclo
and Margharita, who are walking, by
brigands employed by a rejected suitor,
on a lonely road. He rushes to the
scene, and proves able to rescue the
ladies.
Inflamed by the failure of his scheme,
Leonardo sees Margharita, who shows
him she knows that he was instigator
of the attempted attack. The English
man now sees Adrlenne often. The
Englishman, sitting In the hotel, finds
a dagger at his feet. Looking up .he
sees the Sicilian, and scents trouble.
"We sat here a week ago," recalls
Leonardo. Lord St. Maurice nods.
Leonardo and the Englishman quar
rel. The Englishman at first refused to
accept a chellenge to duel, then when
the Italian Blaps him consents. The two
men face each other ready to fight to
the death.
Marghttrita stops the duel by coming
just In the nick of time to save the
Englishman from his fate, with two
officers who arrest the exile Leonardo.
Leonardo vows vengeance. After 25
years in jatl he is again at his hotel,
an old, broken man with only memories
loft to him.
NOW 00 ON WITH THE STORY
For through all his apathy he was
conscious of a great sickening dis
appointment, something gone out of
his life which had helped him, day
by day, through all that weary Im
prisonment Dear to his heart had
grown that hope of standing one
day before the masters of his Or
der, and claiming, as his rightful
due, vengeance upon those whose
word had sent him into captivity.
Dear to his memory and treasured
among his thoughts had grown that
hope. In his prison house he had
grown narrower; other thoughts
and purposes had faded away. That
one only remained, growing strong
er day by day, until it had seized
hold of his whole being. He lived
only through it and with It. Now
he had gone to Signor Bartlezzl,
only to find that the Order had
given up its old purposes and prin
cipleshad become a mere social
club.
Given some soul-absorbing pur
pose, some cherished end, however
dimly seen through the mists of fu
turity, and a man may preserve his
reason through the longest captiv
ity; while, day by day, his narrow
ing life contracts till all conscience,
all hope, all sentiment, become the
slaves of that one passionate desire.
Day by day, it looms larger before
him; day by day, all doubts con
cerning It grow weaker, and the
justice of It becomes clearer and
more unquestioned. Right and
wrong, justice and Injustice, accord
ing to other men's standards, have
no power over it in his own
thoughts. His moral sense slum
bers. So deeply has it become graft
ed into his life, that he no more
questions its right to exist than he
docs the presence of the limbs upon
his body. As surely as the night
follows day, so surely does his
whole being gravitate toward the
accomplishment of hts desire. It is
a part of what is left of his life, and
if It is smitten, his life is smitten.
They are at once sympathetic and
identical, so closely entwined that
to sever them is death to both.
Thus It was with Count Marlonl,
and thus It was that, day by day, he
sat In his sitting-room slowly pining
to death. Rude feet had trampled
upon the desire of his life, and the
wound was open and bleeding. Only
a little while longer and he would
have turned upon his side with a
sigh, and yielded up his last breath;
and, so far as his numbed faculties
could have conceived a thought,
death would have seemed very plea
sant to him. He was dying of lone
liness, of disappointment and des
pair. The people at the hotel had made
several attempts to rouse him, but
In vain. He answered no questions,
and In his quiet way resented intru
sion. He paid whatever was de
manded, and he gave no trouble.
The manager, who knew his history
from a ahort cutting In a newspa
per which had chronicled his arriv
al in London, was at his wits' end
to know how to save him. He had
once endeavored to reason gently
with his eccentric visitor, and he
had been bidden quietly to leave
the room. On his endeavoring to
make one more appeal, the Count
had risen quietly and pointed to the
door.
"I wish only to be left in peace,"
he said, with a touch of dignity in
his sad, calm manner. "If you can
not do that I will go away to an
other hotel. Choose!"
The manager had bowed and
withdrawn In silence. But he was
a kind-hearted man, and he was
still troubled about the matter. Day
by day the Count was growing
weaker; before long he would
doubtless die from sheer distaste of
living as much as from any actual
disease. Something ought to be
done toward communicating with
his friends, if he had any. With a
certain amount of reluctance the
manager, as a last resource, penned
the following advertisement and
sent it to the principal London pa
pers: "If there are any friends or rela
tives still alive of Count Leonardo
dl Marioni, who has recently been
set free by the Italian Government
after a long term of imprisonment,
they are requested to communicate,
personally, If possible, with the
manager of the Hotel Continental,
where the Count is now lying dan
gerously ill."
The great room in which the
Count Marioni was sitting was al
most in darkness, for the afternoon
was dull and foggy, and the curtains
were partially closed. There was no
lamp lit, and the only light came
from the brightly-burning fire near
which the Count was sitting in an
armchair ludicrously too large for
his frail body. The flames fell upon
his white, worn face, with its deep
branding lines, and gleamed in his
great sad eyes, so bright and dry
that they seemed like mirrors for
the firelight. His hair and short
unkempt beard were as white as
snow, matching even the unnatural
pallor of his skin, and his black
frock coat was buttoned across a'
chest which would have been nar
row for a consumptive body. He
did, indeed, look on the threshold of
death.
He hud not turned his head at the
opening or closing of the door, but
presently another sound broke the
silence. It was a woman's sob, and
as he slowly turned his head, a tall,
graceful figure moved forward out
of the shadows, and he heard his
name Boftly murmured.
Leonardo!"
His hand went up to his forehead.
Was it a dream; or was he indeejl-
back once more in the days of his
youth, back among the pine woods
which topped his castle, walking
side by side with her whose pre
sence seemed to make the long sum
mer days one sweet dream of light?
