LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1480, 13 November 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

TINA. f “ ALL THE YEAR BOUND.”] (Continued.) 4 You a r e an angel, little Tina,’ be said radiantly, and tho mother followed us with Jut blessings all down the winding road. We called at Elizabetta’s bouse, b-t the beauty was away at some me ry making ; ‘ with a newer sweetheart ’ whispered her s'ater to me. And so we went on onr way without hi- havi.g hade her cood-bya, ‘>o mat er, ’ saidDonat.n, recovering from his disappointment. ‘When she sees me again she will hi proud of me.’ We got along but slowly. Donato was weak, and he limped sadly, and yet be won d not lean on me. only lading his hand at times on my shoulder to make mo fancy that I helped b in. All that morning I chattered to him merrily ; my hea t rose and danced in my bp a-t, fo'r wa« I not going to make him w»H—little Tina, who owed him everything in the world ? As I loosed hack on t* c heights we were leaving, I fe t it g od to have got him away it a my own rands, out of reach of all pain from Elisahetta I knew the time would come when I. sliou*d have to had him baci< to her, but of ■ hut I did rot allow mvsc f to think. At pros, nt lie was my child, ms nur-ling, dopendoig on me for every present good ami uv-iry faurc hope. Let the time to come lake care of itself; lo .ly had to take care of D nato.

_ About mid ’ay we arrived at a little wayside house. The sun was hot, and we were du'tv a d thirs'.y.

‘ My brother is weak,’ T snid, ‘ and we avo travelling to fin S the doctors. Will yon allow bun to r. st on a bod for a few hours p I oil play for the children, and they shall Hamm.'

I began to rdav, and the little black-eycd elyea point'd th -ir toes and 1 fted their shirts I played a fast wh’Ving danie, snanp ng n,y (ing-rs. and sing rig a tVw notes t’’/ give zest and variety to the perf >rmance At parts of the dance we all laughed wildly in chorus, 'The children were crazy with glee the e ders clapped hands and urged on 'he fan. 7>-nato having rested, limped into the mid-t of it

‘ Why ’ he said, ‘ I have not seen yon so merry for a long time, little Tina I But I hope v'u have also had a rest.’

‘ 1 was not so tired as you,’ I said gaily, and the children danced on while the mother placed the supper ta'le under a cheanut tree, and Donato and I were invited to eat.

‘ You have earned your supper,’ said the woman kindly; and, as we ace, the aim began to set, and a great fringe of gold swept the dark pices upon the nearest height. Behind the pines and under the gold veil, I know 1) mate saw the face of Elisabetta, for he gazed upwards with that strange look, part pain, part anger, and part gladness, which always troubled his face when he thought of her. Aim he asked me for a song ; and I knew what that meant too

A lump rose in my throat; a great wild unhappiness came over me ; I had brought him so far, and I had been glad ; but his hea't hr.d gone back to El sab tta. ‘I will give you a subj ct,’ slid our hostess quickly. ‘One of our neighbors has jilted her faithful lover.’ I touched the zither, and turned away my face from Donato, for I did not want to wound him by showing thr ugh my eyes that I sang my song of anyone we knew. I began in a low voice trembling with indignation, but what 1 sang I do not now remember. I know that my face burned, and I quivered all over as I poured out my scorn for the woman who had f.daiiic « her troth. The glow went out of the sky while I sang ; as I uuished the twilight fell; and we sat in

a world of purple stillness, overhung by ghostly heights, and grouped with stars. Oar hosts applanded, and we were pressed to stsy longer but I slung my zither on my shoulder, and bade them good-bye, with a lip that st 11 trembled. ‘The moon is rising,’ I said, ‘the nicht is short ard refreshing. It is bet ter for him to r< st in the heats, and trv el in the coolness. The way is not bad, and we shall have plenty 0 f light.’ We walked aUng in silence; the moon shone big and bright ; the A’ps were veiled in silver gossamers; the gigantic shadows be ! ow stretc ud long wild arms upward ; the tall magnificence of the pines had become bU k and awfal, I knew well that Donato was angry with me. Elisabetta’s golden head and melting eyes had shone out of my song and betrayed me. In the passion of the moment I had denounced her.

