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NICCOLINA NICCOLINI. 
 
NICCOLINA NICCOLINI. 
 
 BY 
 
 The Author of 
 
 ‘MADEMOISELLE MORI,’ ‘ATELIER DU LYS,’ 
 ‘THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLAC,’ 
 
 ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 GARDNER, DARTON & CO., 
 
 3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C., 
 
 AND 44, VICTORIA STREET, S.YV. 
 
 C 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. MOTHER AND CHILD - - 1 
 
 II. A YOUTHFUL ARTIST - - - 14 
 
 III. HOW MR. DALTON WROTE A LETTER - - 31 
 
 IV. FLIGHT - - - - - 49 
 
 V. HOW LINA’S MOTHER WENT AWAY - - 62 
 
 VI. HOW LINA WENT TO SCHOOL - - 79 
 
 VII. A QUIET LIFE - - - - 92 
 
 VIII. MIRTILLA TO THE RESCUE - - - 111 
 
 IX. A NEW HOME ----- 128 
 
 X. WHAT LINA RECOLLECTED - - - 148 
 
 XI. LIFE IN THE PALAZZO - - - 164 
 
 XII. AN OFFER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES - - 180 
 
 XIII. WHAT MR. RAYNER HEARD AT THE RED ROSE 203 
 
 XIV. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE - - - 227 
 
 XV. IN THE VALLEY ... - 254 
 
 XVI. WHAT GINO HAD TO SAY - - - 269 
 
 xvii. somebody’s child ... - 282 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2019 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 https://archive.org/details/niccolinaniccoliOOrobe 
 
NICCOLINA NICCOLINI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOTHER AXD CHILD. 
 
 The Mediterranean Sea sparkled blue under a 
 May sun; every little wave that curled before 
 it died on the beach glittered in green trans- 
 
 O O 
 
 parency. In the distance there were great 
 tracts of purple water ; a thin haze, born of 
 the heat, veiled the mountains ; the air was 
 heavy with the scent of orange blossom; each 
 leaf of the olives reflected light ; a nightingale 
 was singing among them. 
 
 Under the slight shade of their boughs a 
 little child was seeking pale, lingering peri¬ 
 winkles and white garlics, to add to the yellow 
 poppies and beautiful rose-coloured convolvulus 
 which she had brought from the shore. Xow 
 and then she ran to a girl in deep mourning, 
 
 1 
 
2 
 
 IFUccolina IRtccolmi 
 
 sitting on a bench, to show her some flower, 
 finer than the rest, or to ask some question, 
 heedless of the indifference of the reply which 
 she received. Although the girl looked too 
 young to be the mother of a child of this age, 
 the little one called her mammiuci (‘ mammy ’). 
 
 They both spoke Italian, but something in 
 the intonation of the elder showed it was not 
 her native tongue. Her languid, discontented 
 air and drooping figure made a startling con¬ 
 trast with the joyous health and overflowing 
 spirits of the child, who indeed was unlike her 
 in every respect—brown-skinned, dark-eyed, 
 with wavy black hair, rebellious to the ribbon 
 that bound it, while the mother was pale, 
 fair-haired, fair - skinned, with small, childish 
 features. The little one’s restless spirits seemed 
 to annoy her. 
 
 ‘ Yes ; go and see if Giovanna and her goat 
 are in the wood,’ she assented with a sigh of 
 relief, in reply to the child’s eager request, and 
 when left alone she leant her head wearily 
 back against the trunk of the olive behind her, 
 and closed her eyes, as if it tired her to keep 
 them open. She heard a brisk step coming 
 through the wood, but did not care to look up 
 until an English voice said : 
 
 £ Could you kindly tell me-’ And then, 
 
/Ibotber attb Cbilb 
 
 3 
 
 in quite another tone : 4 Good heavens ! it is 
 Elvira Dalton !’ 
 
 The speaker stood before her, a little, middle- 
 aged gentleman with a fresh complexion and 
 white whiskers, not in the least the kind of 
 person to call up the look of dismay which 
 appeared on the girl’s face when she recognised 
 him. 
 
 She opened her lips and closed them again 
 without speaking, while he leaned on his cane 
 and contemplated her with unmistakable wonder 
 and disapproval. 
 
 c Elvira Dalton !’ he repeated, as if he could 
 not recover from his surprise, and then, observ¬ 
 ing her black dress, a new expression came on 
 his face. 
 
 4 My poor girl,’ he said gently, 4 I see you are 
 in trouble.’ 
 
 4 I am a widow,’ she answered with pale 
 lips. 
 
 4 What brings you to this out-of-the-way 
 place V 
 
 4 We were at Lucca, but I was ill, and I had 
 not courage to stay there when Gaetano-’ 
 
 4 No, no, I understand; but you are not 
 alone ? Your husband ’—he said the word 
 as if he were swallowing something bitter— 
 4 he had a family V 
 
4 
 
 IRiccoltna IRtccoUnt 
 
 4 Yes ; he had a family.’ 
 
 4 Well then, where are they ? What kind 
 of people are they, to leave you alone at such a 
 time ?’ asked her companion angrily. 
 
 He felt a strong desire to quarrel with some¬ 
 body, and as he could not do so with this frail 
 creature, he turned upon her unknown con¬ 
 nections. 
 
 ‘ No doubt they have been unkind to you.' 
 
 ‘ I have nothing to complain of,’ she answered 
 with indifference ; 4 but they are not the kind of 
 people I am used to.’ And then, seeing him 
 move his head up and down expressively, she 
 bit her lips as if repenting her admission. 
 
 4 My mother-in-law and her daughters inter¬ 
 fered too much with my little girl,’ she added, 
 as if to turn her companion’s attention from 
 what she had said before. 
 
 4 Just so ; you never liked being interfered 
 with. So you have a little girl ? Where is 
 she ? I should like to see her.’ 
 
 4 She will come back presently.’ 
 
 4 What have you called her V 
 
 4 Niccolina.’ 
 
 A look of pleasure shone on her old friend’s 
 face. 4 Good, good ; I am glad of it, though it 
 is an odd name for a girl. Your father will be 
 gratified. You called her after him, of course V 
 
/Ibotber anb Cbtlb 
 
 5 
 
 ‘ Yes ; and besides, in Italy the family name 
 is often given as the baptismal one/ she 
 replied, as if unwilling to assent entirely to 
 what had been suggested. 
 
 ‘ I should like to see her. But why on earth 
 did you not let us know that you were a widow, 
 and had a child V 
 
 Elvira’s pale cheeks flushed. 
 
 ‘ I had written once already and had no 
 answer/ she said with keen resentment. ‘ But 
 of course I know the reason; he was not 
 allowed to send one.’ 
 
 ‘ Tut-tut! do not talk such nonsense. The 
 whole truth is, that your father wanted to 
 marry a lady suitable in every way, so on 
 hearing it you declared you would not live in 
 the same house with her.’ 
 
 ‘ I kept my word.’ 
 
 c You did indeed. I honestly own that you 
 ought to have been told sooner.’ 
 
 ‘ I am glad you allow that much, Mr. 
 Rayner.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, well, your father hates scenes, and he 
 knew what he had to expect. You ruled him 
 from babyhood with scenes, my dear. How often 
 he has given you your own way to avoid one!’ 
 
 ‘ He did not give me my own way when 
 he put a stranger into my mother’s place.’ 
 
6 
 
 IRtccoltna IRiccolini 
 
 ‘ Or in yours, eh V 
 
 ‘ You have no right to say that !’ retorted 
 Elvira, stung. 
 
 Her old friend laughed, but added seriously : 
 c Let us leave the past alone. I feel sure your 
 good father is ready to forgive you ; tell him 
 you are sorry for your disobedience, and go home 
 to him/ 
 
 ‘ Thanks ! You really think that my step¬ 
 mother and her boy—I read of his birth in a 
 newspaper—will really let me have a corner in 
 my fathers house V 
 
 ‘ You read the boy’s birth in a paper ! Did 
 you also read of his death V 
 
 ‘ No! Is he dead then ?’ she exclaimed, 
 starting. ‘ Poor papa ! He was always wish¬ 
 ing I were a boy.’ She spoke gently, really 
 moved. ‘ Mr. Payner, tell him that—that I 
 am very sorry for his loss.’ 
 
