Novelist.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2471, 12 May 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelist.

Through Deep Waters. « — BY INA LEON CASSILIS, Author -Vft "lima K,iphaoi, Actress" "The Young Widower," " M. CaileLc i Carpet Jiag," &<:„ &c. CHAPTER Y. Cola dk Camisacere:? received his . distinguished visitors with his usual • "raceful courtesy, and did the .honours of the studio the more -.willingly in that he knew one of the two ladies to be an appreciative and intelligent listener and beholder. The great packing cases were now emptied of their contents, and many works of art which Sir Selvvyn GrantFaulkner had not been able to see were placed on wall, pedestal, or table. Agnes felt at home in this world of beauty, and soeined at first almost puzzled by the very abundance of the harvest. The Spanish

painter had certainly sprung early in.o the favour of connoisseurs and other patronisers of the art, for most of the objects by which the visitors were surrounded were, it seemed, gifts, several coming from the Colonna family, and the very frankness with which Don Cola spoke of those things which the young Princess Teresa had given him, disarmed the idea svhich Sir Selwyn bad endeavoured to impress upon Agnes that the Italian lady was anything more to Cambaceres than he had himself said she was—a friend. On one occasion the painter corrected Lady de Clifford when she, misunderstanding him, attributed to the Prince Colonna a gift which had come from the Princess.

" Ifc was tho princess—the young lady, Teresa," lie said, " who gave it to me. She was always generous —I had admired it—and so she she would take no lvfu-al." And this he. stated so quietly and simply that he had no intention of conveying the impression that he was personally something more to the young Teresa than an artist. That if such were the case he was not aware of it there could be little doubt; but he more than once took occasion to remark that the princess intended taking the veil, and she had herself told him that she liked to give those of arts which she possessed to one who could appreciate them. He made this statement so entirely without the appearance:, at any rate, of any deeper emotion than regret at the loss to the world of one whose amiable qualities and beauty hod so adorned it, that Florence do Clifford felt certain such indifference could not be assumed, and dismissed the statement of Sir Selwyn as only a one-sided truth. She drew the painter aside, Agnes wandering away to feast her eyes on the " Death of Pvienzi," in order to consult him about the portrait of her daughter which she wished to entrust to his hands, and while they discussed the subject, Agnes herself sat down at the table and drew forth a portfolio in which she immediately became absorbed. All lovers of art know the delight of looking through an artist's sketch book, and here was ample food to satisfy Agnes for the rest of this day at the least. In the slightest pencil sketch, in the merest outline, there was so much beauty, that she gazed for more than live minutes on an : apparently careless pencil drawing of a head, a St, John the Evangelist, probably, marvelling at no less the genius which could by a few strokes, impart so much grace, dignity, and pathos, than at the actual merits of the sketch. The artist, ifc seemed, had revelled in the beauty which extracted from even the commonplace scenes of life, and had Hung olf upon paper tho rich stores of mind as Mendelsshon poured forth notes. East and west, north and south contributed their quota ; a group in a Turkish market, an Arab date-seller, a group at the Wailing place, in Jerusalem, Italian peasants, statutes from porch and pinnacle, saints and angels, w hat profusion was here; and Agnes half sighed as she turned the sketches over, wishing she could look at thctn every day. She was contemplating a drawing bearing the date " All Souls' Day, Paris, 18—" when tho painter came up to the table, and she looked up quickly—

" Did you draw that from life," she said touching the picture.

"From memory," ho said, looking down on the lovely crayon sketch, to which Agnes' eyes _ had gone back directly. A girl's figure kneeling beside a grave—a Latin cross on which she had hung a wreath of immortelles; the face of the girl was slightly averted, but the figure told its own tale ; the gtief, the touching grief of the whole form and attitude had been transferred to the paper with a facility that was something marvellous. " Purely from memory ?" said Agues, " clo you moan to say that you did not draw upon your imagination for that figure." " No; I see that girl's figure before menow;if you destroyed that sketch I could do it over again exactly. I saw her in Pere la Chase, two years ago, on the Day of the Dead, as you see by the date, and sketched that when I reached home." " llow long did it take you '? " " About an liour I think." "Very beautiful," slio said, " you seem then, M. Cambaceres, to have Horace Hernett's gift of memory." " I suppose I have; it is very convenient to me. See this," drawing out a vigorous sketch of a inau's head, a fine Italian head of the old Venetian type. "I drew this while I was waiting for the train at Aix la Chapelle; he eaine once or twice to my waster's studio —a Venetian nobleman Ho was. I always called him Marina Faliero ; I never knew his name."

