CARMELA.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue VI, 10 August 1895, Page 175

CARMELA.

BY

EDMONDO DE AMICIS.

Lvinc about midway between Sicily and the point of Africa nearest to it, is a small island called Pantellaria. 1 here is but one town upon it, and that contains nearly two thousand inhabitants, among then being some two or three hundred under police surveillance. On this account there used to be stationed on the island a company of forty soldiers, udner the command of a lieutenant, which was relieved every three months. Their duties were neither arduous nor confining, consisting oniy of standing guard at the barracks and prison, with an occasional drill ; and the cheapness of good wine, which could be had for twenty centimes a bottle, added not a little to their comfort. The lieutenant, as sole commander of the military forces of the island, had none to dispute his authority. There were two orderlies to attend him, and a large apartment in the centre of the town was placed at his disposal. The mornings were often spent in hunting on the hills, and after dinner he sat in a little readingroom smoking with the worthies of the village. Absolutely free, he had no disagreeable thought or foreboding, eave that of being obliged in sc short a time to yield hie place to another. The village lies upon the shore, and in its harbour the steamer plying between Tunis and Trapani used to stop every fifteen days. It was seldom that any other boat anchored there, and such a rare occurrence was the approach of a vessel, that it was heralded by the tolling of the church bell, and crowds would rush to the shore as if to witness some great event. To a stranger the village seemed quiet and reposeful. In its centre was a large p'aza sloping toward the shore, which was finally reached by a road not a stone’s throw in length. The shops and stores, as well as the Government buildings, were grouped about it. There also are, or at least were then, two cafes—one patronised by the mayor, tbe officials of the village and gentlemen ; the other by the common people. The officer bad his quarters in a house that was situated at the upper end of the plaza fronting the water. At this slight elevation you had stretched before you the whole harbour, the sea, and far in the distance, dimly seen, were Sicily and its mountains lining the horizon. Behind rose lavamade hills partly covered with woods. Three years ago, upon a beautiful April morning, the steamei from Trapani stopped at Pantellaria. From its first appearance the bell had rung in its fullest and richest tones. Many hurried to the shore, and among others might have been seen the lieutenant, the mayor, the justice, the priest, the receiver of taxes, the pilot and the doctor, who was officially charged with tbe health of those under police restriction.

Two boats kept for the purpose put out to the steamer and brought back thirty-two infantry soldiers and an officer, a handsome young fellow, who, after having saluted his predecessor and bowed to the village dignitaries, made hie way at the head of his division, through crowds of curious onlookers to the barracks. After having provided for his men, he returned to the plaza to be formally received by the mayor; during this ceremony he displayed a natural cordiality that did not lessen his dignified bearing. After dining with his colleague he was escorted to hie new home, where his predecessor’s orderly was packing the trunks and cases, while ono of hie own men was assisting at the work. The departing division started at eight o’clock, escorted by the new arrivals ; farewells were said, salutes fired, and our officer hastened back to his rooms. At sunrise the next morning he left the house, but he had not gone ten paces before he felt his coat gently tugged at. He turned quickly and saw standing a few feet from him a girl, slight, tall, and of exquisite beauty, with hair and dress in disorder, looking earnestly at him. * How may I serve you ?’ he asked in astonishment.

She did not answer, but smiled and, raising her hand to her forehead, made the military salute. The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders and turned away when he felt another tug at his coat. Once more he faced about and found her in the same position as before.

‘ What do you want ?’ he asked again. The girl pointed toward him and answered with a smile :

* I want you.’ Not knowing what to do, and noticing that he was the innocent cause of much amusement for ono of the villagers, he

started to go on ; then, changing hie mind, he pulled toms silver out of his pocket and oft'ered it to her. With a movement of her hand she indignantly refused the money, and repeated : * I want you.* And she stamped her feet, and shrieked as a small child might when denied something it had been begging. He now saw that there were seveial bystanders, all laughing, and, looking at them, then at the girl, then again at the crowd, he understood and continued on his way. He rapidly crossed the plaza ; but just as he reached the end of it, he hourd behind him the quick steps of some one running on tiptoe, and as he was about to turn around he heard the same sweet voice with its strange accent murmur: * My treasure!'

He felt a shiver run over him, but he kept on at a faster gait than before, but once again he heard :

• My treasure!’ Turning toward the girl, he exclaimed in annoyance : • Leave me alone ! Go away 1 Do you hear?’

She looked hurt at first, then smiled and moved a step forward extending an arm, as though to caress him ; but he promptly dodged, and she murmured :

* Don’t get angry, my little lieutenant.’ ‘ Go away, I tell you !. ‘ My treasure !’

*Go away, or I shall call a soldier and have you arrested,’ and he pointed to some of bis men who were standing near. She waited no longer but started slowly away, repeating sadly : ‘My treasure !’

* VVhat a pity !’ said tbe officer to himself, as he walked toward the shore ; * she is so lovely.’ Small wonder that he thought so, for she was a handsome type of the strong and noble beauty of the Sicilian woman—a beauty such that love is, in a subtle way, unconsciously inspired by it. Before those dark andi snder eyes self reliant manhood is in the it cat imminent danger—they seem to possess themselves of the soul’s secret.