 ‘ You will tell him yourself, my dear girl. 
 Here is an opportunity to show that you really 
 regret your ill conduct, which has embittered 
 his life these last years. I speak frankly-’ 
 
 ‘ You always did,’ answered Elvira with a 
 faint smile. 
 
 4 You are a mother now, and understand me, 
 my dear. A mother!’ he repeated, looking at her 
 childish features with a comical wonder. ‘ You 
 
flfcotber anb Cbilb 
 
 7 
 
 don’t look twenty, but I believe you are twenty- 
 four. How old is the child ?’ 
 
 ‘ Just six years old.’ 
 
 ‘ Was your husband good to you V asked Mr. 
 Rayner brusquely. 
 
 4 Yes, most good; and if he had not been I 
 should not tell you,’ she answered with petu¬ 
 lance, which made her old friend smile ; but he 
 repented of his question, seeing her cover her 
 face and burst into sobs. ‘1 wanted nothing, 
 nothing, while I had Gaetano.’ 
 
 Mr. Rayner had always supposed that the 
 Italian painter who had secretly married the 
 rich merchant’s daughter was an adventurer, 
 and he was much moved by this grief, which 
 seemed to put things in a new light. 
 
 ‘ My poor girl, forgive me. I see he was a 
 good husband, and I am glad of it ; I am glad 
 of it. How could he help loving you, when you 
 gave up everything for him !’ 
 
 Elvira dried her eyes in haste without answer¬ 
 ing, because she heard her little daughter’s 
 voice in the distance calling : 
 
 ‘ Mamma, are you there ? Do you know 
 what Giovanna’s goat has done ? It snatched 
 my nosegay out of my hand and wanted to eat 
 it; my flowers are quite spoiled ! I told it how 
 naughty it was, but it is not at all sorry !’ 
 
8 
 
 IFUccoUna Wccoltnt 
 
 She spoke Italian, which Mr. Rayner under¬ 
 stood fairly well; he looked with a smile at 
 Elvira, and then turned his eyes with great 
 interest on the child running towards them 
 through the olives in high indignation. His 
 face fell on seeing her near. 
 
 ‘ She is not like your family,’ he said. 
 
 ‘Not at all,’ answered the young mother, 
 and a keen ear might have detected a faint 
 regret in her tone, which echoed that in his. 
 Seeing a stranger, the child stopped short, and 
 then advanced slowly, looking hard at him 
 with the very dark eyes which did not please 
 him. 
 
 ‘ Does she not speak English V he asked in a 
 gruff tone. 
 
 ‘ A little.’ 
 
 c A little ! What have you been about ? 
 You ought to take her home at once and have 
 her properly brought up. She is the heir of 
 your family, since your little brother is dead.’ 
 
 ‘ So she is !’ murmured Elvira, who had not 
 yet thought of this; she seemed struck, and 
 not pleasantly. Mr. Rayner, taken up with the 
 idea which he had suggested, did not notice the 
 effect he had produced. 
 
 ‘ Yes, you ought to go to your mother’s 
 country,’ he went on, turning to the child, and 
 
flbotber aitb Cbilb 
 
 9 
 
 raising his voice a little, as if he thought this 
 would make her understand better ; ‘ you must 
 turn into an English girl as fast as possible. 
 Does she follow what I say ?’ he asked, looking 
 at Elvira. 
 
 ‘ Have you understood, my little girl V she 
 asked in English. 
 
 The child was still looking at Mr. Rayner. 
 
 ‘ I do not like this old man,’ she answered in 
 Italian, drawing back from the hand which he 
 stretched out to her, trying to induce her to 
 come to him. 
 
 ‘ She looks at me as if I were an enemy. 
 You see that you must take her as soon as 
 possible among your old friends. Upon my 
 word ! I cannot understand your not going 
 home long ago. It is most unfair to this child, 
 and you must want to see your father.' 
 
 ‘ Ah, I do !’ murmured Elvira, her eyes filling 
 with tears. 
 
 ‘ Well,’ said her friend joyously, ‘that is 
 easily done.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean V 
 
 ‘ I mean that a few hours would bring him 
 here.' 
 
 ‘ Is he in Italy then V 
 
 ‘ These last four months. I came abroad 
 with them.’ 
 
 2 
 
IO 
 
 IRtccoUita IFUccolmi 
 
 The colour which had flushed Elviras cheeks 
 faded ; the expression of mingled joy and fear 
 vanished from her face, and she said, very 
 coldly : 
 
 £ “ Them ” ! Then she is here, too ?’ 
 
 ‘ Why, yes. Did you suppose your father 
 had left his wife behind ? He came abroad on 
 her account.’ 
 
 4 Ah, that is why he came to Italy !’ 
 
 ‘ She has been out of health ever since her 
 boy’s death,’ went on Mr. Rayner, as usual too 
 much occupied with his own train of thought 
 to notice how what he said affected his hearer; 
 £ and she suffered from the efforts she made to 
 cheer your father—she is a brave woman. At 
 last she broke down, and of course he wanted 
 her to see every doctor in London; you know 
 the state of mind he would be in. Well, to 
 make my story short, she was ordered abroad, 
 and she asked me to join them; said it would 
 be good for your father, and other kind things, 
 and as I always have to escape our east winds, 
 I was glad enough to agree.’ 
 
 £ Ah ! I might have guessed that if my father 
 came to Italy it would be on her account,’ said 
 Elvira with bitterness, and this time her com¬ 
 panion caught her meaning. 
 
 £ That does not hinder their being anxious to 
 
dbotber ant> Cbtlb 
 
 11 
 
 find you. In fact, it was the hope of learning 
 something about you that made your step¬ 
 mother willing to go abroad.’ 
 
 ‘ Many thanks !’ answered Elvira with irony. 
 
 ‘ Naturally, she does not want the world to say 
 it is she who has driven me from my father’s 
 house.’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t let me hear you talk like that, Elvira. 
 It is pure nonsense, and a heartless speech 
 besides, and I don’t want to believe you heart¬ 
 less.’ 
 
 * Perhaps I am,’ she answered with a faint, 
 cold smile. ‘ Mr. Payner ’—and now she spoke 
 imploringly— c you will not tell them you have 
 seen me V 
 
 ‘ My dear girl, do you really suppose I can 
 hide it from your father, who is longing to see 
 you ? or not tell him he has a grandchild ? Of 
 course I must. And it seems to me that if he 
 and Mrs. Dalton can overlook the past—in their 
 place I tell you honestly I should find it hard 
 to do so—all you have to do is to be grateful to 
 them.’ 
 
 ‘ And kneel down and ask pardon,’ added 
 Elvira, with a mocking smile. 
 
 ‘ Exactly. That is just what you ought 
 to do.’ 
 
 4 Quite so,’ she answered, and a cold and 
 
12 
 
 IRtccoltna VUccoUni 
 
 obstinate expression overspread her small face. 
 
 4 All the same, I think you will find it wiser to 
 say nothing about our meeting.’ 
 
 Mr. Eayner looked at her with a gesture of 
 impatience. 
 
 4 Elvira!’ he exclaimed, 4 you always were 
 
 the most spoiled, perverse- Why, what 
 
 o’clock is it ?’ he interrupted himself, hearing a 
 clock strike in the little town near. 4 What! 
 what ! I shall miss my train. I walked over 
 the hills from Ospedaletti and lost my way. 
 How on earth am I to manage if I miss this 
 train!’ He got up in great haste. 4 Think over 
 what I have said, my dear,’ he added, standing 
 before her, and looking anxiously into her face. 
 
