The Mysterious Sister

The city of Florence bas new streets and squares, and public promenades and fouDtains, and banksand shops, but olas ! there are no more flower girls ! In Cascine and cafes aro now rarely, if ever, seen tbose dainty figures, so jauutily dressed, all possessed of the beauty of jouth, and some rejoicing u aloveliness of a nobler and rarer type, carrying baskels of the choicest flowcrs, which they used to profler with the artless yet graceful courtcsy of their country to passer-by. At the end of the season a sura of money was given for these flowers, so that all the ugly part of the transaction, the buying and selling, was bidden from view. The bouquets were given and received with smiles, and cordial words and merry farewells "until to-morrow" wero exchanged, and th :t was all. About ten years ago one of these flowcr-giils was a great favorite, and efpecially aduiired by the foreiguer1, English, American, and Germán, wlo stoppcd to hear the band in tbe Piazzone Cascmie. "Ob, auniie, look ! what a pretty gtrl '" saiii Maud Iialitax, licisüif a verv pretty girl, to the lady who was wilh her. They had stopped lo hear the musió on one warm April afternoon. Maud bad been leasing buck, tired and exhousted ; for sho was in very bad liealth wheu thiy lovely visión of a girl of her owu age stood beside the caniage and roused her. "She is very pretty," said Miss Halifux ; but what ig very strange she is very like you." "Oh, sunt ! how you flatter." It wae the fact, however ; the English youug lady and the lialian girl were as like as sisters. 13oth had dark eyes, slightly aquilino no&es, broad, low foreheade, and benutiful mouths ; but the Italiau was as blooming as her own flowers. Maud was thin, palc and languid. "Do you not think I am right ?'; said Miss Halifax, in French, to a youog Hungarian oflicer who now carne up. He assented hastily, but not before both the faces he bad glaneed at blushed to the roots of the hair, worn by both in the same way, drawn back in simple waves from tbe forehead. The flower-girl hastily threw some roses into the carriage, and vauihed. "I am tired ; let me go home," said Mjud. "Shnll we seo you thia evening ?" eaid Miss Halifax to the officer. "I do not know. Yes, yes ; I will come." The Halifaxes went home. The young officer followed the flowergirl. ÍS ho held out her banket to him. 'I told you," said ho, with an air of authority, "tbat you wcio never to go near that carriage" "Why ?" "Never mind ; I have my reasons, DrodaU." 'Shall I ever know tbem ?" "No, perhaps not." He turned on his heel, and was gone. The girl looked after him thnughtfully. "1 wih I kn(.w," she murmured. "What do you wish to know f" said a young Italian artist who camo up. "I ean teil you a great many things. Count Lindau, ior DBtance, that young man who has just been bujing your flowers, is engtiged to be married to the rich English girl at the Hotel de la Villc, who is so ill, If she lives to be married he will be a ricb man ; for it is said her father has settled fifty thousand francs a year on her hui-baud. What is the matter, Drodata ':" "I must go home." The poor girl's lips were very whiie. "Come, I will tako you," said bo ; ior he eaw s-he was trembliug too much to be ablc to walk. Thej stepped aside frorn the busy crowd. The music was pouring forth ita peals of gay mclody, the sky was bright, and tho ilowers Droda'.a carried seemed laughiog up in elfish mockery iu her face ; but she thoughl of notliin?. board nothino;, but the tlreadfui wortls Cario Alalappina had spoken : "Count Lindau is going to be married." Why, then, had he for the laet six months told her he loved her, and loved her oaly ? Why had he raid ho was he ras a Germán, for that, as toon as ske hsd married him, ho would take her Florence ; and at Prague no one would look down upon har, for they would not know whelher he had been a flower-girl or a countess ? Why, why ? Alas! there was no reply. Cario was wcll known to her. He had always been most kind to her mother and to herself. 8be called it kindness ; but, in truth, it was sincere and devoted leve wbich he I feit for her. tBut tliore is oflen tbia terrible disparity and iuetjunlity ia love - on ono side firc, and ou the othcr frost. The one Iove8, the other loved ; and between the active and paseive of that verb wliat a worlj of diflerenee. Drodatn had no failier. She liad heard he had died when fhe was an infmit at Vouice; and Ida Benclli, her mother, had come to Florence, poer aud broken hearted, to learn how to support herself and her child. No ono knew more tlnn that fact abut the pnle, beautiful woman. Sho was alone witb her ehild, and worked hard at her needie to support bolh. Sho was, however, evidently of gentle bii'tb, though she never illuded to ihe past; and was as simple and unpretendiug as if she had always lived by the labor of her own hands. - Hut evideotlj there had been n great sorrow in her life, and it was one she never got over. She was always sad, aud somewhat stern, They lived on the ground-floor of a little villa ncar Florence, and the flowers they cultivated were gold by Drodata. Soinetitnes her mother aceompanied ï:er ; somctiines one of the older flowergirls took charge of Drodata. Count Linduu had beeu btaying at a neighboring villa, and it was duriog bis walks lio huil met Drodata. She ueed to go sometimos to see the lady at whose villa Le was utaying, and, after a few meetings, he told her he loved her. Drodata biought hiui to her mother, and Ida Benelli gave her consent to their raarriago. She told him thero was no disparity in birth between them, and that the secret of her life