Her soft, wavy black hair was blown about a face that was open and thoughtful. The movements of her brows and lips eemed full of strength and life, but her soice was veiled, as though wearied. Her vonvulsive smile was succeeded by a sad expression of vacancy, which showed that she neither heard nor saw.

* I cannot understand why she is allowed her liberty. Something might happen to her,’ the officer remarked to ihe doctor, as they sat together smoking their cigars in the cafe that night, after he had related his experience of the morning. ‘Where could they confine her?' he replied. •In the hospital in Sicily ’ She has been there and the town paid for her ; but, finding that it was only money thrown away, they brought her back. There was little to hope for. The first to say so were the specialists who examined her. Here, at least, she is as free as the air, poor thing, and she annoys no one but the soldiers.’

The officer wished to know why the military were tbe only objects of her attention.

• Well, you see, the particulars of the story are a little uncertain. Every one tells it in his own way, especially those to whom the pure and simple truth is never sufficient—those who wish to add something of their own invention, But the facts, as they are believed by the few gentlemen here, are these . Three years ago an officer who commanded hero, as you do now— a fine looking fellow, who played the guitar well and sang well —fell in love with this girl, who was then, as she is even now, the handsomest in the village.’ • Very handsome, indeed,’ the officer interrupted. • And the girl, naturally, partly for his fine voice, because here they are wild over singing and all music, partly for his brass buttons and gold lace, and especially as he was a handsome fellow, the girl, I say. fell in love with him. But such love ! Love as it is understood here I Love in comparison to which the flowing lava seems cold—with a furious jealousy that you would only expect in a tragedy. Of her family the mother alone remained ; a poor woman, who only saw through her daughter's eyes, and was ruled by her. You can imagine the liberty she had. it occasioned talk in the village—mere baseless rumours, that never had the slightest foundation. A strange character is hers, and rarely met with, in which a delicate modesty and vestal-like virtue are intermingled with peculiar forwardness. Well, the substance of the story, it appears, is that one day the officer promised to marry her, and she believed him and went into raptures of joy. There were days, it is said, when they doubted that her brain could stand the strain ; and I believe it, for who can tell to what point such a love cannot be brought ? One day, if they had not taken from her hands a girl of whom she was jealous (I do not know why), she would have handled her very roughly. Exactly

opposite the cafe here she got bold of her, right in the public squa-e ; it was a tremendous scene, and it was not the only one. A woman could not pass her officer's quarters and lift her eyes to the windows, without completely upsetting her. At last the day came tor the company of soldiers to leave and give place to another. The officer promised to return in a couple of months, but she never saw him again. The poor girl fell ill. Her recovery was very slow ; but perhaps she might not have lost her reason had she not learned in some way that her lover had married another. The shock was unexpected and she became insane. That is the story.' • And then ?’

* And then, as I told you, she was sent to the hospital in Sicily. She was returned in a few months, and has now been back over a year.’ At that moment a soldier entered, look ing for the doctor.

* I will tell you the rest later.’ and, so saying, the doctor hastily left. As the officer arose to go, he knocked his sword against the table, and a moment afterwards a voice was heard from without :

‘ I heard him ! 1 heard him ! He is there,' and at the same moment- the girl appeared at tbe door.

‘ Send her away,’ cried the officer, and a soldier obeyed his order. ‘ I shall go and wait for him at home,’ she was heard to say as she walked away. ‘ I shall go and wait for my little officer at home.' Carmela’s mother lived in a small house at the end of the village with two or three families of peasants, and she managed with great difficulty to earn a living by sewing. During the first months of her daughter’s misfortune she received help now and then from the wealthier families on the island, but they had contiibuted nothing to her support of late ; for they found that their assistance did the girl no good, as she would neither eat nor sleep at home, and her mother was unable to control her. She would wander about the hills and among the rocks, and could be seen gestulating, talking to herself, and laughing. Boys passing over those roads would see her in the distance busy building small forts of stones, or seated on a rock looking sadly out upon the sea. If they attracted her attention her eyes followed them until they had disappeared, without replying either by voice or gesture to anything that they had said. At the very utmost she would sometimes, when they were a considerable distance away, point an imaginary gunat them, though this was invariably done in all soberness. She acted in the same way towards the soldiers, with none of whom had she ever been seen to speak. She pissed in front of them or among them without seeming to hear their words, without turning her head, or ever looking them in the face. Wherever she might be she would always hasten to the plaza when he heard the sound of the drum. The soldiers used to drill upon the shore and she would follow them there, and from a little distance watch them while the sergeant gave orders and the lieutenant superintended the manoeuvres. Then, when their work was over, she would approach the lieutenant, and, smiling lovingly upon him, use those terms of endearment with which he became so soon familiar, but in a low voice, covering her mouth with her hand, that the soldiers might not hear what she said. When in tho village she could often be seen on the plaza in front of the officers' quarters in t he centre of a circle of boys, who were much interested in all her actions.