 ‘ Think of it when you say your prayers to¬ 
 night. You are a mother : you ought to 
 understand a child’s duty to its parents; and 
 take care of your health : you are only a 
 shadow of your old self. Good-bye, little girl; 
 here, take this and buy a doll. We shall see 
 one another again. I shall certainly miss my 
 train.’ 
 
 He hurried away, and Elvira looked after 
 him, feeling as if with him vanished all hold on 
 the old life which she recollected with a great 
 longing—the life when she had been so in¬ 
 dulged and prosperous and important, while 
 
/Ibotber attb Gbilb 
 
 !3 
 
 now she was only the widow of Gaetano Nicco- 
 lini, a portrait-painter who had not even lived 
 long enough to make himself a name. So keen 
 a pang of mortification struck her that she 
 sprang up to beg him once more to be silent as 
 to their meeting, but he was already out of 
 sight, hastening to the little station in such a 
 flurry lest he should be late that it was not 
 till he had taken his ticket, with some minutes 
 to spare, that he recollected he had not asked 
 Elvira where she lived. 
 
 ‘ Blockhead !’ he said to himself. 4 But it 
 does not matter; it will be easy to find her in 
 this small place. What could induce her to 
 bury herself here ? Perhaps to keep out of the 
 way of any English. What a wrong-headed 
 creature! Obstinate and weak, just as she 
 used to be ! Spoiled, spoiled from the cradle— 
 that is where it is ! And the child, nothing 
 but a little Italian ! A handsome girl though. 
 High time she was in an English home. I 
 can’t think Ellie will refuse to go back; she is 
 not perverse enough for that. No, of course 
 she will go back, and her stepmother will soon 
 win her heart. Things must come right 
 now.’ 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A YOUTHFUL ARTIST. 
 
 Little Niccolina’s eyes had followed Mr. Rayner 
 with a far from friendly look. 
 
 ‘ Why did that old gentleman scold you, 
 mammy V she asked. 
 
 Her mother made no reply, but rose to go 
 indoors, and when the child pulled her dress, 
 repeating her question, answered with a tired 
 voice : 
 
 ‘ Do not worry me, Lina ; my head aches 
 very much.’ 
 
 The little girl w x as used to such replies; 
 she was silent for a moment, then she for¬ 
 got an ailment known to her only by name, 
 and skipped along beside her mother, chatter¬ 
 ing and trying to make her look at every 
 butterfly and lizard that crossed their path. 
 She observed everything, enjoyed everything ; 
 she was running over with joyous life, while 
 the young mother, a pale shade in her deep 
 
B ^outbfui Brtist 
 
 15 
 
 mourning, seemed indifferent to all around her, 
 and moved silently towards the little villa 
 which she occupied with the child and an old 
 servant, hired for the season. 
 
 But there was an obstinate will in that frail 
 body and a great pride, or perhaps rather a 
 vanity, which just then was strongly roused, 
 stung and mortified by certain things said by 
 her old friend, who among many excellent- 
 qualities had not the precious gift of tact, and 
 unawares had produced quite another effect 
 than the one he had intended. 
 
 She was reflecting so deeply that if she 
 replied to the child it was without knowing 
 what she said, but she became dimly aware that 
 Lina was asking leave to stay in the little garden. 
 
 ‘ Stay if you like,’ she answered, glad to 
 dispose of her, and went indoors, while Lina 
 ran to look at a nightingale’s nest built near 
 the ground, in the branches of a red geranium. 
 She came there daily without ever touching 
 the nest ; she loved animals and insects, and 
 had no fear of any. Now she came up very 
 softly, stretching out her neck to see better, 
 and her little face lighted up with pleasure on 
 seeing the bird upon its nest. The creature 
 looked at her with its bright eyes, seeming to 
 recognise her as a friend, and after a moment 
 
i6 
 
 IRtccoltna IRiccoltnt 
 
 she withdrew as quietly as she had come, happy 
 and satisfied, to seek some new entertainment. 
 An odd collection of empty snail-shells and 
 pebbles of many shapes and colours was 
 presently heaped up in her frock and carried 
 to a shady corner, where she knelt down and 
 arranged them in angles, crosses, curves and 
 squares, quite wrapped up in her occupation, 
 and showing a perception of colour and shape 
 far from common in a child, or, indeed, in a 
 grown-up person. She had inherited it from 
 her father. When her mother wanted to make 
 her happy on a wet day she had only to give 
 her a piece of paper and a pencil, and she 
 would draw for an hour at a time, and ask for 
 nothing else; but though glad to keep her 
 quiet, Elvira did not see this gift with satis¬ 
 faction, and took no interest in it. She did 
 not care to be reminded that her husband had 
 been only a nameless artist. 
 
 Although exceedingly jealous of any inter¬ 
 ference with her little daughter, Elvira was not 
 fond of children, and soon was weary of their 
 presence, and her bad health made their rest¬ 
 less spirits and constant questions a trial to 
 her. If she could have managed it, she would 
 have liked to keep her little girl in a nursery, 
 with an English nurse to be answerable for 
 
H JPoutbful Brtist 
 
 17 
 
 her ; as it was, she let her spend a good deal 
 of time alone, as she was doing now. Lina was 
 very happy alone; she had never had play¬ 
 fellows, and found amusements for herself; but 
 it was not at all an Italian way of bringing her 
 up. No Italian child would have been thus 
 sent out to play by herself, with neither mother 
 nor maid to look after her. This style of educa¬ 
 tion greatly shocked Lina’s grandmother, the 
 Signora Niccolini, or, as she was always called, 
 Sora Ersilia, and she had said so very plainly, 
 all the more that she was disposed to judge her 
 English daughter-in-law severely for other 
 reasons; but Elvira replied curtly that she 
 meant to bring up her daughter in the English 
 way, and liked her to be independent. 
 
 ‘ No doubt it spares you trouble,’ Sora Ersilia 
 returned sarcastically. 
 
 Elvira resented her observations, and, as it 
 had always been her habit to escape from any¬ 
 thing that annoyed her, she went away with 
 Lina, and established herself near the little 
 Riviera town where Mr. Rayner had found 
 her. 
 
 Her mother-in-law had vainly urged that the 
 right place for a young widow was with her 
 husband’s family, if she did not return to her 
 father, and that her weak health required the 
 
 3 
 
i 8 
 
 IRiccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 care of some experienced person. Elvira knew 
 that it was only a sense of duty and no wish to 
 keep her that made Sora Ersilia urge her to 
 remain ; she was not at all at ease or happy 
 among her husband’s family, and she was alarmed 
 by the rights they assumed over Lina. Her 
 health really needed a milder climate than that 
 of Tuscany, and she could back herself by doctors’ 
 orders to go to the Riviera. With the bitter 
 sense that she had made a failure of her life 
 hot within her, she had chosen a place where 
 she was most unlikely to meet anyone who had 
 known her formerly, and also one where living 
 was cheap. She had a small income, which 
 seemed ample in Italian eyes, but to herself 
 she appeared very poor indeed. However, it 
 made her quite independent of her husband’s 
 family. 
 
 She had passed the winter alone, glad to be 
 away from her mother and sisters-in-law, but 
 growing weaker and sadder each month. She 
 was tired of living, and full of bitterness. 
 
 ‘ If my father had not married again every¬ 
 thing would have gone right,’ she thought 
 constantly ; and her dislike of the stepmother 
 whom she had only once seen grew and grew, 
 although she longed intensely to return to the 
 comforts and shelter of her old home. 
 
H ^outbful Hrttst 
 
 !9 
 
 When Lina had finished playing with her 
 pebbles she got up, and stood thinking what to 
 do next. Seeing a heap of sand, she ran to it, 
 and strewed handful after handful on the path, 
 smoothed it down with her little hands, and 
 then with a stick traced in it something in¬ 
 tended to be the portrait of Mr. Rayner. 
 
