LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5961, 23 June 1887, Page 1

LITERATURE.

She was like a beautiful harmonious piece of music, but wanted a chord. One has

often, when sitting at an organ, let his fingers wander up and down, and slowly worked out a harmony unconsciously, but such a harmony is as fleeting as the sunlight. It may, indeed, be repeated so far, but at a certain point the harmony stops, for there is a chord wanting. That chord is a lost one, and will very possibly never be recovered again, unless by a master of the instrument. So it was with the Englishman's beautiful wife. The harmony of her perfect loveliness was there ; but the one chord of her soul was awanting. Who could find it P

THE BLACK CROSS.

A NEW STORY.

[By Hamilton Seymour.]

(Author of "The Scarlet Cord," " Newlyn," "The Old Grange," &c.)

{Published by Arrangement with the Author) (Continued.) Chapter 111. THE LOST CHILD.

(To be continued.)

Loyola Fabri was a fairly imaginative young man, therefore tbe fact that he owned a finely-executed portrait of a beautiful woman took hold of his fancy, more co because the orignal was now in the came house, and that, should he accept the engagement offered him, he would see her daily. He had never felt what love was like ; hiß calling forbade him to indulge in bo " earthly and sensual " a passion" but he could not help feeling admiration for so perfectly beautiful a woman. It must be left to the reader to distinguish and settle the motive which mads the young priest the following morning accept the post of tutor to his befriender's boy— whether it was the desire to fathom the mystery of the two crosses, or as a step towards power and advancement, or both together. The sudden eruption of Vesuvius put a stop to Elliot's plans for removal for some time. Everybody was in a state of intense excitement, and business and pleasure were alike neglected. During the day Vesuvius threw out its lava and smoke; at night, with its burning crown, it seemed a suspended eternal menace to the inhabitants. The priest and his young pupil in a remarkably short time became the fastest of friends. The boy wag blessed with a sweet temper, and nature had, fdr once, made such an admirable thing as that a beautiful case. The boy's appearance was a Btriking reflex of his mother's loveliness and his father's strength. His hair was rich dark, and curled round his perfectlyformed head. The brow gave promise, under good training, of great intellectual power; the eyes were large and luminous, and the mouth was sweet, and free from any sign of petulance. His newly-appointed tutor was very gentle to him, and seemed from the first day to have gained the boy's love and admiration. They got along admirably : the priest talking about those things he had seen and heard— mixing up worldly matters and religion with all a young man's enthusiasm— little Richard listening with his eyes open, and asking in his simple way, many questions. One of these seemed to puzzle and Btartle Loyola for a moment. It was t " Why should men shut themselves up in large stone houses, and yet wish to rule others who do not ?" ' "My son, you cannot understand these, things yet." "Bat papa says that those men are dangerous, and would destroy all liberty were they to gain their ends," persisted the boy, innocently. The young priest's eyes blazed for a moment. "Clearly," thought he, "this Englishman does not believe in religious orders. I know the meaning of his smile now." Then he answered aloud: "My son, there are certainly those who would do such things, but you will grant I am not :>ne of them." . The boy was not satisfied with this ; yet he could not answer. To change the conversation, the young priest asked his pupil how old he was. "I shall be six in the spring-time," said the boy gleefully, " and papa has promised to give me a pony then." " Ah ! that will indeed be pleasant." ' The boy's eyes gleamed with anticipation. "WhenatPaola " "Where?" said Loyola, excitedly. " Where did you say, my boy. You Bpoke not distinctly ." "Paola," repeated the boy. "I was born at Paola." Faola was the seaport town a few miles Prom the monastery where the' priest wa3 ant found, and afterwards reared into a brother. Might not this fact explain the mystery of the two crosseß ? "Tell me about Paola, my son. How long did you live there ? " "Five years ago; mamma would not leave it sooner." "Why, my son P" " Because someone forbade her " "Why, you two seem to be great friends already ; you must be having quite an interesting conversation," said a voice, and turning they beheld Sir John looking down upon them. They were sitting 'in one of the piazzas. "Oh yes, papa, Signor Fabri has been very kind, and telling me all that he has seen." "Sir," said the priest, addressing his benefaotor, "we are talking jußt now of Paola. I was reared in the monastery of St Ignatius." " Yes ; we lived in Paola for sometime," eaid Elliot indifferently. " I was glad to get out of it." Loyola could easily see there was some constraint about him— some secret which rankled in hia soul. He determined to find it out.

After some ordinary conversation they ! rose and proceeded homewards, Sir John telling them that he had made arrangements for leaving Naples in three days. They were' going to journey overland vid Borne, Florence, Milan, and Paris. This was joyful newß to the young priest, who had dreamt of Rome as being his future home. It was not yet, indeed, to be, but it might be in the future] in the meantime he would see it with his natural eyes — see the Holy City at last, otherwise than as a picture in a vision, or what he had conjectured by his imagination from the stories told him by pilgrims. The three days were Bpent in busy preparations, during which Loyola saw little of his master's wife. Those few times he did see her, she impressed her image more and more on his heart. The last time he saw her was when the arrangements for departure were completed, and he was standing at a side-door in the hall. She came down the broad white marble steps dressed in a white satin robe, her dark hair and delicious olive complexion contrasting well with the creamy folds of her dress. A bunch of bright crimson flowers lay among the Maltese lace, which hid from vulgar gaze the well-chiselled form within. Could the young priest liken her unto anyone he had ever seen, heard, or read of? It was impossible. She might have rivalled Helen of Troy, or any of the goddesses of ancient Rome or Greece ; yet there was something which, were it present, would have made her perfect in her loveliness. What was that something ? Could some cankering sorrow be eating away her very heart, or some fearful secret weighing down her memory? He could not tell: it might be the former, but it had moro chance of being the latter. How could this Englishman have won such a beautiful Italian woman for a wife? and why should he have gone to such a place as Faola for her ? Few Englishmen ever came to Faola : why should this one have done so ? Father Fabri felt that he had some of the Italian's dislike for the English, who are so overbearing in their cool audacity. And yet what did it matter to him that this Englishman had married one of the most beautiful of his country women— ho had no part of it. As be thought all this to himself, the beautiful vision passed down the stairway and disappeared through a door into the garden facing the bay. Signora Elliot, as she was called by the Italians, had indeed a secret, which bidj as it were, her inner; life from day.