A DREAM OF HOME.

Otago Witness, Issue 2318, 4 August 1898, Page 41

A DREAM OF HOME.

In yoi! clear land, now far away, My memory loves to dwell, "Where gowans deck the meadows gay, And primrose decks the dells. I think I hear the laverock clear, Oot o'er yon shining brae, And the lintie's sang, btuth loud an' laug, All tend ta mak' me vac. The cushy doo, wi' her c«nnic coo, Set ma he?ivt jjsl m a fl.i.i;i\ Noo oceans roar frae shore tae sh®r.<s Alween me and ma iiame. I think I see the humble bee Amang yon bonuie flowers, Wi' his lazy drone in Nature's home In some secluded bowei'. I In yonder glen the blackbirds sang, I The mavis finds its joy ; In praising Him who gars them sing, j Without a slight alloy. I The mountain rills, the heather hills, Tho thistle and the bvschon, All ta ma heart, in ilka part, Aye dear la me, I reckon. How I think of yon sacred spot, Though tossed upon the wave 0' human life in noilu s strife, My am fond moilici';* gmve. Oh, Scotia's hills! Oh, Scotia.-; dales! How aft have ye been sung By bard? in turns, even K obeli Bums Thy sacred hits has strung. I'll dream o' home, though I may roan Throughout the world wide, For nri heart's \vi' thee, far o'er the sea, An I will for aye abide. Ales. Bain, RaUmui, Jul£ 1898 i

comes pleasant, and remains ?o till the end of May ; Avhile in autumn, when the mosquitoes cease to trouble, the sun has lost its poAver, and the Lungarno is cool, it is also a delightful place of residence. But February afternoons beside the Arno are very often as dark, os dreary, and as yellow as beside the Thames, and as Gemma sat after luncheon in her cosy room, the smallest in the great old palazzo iv the Borgo d'Albiszi which bore her name, she shuddered and drew a silken shawl about her shoulders. It was one of the show places of Florence ; one of those ponderous, prison-like buildings built ot huge blocks of brown stone, time Avorn, having Aveathered the storms of four centuries, and notable as containing a magnificent collec-

tion of Avoik ot art. Its mediaeval exterior, a relic of ancient Florence, Avas gloomy and forbidding enough with its barred avikloavs, overhanging roof, strange lanterns of wonderfully Avorked iron, and great iron rings to which men tied their horses in days bygone. Once beyond the great courtyard, however, it was a gorgeous palace. The Funaros had always been Avealthy and powerful in the Lily City, and had thiough ages collected within iheir palace quantities of antiquities and costly objects. Every room Avas beautifully decorated, some with wonderful frescoes by Andrea del Sarto, whose A-vork in the outer court of the Ammnziata is ever admired by sight-seers of every nationality, Avhile the paintings were by Ciro Ferri, Giovanni da Bologna, Fihppo Lippi, Botticelli, and Fra Bartolommeo, together with some frescoes in grisaille with rich ornamentatiou by Del Sarto' s pupil Franciabigio, and hosts of other priceless ■works.

It Avas a magnificent residence. There were half-a-dozen other palaces in the same thoroughfare, including the Altoviti, the Albizzi, and the Pazzi, but this Avas the finest of them all. When Gemma had inherited it she had at once furnished half-a-dozen rooms in modern style. The place was so enormous that she always felt lost in it, and seldom strayed beyond these rooms which overlooked the great paved courtyard with its ancient wall and curious sculptures chipped and weather-worn. The great gloomy silent rooms, with their bare oaken floors, mouldering tapestries and timeblackened pictures were io her grim and ghostly, &i, indeed, they were to any bub an art enthusiast or a lo\er of the antique. But the Counters- Funaro lived essentially in the present, and always declaied herself more in love Avith cleanliness than antiquarian dirt. She had no ta^te for the relics of the past, and affected none. If English or American louri&ts found anything in' her collections to admire, Ibey were at liberty to do so on presenting their card to the liveried hall porter. At the door the iudu had a box, and the money placed therein awis seai regulaily each quarter to the Maternity Hospital. She spent little time in her grim, silent home, for, to tell the truth, its magnificence irritated her, and its extent always filled her with a sense of loneliness. The housekeeper, an elderly gentlewoman Avho had been a friend of her dead mother, was very deaf and never amusing ; therefore, after a fortnight or so, she Avas generally ready to exchange Ike Funaro Palace for' the Hole!

Cavour at Milan, the Minerva at Rome, or the hospitality of .some country villa. Hotels, or eva small houses, were not so grim and piison-like as her own great palazzo, the very walls of which seemed to breathe mutely of the past, of tho^e troublous tunes when the clank of armour echoed in (he long stone conidors and the clink of spurs sounded in the courtyard below where now the only invaders were the pigeons.