 She smoothed it out several times with her 
 stick and hands, stamping with impatience at 
 not satisfying herself, and frowning with 
 anxiety until she succeeded in obtaining a 
 certain likeness to the neat little old gentleman. 
 While most children would have been contented 
 to produce no matter what caricature, Lina 
 already criticised her work, and was not easily 
 contented. At length she considered the 
 portrait finished ; she stood up and looked at it 
 with satisfaction ; then, taking her stick, and 
 gesticulating with one little brown hand, she 
 exclaimed : 
 
 ‘ That is you, ugly old man ! and now I will 
 punish you for making mammy cross—there !’— 
 planting the stick in the right eye—‘ and there !’ 
 —putting out the left one. ‘ Now you can 
 never see any more how to come here; and 
 that is going into your mouth to teach you not 
 to say nasty things ; and now you are dead *— 
 wiping it all out—‘ and buried,’ as she poured 
 
20 
 
 IFUccolma IRiccolini 
 
 a lapful of sand over the spot where had been 
 the likeness of poor Mr. Rayner. 
 
 Satisfied with this vengeance, she went 
 indoors to find the maid, and presently came 
 into the sitting-room where her mother lay on 
 a sofa, full of unhappy thoughts, to ask if she 
 might have a boiled egg for her supper. 
 
 4 Speak English ; I am sick of Italian,’ said 
 Elvira impatiently. 
 
 ‘ I—desire—an egg—to drink,’ said the child, 
 seeking her words and translating literally. 
 
 ‘ An egg to drink ! That is not English,’ said 
 her mother with irritation, but she had not 
 energy enough to set it right, and Lina looked 
 at her and was silent. 
 
 Presently Pempina, the maid, brought the 
 supper ; she had cooked need , and the egg for 
 Lina. Need are made of chestnut flour, and 
 eaten alone or with cheese or sausages, as hot 
 as they can be swallowed. It is a favourite 
 Italian dish, but Elvira did not like them at 
 all ; in fact, she disliked Italian cookery in 
 general, and she was not able to eat what she 
 disliked, for her appetite was feeble and fitful. 
 Moreover, Pempina’s cookery was not tempting. 
 Even had Elvira known how to improve it, 
 which she did not—her ignorance of all house¬ 
 hold matters scandalized Sora Ersilia—Pempina 
 
B Mouthful Brtist 2i 
 
 would not have let her interfere. She was a 
 perverse old woman, and would only go her 
 own way. Elvira had several times told her 
 not to cook need , but she paid no heed. Need 
 were an excellent dish ; if the mistress did not 
 like them, so much the worse for her; other 
 people would eat them. 
 
 Elvira hardly touched her supper, but Lina 
 ate with good appetite, chattering and chirping 
 like the cicalas outside. 
 
 4 I saw a biacco ’ (harmless snake) 4 in the 
 garden,’ she said all at once. 4 You will not 
 tell ? I won’t have it killed. I like snakes. 
 Do you, mammy ?’ 
 
 4 Yes,’ answered Elvira, without attending, 
 or she would certainly have given an emphatic 
 negative. 
 
 4 Mammy, have you got a father V 
 
 Elvira heard this time and started. 
 
 4 What makes you ask ?’ she said. 
 
 4 That ugly old man said so.’ 
 
 4 What ! You understood ?’ exclaimed Elvira, 
 dismayed; and then, hoping to turn the child’s 
 mind away from the subject, she added in a 
 tone of reproof: 4 Mr. Rayner is not an ugly old 
 man. You are very naughty to call him so.’ 
 
 4 But have you a daddy, mammina f 
 
 Knowing how tenacious was the child when 
 
22 
 
 IFUccolina IFlfccoltnt 
 
 bent on having an answer, Elvira made a sign 
 of assent. 
 
 * And a mamma ?’ 
 
 ‘ She is dead. ’ 
 
 ‘ Like my daddy. Do you think they are in 
 Paradise, or in that other place, deep, deep 
 down, that Mariuccia told me about ’—Mariuccia 
 was her grandmother’s Tuscan maid — c or 
 perhaps on the great mountain where people 
 go before they are let into Paradise. A man 
 went there alive—he was a Florentine, like 
 Mariuccia, but I do not know if she knew him— 
 and when he came back he told what he had 
 seen. There was a picture of him in a book ; 
 papa showed it me.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know what you are talking about. ’ 
 
 ‘ He went to the mountain,’ Lina continued, 
 unheeding, ‘ and there he saw great kings and 
 lords, and there were some who had to go almost 
 on hands and knees, slowly, slowly, all round 
 it, carrying great stones, to punish them for 
 having been too proud ; and others were weep¬ 
 ing, with their eyes sewn up ; those were envious 
 people—but how did they cry if their eyes were 
 sewn up ?’ 
 
 ‘ What nonsense !’ said Elvira, who had never 
 read Dante’s great poem. Probably Mariuccia 
 had not read it either, but the Florentine 
 
B Mouthful Brtxst 
 
 23 
 
 people have no need to read the ‘ Divina Corn- 
 media ’ in order to know it. 
 
 ‘ It is not nonsense!’ retorted the little one 
 indignantly. ‘ It is true. The man was called 
 Dante, and he also went down, down, under 
 the earth, and he saw such dreadful things 
 that when he came back his face was so sad 
 and dark that the people who saw him go by 
 used to say : “ Look at the man who has been 
 down to hell!” Mariuccia told me.’ 
 
 ‘ Nonsense/ repeated Elvira. ‘Mariuccia 
 ought not to tell you such silly stories.’ 
 
 ‘ I love Mariuccia/ said the child, looking at 
 her mother under her black eyelashes. ‘ She is 
 never too tired to play with me. I want to go 
 back to nonna (grandmamma) and my aunts.’ 
 
 ‘ Are you very fond of them V 
 
 ‘ Yes. Nonna gives me goodies, and Zina 
 Teresa and Zina Edoarda can play at so many 
 games ! And Uncle Beppo takes me in his 
 little carriage ! When are we going back, 
 mammy V 
 
 ‘ I thought you had forgotten them,’ said 
 her mother, surprised and ill-pleased. 
 
 ‘ Oh no, not at all, but you are cross when I 
 speak of them,’ answered the little girl. 
 
 Elvira was silent, taken aback by this clear¬ 
 sightedness and by finding how strong a recol- 
 
24 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccoltnt 
 
 lection the little one preserved of her relations, 
 though she had not seen them for eight months. 
 She thought, like many who do not understand 
 children, that silence meant forgetfulness. She 
 did not exactly wish Lina to have no affection 
 for her relations, but she was jealous of every 
 sign that she cared for them, as if it were so 
 much love stolen from herself. Lina spoke 
 again. ‘ Where is your daddy, mamma V 
 
 ‘ In Italy,’ answered Elvira, recalled to her 
 former thoughts. 
 
 ‘ What is his name ? Why does he not come 
 to see us V 
 
 1 Perhaps he will.’ 
 
 ‘ And I want to know why that old gentle¬ 
 man said I ought to go to your country ? 
 What is your country ? Mariuccia said it was 
 England. Are you English ?’ 
 
 ‘ It is too late for you to stay chattering. 
 Tell Pempina to put you to bed; I have too 
 many things to do,’ said Elvira, greatly discon¬ 
 certed at finding how much the child had 
 picked up. 
 
 ‘ But you will come and kiss me when I am 
 in bed V 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes. Make haste, and do not lie awake 
 expecting me. Quick ! do not dawdle.’ 
 
 Lina fixed her black eyes upon her and went 
 
B Mouthful Brtist 
 
 2 5 
 
 away sighing. Although too young to reason 
 on what she felt, she was conscious of some¬ 
 thing wanting in her young mother. 
 
 Left alone, Elvira clasped her hands behind 
 her head and sighed too. If she really had 
 anything to do, she forgot it, shaken and 
 moved as she was by the meeting with her old 
 friend. Generally she reflected little, unless 
 on some personal grievance, but this evening 
 many recollections and thoughts crowded on 
 her. She sat in the darkening room without 
 caring to light a lamp, a sad creature in a 
 dismal setting. She had never had energy 
 enough to make her surroundings pretty or 
 cheerful. Not a book was to be seen; books 
 are not easily obtained in Italy, and she had 
 little love of reading ; not a photograph was 
 visible of any relation or friend, for all that 
 recalled the past mortified her, and to look at 
 her husband’s likeness made her cry. A torn 
 frock lay on the sofa by a work-basket. Lina 
 was very apt to tear her frocks ; but on the 
 other hand, she mended them much better than 
 her mother could. 
 
