THE NEW YORK LEDGER DEVOTED CHOICE LITERATURE ROMANCE THE NEWS COMMERCE VOL. XX ROBERT.BONNER, {PUBLISHER, 90 BEEKMAN ST. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1864. TERMS, {$3 PER ANNUM IN ADVANCE. NO. 37. WAITING. BY ALICE CARY. Ah yes, I see the sunshine play, I hear the robin's cheerful call, But I am thinking of the day My darling left me—that is all. I do not grieve for her—ah no! To her the way is clear, I trust; But for myself I grieve, so low, So weak, so in, and of the dust. And for my sadness I am sad— I would be gay if so I might, But she was all the joy I had— My life, my love, my heart's delight. We came together to the door Of our sweet home that is to be, And knocking, she went in before, To put on marriage robes for me. 'Tis weary work to wait so long, But true love knows not how to doubt; God's wisdom fashions seeming wrong, That we may find right meanings out. THE FAMILY SECRET. BY ELIZA A. DUPUY, AUTHOR OF "THE WARNING VOICE," "THE WHITE TERROR," "THE LOST DEEDS," ETC., ETC. CHAPTER IX. SISTER MARIA'S VISIT TO COLONNA CASTLE. The Marquis remained alone buried in deep thought. The possibility of separating Lucia from his son so effectually as to preclude all chance of a future union between them, had been suggested by the proposal of Baldoni. Why should he not marry her himself, and thus ensure her remaining at the Castle while his life lasted? The ceremony would be a mere form which would entitle her to the posi- tion of Marchioness of Colonna, and a suitable provision thereafter. This, he could make with- out material injury to the fortune of his younger son, and as the old man reflected on the plan, it grew more and more into his favor. He would not startle Lucia by the premature disclosure of his intentions; he would inter- cept the letters of Vittorio, and wait till her heart was sick with fruitless expectation, be- fore he ventured in the execution of his scheme. He knew that he was nearly seventy; so in- firm as to be unable to move without assistance, but he also knew that he was a nobleman—of high position and vast wealth, and he believed that when all hope of a future union with Vit- torio was destroyed, Lucia would accept the protection of his home, and honor of bear- ing his name. He could marry her without compromising any interest, but Vittorio, with only the portion of a younger son, must bestow his hand upon a wealthy bride. After meditating on this new wrong, and ar- ranging his future plans to his satisfaction, the Marquis rang his bell, which was promptly re- sponded to by the appearance of Lucia. She looked pale, and dispirited, and he could detect the traces of recent tears in her eyes, but he took no notice of these evidences of suf- fering. In his usual kind tone he said: "I have been engaged to-day, and have not needed you as much as usual, Lucia. Come sit near me, and read aloud. I think the measured tones of your voice will soothe my nerves, and lull me to sleep. The late excitement I have endured has quite upset me; I cannot bear music to day; but your sweetly modulated voice always acts as a charm upon me." "What shall I read, Senor?" she asked. "There is Dante. I believe I am in the humor to descend into the Inferno to-day, so you may turn to the description of that place which had inscribed upon its portal, 'Let hope not enter here.'" Lucia glanced at him as if trying to discover if his words possessed any covert meaning; but he was reclining in his luxurious chair in such a position as partially concealed his acute old face from observation. She silently took the volume to which he pointed, and placing herself on a low seat at his feet began to read with such truth and pathos as showed that she felt every line she uttered. At intervals the Marquis muttered, "Grand," "Terrible"—"Sublime;" but gradually he sank farther and farther back in his chair, till his head rested on the cushions that supported his back, and his breathing showed that he was sleeping heavily. Lucia regarded him attentively, then closing the book, clasped her hands despondently, and gave herself up to the doubts and fears that were rapidly extinguishing hope in her heart. With the departure of Vittorio, the sanguine hope of future reunion which he had breathed into her ear, completely died away. She re- viewed their position, and she could see no possibility that the Marquis would ever be brought to consent to the marriage of his dar- ling and pride, to a nameless, and portionless girl like herself. Without his sanction, Lucia knew it would bring ruin on her lover to make her his own. She was generous to a fault; she felt the deep- est gratitude to the Colonna family for the kindness they had lavished on her, and she felt that it would be impossible for her to place her- self as a bar to the prosperity of its most dearly prized member. No—bitter as the conviction was, she knew that she would not be spared this fiery trial, and she shuddered at the thought of all she must lose in giving up the first love of her young heart. While she thus sat, dreaming on the hapless- ness of her earthly lot, the window was sud- denly darkened, and looking up she saw the face of a strange woman within a few yards of herself. For an instant she was startled, but there was something in the kindly expression of the intruder which instantly reassured her. The stranger made a gesture toward the sleeping old man, and whispered: "Come out, and speak with me a few mo- ments. This will be my passport to your con- fidence." She held up a letter, in which Lucia recognized her own address in Vittorio's wri- ting. A bright flush leaped to her colorless cheeks, and noiselessly arising, she