The furniture in the small, elegant ro ym in which she sat was entirely modern, upholstered in pale blue silk with her monogram in gold thread ; the carpels were thicic, the great high Florentine stove thiew forth a welcome warmth, and the grey light whi«li filieied through the curtains was just sutiicient to allow her to read. She v. as lying back in her long chair in a lazy, negligent altitude, hei fair hair a trifle disordered by contact with the cushion, behind her head, and one of her little suppers having fallen ofl her .small loot in its neat black silk shocking peeped out bomeabh her skirt. On the Ltiblf at her elbow were two or three unopened letters, while in a vase stood a fine bouquet of Hewers, a tribute from her de.ii housekeeper.

Since the day she had parted from Count Castellam in the hall of the Embassy in Oros\enor Square she had tiavelied a great deal She had been down to Rome, had had an inlerviw with the Marquis Montelupo, and a week ago had unexpectedly arris ed at the Palazzo. As she had anticipated, whan she broke her journey at Turin, on her way from London to Rome, and signed her name in the visitors' book at the hotel, the police oflicial called early on the following morning to inform her that .she must consider herself under aire.st. But the words scribbled by Montelupo upon his visiting card had acted like magic, and having taken the card to the Questura the detective letuined all bows and apologies, and she w as allow ed to proceed on her journey.

Nearly nine months had elapsed since she last set foot within her great old palazzo, and as she sat that alternoon she allowed her book to fall upon her lap and her eyes to slowly wander around the pretty room. She glanced at the window where the rain was being driven upon, the tiny panes by the boisterous wind, and again .she shuddered.

With an air of weariness .she raised her hand and pushed the mass of fair hair oil: her brow, as if its weight oppressed her, sighing heavily. The events of the past month had been many and strange. In Rome she had found herself beset Iry a hundred pitfalls, but .she had kept faith with the Marquis, and the terms .she had made with him were such as to give her complete satisfaction. A crisis, however, vas, slio knew, imminent ; a crisis in which ■he would be compelled to play a leading part. But to do so m oulu require all her ingenuity, all her woman's wit, all her courage, all lcr skill at deception.

Suddenly, as she was thus reflecting, Marghcrita, her faithful but ugly woman who had been with her at LLvorno, opened the door, and drawing aside the heavy portiere, said :

" The Rignore."

"At last! at last!" she cried, excitedly jumping up instantly. "Show him up at once." Then, facing the great mirror, she placed both hands to her hair, re-arranging it deftly, recovered her lost slipper, cast aside the wrap, and stood ready to receive her visitor.

Again the door opened. The man who entered was Charles; Armytage. For a few moments he held her in fond embrace, kissing her lips tenderly again and again w liile she, in that soft, crooning voice that had rung in his ears through all those months of separation, welcomed him, leitcrating her declarations of love.

" 1 received your telegram in Brussels two days ago, and have come to you direct," he said at last. " 1 did not go to the Post Office every day, hence the delay." " Ah ! my poor Nino must be tired," she cried, suddenly recollecting. " Here, this couch. Sit here, it will rest you. Povero Nino ! What a terrible journey — from Brussels to Florence!"

He sank upon the divan she indicated, pale, weary and travel-worn, while she. taking a seal beside him, narrated how she had left Lyddington foi London, and afterwards travelled to Rome. Feeling that the glance of the woman lie worshipped was fixed upon him he raised his head ; and then their eyes met foi a moment with an expression of infinite gentleness, the mournful gentleness of their heroic love.

"Why did you go to Rome?'" he asked " You always said you hated it."

"1 had business," she answered. "Urgent business ; business which has again roused hope within me." "Still of a secret nature?'' the young Englishman hazarded, with a quick glance of suspicion.

" For the present, yes," she replied, in a lou intense ' voice. " But you still love me, Nino? You can trust me now, can't you/ and she looked earnestly into his face.

" I have already trusted you," he replied " Since that night I left you at Lyddington my life has indeed been a dull, aimless one. You have been ever in my mind, and I have wondered daily, houily, what was the nature of this grave, mysterious peril which yon say threatens both of us." "That peril still exists," she answered. "It mci eases daily, nay hourly." 11 You are .still* threatened? * You, the ",vnhhy owner of this magnificent palazzo !" ho exclaimed, gnzing around the pretty room bcwildwed. "Often when I was in Florence, in those days when we first met, I passed this great building. Little, however, did I dream that my Gemma, who used to cycle v,\[h me in the Cascine, was its owner.' 1

She laughed, "I had reasons for not letthii? yr>u Icnow >i!y veil do me," site replied. "It" is ti^e !l. i:it I have monoy. but wealth h;!« b:uh t ;ht pl-p l -- : » J'a.t.rii'^'-:.', c- ! ;/ '-: tow, ol<i« — until 1 uii 'l you." "And nuw yon arc li,i|«pyT' he corked earnestly. *

"Ah! yes, I am happy when you are beside me, Nino," she responded, grasping his hand in hers. "I have never thought that I could learn to love you so. I am still nervous, still in dread, it is true. The reason of my fear is a strange one ; I fear the future, and I feav myself." . '•' Yourself 1" he echoed. - ( *¥pu k>sd sjs

that once before — long ago. You are noHf very formidable.'' "Ah, no! You don't understand," she cried hastily. "I fear that I may not hive the strength and courage to carry through a plan I have foimed to secure your safety and my own libeity."