 Presently the maid came in to clear away 
 the supper; she looked askance at her silent 
 mistress, but went in and out without a word 
 until, as she carried away the last plate, she 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 IRtccoItna IRiccoltnt 
 
 turned in the doorway to say in a sulky 
 voice : 
 
 ‘ Lina is in bed, signora (madam).’ 
 
 ‘ I have told you a hundred times to call her 
 signorina (miss)!’ returned Elvira angrily. It 
 never answers to speak in an angry or im¬ 
 patient tone to an Italian, as Elvira might 
 have known. 
 
 ‘ What did the signora say I was to call her 
 daughter? I did not hear,’ answered the maid, 
 putting her hand behind her ear and bending 
 forward with assumed respect. 
 
 4 You are no more deaf than I am !’ muttered 
 Elvira; but under her breath, for she was 
 rather afraid of the woman, who could be in¬ 
 solent when she liked. Pempina waited a 
 moment, still with an air of great respect, but 
 seeing her sink down again in a corner of the 
 sofa, went away with a disdainful smile. 
 
 ‘ Signorina ! my word ! Yes, she would have 
 me call her daughter signorina; but she will 
 not take the trouble to go and say good-night 
 to that little angel of Paradise ! I do not know 
 of what earth such mothers are baked, nor 
 why Heaven sends them children. Poor little 
 one, waiting for that hard heart ! If I knew 
 where to find that grandmother of whom la 
 Lina talks, I would let her know how the little 
 
H ^outbful Brttst 
 
 27 
 
 one is neglected. But I cannot make out 
 where she is.’ 
 
 A child is always vague as to distances, and 
 although Signora Ersilia lived not many miles 
 from Lucca, it always seemed to Lina quite a 
 journey when she was taken to visit her, and 
 the months spent with her mother in the little- 
 villa near the sea had weakened earlier re¬ 
 collections, though the little heart was still 
 faithful. 
 
 The angry maid continued to grumble and 
 tell herself that she would find out where the 
 grandmother lived, even if it were at the far 
 end of Italy, as was probable, since the child’s 
 mother did not speak like a Ligurian ; but she 
 did not see her way very clearly to carry out 
 her threat, since Lina could tell her no more 
 and Elvira never spoke to her except to give 
 some order, a^ thing which Pempina resented 
 very much, nor did she receive visits, rarely 
 even a letter. At first there had been a great 
 deal of curiosity about the young widow, and 
 Pempina was asked many questions b}^ people 
 in the little town, but she had nothing to tell, 
 and gradually the interest felt in the stranger 
 died out. Lina had made many friends; but 
 all of the humbler class ; she would run out when 
 the goats went by in early morning and again at 
 
28 
 
 IRiccolma IRfccoltm 
 
 night, to chatter to the herdsman who followed 
 them, and give his dog a bit of bread. She 
 knew all about the washerwomans sick husband 
 and her son, just gone for a soldier; and the 
 aches and pains of Meo, the old crippled beggar 
 who sat by the roadside on sunny days and 
 held out his battered hat, murmuring, ‘ Do me 
 the charity of a penny and Angiolina, Pem- 
 pina’s niece, who would be married when her 
 betrothed next came back from his sardine¬ 
 fishing, if the season were a good one. Elvira 
 was absolutely indifferent to all these things; 
 but Lina took the liveliest interest in them. 
 As she lay in her little bed, expecting her 
 mother, she wove rosy visions of what she 
 would do if she had a fairy purse and could 
 spend its contents as she liked—how Meo 
 would say, ‘ The saints bless all you love, my 
 signorina f when he found a golden coin in his 
 hand instead of a soldo, and how Angiolina and 
 her Giulio should have the cottage and the 
 vineyard they wished for so much. It spoke 
 well for the child that all her dreams were for 
 others, even though of course she acted a good 
 providence in them. 
 
 Meanwhile Elvira sat below and tried to 
 imagine what had passed when Mr. Payner got 
 back to his hotel and told his story. She 
 
B Mouthful Brtist 
 
 2 9 
 
 thought that her father would certainly come 
 and see her the next day. ‘ Unless she pre¬ 
 vents him/ she said to herself. It would 
 be their first meeting since her undutiful 
 secret marriage, and she feared it, although 
 she longed to see him again. ‘ He will want 
 me to go back and live with them/ she thought. 
 
 ‘ I will die first. Live at home, a nobody, with 
 her at the head of his table—never! But I 
 should like to live in England, in a home of my 
 own, with Lina to myself. They must see 
 that would be best. She will not want me in 
 their house.’ 
 
 And then, all at once, she seemed to see her 
 stepmother’s face before her, grave and gentle, 
 though troubled, just as it had looked on the 
 one occasion when they had met. ‘ I should 
 not have minded quite so much if I had been 
 fairly treated,’ she thought. 
 
 It was true, as Mr. Rayner had admitted, 
 that she had not been quite fairly treated. 
 The first information which reached her of her 
 father’s second marriage was through the letter 
 of a young friend who supposed she knew all 
 about it. She had hardly read it when Mr. 
 Dalton came to tell her himself, and in a passion 
 of hurt and angry feeling she had answered— 
 what had she answered ? She never could 
 
3° 
 
 IRiccoltna IRiccoltnt 
 
 recollect, but she always remembered the short, 
 stern reply which he made, and how, when he 
 left her, she ran out and ordered a cab, and had 
 herself driven to the house where her future 
 stepmother was staying. 
 
 It all seemed to come before her now. She 
 could see a lady rise with a glad, welcoming 
 look at the sound of her name, and the grieved, 
 sorrowful expression which chased away the 
 pleasure on her countenance. What wild, 
 reckless things Elvira remembered saying, with 
 a passionate satisfaction as she heard herself 
 utter them. And then she had gone home, 
 and she had kept her word, for she had never 
 lived one hour under the same roof as the 
 second Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 It was not pleasant to recollect, and a sense 
 of shame came over her, though she drove it 
 away by asserting to herself, ‘ It was not my 
 fault; why did she come between us V and at 
 length she rose and went upstairs. Not till 
 she stopped to look at Nina sleeping did she 
 recollect that she had not kept her promise of 
 going to see her. 
 
 * Poor little thing !’ she thought, with some 
 self-reproach; ‘ I forgot all about it. How¬ 
 ever, she would not lie awake long.’ 
 
 But in that Lina’s mother was mistaken. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 HOW MR. DALTON WROTE A LETTER. 
 
 While Elvira was thinking over the past, with 
 something more of repentance than she had 
 ever yet felt, Mr. Rayner was telling his story 
 to startled and anxious ears. He returned too 
 late for the hotel dinner, and saw nothing of 
 his friends until he joined them in their private 
 sitting-rooms. Mr. Dalton was not a sociable 
 man; his wife's health made her unfit for the 
 fatigue of talking to strangers, and they rarely 
 appeared in the public salon. Mr. Rayner 
 answered their expression of surprise at his long 
 absence by explaining that he had gone to 
 Ospedaletti by train to see a friend's studio— 
 he was fond of painting, and knew something 
 about it—that he had then walked up into the 
 hills to visit a church with an old fresco, had 
 lost his way, and found it best to go on until 
 he came down upon the railroad. Having said 
 all this, he hesitated, began to speak, hesitated 
 
32 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccoltni 
 
 again, and then, seeing his friends look at him 
 in surprise, exclaimed : 
 
 ‘ I had better tell you at once. I have seen 
 Elvira.’ 
 
 Husband and wife sat astonished, but while 
 Mr. Dalton’s face grew stern, his wife’s 
 brightened, and she murmured : 
 
 ‘ Thank God !’ 
 