sbould be made known to him on the day of the ncarriage; tül then she wished the engagement to be secret. Not even Cario Malasp;na, though he was so good a frieud, must know of it. Now as he took poor Drodata home, he first became aware of h. í was fortuuate for Liudau tbat Cario could not leave the poor girl, or the Cascine of Florence would have been disturbed by a siimmary act of vengeance. When they arrived at the villa poor Drodata drngged hereeJf up to her room. '■Teil mamma, :' she said, as tears streamed down her face. Ida Bcnelli lisiened with set lips acd kiodling eyes. "He sball not marry this English girl," sheeaid ; "Her father shall knovr what a traitor ho ís." She went up stairs, kissed the poor, tear-staiued cbeekof tho girl, and went down again. "(Jome with me, Cario," sho saio. Mr. Haüfux was at dinner whea he was told he was wauted. "Who is it ?" ". lady. Sho says she will wait." "Maud is there," said Miss Halifax. "She said she would have some tea tbere insfead of dining with us." Wbep Mr. Halifax tinished he weut to tho drawing-rocin. The lights had Dot been lit. He heard his daughter's roice convcrsing with somo one ; and as his e-es became accustomed to the gloom, he saw a tall, slight form leaning over the couch where she lay "I hear you wanted me," he said politely. "Iíow can I serve madame." At that moment the waiter cam9 in, and the light feil on Ida's face. "üood Heavens !" said Mr. Halifax, "Ida ! Kave the waves given up the dead ?" "Is it you- you - you ?" and the poor womau feil at his feet. "What is the matter, papa?" said Maud, sobbing. Tbere was a good deal of confusión at first, but finally Ida aas restored to her senses, and then Mr. Halifax cxplained, and Ida explained. He had married Ida Contariti at Venice twenty years before. A year after their marriage, just before the birth of their child, Ida'e confessor so filled her with fears for her own soul and that of the child about to be born that the poor woman nlmost lost her senses. She determined to fly, and leave no trace by which she could be recalled. She threw her veil and mantle out of her góndola, and disguised in an eoclesiastical oostume, left Venice. There was a rumor that she had committed suicide. This was iadustriously circulated by the priest ; and poor Ir. Halifax left Venioe, miserable, and convinced that he was a widower. Two years aflerward, to please bis sister, he married a young Eoglish girl, who died in givDg birtb tu Maud. He thought there was a curse upon bim, that all he loved should thus be taken. He oonsigned Maud to h8 sister, and spent yoars in traveling in Egypt, India, (Jreeco, Syria - everywhere but Italy - until he had beensummoned borne on account of Maud's health. Oa growing up Maud had shown signs of great delieacy. For the Inst twojyears - sho was now eeventeen (Drodala was nineteen, but from her healtfa and bloom, looked as young, if not younger than her sister,) - she had been in Italy She had regained a little slrength in Florence, had gone out a litUe into society, and had met Couot Lindan. It was well known that she was a rich heiress; he had proposed, and been accepted. Mr. Halifax, from the moment he had returued to Italy, had become more melancholy and gloumy than ever ; he seemed haunted by bitter and undying memories. He feit tliat his daiighter dlso would bo tdkon from him, and shutldered as he looked at her. It was a sad home, and Maud had been naturally pleased at the cheerful, pleasing uianuers of the young Hungarian, and looked upon her raarriage as an escape from the ever deepening gloom of her home. But, once tho marriage was settled, Liudau became cold and somewhat inattentive. Th6 quick instincts of womunhood told Maud that she was not loved ; she had heard whispers of Lindau's admiration for some beautiful flower-girl. When eho saw Drodata, she had an instinetive knowledge that it was she. Slic was thinking of tliefo th'mgs that night when the waiter ushcred in a lady. Ida had come up to her, and had also been struck appareatly by Maud's likenecs to Drodata. In her beautiful, pathelio voioe, Ida had trld Maud the purposa of her visiti "I have come to you to save you from a mercenary man, as I would wish any one to havo come to save mv child, had sbo beeu thus betrayed snd deceived. Hi must luso you, as ho has lost her." It was at tliis point of the conversatiou tliat Mr. Haüfax entered. Need I describa the happinens, tardy as it wfts, of these two reunited hearts ? Need I dwe'.l upon the warmth with whicli the two sÍHter3 aucepted their new relationship '{ Nced I say that Lindau wap dismisscd ? About i mouth nfterwards a carriage on the Cascine was tbc ceuterof attractioü to all present. In it was Miss Jlalifax, and by her side was a lady of faded but exquisite beauty. Opposite were two girlf, so alike tbat, but for the paler complexión and slighter forra, tliey could scarcely have been Isnown apart, ïhey were Mr. Ilalfax's two daughters. "Was not (Jount Lindau to have inarried the pale one otice ?" asked a young Ilalian of his friend. "Yes; and he wus in lovc with both, I believe ; but be has lelt Floronce now. At present I should sïy the ouly niau who has a chance with tbem is Cario Malaspina." "But Malaspina was in love, I thrught, with that beautiful Drodatn, who was as good as she was beautiful." "That beautiful Drodata is the eldest Miss IFalifax. There was some fumily (parrel, and Mrs. Halifaz lived away trom her husband tiineteeo years. He thought she was dead, and married agaiu. He only knew the truth a month ago I" "Whiit a romance!" "Yes; and who could be a prettier heroiue than our pretty flower-girl ?"