L'pon rare occasions she went to church, kneeling and joining her hands with the others as if in prayer, and with the others appeared to utter the sacred words; but once she broke out into hysterical laughter, and since then the aged sacristan had refused her admittance.

In other days she had had a soft sweet voice, and sang as merrily as the birds ; but now she only hummed over and again a few bars of a song her lover used to sing to her—hummed them at the foot of the stairway leading to the lieutenant’s rooms, as she ate a few figs. She had her hours of pensive sadness when she neither spoke nor smiled, nor moved for any sound, even though her mother called her.

To the [soldiers, as has been said, she paid no attention whatever ; her aflection was reserve'! for the officers ; nor was she equally lavish with her favours to all of them—she had preferences. From the day on which she returned from the hospital.

the company had been changed six or seven times, and there had been officers there of every age. temper and appearance. The younger and better-looking ones she was particularly partial to, though they were all her ‘ loves,’ all her * treasures.' The doctor was absent only a fewmoments, and returned before the lieuten ant left. Ho then told all that has just been narrated. As the officer arose once more to go, ho said, thoughtfully : ‘ Too bad ; it is sad, indeed—she is so lovely !' *1 grant you that she is lovely,’ replied the doctor ; * and what a noble and beautiful character she must have had.’ Tho lieutenant left. It was late at night and the plaza was deserted. His quarters were only a short distance away, but be walked in that direction slowly and unwillingly. ‘She will be there,' he thought, and he looked intently into the darkness, bending his head forward, trying to see if anyone were therein front of the door ; but it was too dark for him to see the door itself. He walked slower and slower, stopping every few steps. •If I knew that that shadow concealed an assassin waiting for me with upraised knife and ready to strike.’ he thought, * I should walk more quickly and firmly’—and he then took ten or twelve steps forward. ‘ Ah, there she is !' He had seen her ; she was seated on the doorstep, but in the darkness he could only discern the mere outline of her form. • Why are you here, Carmela ?' he asked, approaching her. She did not answer at once, but arose and coming to him placed her hands on his shoulders, and softly said : * I was waiting for you.’ ‘And why were you waiting for me?’ he asked, pushing her hands away, which fell only to grasp hie arms. * Because I am unhappy without you,* she answered. He could hardly bring himself to believe that she was unconscious of what she had said. He struck a match and held it near her face. The stupor of sleep, which she had not wholly shaken off, had deprived it of a little of its convulsive liveliness, and rendered it more calm and thoughtful, so that her appearance, with the naturalness of what she had said, increased tho illusion. ‘ Oh, my darling, my darling !' she exclaimed, as soon as she saw his face lit up for the moment by the match. She put out her hand and attempted to carets him. In his trying to prevent her doing it she caught his hand, and leaning over quickly, bit it in tho fervour of a kiss. He freed himself and rushed into the house, closing the door. ‘ My treasure !’ Carmela called after him. No answer camo, and she stood looking up at the lighted windows, until from mero weariness she sat down on the doorstep, crossing her arms over her knees, and her head soon fell forward and rested upon them. When he reached his room the lieutenant looked at his hand and saw upon it the imprint of eight little teeth. ‘ What sort of love is this?’ he aske 1 himself as he lighted a cigar. He commenced to walk about the room, thinking that he would force himself to plan new work for his little division for the morrow. * I will leave that until morning,’ he said, after a moment's reflection, and he sat down by the lamp, opened a book, but not until he reached the end of the second page did he discover that he had been reading a work on military science ; then thoroughly disgusted with his inability to concentrate his attention on any object, he decided to retire at once. He was about to blow out tho light, when an idea struck him ; he stepped quickly to the window, put out a hand to open it, drew it back, shrugged his shoulders, and went slowly to bed. Early the next morning hie man, enter ing the room softly, was astonished to find him awake, as it was much before the hour when he usually arose. As he was arranging his cravat a little later, he asked the orderly, who had just re entered the room, if he had seen anything of Carmela. • Yes,’ he replied, ‘ she was at the step a few minutes ago.’ • See if she is there still.' The soldier went to tho window, opened it carefully, looked down and answered * Yes.’ • Is she looking up ?' • No.’ • Is she dirsctly in front of the door or at one side of it ? • At one side. ‘Then I may bo able to avoid her.’ And he went down. But the sound of hissword again disclosed his presence.

‘Good morning ! Good morning !’ she cried, jumping up to meet him, and failing on Iter knees directly in his path she pulled out her handkerchief and began to dust his boots, murmuring : * Wait a moment — wait just a moment longer ; a little patience, dear. Now, now you are all right.’ * Carmelo !’ he exclaimed, and, freeing himself from her little hands, he rushed away.

By the end of a month the doctor and oqr lieutenant had become fast friends. They were of about the same age, they had many tastes in common, and being thrown together so constantly in a village where there were but few young men of their condition, had made them seem to each other as old and tried friends. But during this month the habits of one of them had changed very materially. He had received a number of large and learned-looking volumes from Naples, and for the past two weeks had done little but read in them, and take copious notes ; afterwards entering into long discussions with the doctor, who always ended by saying, * Well, in this case, I think that science c m be of no avail. We shall see what you will come to,’ and then they would separate, only to recommence the argument at their next meet ing.