‘Why do you judge her so harshly?’he asked.

A storm arose within me as I thought of her merry-making with her I vers, while tbipale sad face would keep looking back at her forever over the shoulder. He had sc far to travel, so many miles yet to rem ve himself away from her, so much to suffer before he could return to her with hope. And she, I knew, never thought of him at all Should he return as he went, how she would scorn his faithful heart; if, indeed, we <Ud not find her already a wife. But I cou d not bear to grieve h : m, who was here beside rno in the bitterness of his trouble, and who, after ail, had nothing but ire.

‘ I did not want to judge her,’ I said g°mly ‘ You .know well that I wish her to he true ’

And so we journeyed on ; ard he laughed at me, as we rounded a corner of the road and I shrank in fright from the glittering apparition of a t r ent, looking like the genius of our mountains, gliding by night, and shrouded in a silver veil. When 1 heard him laugh, my heart r■ >se, and I held by his hand as we went deeper into the mysteri >us shadows at our fe t. And we quarrelled no more, till o> e bright morning found us standing on the brink a preci pice, in the sunrise, looking down into the gardens tf Italy. by step we descended through the bloom, while our mountains rose higher and higher m blue walls around us. at last fading back. and leaving us aiming the flowers in a fruii-scmte ’ p'ain. Neither of us had ever been down in the plains before, and so it was all enchantment to us; th ugh our f ; et were hli-tered. and we couli hardly take a step w : th ut pain.

Little by li*tie we left the blue ramparts behind us, and or pt al ng the roads ; >eating at all the vi'lnges, and som times break-fa-ting or su ping delightfully in a way-ide garden or hathiog our fe t in the steam of some shaded gr ive. We weie w» loomed every where, for all the people piti-d and admired Donato, and were glad of a song fon hi* litt e sister B sides, we said onr prayers at every shr’ue ; and so the angels took of us. of course.

At dawn one morning we entered the city for wh'ch we were hound, and made our way st aight to the Duomo. Sitting on some step*, we wo - dered at the glory of the great colored window's, and fe t as if we had died and gone to heaven unawares. As soon as possible T found a 1 dgiog for D mato, and having left him at rest, went to see about th® doctors at once.

‘lt will he a troublesome affair,’said our landlady yitvindy, ‘Doctors make long bil’s, I can tell you.’ I show ed her aM the money we poss-ssed, but she said it would not nearly be enough I went out and made enqui ie« ; and I had ti weeo out my heart ia a corner of the Duomo before I ventured home again to Donato.

I set about trying to earn some money. In the evenings I sang on the Corso and in the great arcades wh re ladies and gentlemen ate ices ataer their drive ; I bat only made enough to help with the expenses of our living in the town. It seemed to grow more and more impossible that I could ever obtain the fees for Donato’s cure

There was a pretty trinket shop in one of the aread* s, right before the shop where f usuafJy sang. A'l s rts of beautiful things sparkled in the window under ths lamps, and a till man used always (to come out of the doorway to listen to my song On one occasion he stepped ont suddenly, and, going round the company with a little shiny saucer, he emptied a heap of coins into my apron. The next night he brought me a box of sweetmeats, which I was very nearly swallowing, when I remembered to control myself, ‘Will yen allow me to take them home so Donato ? ’ I said.

‘ Who is Donato ? ’ he asked, with a smil«.

‘My brother,’ I said, “who is ill and lamed ’

He came with me himself and presented the sweetmeats to Donato, who was glad to see a fr'end in his little room. Pietro was a tall dak mao —darker than our mountain people and looking a little hard, a though ho was so kind. Every evening after tha’ he came to visit us, and a’ways bought some nice little trea* for Donato ; for he wa« a wealthy man, with a whole shopful of be >t t ful things. One evening he asked mo to s f ep into bis shop, and offered to clasp a necklace round my throat. ‘ I cannit take it,’ I said, shrinking back. ‘ You already do too much for my brother, my friend ; hut I would rather keep your kindness for him, ’ * Neve” was a so devoted to a brother,’ he said ; but he put the necklace back into its case. When 1 told Donato of all this he Downed.

