Beautiful Rienzi; or, The Secret Vendetta — page 146: what you’re looking at

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

BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 189 ‘Good! a long adieu then!” she returned, shutting her- self in. ‘* Drive to the station, coachman.” The carriage whirled away, and I walked on, still trem- bling with apprehension and anger. I knew she had just the character to cling stubbornly and pertinaciously to an idea until it was accomplished. Having chosen to consider Isolina as her enemy, no earthly power would turn the bit- ter prejudice from its channel. Your women who “ never forget” are invariably patient, implacable, and tireless in their pursuit of vengeance. When I reached home I found my friend, Miss Belle Cranstown, in the drawing-room, seated before the piano, in a most extraordinary flow of spirits, alternately rattling off waltzes and sallies of wit to mamma, who was listening with pleased enjoyment; and there also, to my astonishment, sat my poor sister in a deep easy chair near the window, also listening to the alla podrida which emanated from my lively friend, witha sweet, gentle smile on her face; which last was su great a stranger there that I stood in the door-way watching it with quivering lip. | ‘*Ah, there you are!” cried Miss Belle, whirling round, ‘and pray what are you looking so surprised at? Ha! ha! don’t you see we are giving the inyalid a change of air to prepare her for Ranelagh?” She skimmeG over and gayly shook my hands, whisper- ing the while: ‘‘Met Doctor Graves in the city this morning—told me you were going away to-day—polite enough to tell me to chatter like a magpie, if I came up, and cheer you all up. Sure you need it, even you, poor little white ghost! Be gay, my little gipsy—laugh, and be gay—the worst is over!” ! Thus finishing, with an additional shake of my hands, she brightly nodded her head and resumed the piano-stool. ‘And what is this I hear?” said the young lady, begin- ning to fly through the intricacies of an arpeggio opera in C. by Beethoven, which wafted me on the wings of fondest memory to my Venetian home, where my dear old grand- mother and I used to sit in the evenings upon the balcony listening to the lutes of the passing cavaliers under the awn- ings of their gondolettes—oh, these evenings, in the old- fashioned house above Rialto!—— What is thisI hear? Hydra-head was out to tea last night, and came home and (<(0) Comicbooks