•' Were you with Morella when you did it ? " asked Floronce. " Oh ! no > I draw this last year. I have pot seen the original for twelve years.'' "What a strange gift!' said Agnes, musingly, still looking down at the drooping figuro before the cross. " That picture seems to have fascinated you," said her mother, laughing. "I believe it has," answered Agnes, with her soft bright smile ; " it is such a lovely drawing." " Will the Signorina honour the artist by accepting it ? " said Oambaceres. "No, no," she said, quickly, "You are too kind, Don Cola."

" You will not refuse me so great a pleasure, Signorina ; I should be only too happy if you would pick out of the portfolio anything which you would honour me by admir-

ing." " That would bo too much," said the girl, -'I cannot reconcile mys'tlf to such unscrupulous robbery. I must accept this sketch, since you will not take a refusal, and I thank vou a thousand times for it ; but you must not ask me to encroach any farther on your generosity." " Indeed, Don Cola," interposed Ladv do Clifford, "you will frighten Agnes into silence if you aro so ready to give her whatever she admires."

" Oh, surely, no," said the artist, turning over the mass of sketshos in the portfolio ; " you do mo more than justice, Signora, to suppose that I am making a great sacrifico ; I do not know in truth what thore is here, and there aro two or throe more books like it. See, Signorina, this St. John, and this, and this, I saw you looking at them just now ; pray accept them." " Don Cola, your eyes aro too quick—please do not ask me to take so many," urged Agnes. " They are not many —very few Signorina. "Will you make a selection ? perhaps I can." Ho was still turning them over while he spoke, and despito Agues' protests laid one after the other before her, choosiDg them with a singular insight into her predictions, till she had quite a heap, and at length covered it with her hands, half-laughing— '' I really will take no more, Don Cola," she said, " I am ashamed to rob you so ; you must have some pity ou me." " One more," said the artist, " for this time; perhaps another day tho Signorina will honour me by making a further selection ; and there are other portfolios to choose from. I think you would like this," holding up a crayon sketch which made her clasp her hands involuntarily. It was a drawing more finished than many of the other sketches, of the Saviour and tho woman of Samaria at Jacob's Well. The mild J majesty of tho Divine Countenance was depicted with a fidelity that was nothing less than inspiration, and in marked contrast to it was the puzzled, astonished, yet half awed look of the woman.

" Oh ' that is beautiful," said the girl under her breath; "but, Don Cola, I cannot take this—l must not."

" Tho whole portfolio is yours, if you would but accept it, Signorina," said tho generous artist. " I will not put that sketch back. I drew it at Jacob's Well."

'• Did you ? then I shall valuo it doubly. llow can I thank you for it?"

" You have thanked me, Signoriua—by accepting it," said the courtly Spaniard. " I wish I could liavo rendered better my idea of the face of our Lord." •' Don Cola, it is wonderful: " " You are very good to say so; but it does not satisfy me. I never drew one yet that did." " Not even that in " The Raising of Lazarus?" asked Florence. Cambaceres shook his head — " Oh, no ; what human heart can give that ineffable look—expression, what shall I call itl which must have characterised Ilis Countenance. I have it before me, I have seen it in dreams, but when I come to transpose it to canvas the hand is so much more feeble than the brain." " I am glad to be able to say that I cannot agree with you," said Lady de Clifford; " but perhaps the idea vaults too high 3 I mean that perhaps, while on earth, the Countenance of our Lord did not bear so strongly the divine character as you would seem to imply."

" I could not accept that opinion,' said the artist, " unless we had direct authority for holding it. Left to ourselves, we Christians can but conceive the face of the Son of God to he endowed, not only with the most perfect beauty, but to bo distinguished even from the most saintly of His followers by something which 110 human countenance could possess."

" It must be so," said Agnes, " madvn vda, your very opinion that Don Cola has coped successfully with the difficulty of which lie complains, contradicts what you said just now."

" I know it; I only ventured to advance a theory—-a theory, I am free to admit, to which the history of art as well as Christian instinct is repugnant, for the ideal was always sought, though very rarely attained."

