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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) T-LI…

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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.) T-LI FETTERED OR FREE? BY E. L. KERSEY, Author of "Her Worst Enemy" uTAs Fatal Shadow" "The SnaJcestone," tie, eta. CHAPTER L THE VILLA TORLONIA. "I ARE you satisfied, child or shall we return to Monte Carlo ?" "Satisfied! Oh, Signora, it is too lovely 1 It is Paradise!" CountessAldioni laughs, a little bitterly. "Don't be too enthusiastic, Vera; there's sure to be a horrid slimy serpent lurking under some of those beautiful trees." The girl starts and shivers; then smiles and with a sudden impulse, bends her head and kisses the elder lady's hand. It is a white, slender, aristocratic hand, the long fingers covered with costly diamonds. "What are you doing, you foolish girl?" says the Countess, although her voice softens in spite of herself. I'm not a Queen —to be worshipped—although once, it is true- She breaks off suddenly with a sigh. "You have been so kind to me, dear Sig- nora, so very kind, I can never repay you- never! Countess Aldioni laughs again, but in a different tone; then lays fiet- litnd on the girl's shoulder as she stands beside her at the window. "Nonsense, Vera. I'm only a selfish old woman, and you know it. You came to me a stranger; I was suspicious of you, and dis- agreeable enough at first. But you have made yourself a necessity to me, and some- how, although I never thought I should care for a human creature again, I've grown to love you. The next thing to happen will be —some objectionable man will fall in love with you, and you'll leave me to be married." The Countess is watching Vera Leslie as she speaks, half in earnest, half jestingly and she notes with surprise that the girl grows suddenly pale in the lips, and a scared look comes into her eyes. Her voice trem- bles as she replJes-" Ob, no-no-that can never be, dear Signora I promise, solemnly, that I will never leave you unless you send me away." There is a pause for a moment. Countess Aldioni's keen eyes grow dim, and her usually somewhat harsh voice trembles as she breaks the silence. "I accept the promise. By doing so I prove that I am an intensely selfish old woman. Don't look so agitated, child, you are as white as a ghost, and trembling like a leaf. You've been sitting up too late at Monte Carlo, waiting until my play was finished. Country air in this place ought to do us good but I prophecy that we shall both be bored to death in a month. What do you say ? Vera's colour is slowly returning to her ckeeks, and her dark eyes sparkle as she looks out of the window. "Oh, Signora Could we ever tire of such a place as this ? she says, earnestly. The window of the villa at which the two ladies stand, certainly commands a most fascinating outlook. To right and left stretch forests—such forests as Vera has never before seen. Huge oaks, tnll cypreses, olive trees are interspersed with vineyards laden with rich purple fruit; higher up are hills crowned with ilex trees, dark ever- green. Far away among these hills may be seen white villas, towers of churches, vil- lages. The sun is setting, and the miles of forest are touched by living fire; the colour- ing is superb—in crimson, russett, and purple. The villa which has been taken for a time by the Countess, is in the Tuscan style, and faces the Apennines. Years ago, it was built by a dignitary of the Romish Church (who was captivated by the natural beauty of the place) and it contains every conven-( ience and luxury. Vera cannot but fancy that she is in some palace of enchantment, as she wanders through the big saloons, Eainted with curious old frescoes; or loses erself in the galleries, where there are so many fascinating pictures and statues. The Countess, who is very wealthy, has rented the villa,, with its crowd of servants, gardeners, waiting men and women; and has also brought with her an Italian youth named Filippo, and her own French maid, Celeste. The Italian she had taken a fancy to some- where on her travels, for the sake of his dark, handsome face. He was a wandering minstrel when h. first met him and almost starving. The boy begged her with tears to give him a coin—to save his life—and the < Countess, who was constantly doing rash, generous deeds, took him at once into her service. Filippo, like all Italians, was fiery. tempered, and quarrels were frequent between him and Celeste; but he always appeared devoted to his benefactress, and a word, a look from her, brought him to his knees, and his senses, in a moment. Vera could not help being suspicious of the hot- tempered lad (he was about nineteen). She had noticed an occasional evil glitter in his eyes, and a malignant look in his swarthy face, when he was irritated or thwarted, even if ever so little. She, had more than once mentioned her fears to the Countess, but Filippo's mistress only laughed carelessly-" He's like a young tiger at times, I know quite weH, the Countess has said. "I love the grace and beauty of wild creatures and there's a certain excitement in taming them. The hot Italian blood runs in his veins, it's true but rve befriended the boy; and he loves me in his way, I believe. He amuses me too and at my age, I want all the amuse- ment I can get out of life." The Countess Aldioni seems to exercise a curious fascination, even in her advanced years, over everyone with whom she comes in contact. In her youth she has been superbly hand- some. There were all kinds of rumours afloat concerning her in the hey-day of her beauty; it was even whispered that an Emperor was once among her