HEPPNER GAZETTE TIMES, HEPPNER, OREGON, THURSDAY, MARCH 14, 1929
PAGE THREE
to me
Sals,
WHAT HAPPENED BEFORE:
Palmero la the scene. There an exile,
Leonardo di Mariont, has cume for love
of Adriemie Cartuccio, who spurns hirn.
lie meets an Englishman. Lord St. Mau
rice, who falls In love with Adrienne on
sight. Leonardo seeB his sister Mar
gharita, who tells him his love for Ad
rienne Is hopeless. But he pleads with
her to arrange an accidental meeting,
to say farewell, between Adrienne and
him.
She consents. That night the English
man Is informed of an attempt being
made to carry off Signorina Cartuccio
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
ladles.
Inflamed by the failure of his scheme,
Leonardo sees Mnrgharita, who shows
hirn she knows that he was Instigator
of the attempted attack. The English
man now sees Adrienne 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 ehellenge to duel, then when
the Italian slaps him consents. The two
men face each other ready to fight to
the death.
Margharlta 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 jail he Is again at his hotel,
an old, broken man with only memories
left to him.
At his hotel the proprietor, worried
about him, advertises for his friends
and Leonardo is first visited by the wo
iiltin be had loved, whom he shoos out
of his sight. Then there comes to him
the daughter of his sister, whom he
greets in great surprise. He learns that
his sister is dead.
Count Leonardo tells his niece the
story of his love for Margharlta. She is
sympathetic.
NOW GO ON WITH THE BTOBY
Margharlta looked like a beauti
ful wild animal In her passion. Her
hair had fallen all over her face,
and was streaming down' her back.
Her small white hand was clenched
and upraised, and her straight, sup
ple figure, panther-like in Its grace,
was distended until she towered
over the little shrunken form be
fore her. Terrible was the beam
In her eyes, and terrible the fixed
rigidity of her features. Yet she
was as beautiful as a young goddess
In her wrath.
"No!" she cried fiercely, "the Or
der shall not die! You belong to It
still; and I I, too, swear the oath
of vengeance! Together we will
hunt her down this woman! She
shall suffer."
"She shall die!" he cried.
A slight shudder passed across
the gill's face, but she repeated his
words.
"She shall die! But, uncle, you
are 111. What Is it?"
She chafed his hands and held
him up. He had fainted.
"Where am I, Mnrgharita?"
She leaned over him, and drew a
long deep breath of relief. It was
the reward of many weary days and
nights of constant watching and
careful nursing. His reason was
saved.
"In your own room at the hotel,"
she whispered. "I)on t you remem
ber? You were taken 111."
He looked at her, helpless and
puzzled. Slowly the mists began to
roll away.
"Yes, you were with me," he mur
mured softly. "I remember now.
was telling you the story of the past
my past. You are Margharita's
child. Yes, I remember. Was It
this afternoon?"
She kissed his forehead, and then
drew back suddenly, lest the warm
tear which was quivering on her
eyelid should fall back upon his
face.
"It was three weeks ago!"
"Three weeks ago!" He looked
wonderlngly around at the little
table at his side, where a huge bowl
of sweet-scented roses was sur
rounded by a little army of empty
medicine bottles, at Margharita's
pale, wan face, and at a couch
drawn up to the bedside. "And you
have been nursing me all the time?"
he whispered.
She smiled brightly through the
tears which she could not hide.
"Of course I have. Who has a
better right, I should like to know?"
He sighed and closed his eyes. In
a few minutes he was asleep.
For a fortnight his life had hung
upon a thread, and even when the
doctor had declared him out of dan
ger, the question of his sanity or
insanity quivered upon the balance
for another week. He would either
awake perfectly reasonable, in all
respects, his old self, or he would
open his eyes upon a world, the
keynote to which he had lost for
ever. In other words he would
either awake a perfectly sane man,
or hopelessly and incurably Insane.
There would be no middle course.
That was the doctor's verdict.