One day after having asked the mayor certain questions, the officer sent for the only tailor in the village ; then he went to the shop of the only hatter, and from there to the haberdasher’s, and four days afterward he was seen walking on the shore dressed in a suit of grey linen, in all the magnificence of a great blue silk tie, wearing a large straw hat. That evening, the doctor meeting him, asked : • Well, what success ?’ • None at all.’ • Nothing ?’ ‘ Not the faintest sign.’ ‘ Do nob be discouraged — persevere.’ • Trust me to do that !’

The receiver of taxes had been a singer for many years, and was acquainted with various instruments. So he went to him and said, * 1 wish to lean to play the guitar,’ aid commencing with that afternoon, the receiver gave him two lessons each day. His pupil made rapid progress, and could soon accompany him as he sang. One morning his teacher suggested : ‘ I should think that your voice would be adapted for singing.’ Reacted upon the hint, learning many of the popular Sicilian melodies, and before a month had passed, he was able to accompany himself with the guitar. ‘ We once had an officer here who used to play very well,’ the receiver remarked one day. ‘There is a little song/ he added, ‘ that he would often sing ; a little song—wait a moment. Ah ! how well he used to sing it ! It began—(he had written it himself, you know)-it began : ‘ In the depths of your eyes, O, Carmela. my sad soul In calmness dwells : There the passing day Love's truth will find al way. ‘ I’ll draw peace from your eyes. O Caramel, when the toll Of death’s hour knells ; Theirs the constant ray— Hope's star to light the way.’. • Repeat it / and tho receiver repeated it. ‘ Sing it,’ and he sang it. Another day, after having had a talk with the tobacconist, who had a shop on the plaza, he made a call upon the police captain. • Captain/ ho said, ‘ they tell me that you are an excellent fencer.’ •I ? Great Heavens ! it is over two years since 1 handled a sword.’ • Would you like to fence with me occasionally ?’ • Certainly.’ ‘ Then let us name the hour.’ Every morning after that all who passed heard a great clashing of swords, stamping of feet, and loud voices coming from the lieutenant’s quarters. • You might have saved yourself the trouble of this experiment/ the doctor said one day. • Has she shown any sign ?’ • Not yet, but it was just us well to try it. They told me that he used to fence with the captain every morning just about that time, and as she did not like it, she would go down to the shore.’ • Oh. my dear friend,’ said the doctor, • it will take more than that.’ A month and a half had already gone by since the day that the division had arrived. One evening the officer sat at his desk opposite the ductor ; he had not spoken for some minutes, and was passing his pen back and forth through tho flame of the candle. ‘How will it all end?* he finally said. * 1 suppose 1 shall go crazy too—that will be the outcome. 1 am almost ashamed of myself ; nt time l4 it seems as if everyone would ridicule it.* • And why ?’ asked the doctor.

‘Why?’ answered the other, timing his reply to give him an opportunity to think of what to say. * Ridicule my zeal—my

fevmpathy for the poor, unfortunate girl; ridicule my usele«£ experiment*.’ • Zeal and sympathy. They are not to be laughed at,' and, looking him in the eye, • Tell me the truth,’ he continued, ’ are you in love with Carmela!’

