Beautiful Rienzi; or, The Secret Vendetta — page 161: what you’re looking at

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

154 _ BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. a dreadful man! ‘'There’s a pitcher of milk for you and the sick young lady, and tumblers. Shall I carry it in?” ‘JT will carry them myself, Mrs. Haller. Thank you.” Obeying the hint, I betook myself to the parior. The sun glimmered in through the hanging wreaths, as before; my father lounged on the piazza with the same contented ease; my sweet sister reclined on the little sofa between them, gazing with satisfied eyes into the heart of the vernal glades; I only carried gloom and fear in my bosom, for the serpent had stolen into my paradise. ‘“What’s the matter with our little gipsy?” cried my father, peeping inat me, ‘‘ hasshe got a fright vow milking?” “Tf I did, I secured the milk;” I answered with an at- tempt at gayety. ‘‘See, my sister, this is a specimen of true milk—warranted pure from chalk and water.” ‘You look weary, sister,” said Isolina, looking up into my pale, depressed face, ‘‘ let me fan you awhile, and lie on this sofa—the heat has been too much for you.” Bah!” I answered, laughing, ‘‘ the heat never makes me ill. i never suffered heat when the sirocco blew most burn- ingly in Italy.” ‘‘ But there 7s something the matter,” said my mother, seeing me clearly for the first time. ‘*A raven croaked at mein the orchard,” I answered, meeting her anxious regards with a smiling look. Very soon I found myself out on the piazza, behind my father’s chair. ‘¢ Come with me until I tell you something,” I murmured. We slowiy paced together to the end of the piazza, and leaned over the pretty railing. ‘“« Papa, we are not safe even at Silverlea,” I began; ‘‘the only two people who are here are in league against us.” ‘“ Nonsense, child! Why, you poor little girl, you are getting so nervous and fanciful that I shall soon be alarmed about you. ‘That fright you got at home was bad for you, Iva.” ‘< Papa, listen to me,” I repeated, with tearful earnestness. ““We are not safe here. There is a gardener here whom you ~must see—he is connected with—with our enemies. There was a Mrs. Ringwood living in this house last winter; I am sure she was connected with our enemies; there is a photo- graph of grandmamma’s house in Venice, in the basket of m = €omicbooks.co