rapidly glided after the retreating figure of Sister Maria, till they gained the shelter of an orange walk near that side of the building. Not a word was exchanged till they gained the deepest shadow cast by the clustering trees; then Lucia impulsively said: "You came from him: give me his letter, that I may see what he [email protected] "In it you will find much that deeply con- cerns you, Senorina, besides the assurance you seek that a few hours of absence have not changed the true heart he bore away with him. When you have read what Count Colonna says, you will listen to what I have to tell you with more interest." Wondering what she could mean, Lucia tore open her lover's missive, and her expressive face alternately flushed and paled as she read the lines traced within. Suddenly closing it, she rapidly said: "You were seeking me—you knew my pa- rents—and can throw some light on my origin. Oh! Senora, if you can only tell me who I am, to whom I belong, I shall be eternally indebted to you." "Lucia, unfortunately I cannot do that, for I am ignorant of the position or the true name of your father. Your unfortunate mother took refuge in my mother's cottage, where you were born. She did not long survive your birth, but her husband came in time to see her laid in her grave. He escaped from prison, and made his way to her, but not in time to behold her again in life. You had been solemnly given to me by your dying mother, but your father re- moved you from our home in the silence of night, and until to-day I have had no clue to you, though I have sought you long and dili- gently." Lucia listened as one in a dream. She im- ploringly asked: "But they—my parents—were they not gen- tle and refined? You speak as one who has been educated yourself, and you can tell me if they were not so." "If appearances are to be trusted, Senor Rispoli was a man of high degree, and a love- lier creature than your mother I have never seen. Look upon her likeness, and see your own features mirrored in it." She held out the miniature Vittorio had seen, and eagerly snatching it, Lucia gave one glance to it, and then pressed it to her lips and heart. She softly said: "How shall I thank you for coming to me— for bringing me this precious memorial of a mother of whom I have dreamed from my in- fancy. Ah! why have you not sought and found me before?" "Because my duty to an infirm parent of my own chained me to my home. When she passed away, I set out on my pilgrimage, resolved that it should not end till I had searched the island through, unless I found you. The dress I wear shows you that I am under a vow; that vow is accomplished now that I have found my child. Let me spend a few days with you, Lucia, and then I will resume the life for which I have discovered I am best fitted. To minister to the wants of the hapless and needy shall hence- forth be my vocation." Lucia reverently raised her hand to her lips: "How noble and good a woman you must be, to dedicate your life to the service of others. I will use all my influence to keep you here, for the Count suggests that his father shall employ you to distribute his charities. Father Boniface is getting too old to move about much among the people on the estate, and I scarcely think the Marquis will refuse me his favor when he knows the position we hold toward each other." The face of the nun visibly brightened: "My dear child, I do not deny that such an arrangement will make me very happy. To remain beneath the same roof with you—to be able to commune with you whenever I desire THE LETTER. it, will be very delightful to one so lonely and desolate as I now am. I feel that I shall love you very dearly, Lucia, and you will soon learn to confide in me as in a mother." "I am sure of that; and your kindness to her who had that sacred relation to me gives you a strong claim on my affections. There is the ring of the Marquis now; he is awake and misses me. I must go to him, but you must go with me, and I will explain to him who you are, and how you came hither." She walked rapidly in the direction of the apartment in which she had left the Marquis, drawing the nun after her. When they reached the French window through which they had lately passed, Lucia paused, and whispered: "Remain without a few moments, while I go in and prepare him to receive you." The sister nodded, and Lucia passed into the room in a state of extreme excitement, which caused the Marquis to ask, in a suspicious tone: "What ails you Lucia, and why did you make your escape so unceremoniously when I fell into a light slumber? You do not usually desert me in that way." "Pardon me, my lord; but something very singular has happened. Something in which I am deeply interested." And she paused for want of breath to proceed. "Indeed! Has my son ventured to return hither again? That would be the most singular proceeding I could think of, and one in which you would be most vitally interested." The bitter sarcasm of his tone was unheeded. She held out Vittorio's letter to him, and ingenuously said: "The Count would scarcely return here without your permission, Senor, after plighting his word to you to visit Palermo; but he has written to me. Here is his letter, and the bearer of it is awaiting your permission to appear before you." "Without any appearance of eagerness the old man took the offered letter, and carefully adjusting his glasses, proceeded to read it through, weighing every sentence as he read. In the flutter and excitement of the moment Lucia had utterly forgotten the proposal to communicate with her through the medium of the stranger, together with the revelation regarding the expected good offices of