And through all those long days
and nights Margharlta had watched
over him as though he had-been her
own father. All the passionate sym
pathy of her warm southern nature
had been kindled by the story of his
wrongs. Day by day the sight of
his helpless suffering had Increased
her Indignation toward those whom
she really believed to have bitterly
wronged him. Through those long
quiet days and silent nights, she
had brooded upon them. She never
for one moment repented of having
allied herself to that wild oath of
veneoancc. whose echoes often at
dead of night seemed still to ring In
her ears. Her only fear was that
he would emerge from the fierce Ill
ness under which he was laboring,
so weakened and shaken, that the
desire of his life should have pass
ed from him. She had grown to love
this shrunken old man. In her girl
hood she had heard stories of him
from her nurse, and many times the
hot tears had stood in her eyes as
she conjured up to herself that pa
thetic figure, waiting and waiting,
year by year, for that liberty which
was to como only with old age. She
had thought of him, sad-eyed and
weary, pacing his lonely prison cell,
and ever watching through his barr
ed window the little segment of blue
sky and sunlight which penetrated
Into the hlgh-walled court. How he
must long for the scent of flowers,
the fresh open air, the rustle of
leaves, and the hum of moving In
sects. How his heart must ache
for the sound of men's voices, the
touch of their hands, some sense
of loving or friendly companionship
to break the icy monotony of his
weary, stagnant existence. Her im
agination had been touched, and
she had been all ready to welcome
and to love him as a hero and a
martyr, even if he had appealed to
her in no other way. But when she
had seen him stricken- down and
helpless, with that look of ineffable
sadness in his soft dark eyes, It was
more than her symptahy which was
aroused, more than her imagination
which was stirred. Her large pity
ing heart became his absolutely.
She was alone in the world, and she
must needs love someone. For good
or for evil, fate had brought this
strange old man to her, and woven
this tie between them.
He held out his hands; she grasp
ed them fondly.
"Margharita, she came here! he
whispered.
"What, here? Here In this room?
He nodded.
"It was two days before you came.
I was sitting alone in the twilight
The door opened. I thought I was
dreaming. It was she, as beautiful
as ever, richly dressed, happy, com
ely. She came to pity, to sue for
pardon. 1 let her talk, and then,
when I had gathered strength, I
stood up and cursed her. I thrust
her away; I cursed her with the
fiercest and cruelest words which
my lips could utter. It drove the
warm color from her cheeks, and
the light from her eyes. I cursed
her till her heart shook with fear.
She- staggered out of the room a
stricken woman. I "
"Tell me her name."
"It was Adrienne Cartuccio. It is
now Lady Maurice."
"The Lady St Maurice! She was
my mother's friend then?"
"Yes."
Margharita'a eyes were bright,
and her voice trembled.
"Listen!" she cried. "When my
mother was dying she gave me a
letter. 'If ever you need a friend or
help,' she whsipered, 'go to Lady
St. Maurice. This letter is to her.
She will help you for my sake.1
Uncle, fate Is on our side. Just be
fore I came to you I wrote to Lady
St Maurice. I told her that I was
unhappy in my life, and I wished
for a situation as a governess,
sent her my mother's letter."
"And she replied?"
"Yes. She offered me a home. If
I wished I could teach her little
girl."
Her voice was trembling, and her
eyes, dry and brilliant, were fixed
is in
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upon his. He was sitting upright
in bed, leaning a little forward tow
ard her, and the sunbeam which
had stolen In through the parted
curtains fell upon his white corpse
like face. A strange look was In his
eyes; his fingers clutched the bed
clothes nervously.
"You will go?" he asked hoarse
ly. "You will go to Lady St Maur
ice?"
An answering light shot back
from her eyes. She was suddenly
pale to the lips. Her voice was
hushed as though in fear, but it
was firm.
'Yes, I shall go. To-night I shall
accept her offer."
PART III
"Mother, don't you think that Miss
Briscoe is a very strange girl?
Lady St. Maurice looked up from
her work quickly. Nine o'clock was
just striking, and her son only a
moment before had replaced his
watch in his pocket with an impa
tient little gesture.
"Yes, I do think so," she answered
quietly. "I think her very strange
indeed. Why do you ask me?"
He shrugged his shouldes.