" I wish I could believe it possible to attain it," said Cambaceres,

" You artists are always dissatisfied with your own work,' 1 said Lady de Clifford, " but if the connoisseurs judge favourably, why should you be disheartened V' " Disheartened 1 The saints forbid," said the West Indian, " but art is like religion—we should always hear a voice saying ' amice, asande sv.peruis,' and, as in religion, v/e must have others to judge of our success,"

Florence smiled the conventional smile, she did not understand the speaker, and he knew it well; he had addressed her apparently, but in reality he spoke to Agnes. Tin: girl was thoughtfully comparing the faces of the Redeemer and St. John, the Evangelist. Yes, even in these sketches there was that in the one face which was not in the other. I-Josv was it tiiac Cambaceres himself could still be dissatisfied 1

" There is one wanting," said the artist, watching her, "a moment,

Signorina." lie sat down, and drew a sheet of drawing paper and a box of crayons towards him, and selecting one began sketching. Agnes looked on with intense interest, as under the quick deft lingers the outlines of a female face began to grow rapidly. Florence looked at the finished picture, not at that under the hand of the artist, at the grave, noble, earnest face, endowed with so rare a beauty, bending over the paper, at that other face with its flushed cheek, parted lips, and intent eager eyes, utterly absorbed in the artist's work, and as the mother looked her heart smote her heavily, and a dull aching foreboding came over her, and another form and face—how different to this man's—rose up before her. She shuddered involuntarily, and rising abruptly crossed the room to look at a painting by Correggio, or to stand before it, but she was not looking at it."

"Ami acting wisely," she said inwardly, " but what can I do ? They must meet in society—he must paint her picture. I cannot have it asked why Cambacercs does notpaint the portrait of tho belle whose likeness will soon be everywhere It is a risk, but it is a risk I cannot avoid. Unless I strangely mistake, this West Indian's pride and honour will stand my friend more than all the barriers I could rise ; and for Agnes, she is so young that, like the willow, she will bend."

Littlo wist Agnes as with bated breath she watched tho lines blending into the harmony of a sublime loveliness the thoughts that were passing through tho restless and scheming brain of her mother, and if the last thought had been spoken aloud would she have smiled or sighed 1

The picture was finished and laid before the girl in silence. The face uplifted, the drapery pushed back from the broad peaceful brow, the Virgin-Mother seemed to gaze with rapture on some divine vision vouchsafed to her, most highly favoured among saints. Agnes gazed, silent too, on the counten-

anc;! which even in crude paintings and statues she had always been taught to revere ; but the dim reflex, the shadow which made this sketch too like a mirror she did not see. But the artist's eyes saw it now, and his face changed— " Pcrdona," he said quickly—" a few more touches."

He took back tho picture. A few more touches! They would rob the gem of at least some of his lustre, but his hand must not play him false this time.

A touch here, a line there, a hardly perceptible shade—every artist knows how slight an application of the brush or pencil may change the whole character of a face.

"You aro altering her," said A "ties, suddenly. " Ah, Don i.'ola !"

There woro tears in her eyes, her tone was almost reproachful, the artist dropped the crayon, a slight colour crossed his face, and his lips quivered. But the work was done. It would have caused him no slight pain to do it for the sake of the picture itself, though it was but a simple sketch. It gave him a double pang to efface that likeness which had crept with subtility iiito the features lie had sketched, and to grieve and tacitly deceive Agnes. The look he lifted to herfaco asked forgiveness before he framed the words. " Per do mi, Si'jnorina ; I have altered its but it is not materially changed, I will draw another."

"No, oli! no; it is lovely, so very lovely still," said Agnes, "I spoke too hastily, Don Cola, but I was very sorry. You have made a change for the worse, it could not have been a mistake." Not the pride or the vanity of art, but the high soul, the firm principle of the man forbade the lie so easy to utter, so difficult to evade. " Forgive me,'' he siid again, not meeting her eye, ami then paused. "I owe only gratitude, not forgiveness," said the girl, deeply touched, and with that noble instinct of her .sex to spare pain; you do not know the pleasure you have given me to-day, and these sketches are a feast which weeks and months will not exhaust."