Pepita. Suddenly they flashed upon her, and she would have withdrawn the page if she had dared to make the attempt; but the firm hand of the Marquis had closed upon it, and she knew it was too late to remedy her precipitation. The heart seemed to die within her as she watched the face of the reader, but he at length looked up, and fixing his sunken eyes kindly upon her agitated face, said: "You have acted honorably in showing me this, Lucia; nor have you betrayed to me anything of which I was not already aware. I was certain that my son would seek to communicate with you in some way, and I have already ascertained that Pepita was to be the agent through whose hands your letters were to pass. Child, it must only prolong the anguish of your final separation to keep up the delusion of a future union. Men are inconstant ever, and every temptation, every obligation of honor, will be brought to bear on Vittorio to force him to fulfill the contract to which I consider him as solemnly bound as if the church had already pronounced its blessing on his union with Lady Venetia Amalfi. Write to him if you choose; receive his letters; let Pepita play the part of the mysterious agent. I will not baffle her; but in return for his indulgence, when you are convinced that all his professions of devotion mean nothing, I shall ask something of you which you must promise to grant." Touched by his words and the gentle kindness of his manner, Lucia impulsively said: "Oh, Senor, how shall I thank you for this gladness! How could I refuse anything to so kind and considerate a friend as you are? If Vittorio proves faithless, I will promise to comply with anything you may ask of me." "It is understood then, Lucia, that you will hold yourself in honor bound to fulfill your pledge?" "Assuredly, my lord. But we forget that this stranger awaits an audience of you." "Ah, true—I will if possible gratify the wish I know you have in your heart, though you have not expressed it; but I must see and speak with the nun first. I cannot take her on trust as my son seems to have done. Let her come in now, if you please." Lucia disappeared and in a few moments returned, followed by the tall, dark-robed figure of Sister Maria. The old man regarded her keenly as she made her obeisance before him, and in a courteous tone invited her to take the seat which Lucia placed for her. He presently said: "My son strongly recommends you to a position of confidence in my household. He was not wrong in supposing that the tie which draws you toward this young girl would induce me to serve you, if it were in my power. Your face pleases me, for I think it honest and true, but I must learn something more of your past life than this letter reveals. Will you enlighten me?" "Your request is perfectly just, Senior, and I can have no hesitation in giving you my simple history. My parents were the owners of a small vineyard near Syracuse, where my ancestors have lived for ages, though we do not claim noble blood as our inheritance. We were not rich, but we had enough for our own wants, besides affording alms for the poor. My father died when I was seventeen; my lover was drowned the next year, and I have never cared to have another. I lived on with my mother in careless monotony till a stranger came one day to our door and asked for shelter and rest. She was young and fair, and the story of suffering she told moved our compassion. We took her in and ministered to her wants; that stranger was the mother of this young girl, as you will yourself believe when you have compared the miniature of Senora Rispoli with Lucia's face." Lucia, who had been gazing on the picture with tearful eyes, here held it toward him, and after glancing upon it, the Marquis slowly said: "There can be little doubt that the original of this was the mother of Lucia. Can you explain why she had left her friends? how she came to seek protection from strangers?" "I could only gather from her that her husband had been seized on in the darkness of night and hurried off to prison; her home burned to the ground, and herself compelled to fly from it to save her own life. Lucia was born a few weeks after she gained the shelter of our cottage, but the health of her mother was too much broken to permit her to rally again, though she lingered on for several months. She sent letters to a secret agent in Italy, who found means to let her husband know where she had taken refuge; he escaped from the prison but to find her dead. The subsequent events, I presume, Count Colonna's letter has informed you of, and now, Senor, it remains with you to decide whether I shall remain near the child toward whom my heart has so long yearned, or return to the silence and desolation of my own home." The Marquis, after a few moments' reflection, turned to Lucia and said: "I wish to speak in private with your friend. Leave us together a few moments, Lucia." She immediately arose and left the apartment. Then turning to the stranger, he asked: "I presume that you have with you such credentials as will sustain the truth of your narrative? Not that I doubt your veracity, but habit has made me cautious, and the position named by my son is one of responsibility." The nun replied by taking from a large pocket in her dress a package of papers, from which she selected two, and presented them to the Marquis for inspection. One was simply a record of the vow she had taken, written by the reverend padre who had been her spiritual guide; the other was a letter from the same person, stating the object of her voluntarily pilgrimage, and asking such aid from chance acquaintance as she might need. These are quite sufficient," said the