 Mr. Rayner looked at her with a cordial 
 smile. 
 
 ‘ I knew my news would please you,’ he 
 said. 
 
 ‘ Certainly ; it is good news for us both,’ she 
 answered, looking at her husband earnestly. 
 Her face expressed great kindness and much 
 firmness. She looked about forty-five. Seeing 
 that Mr. Dalton remained silent, she turned to 
 him, and said gently : ‘ My dear husband.’ 
 
 He started. 
 
 ‘Well,’ he said to Mr. Rayner. ‘I suppose 
 you saw that fellow, too ?’ 
 
 ‘ If you speak of Elvira’s husband, he is dead,’ 
 replied Mr. Rayner dryly. A little earlier 
 he, too, would have called young Niccolini 
 ‘ that fellow,’ but now, without knowing why, 
 he saw him in another light. Perhaps he 
 beheld him through Elvira’s tears when she 
 exclaimed : 
 
Ibow /Ifor. Dalton wrote a ^Letter 
 
 33 
 
 ‘1 wanted nothing when I had Gaetano.’ 
 
 ‘ Dead !’ said husband and wife together—the 
 one startled but relieved, the other with tender 
 compassion. ‘ How long V 
 
 ‘ I don’t know ; I did not ask—I was too sorry 
 for Ellie; but it can’t be long, I should think ; 
 she was in deep mourning, poor girl !’ 
 
 ‘ Poor girl P repeated the father involuntarily, 
 and his friend exchanged a look with Mrs. 
 Dalton, both well pleased by this sign of re¬ 
 awakened affection. ‘ But, of course, she was 
 with his family ?’ he added, frowning again. 
 
 ‘ Quite alone, and sorry I was to see her so ; 
 she, who was so indulged and petted, ill, and as 
 thin as that cat in the garden here, whom I 
 can’t help feeding, though I dislike cats. I 
 wonder if my man has recollected to give him 
 anything ? What was I saying ? Ah, yes !— 
 Ellie—yes, as thin as that miserable cat—a 
 mere shadow. But the child is as strong and 
 well as heart could wish.’ 
 
 ‘ The child !’ 
 
 Mr. Bayner had made a second startling 
 sensation, and he rubbed his hands with satis¬ 
 faction. 
 
 ‘ Ah, ha! There’s unexpected news for 
 you, eh ? What do you think of that ? A 
 handsome little girl, too, though more of an 
 
 5 
 
34 IRtccolina IFUccoltnt 
 
 Italian than an English one,’ he added regret¬ 
 fully, feeling it a sad misfortune to be anything 
 but English. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton had listened with great interest. 
 
 ‘ You will go and see this poor child of ours/ 
 she said to her husband with gentle decision. 
 
 ‘ It is rather for her to show that she wishes 
 us to receive her/ he answered severely. ‘ For 
 seven years she has not written a line, nor 
 made the smallest sign of wishing to be for¬ 
 given.’ 
 
 ‘ And you have done nothing to show her 
 that you are willing to forgive/ said his wife in 
 her sweet, serious voice. ‘ You are both proud 
 people, but you have the least difficult part ; it 
 is much easier to pardon than to consent to 
 being pardoned, for people like you and Elvira.’ 
 
 She smiled, and he looked at her affec¬ 
 tionately. 
 
 ‘ I might forgive for myself/ he answered, 
 putting his hand tenderly on her shoulder; 
 ‘ but it is more difficult to do so where you are 
 concerned.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! do not let me feel that it is I who keep 
 you apart,’ exclaimed Mrs. Dalton ; ‘ I could 
 not bear that.’ 
 
 ‘ I have to consider for you, my dear. You 
 do not know what your life would probably be 
 
1 bow /H>r, Dalton wrote a Xetter 
 
 35 
 
 if Elvira returned to us, and, although she is 
 my daughter, my wife must be my first thought/ 
 
 ‘ The child will be a link between us ; do not 
 be afraid/ 
 
 ‘ The child!’ repeated Mr. Dalton with a 
 frown of pain. ‘ I should have supposed-’ 
 
 ‘ I shall love to have it/ answered his wife ; 
 and no one would have guessed the pang which 
 went through the heart of the poor mother 
 whose darling lay ‘ lapped away under the 
 daisies/ 
 
 ‘ If you can feel it so ; but my daughter 
 must understand that she is to behave dutifully 
 to my wife if I am to overlook the past/ said 
 Mr. Dalton sternly, and he rose and left the 
 room. 
 
 ‘ Uh, uh !’ muttered Mr. Rayner, feeling he 
 had gone imprudently far in his assurances to 
 Elvira. 
 
 c Poor Nicholas ! he is longing to forgive, but 
 you know how both his pride and his affection 
 were hurt. I was very anxious that he should 
 answer the letter Elvira wrote before leaving 
 England ; but to tell the truth, it was not one 
 that made forgiveness easy. Tell me all you 
 can. Why is she alone ? Where is she V 
 
 ‘ As for being alone, it seems that she did not 
 get on with the Niccolini family ; no doubt they 
 
3 6 
 
 IRiccoltna mccoltni 
 
 are of the lower middle class, and if ever there 
 was a fastidious creature. . . . She is at a small 
 place called Castellaro, but she must come here ; 
 she looks seriously ill, and I don’t like her 
 cough. She reminds me of her poor mother, 
 who died of consumption. But I am bound to 
 say that I doubt whether her coming is a good 
 thing for you.’ 
 
 ‘ That does not much matter. I know pretty 
 well what to expect, and 1 wish with all my 
 heart that she should return,’ answered Mrs. 
 Dalton. She was a person accustomed to look 
 facts in the face ; she did not at all deceive 
 herself as to the difficulties which a reconcilia¬ 
 tion with her step-daughter would bring her; 
 but when duty spoke she was always ready to 
 follow its voice. 
 
 Mr. ftayner looked at her without speaking. 
 He was thinking, ‘ That is tl le kind of woman 
 who ought to have brought up Ellie. There 
 would have been some chance then of the silly 
 girl turning out a sensible creature. But it is 
 too late now—too late.’ Aloud he said, ‘ Did 
 you ever see Elvira V 
 
 ‘ Once.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! And when ?’ and as she did not reply, 
 he added, c I am her father’s oldest friend ; you 
 must not think me indiscreet.’ 
 
Ibow flftr. Balton wrote a Xetter 
 
 37 
 
 ‘ Of course not. But the recollection is very 
 painful. After a terrible scene with her 
 father she appeared in the house where I was 
 staying. Hearing her announced, I hoped she 
 had come to make acquaintance and went 
 forward to kiss her. Poor girl ! she was 
 beside herself. I hoped her father would hear 
 nothing about it, but she told him herself 
 what passed with triumph. You can imagine 
 the result.’ 
 
 ‘ I can, indeed. And then she married the 
 painter. I never knew how she made his 
 acquaintance.’ 
 
 ‘ At the house of an unwise friend whose 
 portrait he was taking, and who amused herself 
 with his admiration for Elvira—a silent, re¬ 
 spectful one, I believe, until Elvira turned to 
 him as a means of escape.’ 
 
 ‘ But how did they manage it without ex¬ 
 citing suspicion V 
 
 ‘ Yery simply. Her banns were put up in 
 the parish church, which none of the family 
 attended. So my husband found later; of 
 course, he made every inquiry possible.’ 
 
 4 He told me he had refused ever to see her 
 again.’ 
 
 ‘ That was in the first moment of anger. He 
 is sorry for it now; she is his only child,’ said 
 
IRiccolitta IFUccoUnt 
 
 38 
 
 Mrs. Dalton, sighing deeply. 4 Do what you 
 can to get him to go to her to-morrow, or at 
 least to write a kind letter, will you not V 
 
 4 You are an angel,’ said Mr. Rayner. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton was not an angel, but something 
 not unlike one, a very good woman. She smiled 
 a little, and laughed outright as the old bachelor 
 added fervently : 
 
 4 If you had a sister, I would marry her to¬ 
 morrow.’ 
 
 She was very much attached to her husband’s 
 old friend, but she did not think she should 
 recommend him as a husband. Her thoughts 
 went back to Elvira. 
 