She saw for some reason which she could not divine he had deliberately altered something in the face of the madonna ; she honoured him that he risked suspicion of his motive rather than guard Ids secret by the deception which most men would have spoken without a moment's compunction, and she sought anxiously to avoid even the appearance of curiosity or vexation, angry with herself that she had suffered the exclamation of disappointment 10 escape her. She was rewarded by the low-spoken " Grazia," which was all the answer the painter gave to her last words ; she knew he was not thanking her for the compliment conveyed by them, but for the motive that prompted their utterance, and his quick look and half smile spoke even more than his tone.

i; Signor de Cambaceres," said Florence, approaching, " I think you fire setting up Agnes in. a picture gallery. I fear she is suflicicntly fanalica without you aid ; you will make her unbearable. Agnes, I am afraid we are trespassing too long upon Don Cola's time;

and, besides, do you forget your engagement for this afternoon ?" '' Oh 1 that horrid Chiswick," said Agnes. " Well, I suppose I must do penance. I wish there were any possible way to escape without untruth." The fashionable world had not spoiled her yet; Florence smiled, and turning to Cambaceres, observed— " I think we forgot to fix the times for sittings. Will you name the times most convenient to you, and we will be sure and keep our appointments. Agnes is as punctual and business-like as a city merchant." " A very rare virtue among sitters," said the painter; "they forget too often, I think, that a painter is as much a man of business as a lawyer or a physician. Could the Signorina spare me two sittings a week—on Mondays and Thursdays, from three to four ?"

"Yes," said Agnes, directly. "I am glad you said the afternoon instead of the morning, Don Cola, because that will enable me to escape engagements that I don't like and cannot well refuse." " For shatne, Agnes!" said Florence, laughing, " I don't care for half those fetes and things," replied the Spaniard ; "allow me, Signorina," and he took tho sketches from her, and put them in a small portfolio, which lie tied up carefully and gave to her.

"Oh! thanks," she said; "you have done it much more neatly than I could, Don Cola. Now we must quit Paradise and return to the e very-day—world."

" In the shape of Chiswick—well, you will return to Paradise on Thursday."

"So I shall ; so I can dear a small piece of Purgatory to-day. Mind, madre, I won't leave you before four whatever time Sir Selwyn comes.

Sir Sclwyn ! was that tlv, secret of her dislike to go to Chiswick 1 Cola de Oambaceres was behind the scenes here, and lie saw the slight shade, of displeasure that crossed Lady de Clifford's countenance as her daughter spoke. Was it possible —yet what concern of his if it wore so ? He escorted the ladies to their carriage in silence, only speaking once to utter a quiet " Adio, Signora," as they seated themselves in the carriage, and then lie returned, not to the studio, but to the drawing-room, and sat down to the piano. Ah ! Sebastion Erard ! how much we owe to thee ! The Muses have long ago crowned thy brow with the laurel, but thousands of aching hearts, thousands of restless brains, thousands of weary souls have yet to offer to thee their united tribune of gratitude for the great boon thou hast conferred on the human race. In the sacristy of the little chapel in Farm-street two persons were seated—a priest and a girl. In the dignified form and kind face of the former, we recogniso Michael O'Houlahan, "Pere Michel," in the latter Agnes de Clifford. If Oambaceres had seen that group his ready hand would have speedily transferred it to canvass or to paper. Father O'Houlahan was seated near a small table, on which his arm rested while he talked : Agnes on a lower seat at his feet, listened to him, with her large soft eyes sometimes lifted to his face, sometimes bent down, and all the lines of her face were settled into an expression of grave and reverential attention. She needed his counsel, as he saw, and so after confession he took her with him into the sacristy, and asked her many questions and spoke to her very earnestly of the sphere in which her lot was cast, and how she might fulfil its duties without abandoning the claims of higher duties. The priest, a mail of great worldly wisdom, as a spiritual adviser must bo if ho is to guide the souls of those who live in the world, readily perceived that the position in which his young penitent was placed was a peculiarly difficult one. Her rare beauty would have commanded homage and adulation in any sphere, and in this dangerous world of London fashion, how was she to remain as pure-minded, as frank, as uncontaminated as she was now? How with a mother such as Pere Michel shrewdly divined Florence de Clifford to be, had she escaped contamination so long ? Nature seemed to have withheld nothing from this enfant (jutee da la forlit.it'!, wealth, noble birth, beauty, talents (which had been highly cultivated), and a disposition which seemed unspoilable. Real sorrow had not yet touched her ; her knowledge of it, her sympathy with it, were instinctive, not from personal experience. She never seemed from her cradle to have heard a harsh word ; all who came near her loved her, the very servants in her mother's house idolised her, and would have been willingly the mere creatures of her will and fancy; everything and everybody united to put the gold in her nature to the severest test, and she came forth from the crucible as yet pure and unsullied. She seemed singularly free from caprice or self-will; a bright gorgeous nature, like an Italian summer day, revelling in the sunshine which she herself unconsciously flung around her, yet with a keen perception of the realities of life which some have by gifts as others have by experience. And yet even in this favoured sky there was a cloud. To a girl like Agnes de Clifford the lack of sympathy between herself and her mother was