• I,’ exclaimed the officer, and he stood there as if asking himself that question and reddening at the thought. • Yes, you,’ answered the doctor ; ’ tell me the truth—be frank ; no need to assure you that 1 am your friend.’ • Yes, you are my friend, and therefore I cannot tell you what is not true.’ He was silent for a few moments, and then he spoke rapidly,first with pallid face, then all aglow, stammering and contradicting himself, like a boy caught in mischief and obliged to give an explanation. He laughed nervously. ‘I in love? and with Carmela? A crazy girl Do you think it possible ? How could such a strange idea enter your head ? The day it happens you may assume the right to report to my colonel that I should be placed in an asylum. In love? Why that is preposterous. I pity the poor girl. I sympathise with her. I would give anything to see her restored to reason. I would willingly make any sacrifice and rejoice in her restoration to health as if I were one of her own family. That is true; but such a feeling is far distant from love. I like her, and I suppose that sympathy always carries some degree of affection with it. I admire the noble character she must have bad, which even her insanity discloses. I like the honesty with which she avowed her love to him upon whom she bestowed her heart, and I am inspired with greater kindliness toward her on account of the cruelty of her fate. Poor girl ! she is so beautiful, beautiful as an angel. Look at her eyes, her mouth, her hands I Did you ever look at her hands? And her hair flowing about her face, how soft and black it is! I look at her and say : " How sad that this fair daughter of the sun cannot be loved 1” There are moments when it is impossible to realise that she is not sane. When she looks straight into your eyes, and smiles and says ” Dear 1” And in the night, when I cannot see her face, but only hear her sweet voice telling me that she has been waiting ; that shewanted to see me ; that she loved me—at those times against my reason I am forced to believe her sane. I listen to her, I Cake her hand and kiss it, I believe she knows and feels what she says, and while the illusion lasts my heart beats quickly—it beats as if I really were in love—and I call her by name with the idea that she is to answer me at last and tell me that she is herself again. ’’Carmela I” I say, and she will answer. “Well?” “You are not insane, are you ?’ • “1, insane ?” she answers, looking at me so seriously that I would swear she is not. • “ Carmela !” I cry, with a gleam of hope, ‘ tell me once more that you are not." She looks at me as if astonished and breaks out into a laugh ; then I feel as if I would die in despair. ‘You know something of what I have done, but you do not know all. Nearly every evening I have had her come to my quarters. I have talked with her for hours. I have played and sung to her the same old songs her lover used to sing. I told her that I was in love with her. I caressed her ; I allowed her to caress me and kiss me as if I were a child. With what a heart I did this. I leave you to imagine. Ido not know whethor I felt disgust, fear, shame or remorse, or the whole together. 1 can only tell you that in kissing her I trembled and paled as if I were kissing a corpse ; then again 1 felt I was making a noble and generous sacrifice. But if at one moment ennobled, the next I would seem to be committing a crime, and shrink with horror from myself. I have suffered all possible agony, and all apparently for nothing. And with despair this fever in my heart increased. I cannot sleep, because I know that she is down at my door. I think of her face appearing at my window, and those two eyes fix themselves on mine. Then I may imagine that I hear her coming up the stairs ; I sprang up in my bed and seem to hear her laugh down in the plaza the laugh that chills like the touch of an icy hand—and I have not courage enough to go to the window and look out. If I begin to read or write, my thoughts are still with her. lam sad, and fearful of some tragic end ; and when 1 ask what the outcome will be, what mark it will leave upon my heart, 1 will not answer myself. I fear the answer and dare not seek it. • Doctor I' he exclaimed after a moment’s silence, ‘am I, too, becoming insane ? My brain seems to be giving way under this awful pressure; I cannot stand this life.' He was silent again, and then continued more calmly as hope reasserted itself. ’lf she should regain her mind, and her heart become as it was before, and those eyes should lose forever their strange, terrifying light, and her sweet mouth never again emit that horrid laugh, and one day she should come to me and say “I thank you and bless you. You have given me life; I am grateful and love you,” and should then burst into tears. If I could see her

■a other girls are ; if 1 could see her go to church and kneel in prayer, redden at a word of praise, re-feel one by one as in a new childhood the emotions and atiectiona of which she has lost all knowledge ; and if I could Bay that I hud brought about the change, that I had re-given her all the hopes of youth, and redeemed her for her family and for love, oh ! my friend,’ he exclaimed, grasping the doctor's hand, ‘ I would think myself a god ; I would believe that I, too, had created a human being, to possess two souls and to live two lives—hers and mine. She would seem to belong to me ; I would think that destiny had sent her, and I would take her to my mother as if she were an angel. I think I would go mad with joy. If it only were true 1* And hi< head fell forward in his hands as he sobbed violently. •My treasure !’ They were the words spoken by a familiar voice upon the plaza. He jumped up resolutely, and, turning to the doctor, said: ’Leave me.’ They grasped hands warmly, and the doctor went at once.

The lieutenant remained standing in the middle of the room for a few moments, lost in thought, then stepping to the window, opened it and looked out. It was a calm, clear, beautiful night. He could see the whole village, the roofs, the deserted streets, the harbour and the shore, the sea quiet and still, and far away the Sicilian mountains ; and over it all fell the brilliant white light of the full moon. •If I could only partake ot this peace ’ he thought, and with a sigh he leaned out of the window, and looking down saw Carmela seated before the door. ‘ Carmela 1’ he called. • My dear 1' • vVhat are you doing?' • What am 1 doing? I am waiting, you know. lam waiting for you.’ ‘I am coming down to open the door.*

Carmela clapped her hands in joy. The door opened and the officer appeared with a light in his hand. Carmelia ente red and taking the candle passed in front of him and climbed the stairs hurriedly, and saying : ‘ come dear, give me your hand , she dragged him after her. When they reached his room he had her sit in front of him ; and patiently, as be had done so often before, he rehearsed hie trials and misfortunes; he invented new ones, expelimenting in different ways, speaking slowly, thoughtful y—simulating love, hate, anger, desperation, pain. She would look at him attentively, and when he had finished she would ask, laughing:—‘What is the matter ?’ or she would murmur : ‘Poor little darling, 1 pity you I’ and she would take his hands and kiss them, feeling apparently the deepest sympathy. • Carmela I' he exclaimed at last. • What do you want ?’ • Come here,’ and be motioned her to come to him. She approached slowly, looking at him lovingly, and then she suddenly fell into his arms, kissing him and whispering: ‘My dear, my darling.’ He passed his arm around her waist and drew her down upon his knee and held her so, stroking her hair, looking intently into her eyes. She got up of a sudden, and seemed to be thinking of something. She finally murmured a few words, which he did not hear at first. She repeated them : •He will leave me.’

