Beautiful Rienzi; or, The Secret Vendetta — page 118: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 111 She stopped and looked at my father in turn with mourn- ful, terrified gaze: ‘‘Oh, husband!” she cried, bursting into tears, ‘‘you are - more changed than she. There was not a white hair on your head when I left you a year ago, and now you’re an old man! Oh, Guiseppe, my dear love, why did you let them keep me from you so long?” : And there was the greatest change of all to come. Oh, poor mother-heart, keep strong for love of us! As soon as we had brought her home, and waited on all her wants like fond, devoted slaves, my father led her to a private room, and told her all. What she suffered, I never knew; courageous, brave, and unselfish, she kept her anguish to herself and comforted him; her sweet face was pale, but not mournful, when they joined me and she infused a warmth of sunshine into my heart, sweet to feel, whatever she suffered herself. Hope decks the pillow with lotus-wreaths and for the first night in monthsI slumbered sweetly. The dark cloud was vast as ever, but I seemed to see an edge of golden bright- ness curling the gloomy scroll. But while I dressed in the sunny morning’s rays with the realistic sense of thingsas they are, and not as they appeared to be—which a calm night’s rest and broad daylight are sure to bring, the mysterious apparition of the past evening presented itself to my imagination with a sudden and _ over- powering vividness, which smote me into stillness in the midst of my dressing, that I might revise once more that brief moment of recognition. Could it indeed have been a trick of faney? «‘No,” whispered intuition vehemently; ‘‘ be cheated by nounbelief. You saw him!” _ So powerful was this conviction that I no longer felt ashamed of my credulity, but determined to mention the circumstance to my father, that he might sift the matter. In this state of mind | went down stairs. It was early, but my mother was already up, and sitting by her open window. Her hand was supporting her cheek, she was in deep rev- erie and did not hear me enter. I was grieved to see that her beautiful eyes were dark and iris-circled, as if she had slept but little. «¢ Mother dear,”” I murmured, crouching by her knee. (E(e) comicbooks