many slaves; while she was a reigning star at Court at the time. All that Vera Leslie knows about her benefactress's life is, that she was an English girl of a noble family, and married Count Aldioni, a fabulously wealthy Italian nobleman and that his bride was noted everywhere for her extraordinary beauty and vivacity. She bad borne her husband one son, an only child. When her boy was almost of age, he diea. of some infectious disease; and shortly afterwards her husband was also taken from her. In spite of the gay life she had led, and the homage she was always accustomed to receive, she had passionatciv loved her husband and son and the double loss almost killed her. However gay and thoughtless she may have been at one time in her life however much gossips may have shaken their heads, and shrugged their shoulders, as they whis- pered about the beautiful Countess's past; as a wife and widow there was no cause for a single slander and it was certain that after her double sorrow she was sobered. She has worn black ever since her husband died; and as she stands at the window of the Villa, in her rich velvet robe, with costly lace ruffles at her throat and wrists, in spite of her fifty-five years, she is a magni- ficet looking woman still. Misa Leslie had come to her as companion two years ago, and during the time they have been together the two women—both having lost those they have loved best in the world—have grown to love each other. Gratitude for countless generous acO of I kindness would be sufficient to make Vera devoted to her mistress, to say nothing of the nameless fascination the Countes exer- cised on those with whom she comes in contact. The desire of Vera to please the Countess, md study her every wish, added to the girl's sweet temper and charm, makes her mis tress regard her almost as a daughter. They have travelled for the past eighteen months from one celebrated spot to another, to the delight of Vera. For the last couple of months they had remained at Monte Carlo, and both are weary of the gilded misery they saw so much of there. The Countess, to Vera's distress, had at. times played very high to pass away the hours; and had lost and won large sums of money. Don't be afraid, child, I know quite well what I am doing she would say laughing at Vera's grave face. You may depend, I'll take care not to ruin myself. I'm always lucky at cards in the long run, and can't resist the temptation to play when I hear the rattle of the dice. But I'm getting tired of it, and we'll go for a while and rusticate in the Montagnola, near Siena, for a change. I've hired the Villa Torlonia for three months—retainers and all. Probably by the end of two we shall be bored to death but we shall see." So it comes to pass, that the Countess and Vera are standing side by side, gazing upon the fair forest wilderness, which the girl, with sparkling eyes and clasped hands, declares to be a veritable Paradise. I am glad you are pleased," the elder lady says at last, turning away with a sigh. "If I were only young again, I might be happy in such a place as this." Vera flashes a quick look at the Countess some of the brightness fading out of her own mobile face Oh, Signora, I trust you will be happy here," she says, gently: "In such a lovely spot, and with such surround- ings, surely you will." "I know that you will do all you can to make me so," the Countess replies then putting her hand to her forehead—"I am tired, and shall lie down for a while. Do you go and explore the gardens." If Vera is charmed with their new abode in the sunlight, she is still more fascinated with the strange beauty of the place by the ight of the moon. The Countess, wrapped in a rich fur cloak, is tempted into the garden by the girl's raptures, and the scene in the soft moon- light under a cloudless sky, is wonderfully beautiful. The twisted trunks of the Ilex trees look like a multitude of weird, fantastic figures the night is very still, the air soft and deli- cious. Suddenly, as the two ladies stand in the garden in front of the Villa, they hear shrill screams, and out of the wood rush two flying figures. They prove to be OélesLe-the Countess's French maid and Filippo, the Italian boy. "What folly is this? What has hap- pened?" the Countess demands in her sternest tones but too terrified to feel their usual awe of their mistress, the two halt breathless. Oh, Madame, I shall die of terror the French girl pants out. "Signora, we have seen her! Santa Maria 1 We were fools to go, but we did not believe what the others said. A woman dressed all in black, with a face-white, like snow 1 I saw her as I see you now. She came slowly gliding along, she looked at me —she froze my blood. Oh, it was horrible I This place is what they call 'haunted, and the boy, in his abject terror, throws himself at the Countess's feet, and clings to her robe. "You are a fool, Filippo, a cowardly fool"; she says sharply. You have been frightened by some peasant girl who is playing tricks on silly boys like you. Go in, and let me hear no more of this nonsense." The Italian rises sullenly, with a scowl on his dark face, and an evil glitter in his eyes and says no more aloud, but mutters to him- self as he slinks trembling away; glancing furtively over his shoulder as he goes. "And you, Celeste, what business have you in the woods with that silly boy by night ? Celeste looks on the point of fainting, and is white to the lips "Oh, pardon Madame la Comtesse!" she sobs out. "I was not right to go, I know it. Close to me she passed—like a shadow, then she was gone. Oh, Madame, it is a terrible place I Go and have a glass of wine, you foolish girl, and get to bed. Let me hear no