Beautiful Rienzi; or, The Secret Vendetta — page 25: what you’re looking at

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

— = ~ oe ee oe ser SY ~~ nh, + ow | a Ta? Ass ht o ae ee ce foi Age ey Py se | p : ee eae ‘ ae a ; Py » . MENS = ice a Po Ae te) a ‘ SR we ee Oe | pa ay et Se SS eh te nl eens 18° BEAUTIFUL RIENZL Trappist telling the Pope in the torner there that the lady suited the character very well. Rather hard on either Lou or Queen Elizabeth—I sha’u’t say which.” I was still looking with proud eyes at my lovely sister, whose calm perfections in her stately costume were absolutely dazzling, when suddenly she swung round from her lady- companion and gazed with a slowly deepening flush of wild emotion at a holly-wreathed pillar, beside which a figure was standing with folded arms. A mask shielded the face, and the nodding plume of Napoleon’s hat cast a shadow across the mask, but the figure, clad ala the victorious conqueror, was tall and princely in its proportions, and there was acer- tain forlorn grandeur in the attitude that suggested aptly enough my lively friend’s next remarks: ‘* ¢ But one—a lone one ’mid the throng, Seemed reckless all of dance or song!’ as Mrs. Hemans says. Whata gathering of the regal ele- ment! And what a coincidence! The Queen of Scots rush- ing to speak to poor Bony in the Island of St. Helena! But who is he? That envious mask hides all!” Who was he? I could not tell. My sister had shimmered forward with eyes sparkling and hands outstretched, in eager, tremulous joy. ‘¢ Tt is—surely it must be my victor!” she murmured. The figure shifted; my heart sank at the low, suppressed voice. ** Your majesty looked for a Bothwell, then? Your Both- well tarries long, my queen, at his hermitage—better turn a thought to those who love your majesty faithfully.” “Sir,” said my sister, shrinking back, ‘‘I thought yon some one else. . You speak in character, but I understand the taunt, and do not heed it. Mr. Cecil Beaumont forfeits even my respect, when he deals in taunts.” The exile bowed his head in silence; closer and closer I had advanced, leaving my companion in the midst of a group; I was now beside my sister, and I clasped her hand warmly. Napoleon bowed to the peasant. | | ‘“Havye you forgotten—my little pleader?” he murmured in Ita‘ian, bending toward me. | ‘ ““Come away!” said Isolina, coldly; she drew my hand closer. *<J beg one grape from the Jittle peasant beauty’s basket Gomicbooks (Ee)