The officer saw a ray of hope, and remained silent, watching her anxiously. Carmela was thoughtful or seemed to bo tor a moment longer ; then smiling strangely, but not in her usual way, he could her say : • Two months—two months !’ He could hardly restrain a cry of joy at this evidence of a partial return of the reasoning faculties. At that instant Carmela raised her head, saw a high hat near her, and with a burst of laughter snatched it up, put it on and began to dance around the room. ‘Carmela,’ cried the officer sadly. But the remonstrance only seemed to increase her excitement. ‘Carmela,’ he cried again and then ran after her, but she rushed down the stairs and was soon out of his reach in the very centre of the plaza, laughing and dancing. He returned and could see her from his window.

• Carmela ! Carmela !’ he sobbed, and coveting his face with bis hands he fell upon a chair. The following morning he called at the doctor’s house at a very early hour. A glance at his face showed that he was in need of comfort und advice, which were at once lavishly bestowed. At first the officer seemed to listen, but soon was lost in thought. Suddenly he brightened up and said :

‘ It is strange that I had not thought of it before.’

‘Of what?’ asked the doctor. He did not answer, but drew his chair up to the table, and wrote rapidly for some minutes. When he had finished, he read as follows: Dear Lieutenant.—l shall be brief, as is the custom among military men. I am stationed at Pantellaria, in command of the division of which you were in charge throe years ago, during the month of July, August

and September. In thia village I have met a girl about eighteen years of age, Carmela by name. She has been insane for about two years, report says on your account I understand that you have been informed of all the particulars, and know what has happened since your departure from the island, as well as the general traits of her insanity. I have taken great interest in her unfortunate condition, and am now making every effort to restore her lost reason. In this endeavour I have imitated your dress. I learned to sing and play as you did. I informed myself of your habits. I told her I loved her. 1 tried to make her believe that I was you—a'l apparently to no avail. I cannot express the sadness that has come over mo at seeing my hopes shattered. Oue chance alone remains, and my ability to make use of it must come from you. The best authorities state that the insane may often be cured by reproducing for them with the utmost exactitude every minute particular of some great event that occurred prior to their deprivation of reason, though it may or may not have been the direct cause of it. I have thought that repeating for Carmela in this way the scene of your departure might prove efficacious. I made inquiries of several in the village, but only succeeded in eliciting the fact that you left in the evening, and chat before leaving you dined with the mayor and several others. What happened at that dinner they do not recall, or recall only in part. I beg you to give me these details ; it will cost you little and may confer great happiness upon me. Wrice me all you remember ; tell me who were there, all that was said ; describe the actions—everything. And, above all, try to give me the exact time and correct order of each incident. Do this for me, and I shall be grateful for the rest of my days. I add nothing else ; I rely upon the nobility of your heart. With a cordial handshake from yout comrade in arms, I remain anxiously awaiting your reply. • What do you think of it ?’ ‘ Beauti ully conceived,’ answered the doctor, who had listened with the closest attention while he read ; ‘ but do you know his name? Ms regiment? Where be is stationed now?’

‘ The mayor knows all that,’ ‘ Do you think that he will answer?’ ‘I think so.’

And he did answer—he answered with a letter ot eight pages. He gave all the desired particulars, mentioned the people who were there, stated the subjects of conversation, described the speeches, all in the order in which they occurred ; but not a word beyond that—not a word about Carmela; not a word that did not refer to the dinner and to his departure ; notaword beyond the mere answers required by the lieutenant’s questions ; not a remark of sympathy. But perhaps the very formality of his reply was an attempt at concealment of the remorse he felt—a remorse too deep to be expressed by the ordinary words of sorrow and regret. In sending his letter, he had only said : ‘ At one in the morning the boat left. Good bye.’ And then the name.

• I understand,’ said the doctor, when his friend had finished reading the letter, • I now understand why no one of the many present at that dinner has a very clear recollection of any of the details. No wonder their memory fails; the wine flowed so freely.’ That same day they began preparations for this last great experiment. They went to the mayor, the justice, the receiver, and all the other officials, with whom they were now more or less on terms of intimacy. The doctor, with the arguments of science ; the officer, with simple earnestness of appeal, by reasoning, explaining and demonstrating, at last succeeded in making each one understand what was expected of him. This assistance thus assured, nothing remained hut to rehearse the part each was to act. They sent tor Carmela’s mother, but she needed few explanations —less than many others of the good people who were not quick to comprehend mutters of that nature.

Carmela had not been feeling well these last few days, and had remained at home most of the time. The officer and doctor went to look for her. She was seated on the floor near the door, with her back to the wall. When she saw them she got up, but much more slowly than usual, and approached the lieutenant. She tried to kiss him. and muimured the wonted words. ‘Carmela,’ said the lieutenant, • we have news for you.’ ‘News! News? News?’ repeated Carmela, smoothing the officer’s face with her hand.

‘I am going away to morrow." ‘lam going away tomorrow,’ repeated Carmela.

• I, I am going away. I am going to leave the village. I am going to leave with all my soldiers. I am going on the steamer and shall be carried away.’ •Fur away—faraway.’muttered Carmela, looking in the direction the officer had motioned. For a moment she seemed to be thinking of something—then she said : ‘ The steamer—the steamer, that

smokes?’ and she tried again to kiss the officer, calling him by the accustomed name.