‘ And you do not wish to wca” the fellow’s baubles, little cue?’ he asked, looking at me anxiously. ‘No.’I replied readi’y, laughing for joy he ’ausc D nato had cared.

The follow lr g night Pietro came out of his shop with a bunch of roses. ‘ Oh.’ 1 crie !, ‘ for Donato ! ’ and str-tched out my hands tor them ca crly. ‘ Donato, < onato ! ’ he said, ‘always Do nato ! Do come for a walk with me, and let your brother wait f r one".’

I co>dd rot refuse, having already almost hurt hi;u about the n*r.kloue, and a-*-ay we walk .d into the moon ight out o ; ' the noise a d glare of the arcades. I felt strange and unaomf rta le walking si ’e by side with that black Piitro. but this mattered little as .Donato had found him so kind. ‘Tina,’he begin suddenly, and the tone of his voice startled mo at once, ‘I know you are a good little girl,’he went on, “ innocent and true, like the people of your mountains. I have always wished for such a g'rl for my wife. W r hen your b other goes home, I want you to stay here with me.’ ‘Oh no,’ 1 said breathlessly ‘ At least, you a-e very good, but I could not think of deeding my brother.’ * Sisters Ho not stick to their brothers f r ever,’ be said laughing; ‘and your brother will mb need you when he gets well and g iea home.’ ‘ How can he get well ? ’ I cried sadly. ‘We came to look for the doctors, hut we did not know the money they would cost. I fear poor Donato must limp back as he came.’ Pieero did not answer and we walked on in sil« nee for some minutes, ‘ Come, little l ina,’hesaid presently, in a tone of determination, ‘ let us make a bargain on the spot. X will give you the mon-y for the doctors, and when Donato is cured, you will become my wife ’ ‘ Oh no, no !’ I exclaimed wildly ; and the world ree'ed round me as I saw whatatempta'im had opened at my feet. Donato could he cured. X could do it. And yet here I was refusing, as if I had I een his enemy. My hands went up to my throat, for X felt like to choke, ‘ Take time to think of it,’ said Pietro. ‘ I do not wonder you are astoniihed. I am a rich man, and you are a poor girl; but I am not proud, and I w uld rather have you than any other X know with a fortune.’ * You are very good,’ I gasped. ‘ X will he very good to you,’ ho said eagerly ; ‘ you shall have trinkets and pretty dresses, and a servant to wait on you. An,d.

when your brother is quite strong, he can sometimes come to see ns.’

I grew every moment weaker ond more bewildered. We found ourselves at the steps of the Dunmo, ani I seized the opportunity to make my * scape 4 is late,’ I said, ‘ and I want to say my prayers. Ask me no more at present. Guod night.’

4 1 shall see you again to-morrow evening/ he f-aid, and squeezed my hands and went away

I lifted the heavy curtain and went into the Cuomo, ani stool among the vast marble pil’ars like a blade of grass among the trees of the forest. Ago den gleam touched the ilies and frnit upon the pillars above my head ; away in the distance I saw crimson and purple, and pale lamps that glowed like moons. I slid down till I lay with my face upon the pavement £■ rlorn, miserable, and rebellious, fighting with my heart till there was no strength left in me, body or soul. Through all my struggling, I knew what it was that was coming upon me. With all my might I declared that Donato must be cured. Had I not walked from the mountains for him w;th aching limbs and blistered feet; would I not cheerfully have died to put him safely into the doctor’s hands; and now was I going to fail him, because something was required of me difficult than travel or death. I knew that in the end I would not fail; and yet I straggled still and had to go on with my arguments. ( To ho. continued. )