nothing less than a grief. Florence, Pere Michel soon saw, never had her child's confidence, and it was therefore the more necessary that she should have a guide to whom she could look, not merely as a confessor, but as supplying the place which the parent naturally and by right should fill, For this difficult position Michel O'Houlahan was well fitted, and anxious to thoroughly understand the child committed to his care, he did not conline himself to such converse as might seem to belong more strictly to his office, but asked her about, and commented upon, her friends, her travels, all those things which betray far more of character than many of us perhaps are aware at times.

" I have given you a long lecture, my child," he said, smiling. " Perhaps amids balls and operas you will perhaps forget most of what I have said."

"No, I will not indeed, father,' said the girl, earnestly; "I know my memory is b'tter than I am, so I may forget to act always upon what you say, but I shall remember it without difficulty.

" I am glad you do that, my child ; the life you are leading now is apt to unsettle the mind for serious reflection; you must feel strange at home."

"No; I like it very much. I always look forward to Friday evening, because I have it all to myself."

" What do you do when friends come in ?"

" They never have, as yet, at any rate. We never receive on Friday evening. Guendolen Talbot is coming this evening, but then she will come to Benediction with me."

" Quite right. Let nothing interfere with that, my child. What is GuendolenTalbot then? There are so many Talbots with that name."

" She is a cousin of Lord S—■ —. She is very staid and grave, and nearly thirty," said Agnes, smiling ; " we met her in Rome last year. '

" I rather think I know her name," said the priest; " a tall, handsome woman, is she not?"

"Yes; Cambaceres' portrait of her was exhibited in Rome—it was a beautiful picture."

" You are almost too fond of beauty," said Father Michael, warningly. " I remember now that it was the portrait that I saw. Is Cambaceres to paint your picture?" "Yes, father ; I went to him for the first time yesterday. Isn't his studio a Paradise ? Ah ! you well say I am too fond of beauty."

" No, no ; I only want you not to sacrifice too much to that worship. I have passed some of the happiest hours of life in Cambaceres' studio abroad ; and I have been twice to Great Queen-street since he has heen in England ; but then 1 am so fond of Cola-Maria himself.

" You could not help it," said Agnes ; "I like him so much. He was telling me about the Holy Land yesterday at the sitting, and his language is as picturesque as his painting. Madre and I went to his studio on Monday, and he gave me a number of sketches. I daresay you have seen them.

"He is always generous," said the priest; "he has promised us a painting for this church." " And he will be sure to keep his promise," said Agnes, readily, f don't think he ever broke liis word in his life."

" Is not this a rather rash statement on so short an acquaintance?"

" I don't know—perhaps it is," she said, half smiling. '• Stil 1"

"Still hold to it. Well, you are right. He is as truthful as he is geuerous. I have drawings of his for any one of which, as for those he gave you, he could have got his price; but he hardly seems to understand the value of money. I have known him to refuse to sell a thing one day, and give it away the next, and he will not break an appointment even with a model, nor make a statement which he knows, or even suspects, to be untrue. I wish all artists were like him, or, indeed, many men of any kind. The world's praise has not spoiled hitn yet, and I hope it will not. The priest smiled. " You reserve the old saw, I am afraid," he said; "and think that handsome does that handsome is." Agnes shook her brown curls. "Oh! no; but you know, Father Michel, there are some people that you can like and trust at once; you are one of them and Don Cola is another."

" You are a strange child," said the priest, smiling involuntarily; ' only you must be careful how you 'trust impressions of instinct, whether for good or for evil." "Is it wrong, then, to be sus-

picious 1" asked Agnes, a little anxious, "or I ought rather to say distrustful."