‘ Not the faintest sign,’ he thought, shaking hie head.

‘You must repeat it,’ whispered the doctor ; ‘ but better wait until later.’ And they went away, after having told Carmela not to follow them.

The dinner had been planned for the morrow. That same evening found Carmela again seated in front of the officers’ quarters. He called her in as soon as he entered, and they found his orderly, according to the directions that had been given him, quite intent upon packing. The table, the chairs, the sofa all covered with linen, clothing, books, and papers thrown together in confusion ; and the man was in the centre of the room, stowing the different articles away in cases. At first sight of this disorder Carmela seemed surprised, and looked questioningly at the officer. • I am preparing to leave,’ said he. Carmela looked around the room again, knitting her brows. He had never seen her do that before, and watched her attentively. ‘ 1 am going far away ; I am going by the steamer.’ ‘Going by the steamer?’ ’ Yes, I am going to morrow night.’ ‘To-morrow night?’ she repeated, and, seeing his guitar on a chair, she touched the strings gently. ‘ Are you not sorry I am going away ? Are you not sorry you will see me no more ?’ Carmela looked at him steadily, and then lowered her head and seemed to be thinking. H» did not disturb her. but appeared to be busily engaged in giving his orderly directions abjut the packing. She kept her eyes fixed on them, without making the slightest movement or uttering a sound. He did not allow her to remain there long, but after a few minutes said :

‘Come Carmela, you must not stay,’ and taking her gently by the arm he led her toward the door. She turned around and put out her arms to embrace him. • No, you must not,’ said the officer.

Carmela stamped her foot two or three times ; and then, unconscious that she had just been repulsed and now meeting with no resistance, sheagain extended her arms and passed her lips over his cheeks with that vacant expression seen sometimes on thefaces of thosewhose minds are filled with many thoughts, but who are confining the attention to no particular object. ‘Does this denote improvement?’ no asked himself. ‘lf God would only have it so !’

The next morning he remained indoors, and would not see Cartnela, although he knew that she was seated outside waiting for him. The afternoon was fully occupied in rehearsing for the evening. His apartment consisted of two rooms and a kitchen ; between his bedroom and the entrance at the head of the stairs was a larger room, with windows opening on the plaza. It was in this that he intended to give the dinner. The hotelkeeper next door lent him a laige table and camo himself, as he had do.,e three years before, to prepare there a few special dishes that were necessary. The doctor arrived first that evening about nine o’oclock. • She is just outside,’ he said as he entered. ‘ She told me that she had not seen you to-day. I asked her if she felt well, and she looker! at me and answered “ Steamboat,” and without a smile. Who knows what was going on in that little head ? God alone. Is everything arranged for your guests ?’ Having settled a few final details regarding the position at table, they had only to decide upon the best way for presenting one or two of the scenes of this drama. These minor difficulties had just been disposed of when they heard the sound of voices and treading of feet. ‘ Here they are,' said the doctor, and he looked out of the window. • Yes, they are here.’

The orderly went down to open the door, while the doctor lighted the candles that were placed at the four corners of the table.

• How my heart beats,’ said the officer. ‘Courage, courage!’ whispered his friend, grasping his hand. Then they heard Carmela exclaim : ‘ I, too, am going on the steamer,’ anti rhe clapped her hands. •Courage I’ repeated the doctor in hie friend's ear. ‘Haveyou heard? She begins to think ; that is a good sign. Courage. Here are your guests !' The door opened, and the mayor, the justice and the others who had met at the caf6 came in smiling. While the officer was greeting them and first thanking one and then another, the doctor whispered a few words to the servant, and he hastened down the stairs. In a moment he returned with Carme'a, and parsed intc the other room with her without any one showing that he was aware of her presence. ‘ Lot us be seated,’ said the lieutenant.

The squeaking caused by the chairs being drawn up to the tuble, and the buzz

of conversation completely drowned the noise the servant made in trying to hold Carme'a back, who, exclaim ng, ’ I have not seen him for a whole day,’ had tried to rush to the lieutenant. The orderly succeeded in restraining her, and placing a chair near the door forced her into it. None of those present turned toward her or looked at her, and she soon became quiet.

The rattle of forks, knives, plates and glasses then began a.id increased gradually, with the additional discord of voices engaged in the more or less successful attempt to overp >wer each other. All except the doctor and the lieutenant ate heartily, and drank freely of the good wino that had been provided. They began by praising the virtues of the soldiers, the corporals and sergeants, their valour and courtesy ; they praised the wine, but the conversation finally degenerated to that last of all topics, the weather. It was remarked that it would be a beautiful night for the trip. Then followed a repetition of the foimer laudations of the soldiers, and a renewed discussion of the trip they were to take. Their voices grew louder, their laughter more boisterous, and the rapidity with which the glasses were being emptied caused their faces to glow and their eyes to sparkle. Words followed each other without apparent meaning or connection, and unconsciously each one had taken hie part seriously and acted to perlection. But try as he might the officer could not enter into the scene with the spirit that he had considered necessary, though the only one who noticed it was the doctor, whose attention was divided between the two—the officer and Carmela. She had remained motionles throughout the entire dinner, watching closely every slightest movement. Three soldiers entered and carried out severa trunks that had been piled near the door. Carmela’s eyes were fastened upon them until they withdrew entirely, when her attention was once more directed to the table.