"Oh, I don't know exactly. It
seems odd that she should want to
spend all her evening alone, and
that she should have so many long
letters to write. Do you think that
she quite understands that you
would like her to come down with
us?"
"I am quite sure that she does,
Lumley. I even objected to having
her come here as a governess at all.
Her mother was a dear friend of
mine many years ago, and I told
Margharita from the first that I
would rather have her here as my
daughter. She would have been
very welcome to a home with us.
It was only her pride which has
made her insist upon coming as
Grade's governess, and I suppose
it is the same feeling which prompts
her to keep herself so much aloof
from us. I am sorry, but I can do
no more than I have done toward
making her see things differently."
Lord Lumley fidgeted about for a
minute or two on the hearth-rug.
There was a certain reserve in his
mother's manner which made the
task which he had set himself more
difficult even than it would have
been under ordinary circumstances.
Besides, he felt that from her low
seat she was watching him intent
ly and the knowledge did not teitd
toward setting him more at his
ease.
"You loved her mother, then?"
"I did. She was my dearest
friend."
"And yet forgive me if I am
wrong but sometimes I fancy that
you do not even like Miss Briscoe.
"She will not let me like or dislike
her, Lumley."
He shook his head.
"It isn't that exactly. I have seen
you watching her sometimes as for
instance when she sang that Sicilian
song here as though you were
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well, almost afraid of her; as I
though there was something about
her which almost repelled you."
The Countess laid down her work,
and looked steadfastly into the fire.
There was a moment s silence.
"You have been a close watcher,
Lumley."
'I admit it But, tell me, have I
not watched to some purpose. There
is no mistaking the look in your
face sometimes, when she comes In
to the room unexpectedly. If the
thing were not absurd, I should say
that you were afraid of her."
Lady St Maurice held her hand
to her side for a moment, as though
she felt a sudden pain. She repeat
ed her son's words without looking
up at him.
"Afraid of her! No, no, Lumley.
I am afraid of something else,
something of which her face con
tinually reminds me. It is the shad
ow of the past which seems to fol
low her footsteps."
A tragic note had suddenly been
struck in the conversation between
mother and son. Lord Lumley, who
had been altogether unprepared for
it, was full of interest.
"The past!" he repeated. "Whose
past? Tell me all about it, mother."
She looked up at him, and he saw
that her face was unusually pale.
"Lumley, it is only a little while
ago since your father and I told you
the story of our strange meeting
and marriage. You remember it?"
"Every word! Every word, moth
er!" "You remember the duel which
the Count di Marioni sought to
force upon your father, but which I
prevented? You remember the
means which I was driven to use to
prevent it, and the oath of ven
geance which Leonardo the Count
di Marioni swore against both of
us?"
(Contlnuer next week.)
KEV. HUGH J. MARSHALL DIES.
Rev. Thomas J. Brady
The announcement in this head
ing will no doubt create a look of
surprise and evoke a prayer of sor
row over the death of Father Hugh
J. Marshall, who was well known to
many of the people of the entire
counties of Morrow and Gilliam.
Heppner itself will bow its head in
sorrow over this sad announcement.
Father Marshall passed away Satur
day morning in St Vincent's hos
pital, Portland, where he had been
confined during the last six weeks.
Lupe Vele2, beautiful Mexican film
star, will, it is reported, becotnc the
bride of Gary Cooper.
Lupe Velez to Marry
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To Wed Royalty
V- J 4MB
;
Msitwll tollman Corev. former
actress, divorced wile 01 VV. E. Corey,
steel magnate, has admitted that she
socn will marry Don Luis d Bour
bon, first cousin to the King of Spain.
At the time of his death he was the
pastor of St. Mary's Catholic church
in Hood River, and a short time af
ter Christmas he was stricken with
what seemed apoplexy. The funeral
took place in Hood River on Wed
nesday of this week. The Right
Reverend Bishop Joseph F. Mc
Grath, of Baker, officiated at the
obsequies. Rev. Thomas J. Brady,
pastor of the Heppner Catholic
church, attended the funeral cere
monies, leaving Heppner on Monday
of this week and returning on
Thursday by stage.
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