 4 Poor girl ! how much she must have gone 
 through ! I hope her father will not write; 
 written words sound so different from what one 
 intended. He must go and see her.’ 
 
 4 Certainly, certainly. He cannot do other¬ 
 wise. Of course, they must meet.’ 
 
 4 I think that he would own now that 
 Elvira had some excuse. I hear his step.’ 
 
 She was right, but he only looked in to 
 say: 
 
 4 Do not sit up for me ; I shall probably be 
 late. It is a fine night, and 1 want a turn in 
 the air.’ 
 
 He looked worn and harassed. 
 
Ibow Dalton wrote a Xetter 
 
 39 
 
 His wife did as she was told, but Mr. Rayner 
 waylaid him when he returned to ask by what 
 train he meant to go next day. 
 
 4 I shall write,’ he answered. 4 There are 
 certain things that Elvira must clearly under¬ 
 stand, and I own that if I saw her I should be 
 tempted to pardon unconditionally, and that 
 would be a mistake. I spoiled her formerly ; I 
 will not do so again.’ 
 
 Mr. Rayner shook his head. It seemed to 
 him rather late to leave off spoiling Elvira. 
 
 4 They ought to meet, they ought to meet,’ 
 he said inwardly. 4 Now, if Dalton would put 
 it all into my hands-’ 
 
 Like many other people, Mr. Rayner felt that 
 he could manage his friends’ affairs much better 
 than they did themselves. 
 
 4 1 have written to Elvira,’ Mr. Dalton said 
 the next day to his wife, but he did not tell 
 her what he had said, and she was too much 
 afraid of interfering between father and daughter 
 to ask. Perhaps, however, she could guess 
 accurately enough. She knew that his heart 
 and his pride had been equally hurt, and that 
 he suffered intensely from the thought that his 
 private affairs had been talked over by all his 
 acquaintances. 
 
 As she said nothing, he went on : 
 
40 
 
 IFUccolina IFUccolxnt 
 
 ‘ Before I forgive, Elvira must understand 
 how great her offence has been.’ 
 
 ‘ I fancy she knows it so well that she doubts 
 if you still love her.’ 
 
 ‘ That is impossible,’ he answered hastily ; 
 but the remark had its effect, for he added, 
 ‘ Bayner advised my going to see her, and 
 perhaps he was right; but now I shall wait 
 for her answer to my letter.’ 
 
 ‘If she does answer,’ murmured his wife. 
 
 ‘ What ! Can you doubt it ? In that case 
 I shall not trouble myself further about her.’ 
 
 ‘ And your grandchild ?’ 
 
 He started again. 
 
 ‘ Of course, the child must come to us.’ 
 
 ‘ I think it would be unreasonable to expect 
 that. Elvira will naturally want a home of her 
 own.’ 
 
 ‘ She is too young to live alone, though I do 
 not know how I shall stand hearing her called 
 by that fellow’s name. The child must take 
 mine, of course.’ 
 
 Mrs. Dalton said nothing. She knew that 
 there are times when it is equally imprudent to 
 agree or differ, but she thought to herself that 
 there was no need at present to think about 
 Elvira’s name. The first question was whether 
 she would come back. 
 
1bow flbr* Baltott wrote a Xetter 
 
 41 
 
 ‘ Poor girl!’ she thought, too full of loving 
 compassion to think how her own comfort would 
 fare if this daughter consented to make one of 
 her household; 4 Nicholas is so much more 
 severe than he knows. I am very much afraid 
 of the results of that letter.’ 
 
 She had to keep her anxiety to herself. It 
 was evident that Mr. Dalton could not endure 
 any allusion to the subject, by which she knew 
 that he, too, was far from easy, and a word 
 would have sent Mr. Rayner off to Castellaro to 
 see what he could do in the affair, which was 
 not to be thought of. As it was, his kind heart 
 and bad judgment prompted him to send off a 
 letter, which he said nothing about, offering to 
 go over and see Elvira, and act, if necessary, as 
 mediator between her father and herself. The 
 good, kind man had the weakness of liking to 
 have a finger in the affairs of all his friends, and 
 never could believe but that they were grateful 
 for it. In the present case his interference had 
 a result which was very far indeed from what 
 he expected or wished. 
 
 All the next day Elvira trembled at every 
 sound, longing, yet fearing, to see her father. 
 
 ‘ He will surely come alone,’ she thought ; 
 
 ‘ and if she does come, I am in my own house 
 I shall have the best of it.’ 
 
 6 
 
42 IFUccolina IRiccoltnt 
 
 Lina broke in on her thoughts : 
 
 ‘ Mammy, I am tired of staying here in my 
 best frock. I want to take it off, and go to 
 Pempina in the kitchen.’ 
 
 ‘ Sit still. Here is a ciambella for you/ said 
 her mother. 
 
 Lina ate her cake, and then fidgeted again. 
 
 ‘ Sit still, child. You are as restless as if you 
 were made of quicksilver. I will not have you 
 dirty your frock in the kitchen. Stay, your 
 Aunt Teresa has sent a book for your birthday ; 
 you can have it now if it keeps you quiet/ 
 
 Probably Aunt Teresa would not have ap¬ 
 proved of this way of anticipating a birthday, 
 but neither Lina nor her mother thought of that. 
 The child could read fluently, and was delighted 
 at seeing a book with pictures. She became so 
 wrapt up in it that she did not hear her mother’s 
 faint cry as she heard a man’s step in the garden 
 and a sharp ring. Elvira rose trembling, con¬ 
 vinced that her father was at the door, and 
 stood bewildered on hearing it close and the 
 steps go away, while her maid came in with 
 letters. 
 
 ‘ But is it not-’ she faltered, taking the 
 
 letters blindly. She was slow to grasp an idea, 
 and when one had possession of her, she seemed 
 unable to free herself from it. ‘ But where-’ 
 
Ifoow fl&r, £>alton wrote a Xetter 
 
 43 
 
 she began again, and stopped a second time. 
 The maid was well aware that her mistress had 
 been all day restless and uneasy, and watched 
 her with curiosity. Elvira perceived it. 4 Go 
 away, and take Lina/ she said hastily. 
 
 ‘ Come, my little angel ; your mamma does 
 not want you/ said Pempina, and Lina rose, 
 with her eyes still on her book, and followed 
 her into the kitchen. ‘ Do you know why 
 you had on your new frock to-day, my heart?’ 
 asked the woman. 
 
 ‘ No. Listen, Pempina, what my book says. 
 There was once a puppet made out of a bit of 
 wood by an old man called Gappetta, and it 
 came alive and was his adopted son, but it was 
 a wicked, wicked puppet. I could never have 
 believed that an adopted son could be so wicked 
 if my book had not said so. This puppet-’ 
 
 ‘ The mistress has not then told you whom 
 she expects ?’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps her babbo (daddy). I will read to 
 you about that malicious puppet.’ 
 
 ‘ Read, read, my angel. Then your mamma 
 has a babbo f 
 
 ‘ Yes ; but you are not listening to me.’ 
 
 4 1 listen, I listen. I am doing nothing but 
 listen. And where then does he live—this 
 babbo ?' 
 
44 
 
 IKUccolina Wtccolint 
 
 ‘ You are telling lies!’ exclaimed the child, 
 looking indignantly at her; ‘ you are not 
 listening at all. I am going away, and you 
 shall never know—never, I tell you, what 
 Pinocchio did to his adopted father.’ 
 