The doctor whispered to the mayor.

‘ A toast I’ exclaimed the latter immedi ately, as he arose with difficulty, holding the glass in his hand, ‘ a toast to the health of our gallant lieutenant. IVo grieve at his departure, but he will ever remain as a sweet memory in our hearts.’ He then proposed three cheers for the lieutenant, and they all arose, and noisily clinking their glasses, spilling the wine in doing so, they gave three hearty cheers. The mayor fell heavily in his chair. A few other toasts were given, and the talk about the soldiers and the trip was again renewed. The doctor suggested that the receiver give one of his favourite songs ; several others requested it, and the receiver yielded. He sang only a few stanzas before he was interrupted by the laughter and joking of two of hie friends who were seated near him.

The officer took advantage of a slight lull and cried, •My turn, my turn now ! and they were all silent. He took up his guitar and tuned it. He was pale and his

hand« trembled, but the song bore no trace of hie anxiety :

‘ln the depth* of your eyes. O. Carmela. my and soul In calmness dwells; There the passing day Love's truth will dud alway.

Carmela had listened attentively, knitting her brows from time to time as one who is absorbed in thought.

•Good ! Good !’ they shouted. ‘He sings like an angel,’ said one. The officer continued :

‘ I’ll draw peace from your eyes. OC:irm*da, when Ihe toll Of death's hour knells ; Theirs the constant ray— Hope’s star to bght the way.’

Those were the words, that was the music, precisely us they had been given on that other evening. ‘Good ! Good I’ repeated the guests. The officer sat down in fear, mb daring to look at Carmela. She bad not moved, but kept her eyes riveted upon his face. ‘ Silence !’ cried the officer, and all became still. The window was open, and music was heard from the plaza and the cheers of a crowd. It was the village band surrounded by many of the islanders, who believed that the division unexpectedly had been ordered to leave. Carmela looked toward the window. The expression on her face kept changing, and her large eyes moved from the window to the officer, from him to his guests, and then again to the window. When the music ceased a clapping of hands was hoard, as had been three years before upon the same occasion. At that moment hurried steps were heard upon the stairs and a soldier entered. • Lieutenant, the steamer is waiting.’ And the lieutenant, arising, said : • We must, go ' Carmela, with her eyes fixed upon him, got up slowly, pushing her chair slightly aside. All the guests arose and gathered around the lieutenant. Carmela’e mother entered. She kissed her daughter aflectionately, and whispered : ‘ Have courage, my dear ; he will surely return in two months.’ Carmela looked at her mother for an instant, and freeing herself slowly from the embrace, without uttering a word turned her head around to stare at the officer. His friends were thanking him and wishing him a pleasant voyage. ®He buckled on hie sword and took hie cap in his hand. Meanwhile Carmela had stepped beyond the threshold of the room in which she had been sitting, glancing rapidly an 1 nen ously from the officer to those about him ; then at the oiderly. then at het mother. She clasped her forehead with both hands, breathing heavily and trembling convulsively. Again they heard the music upon the plaza and the clapping of hands. • We must go,’ said the officer resolutely, and he started for the door. A long, despairing cry came from Carmela. She rushed to him and threw her arms about him, kissing him furiously upon his face and neck, crying and moaning. At last, before he could catch her, she fell upon the floor with her head at his feet. She was saved. Four months later, upon a beauti'ul night in September, when the moon was shining brightly, the steamer from Tunis that had made its usual stop in the harbnur of Pantellaria was rapidly nearing the shore of Sicily. The water about them was calm and undisturbed save the path that the steamer had ploughed. The passengers were all on deck, and the beauty of the scene had awed them into silence. Apart from the rest were a young man ami woman leaning over the rail with their heads so close together that they seemed to touch. In the distance they could sea the outline of the island they had left. They gazed long upon it without speaking, until the woman, raising her face, said .- • 1 am sorry to leave my village, though I have suffered so there, whore I first saw you, where you gave me life once more.’ An<l she rested her head upon her companion’s shoulder. ‘ We shall go back there some day,’ he said, turning her so that he ciuld look upon her face and into her eyes. • And shall we go back to your quarters’’ she asked softly, * and in the evening sit at the window from which you used to call me’ Then perhaps you will sing the song I love to hear. Won’t you hum it softly now ’’ And with his lips to her ears he began : •11 the depths of your eyes, O Carmela —’ Carmela throw her arms about her husband's neck and sobbed. *My darling I' he murmured, drawing her closer to him. When she ookod up he saw a new beauty upon her face, ami the moonlight showed where tears had been. She looked pensively upon the sea, the island in the distance and at her husband, anti whispered : • It is a dream.’ • No, my darling, it is the awakening.’ And the boat glided silently on.