more of this." "An Italian Villa belonging to a Cardinal, which has been tenanted for years and years by monks, would not be complete without its ghost," says the Countess, when Celeste has disappeared. "Although it is early in the day for her to appear to new-comers. It will make this quiet place a little more ex- citing. Of course one must reprove the servants for making idiots of themselves, or there would be no peace to be had. I shall not be satisfied until you or I have seen this apparition. Vera, what do you say ?" Vera does not reply, but her face looks pals in the moonlight; and in a low tone she says, Let us go in, it is getting chill." CHAPTER II. THE DONNINA. A MONTH passes away quietly and unevent- fully at the villa. No more is heard of the apparition in the forest; the Countess's servants either avoid the solitary paths, or if they are alarmed in any way, do not venture to reveal it to their mistress. The Countess and Miss Leslie drive wherever it is possible to take a carriage and horses; and Vera goes long rambles into the forest alone—the great mysterious forest she has grown to love so much. Their evenings are pleasantly spent in reading and music. The Countess is an accomplished pianist, and accompanies Vera, wito plays, on the violin. Both ladies have gained much in health since their stay at the villa; but Vera begins to fancy that the elder lady will before long become a trifle restless. Where will their next move be, she wonders? "I really believe you are quite attached to this quiet spot," the Countess says one after- noon, as they walk slowly on the terrace in front of the villa. I love it, Signora I I could never tire of these endless forests—those beautiful distant hills." Oh yes, you could," laughs the Countess; I'm sure of it. If you were obliged to remain here for a whole twelvemonth, you would hate the place quite as much as you love it now." "Do you think me so changeable?" asks Vera, smiling. "Not more so than other women. To tell you the truth Vera, I shall be weary of the solitude of this place before long. What do you say to a month in Rome, alter our time has expired here ? It is strange we have not been there together yet. Then, perhaps, spend the spring in England." "Both would be delightful," Vera replies. Then she adds, looking up ratefuny at the Countess, How kind you are to consider me at all. I often think what a fortunate girl I am." By this time they are sitting side by side on a rustic seat. The Countess has placed herself where she can watch her young companion's face; and she keeps her keen eyes on the finely cut profile. Do you know," she says, laying her fingers lightly on Vera's slim wrist, I feel sure that when you told me the story of your life, you kept back something. I ofteu notice a sad, anxious look in your eyes, unnatural in one so young." The girl's colour suddenly fades, and her face grows strangely pale. She gives a startled glance at the Countess, as she sees those keen dark eyes striving to search her soul. Signora," ske j>e £ im, V8M& the musical Italian title by which she always calls the Countess-then something seems to choke her, and she clasps her hands in distress. I am convinced you have a secret trouble, Vera, and that there is something on your mind. It cannot be ycwir father's loss, after all these years; for time mercifully heals such wounds. I must confess that I am disappointed-wounded-at your want of confidence. It is not that I am idly curious, and wish to pry into your secrets; but I have told you, and you know well enough," that I have a great affection for you. Surely, where there is love, there should be perfect confidence?" The tears are on Vera's cheeks, and her eyes droop before her friend's earnest gaze. At last, she says, with an effort, "De<u' Signora, you are right. Something- did happen in my past life, of which I cannot speak-even to you, who are my dearest, best friend; indeed, my only friend on earth." The Countess withdraws her hand from the girl's wrist, and her voice sounds cold and a trifle stern, as she says, I was sure of it. If you cannot tell me of this something —as you call it-in your past life, surely it must be because you are ashamed of it ? A memory that so often clouds a young face like yours, must be more than a sorrowful one." There is a painful pause, then Vera speaks in a voice broken with sobs Dear friend, believe me when I declare to you that there is nothing shameful, nothing degrading, in the part of my life I would give worlds to forget. Yet I cannot, cannot explai I) further. Believe me that I love you with aii my b.oort, and I would give—anything—to be able to tell you all. But-I dare not." The Countess rises, drawing herself up to her full, queenly height. "As you like," she says coldly._ You may be sure that I shall never mention the subject again. I am going to my room, and do not wish to be disturbed until dinner time." Vera rises, and stands gazing after the regal figure until it has disappeared. It is the first time there has been any serious difference between the two, and Vera's heart is very sad. The Countess has been always so generouy, so unvaryingly kind, ever since they lived together, that the girl feels she is an un- grateful wretch to deny anything to her benefactress. Yet how can she tell her of that one strange event in her life to which she looks back as if it were a feverish dream ? Sometimes, she almost thinks it must have been only a dream; then she draws from under her dress, where she wears it con- cealed at the end of a chain which is round her neck, a quaint old-fashioned gold ring and she knows that her trouble is a reality, and no freak of imagination. The