"But I tan assist you.' he suggest od., " Your interests are mine now, remember,"he added, kissing her.

"Yes,"' she said looking up into his eyes. "But to remit:* me assistance i.s not possible. Any ,ie! ion on your r>nrt r^ibt necessarily i/nronl berth of' us. "No, I jmut acfc al<!ii- " "

'"A Lea: 1 ' ' Veiy i-,oon. In a fov days, or a few Wei ::s. When I know not. Very soon 1 must return to England." "To England!" he cried. "I thought you preferred your own Italy!" " I have an object in going back," she ;i nswered ambiguously. " You'll let me accompany you?" She reflected for a moment, then Avithout responding rose, rang the bell, and told the man servant, who entered resplendent in the blue Funaro livery, to bring her visitor some wine.

" You must be half-famished after your journey," she exclaimed. She.wa.s standing before him in aa\ liii e gown, vhite from head to foot. "I must really apologise for riot being more hospitable, Nino." '

"I'm really not hungiy," he replied. Then he added : " You did'i'l answer my question."

"1 was reflecting," she responded slowly. " I don't know whether ii i.s wi,°e at this juncture for you to return to England, into the very midst of your enemies." " You haven't yet explained who my enemies are, beyond urging me to be vary of Malvano. True, that man has lied to me about you. He told me a silly, ronnntic, aiid m holly fictitious story regarding your parentage ; but, after all, he may have been mistaken, especially as it was in answer to my inquiry whether he knew anyone named Fauetti in Florence."

" Malvano was well aware that I had u.^ed that name more than once," his well-beloved replied, "lie wilfully deceived you for hij own purpose. He wished to part us.'"

"Why? He is surely not in love with you?"

" Certainly not," she answered, laughing at such an idea. " His object was not jealousy. "

"Then he is actually my enemy?"

" YeV she replied. " Avoid him. If yon desiie to return to England with me I will allow you to do so with one stipulation. The moment we set foot in London we musC part. If it were known that we weie together all my plans would be frustrated." " And 1 am to leave you to the mercy of these mysterious enemies of yours V he observed dubiously.

"It is imperative. You must leave London instantly and go away into the country. Malvano must not know that you are .in England. Go to your uncle's in Berkshire, and wait there until I can with safety communicate with you." " But all this is extraordinary," he said, myjstilied, but taking from her hand the glass of wine she had poured out for him. " t must confess myself still puzzled at finding 3'ou mistress of this magnificent pa-lace, and yet existing in deadly fear of mysterious enemies." He knew nothing of her commotion with the Italian Ministry of Foreign Afl'ans, and only regarded her as a wealthy woman whose caprice it had been to masquerade, and who had earned a wide reputation for gaiety and recklessness.

" Some day, before long, you shall know the whole truth, Nino," she assured him in deep earnestness. " When you do you will be amazed — astounded, as others will be. I know I act strangely, without any apparent motive* I know you have heard evil of me on every hand, yet you still trust me," and again she looked into his eyes. "Yet you still love me." " Yes, piccina," he answered, calling lier once agan by that endearng. term she had taught him in those summer days beside Ilia sea when he knew so little Italian and experienced such difficulty in speaking to her. " Yes," he said placing his arm tenderly round her waist, "I trust you, although evil tongues everywhere try to wound you." Only when beside this man she loved was she her real self, true honest, loving, and tender-hearted. To the world outside she was compelled to wear the mask as a cold, sneering, crafty, and coquettish woman, (he cunning and remorseless adventuress who had won such unenviable notoriety in the political circles at Rome and in Florentine society. " La Punaro is known by repute in every town throughout Italy," she said brokenly. " My reputation is that of a vain, coquettish woman, without heart, without remorse. But yon, Nino, when you know the truth, ihalJ' be my nidge. Then you will knowhow I have suffered. The foul lies uttered on every side have cut me to the quick, hi!; under compulsion I have remained silent. Soon, however," and her brilliant eyes seemed to Hash with eagerness at the thought which crossed her mind—" soon I shall release myself, and then you shall know everything — everything." " On that day perfect happiness will come to me," he said fervently. "I love you, Gemma, more deeply than ever man lo\ct ! woman."

•' And I too, Nmo, love you with all m\ heart, with all my soul." Their lips met again in a fierce caress, their hands clasped tightly. ITe looked into her clear eyes, bright with unshed tear?, and saw tear and determination, truth and honesty mirrored therein. Her tiny hand trembled in his, and then for very joy siia suddenly burst into a flood of emotion.

" When shall we leave for England," he asked at last, his stiong arm still about her waist.

"In a couple of days, f have only waited here for you to join me," she said, drying her eyes. " Life without you, Nino, is impossible." " So, within a , week we shall be in London."

"Yes," she replied. "Soon, very soon I hope, I may be free. But I have a task; before me ; one that is difficult and desperate. In order to secure your safety and my own freedom from the hateful bonds: which have fettered me these last two yeavs. I am compelled to rcsorfc to strategy, to <W