" Your Italian nature and training would teach you distrust as a maxim," said Father O'Houlahan; " in Italy it is carried to the extent of cynicism ; still, we must be to a curtain extent armed at all points, ' wise as serpents and harmless as dovesbut your question, my child, seemed to be asked from some personal motive. Am I wrong ?" Agnes smiled— " No, father." " Whom do you distrust, if I may ask the question V Agnes hesitated, but not from unwillingness to answer. " It seemed ungrateful," she said, "not to like the people who are

kind to you, but yet—l was thinking of Sir Selwyn Grant-Faulkner."

The priest's face changed slightly —as Agnes's quick eye saw directly.

" I have heard Cola-Maria speak of him," he said, quietly, " but I. never mei him. He is your mother's friend ?"

" Yes," answered Agnes, "he knew madre before I was born, and I knew him when I was a little child." " And you never liked him 1" "I tried to like him—he was very kind to me; but," said the girl, "he never seems to be in earnest, and I can't trust him ; I cannot put it more definitely than that. Don Cola did not think it foolish and unreasonable; he told me that he did not trust him, and I am sure he is a good reader of character."

" 1 have never known him mistaken," said the priest, thoughtiully, " and he has expressed the same opinion to me. I agree with him ; or rather I accept Cola-Marii's judgment. My child, you are right not to suffer any such aversion to an individual to lead you to think of him or act towards him unjustly, but it was well to be guarded and careful, especially as from what I heard of him Sir Selwyn appears to be a man of very indifferent principles. " I don't think ho believes in anything more than he is in earnest about anything," said Agnes. " Hush ! my child do not pass hasty judgments." Agnes hung her head— " Per donna mio padre. Ah ! I am so glad I know you and then if—" " If what?" said the priest, as she paused. " I don't know how it is," said the girl, slowly, and lifting her hand to her forehead, as we do when some vague impression troubles the brain, " but it comcs over me sometimes like a cloud, a sort of presentment of evil ; don't think me romantic or fanciful, father." she added, earnestly, " indeed I never am what people call sentiment il."

"My dear child," said Father O'Boulahan, laying his hand oil the girl's silky curls, " the blood of the Celt is in my veins. I have known such presentiments too often in my experience to laugh them to scorn. Your turn of sorrow has yet to come. God grant only that it may not be very heavy, but you have one earthly friend now who will always help you."

" I know it," she said, looking up with a smile ; " you are very good. Father Michael."

" Not good my child, it is my office, you know, to help others. Do not hesitate to tell ire anything that troubles you. If I think you wrong you know that I will tell you so; but it is ten thousand times better to speak of a vexation or a sorrow or a fancy, than to feed upon it in silence from the fear of being misunderstood."

" I will not do that now," said Agnes, " I used to speak to Padre Leonardo at home—in Italy I mean, you know ; but then we travelled about so much that I only saw him from time to time, and it is nearly a year ago that I saw him last.

The priest half sighed ;so much is there of solitude in the midst of affection and attention ; how little after all, can society (ill up the voids or meet the needs of our inner life !

He spoke no more then, for Agnes almost immediately rose, saving that she mast be home in good time, hat as she gave him her hand at parting she said— " You will he sure to come soon, Father Michael, will you T' " As soon a.s I can, my child, next week, perhaps." " Early next week V said Agnes. "Well, I will see—as early as T can," returned the priest, smiling. " How did you come on foot!" "Yes. with my maid, Lisetta : she is waiting in the church. GoodWye prtdrn rarissimo." " Good-bye, my child. God bless you." Lisetta rose up as she saw her young mistress approaching well pleased, no doubt, poor girl ! she was tired of waiting. " Poverina ! did you think J was never coming?" srticl Agnes when they reached the street.

" Pi'i'i'ha, Signorina, the padre has had much to say; but I like his face."

"So do I, Lisetta, and lie is so kind and gentle."

" Can lie speak Italian 1" "Very well; not as you and I speak it; this way, Lisetta."

"Ah ! Signorina," said Mm Italian "you like to walk to church ; some day you will go in a carriage—soon I hope."

"Hush, Lisetta, no foolish talk now," said Agnes, gravely, and even as she spoke the dull presentiment of which she had spoken to Father O'Houlaham came over her like a passing shadow. She tried to shake it off, and partially succeeded, but such press ages of the future ; sent no doubt to warn us and to prepare us, take too strong a hold of an imaginative and thoughtful temperament to be easily dispelled, and the shadow was but dispersed for a time. The substance was to come only to soon, and ere long Agnes de Clifford recalled with a shuddering fear, that they were prophetic, the careless words of her Italian servant. (To h<>. '■mthmrl )