Countess has left her for the first time I in anger. What will she do if she loses the the affection of her only friend? With a heavy heart, she wanders out into the forest, as she is accustomed to do almost daily to be alone with her thoughts, and to consider how she can regain her dear Signora's confidence. Vera is so pre-occupied, that she does not realize how far she goes, walking rapidly through the unfrequented paths. The great branches of the Ilex trees wave over her head, and all at once it strikes her that before long it will be growing dusk, and she must be far away by this time from the villa. She gives a startled look upwards, and around. How dim and mysterious and weird the great lonely forest is Her heart begins to beat a little more quickly than usual, as she turns hastily to retrace her steps. Sud- denly she stops, and for an instant her blood runs cold, and with difficulty she suppresses a cry; for coming out of the dark wood is the figure of a woman of small stature, dressed all in black, with a covering on her head, such as the peasant women wear. The figure advances with a gliding move- ment, her head bent, her hands clasped and is crossing the path immediately in front of Vera, when she raises her head, and their eyes meet. The face of the apparition is white as death; and the big sorrowful dark eyes have a terrified look in them; the features are regular and delicate, the mouth small and well-shaped a mass of dark hair is escaping from her hood, one or two long tresses fall below her waist. All at once, Vera's fear changes to pity for she sees that the sorrowful face close to her, with its great pitiful, wistftil eyes-like those of a hunted animal—is the face of a living woman and of a woman who has some terrible trouble. ) Vera has plenty of courage, and although her heart beats fast, and her voice trembles. As the woman turns away and tries to escape into the depth and darkness of the forest she springs after her and catches at her black dress. "Stop," she cries out in Italian. "Stop! Don't be afraid 1 You see I'm not afraid of you why should I be? I can see from your i face that you are in some terrible trouble. Surely I can help you ? The stranger tries to snatch her dress from Vera's grasp, and struggles frantically for a moment to free herself but finding she can- not. she turns her blanched face, and like a wild creature at bay, gazes at Vera with an imploring look. "Lady 1 Let me go Don't touch me! I am wicked. I'm not fit to speak to you. Why are you not frightened at me like all the others! Don't you believe I am a ghost? Ah! lady, I often wish they were right.' "Nonsense! You are talking wildly. Why should I be afraid of a woman like myself? Tell me what is the matter. Why are you wandering all alone in the forest ? Where is your home ? Home!" the girl echoes with a cry. There's no home for me any more." Why ? Are vour father and mother i She suddenly breaks into sobs. "The Holy Virgin help me! Yes, they are both dead. And there were only strangers to close their eyes!" And she sinks on her knees in an agony of weeping. Vera begins to think that trouble has taken away the girl's senses; and that she does not know what she is saying. "My poor girl, rouse yourself," she says firmly, taking her hands and raising her up gently. I cannot leave you here an alone. Do you know the Villa Torlonia, and how far it is from here ? Gradually the violence of the girl's weep- ing ceases, and she looks earnestly at Vera. "It is three miles from here, lady," she says brokenly. "It will be late before you get back. Do you know your way ? I'm not sure of it," Vera says. If I take the wrong path I shall be lost in this great forest in the dark. You know the way, come and guide me." The stranger shrinks back, terrified. "Oh, no! no! Saiit;aMarial I cannot." Why not ? "I am afraid to be seen. "I've been all alone—out there-in a hut once lived in by a woodman. I've spoken to no one for-oh, so long Everyone has thought me a spirit—a ghost. They call me the donnina.' I've heard them whisper it as I hide from them in the bushes." But what is your real name ? "Lizabetta. 011, lady! yours is a kind, beautiful face, and I do not fear you; but I dare not meet anyone else. I must always be alone, alone with my shame and misery. I must go before anyone comes and finds me." Vera keeps a firm hold of the struggling hands. "Will you leave me to be lost, then, in this great dark forest?" she asks. "How unkind! I do not know my way as you do. | Surely you will show me where to go ? Lizabetta looks up hesitatingly. If I do, you will promise to let me go when I have put you in the right road ? I If you wish; but I sfeould like you to see a lady at the villa, a kind noble Fady, whe would be so good to you, and would help you, ever so much better than I can." "No, no, I will not see any but you—only you!" persists Lizabetta, with a terrified stare in her big sorrowful eyes. At last Vera persuades the frightened girl to accompany her through the forest paths in the direction of the villa. As they walk side by side she encourages Lizabetta to talk, and before long, the girl begins to gain confidence; although she evidently shrinks from Vera's questioning. They meet no one on the way; and when at last they are close to the villa, Lizabetta breaks away from her new friend like a frightened fawn, and disappears into the gloom of the forest, in spite of Vera's attempts to detain her. (To be continued.)

I THE NATIONAL TRUST.

fHREE AND A HALF MILLION DAYS…

IKISSING RESUMED.

HONEYMOON IN QUARANTINE.

_-" A SILLY KIND OF JOKE."

jTHE NEW BISHOP OF THETFORD.

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