The familiar odor of violets and
wild hyacinths seemed to fill the
room. The fog-bound city, with its
ceaseless roar, existed for him no
longer. The sun of his own dear
country warmed his heart, and the
set wind blew in his eager face. And
she was there his queen the great
desire of his weary life. All his
pulses leaped with the joy of her
presence. Five-and-twenty years of
lonely misery were blotted out Ah!
memory is a wonderful magician!
"Leonardo! Will you not speak to
me?"
Again that voice! Where was he
now? Face to face with her on the
sands at Palermo, deceived, betray
ed, given over to the enemies of his
country, and by her the woman for
whom his passionate love had been
his sole crime. Listen! The air is
full of that cry of threatened ven
geance. Hark how the echoes ring
back from the cliffs. "By the sun,
and the sky, and the sea, and the
earth, I swear that, as they continue
unchanged and unchanging, so shall
my hate for you remain!" Darkness
a prison cell. Year by year, year
by year, darkness, solitude, misery!
See the black hair turn gray, the
strength of manhood wasting away,
the eye growing dim, the body
weak. Year by year, year by year,
it goes on. What was that scratched
upon the whitewashed walls? What
was the cry which rang back from
the towering cliff! "Hate unchang
ing and unchanged!" The same
ever the same.
"Leonardo, have you no word for
me?"
He rose slowly from his chair,
and fixed his eyes upon her.
Before their fire she shrank back,
appalled. Was It a storm about to
burst upon her? No! The words
were slow and few.
"You have dared to come here;
dared to come and look upon your
handiwork! Away! Out of my
sight! You have seen me. Go!"
Tears blinded her eyes .The sight
of him was horrible to her. She for
got, in her great pity, that justice
had been upon her side. She sank
upon her knees before him on the
velvet pile carpet
"Leonardo, for the love of God,
forgive me!" she sobbed. "Oh! it is
painful to see you thus, and to know
the burden of hate which you carry
in your heart. Forgive me! Forgive
us both!"
He stooped down until his ghast
ly face nearly touched hers.
"Curse you!" he muttered hoarse
ly. "You dare to look at me, and ask
for forgiveness. Never! never! Ev
ery morning and night I curse you.
I curse you when my mother taught
me to pray. I live for nothing else.
If I had the strength I would stran
gle you where you stand. Hell's
curses and mine ring in your ears
and sit in your heart day by day
and night by night! Away with
you! Away, away!"
She was a brave woman, but she
fled from the room like a hunted
animal, and passed out of the hotel
with never a look to the right or to
the left.
Count Marioni sat in his old atti
tude, brooding over the fire from
the depths of his armchair, with a
sad, vacant look in his dull eyes. At
first he took no notice of the open
ing of the door, but as the light,
smooth footsteps crossed the floor
toward him and hesitated at his
side, he glanced wearily up. In a
moment his whole expression was
changed. He was like a numbed
and torpid figure suddenly galvan
ized into acute life.
He passed his hand swiftly across
his eyes, and his thin fingers grasp
ed the sides of his chair with ner
vous force. Ah! he must be dream
ing again! It was one of the faces
of the past, tempting and mocking
him! Yet, no! she stood there;
surely she stood there. Mother of
God! Was this madness come at
last?
"Margharita!" he cried, stretch
ing out his hands toward her. "Mar
gharita!" It was no dream then, nor was it
madness. It was truth. There were
loving, clinging arms around his
neck, a passionate, weeping face
pressed close against his. Hot tears,
Lher tears were trickling down his
hollow cheeks, kindling his stag
nant blood by their warmth, and
thawing the apathetic chill whose
icy hand had lain so heavy upon
him. A sob escaped him. His eag
er, trembling fingers pushed back
the clustering hair from her tem
ples. He peered wonderingly into
her face. It must be a vision; it
would surely fade away, and leave
him once more in the outer dark
ness. Five-and-twenty years had
passed! She had been like this
then! A sense of bewilderment
crept in upon him.
"Margharita!" he exclaimed fee
bly. "I do not understand! You are
Margharita; you have her hair, her
eyes, her mouth! And yet of course,
it cannot be. Ah no! it cannot be!"
"You are thinking of my mother,"
she cried softly. "She loved you so
much. I am like her, am I not?"
"Married! Margharita married!
Ah, of course! I had forgotten. And
you are her child. My sister's child.
Ah, five-and-twenty years is a long
time."
"It is a shameful, cruel time," she
cried passionately. "My mother us
ed to tell me of it, when I was a
little girl, and her voice would
shake with anger and pity. Fran
cesca, too, would talk to me about
you. I prayed for you every eve
ning when I was little, that they
might soon set you free again. Oh,
it was cruel!"
She threw her arms around his
neck, and he rested his head upon
her shoulder. It was like an elixir
of life for him.
"And your mother, Margharita?"
he asked fearfully.
"She is dead," was the low reply.
"Ah! Margharita dead! She was
so like you, child. Dead! Five-and-twenty
years is a weary while.
Dead!"
(Continuer next week.)
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HOMINY
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NO. Vt TINS
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oA flight of Fun and Frolic
with
The Elks
Minslxels
From Pendleton
Thursday, Mar. 7
Heppner Auditorium
oAuspices Heppner Lodge Jo. 358
30
Songs, 'Dances, Monologues, Trios,
and ZMany Specialty cNymbers
8:00 o'clock cAdmission p.oo; Children under 12, 50c
DANCE
oAt Elks' Temple immediately following the show,
music by cRpse (jrey Dance Orchestra
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$3
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