Marquis, after looking over them. "The name appended to these papers is well known to me, and I am aware that their writer is a good and pious son of holy mother church. His guarantee assures me that you are worthy of confidence, but before I consent to place you in a position of trust in my household, you must give me your word of honor not to take charge of a letter or communication of any kind from my son to Lucia, or from her to him. A most unfortunate entanglement has grown out of their recent association with each other, and the sooner they reconcile themselves to a separation which must prove final, the better it wll be for both. You must be aware that a girl in so equivocal a position as that of poor Lucia can be no fitting match for the son of this house. Nay—hear me out without interruption. It is my purpose to proide for her nobly; to make up to her for what she relinquishes, so far as money and perhaps future high position may do so. "Sister Maria listened with grave attention. When the Marquis ceased speaking, she quietly said: "I know enough of the world, my lord, to understand how futile are the romantic hopes of these young people. Your son seems a high-spirited and noble youth, and I can only regret that the station of my young friend is not known, for I am persuaded that if I were, Lucia would be found a fitting mate even for a Colonna. Since I have only my own convictions to oppose to your worldly wisdom, I give you the pledge you require. I will in no way encourage the passion you disapprove, nor will I assist the lovers to correspond." "Enough—I am quite satisfied; so we will now speak of business. Father Boniface, my family chaplain, is getting old and feeble like myself. Of late he finds his duties as almoner burdensome, and only yesterday he petitioned to me for an assistant to distribute the charities I make it a rule to give. Providence seems to have sent you hither at the right moment, and I now install you in the place. But you will find much to do. My estate is large, and the good father has personally looked after the poor, who, alas! abound in every portion of this island apparently so favored of Heaven." "I thank you sincerely, Senor, for this opportunity to follow the bent of my own inclinations. The strongest desire I am conscious of is to alleviate the sufferings of the helpless—to minister to the wants of the wretched. I promise to be a faithful representative of the good old man who is getting past his work." There was sincerity and fervor in her tones which pleased the old nobleman, and he held out his thin hand as he said: "Then you are henceforth one of my retainers. If you desire it, I will order an apartment contiguous to Lucia's to be prepared for you, or you can, if you prefer it, be received into the family of my steward. A word from me will suffice to secure you a home with himself and his young daughter." "I have no words in which to thank you for this consideration for a wandering stranger, my lord. It is my purpose to take another vow to devote my life to the service of the poor in memory of Him who said, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these, ye have done it unto me.' I am lonely—I have no other tie —I would give much if I could afford her more satisfactory information concerning her origin." "Do not suffer her thoughts to dwell on what can never be unravelled. After all these years of neglect, her father will scarcely attempt to claim her from those who have stood to her in the place he should have supplied. I will send a message at once to Father Boniface, and inform him of the arrangement I have made to release him from his most arduous duties." He again touched his bell in a peculiar manner, and a servant appeared. "Tell Senorina Lucia that she may return, and despatch a messenger to La Tempesta, to ask the padre to come hither as soon as he conveniently can." In a few moments Lucia glided in, and the Marquis addressed her with a benignant smile. "The preliminaries are all settled, cara mia, and your friend will become an inmate of the castle. You can have the blue chamber, which lies beside your own, prepared for her use, and inform the housekeeper that such is my will. I am happy to give you this gratification, Lucia, as some compensation for the severity I have lately been compelled to show you." \She knelt before him, and pressed her lips to his withered hand with an expression of grateful joy. Then seeing the signs of extreme weariness in his aged face, she linked her arm to hat of Sister Maria, and drew her away. Together they ascended the wide staircase, and sought the apartment designated. It was a spacious room furnished with unique grandeur, as was the whole castle, and the wanderer soon felt herself at home within it. She took Lucia in her arms and tenderly said: "My quest has brought a blessing with it, as I felt assured it would. We shall be very happy together, I trust, Lucia, and in time you will learn to love me as you would have loved her who breathed her last sigh in my arms, and with her dying breath gave me her infant child. I do not now repine that I have been defrauded of so many years of sweet intercourse with you, or you found friends whose position in life enabled them to prepare you for the sphere in which I feel assured you were born, far better than one of my humble fortunes could have done. We are all in the hands of God, my child, and He deals with us as He sees will be best both for our temporal and spiritual welfare." "I believe it," replied Lucia, earnestly. "And now let me begin my ministrations as your daughter, by removing your hood, and offering some refreshments to be brought up. e