 And she rushed out of the kitchen, stamp¬ 
 ing her little feet and leaving Pempina laugh¬ 
 ing- 
 
 Elvira stood looking at the letters as if she 
 had not courage to open them. She knew well 
 the handwriting of one ; the other she thought 
 was from Mr. Rayner. She could not make up 
 her mind to read either, and held then) with a 
 kind of reluctant dislike, as if something might 
 leap out of them and hurt her. At last she 
 tore open her father’s envelope and began to 
 read. As she gradually took in the sense of 
 his letter, her face grew hard; and it was 
 astonishing what a look of pale obstinacy those 
 baby features could assume. She read it over 
 again with a deepening expression of cold re¬ 
 sentment, folded it up, and read the one from 
 Mr. Rayner, offering to come over and consult 
 with her. 
 
 4 1 will not see him! I will not see him !’ she 
 cried; ‘ and as for my father, he thinks only of 
 her, he writes only of her. . . . Yes, he speaks 
 of Niccolina. I see how it is ; he w^ants to have 
 
Ibow /n>t\ Dalton wrote a Xetter 
 
 45 
 
 the child; she is his heiress ; she is important 
 to the family, while I—I am only the widow of 
 an Italian, of no consequence at all. What is 
 the good of going back to England ? I will 
 not see my own child set over me, while I—— 
 No, I will stay here. But suppose they take 
 the child ? Perhaps they could ; how do I 
 know ? She is to be his heiress, not I; that is 
 clear enough. I will go away at once/ 
 
 She was too excited and nervous to be able 
 to reason ; the thought of escape alone possessed 
 her. 
 
 ‘ I could go at once/ she thought; ‘ I only 
 hired the villa for six months ; they are all but 
 over. I will go to-morrow to Genoa, where 
 those cousins of Gaetano’s are : I rather like 
 them. Yes ; I will go to Genoa.’ 
 
 She had but few of her possessions with 
 her ; the greater part were in a warehouse at 
 Florence, where she and her husband had lived 
 until his health failed and the baths of Lucca 
 were recommended to him. Yielding, as usual, 
 to her first impulse, she passed the night in 
 packing, and went out very early next day to 
 find her landlord and announce her departure. 
 She did not say either to him or to the amazed 
 Pempina where she was going, but dismissed 
 the maid with a handsome present which put 
 
46 
 
 IRtccolma Wiccolint 
 
 her into excellent spirits, although she was 
 sorry to leave Lina. Elvira was apt to forget 
 that she was no longer the rich Miss Dalton, 
 or perhaps it would have mortified her vanity 
 had she not spent freely. 
 
 This unexpected journey made Lina wild 
 with excitement. She was eager to know 
 where they were going, and when her mother 
 answered only ‘ You will find out in good 
 time,’ she retorted : ‘ I know now ! we are going 
 to your daddy.’ 
 
 Elvira answered neither yes nor no, but went 
 out again to make some arrangements, regard¬ 
 less of the heavy rain which soaked her shoes 
 and light cloak, and only thinking how to get 
 away before Mr. Rayner could come. 
 
 It was not in the least likely that the old 
 bachelor, who took the utmost care of his 
 health, would come in such weather, nor at 
 such an hour ; but that did not occur to her. 
 She returned to the villa, which already had 
 the dismal air which a house deserted by its 
 owner so soon takes, and sat down to the 
 breakfast prepared by Pempina ; but she ate 
 nothing, and paid no attention to the servant’s 
 remark on her wet shoes and cloak. 
 
 ‘ It does not matter ; I cannot open the boxes 
 to take other things out,’ she answered, and 
 
Ibow flfcr* Dalton wrote a ^Letter 
 
 47 
 
 looked at her watch with impatience. She had 
 paid her few bills, and ordered a man with a 
 handcart to convey her boxes to the station. 
 Pempina wanted to come too, but Elvira sus¬ 
 pected more curiosity than good-will in her 
 offer, and declined it. 
 
 Fortunately, the rain was ceasing, and under 
 an umbrella Lina could reach the station with¬ 
 out getting wet. Elvira took a third-class 
 ticket, feeling sure that there she should meet 
 no English in the train. It was not till she 
 tried to carry the portmanteau which she 
 wanted to take in the carriage with her that 
 she found how weak she was; a porter put it in 
 for her. She made Lina jump in, and followed, 
 sinking into a corner with a sigh of utter 
 fatigue. Lina began at once to read her new 
 book ; she was still under its spell, and did not 
 even look round her. Elvira tried to find a 
 less uneasy position for her aching head; but 
 a third-class carriage in Italy is very far from 
 luxurious, and every moment she felt more ill. 
 She began to be afraid of fainting; she could 
 only remain as she was, without speaking, with¬ 
 out moving; but a feeling of terror came over 
 her as she thought of the long journey before 
 her. How should she bear up till she got to 
 Genoa ? and when she arrived there would be 
 
4 8 
 
 IFUccoUna IFUccoltni 
 
 the luggage to claim, a carriage to find, a 
 hotel to drive to, unpacking to be done, Lina 
 to look after—a mountain of things to do, the 
 mere thought of which seemed to crush her. 
 How should she ever get through it all ? And 
 tears of weakness and weariness fell silently 
 and unseen as she leant in her corner, alone 
 in the carriage with her unconscious little 
 daughter. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 The train stopped at every station ; a peasant 
 or two got into the carriage, and by-and-by got 
 out again. No one paid any attention to Elvira ; 
 society in a third-class carriage is even less 
 select in Italy than in England ; but for nearly 
 two hours she had the relief of being nearly 
 alone. Then everything altered. There was 
 quite a crowd at the little station where the 
 train stopped, a cheery, loud-voiced, good- 
 tempered crowd, who had been hearing mass in 
 the early morning at the ‘ Sanctuary ’ on the 
 hill overhead, a church celebrated in that part 
 of the country ; to-day was its festct , and they 
 were returning from the pilgrimage thither. 
 The third-class carriages were invaded and over¬ 
 filled in a moment; all was chatter and bustle 
 and noise. Elvira shrank back with the repul¬ 
 sion which she always felt when in contact with 
 unrefined, noisy people. Lina looked up and 
 
mtccoUna IRtccoltnt 
 
 5 ° 
 
 smiled to the woman who took the seat next 
 her and offered her a handful of cherries from 
 the basket which she carried on her arm, with 
 a good-natured word. 
 
 ‘ Grazie tante (so many thanks) !’ said the 
 child, taking them without ceremony ; and she 
 began talking to her neighbour as if they were 
 old friends. 
 
 To Elvira the talk going on all round her 
 seemed a babel of meaningless sound ; her one 
 clear idea was that she could not go further ; 
 every throb of the engine seemed to say, ‘ How 
 ill I am ! how ill I am !’ This nervous creature 
 was very impatient of pain, either of mind or 
 body. If it befell her, her first thought always 
 was how to run away from it. 
 
 At length, something said by Lina’s neigh¬ 
 bour reached her ; she roused herself. 
 
 ‘ Did you say you kept an inn near here V 
 she asked abruptly. She had never chosen to 
 learn the little courtesies which Italians practise 
 and expect; her abruptness always made them 
 say she was ‘ without education.’ 
 
 The woman to whom she spoke looked at 
 her half-offended. She was a very handsome 
 creature; her brown face with its chestnut eyes 
 was framed in an amber handkerchief. She wore 
 a terra-cotta cotton jacket and a dress of the 
 
tfllQftt 
 
 5i 
 
 striped stuff called bordone. Lina contemplated 
 her with admiration, and thought to herself that 
 by-and-by she would draw T a portrait of her. To 
 Elvira’s question she answered after a moment: 
 
 ‘ Si, signora (yes, madam). I keep the Red 
 Rose at Aleria, the next station. If you should 
 be coming our way, you will not find a better, 
 and that everyone will tell you.’ 
 
 ‘ I will go there then,’ said Elvira, and leant 
 back again in her corner. 
 
 £ My name is Filomena Manfredi,’ went on 
 the hostess, delighted at having captured a 
 guest who else no doubt would have gone to 
 the rival inn, ‘ and I may truly say my cooking 
 is well known far and near. When the visitors 
 come from Genoa and Cuneo in the bathing 
 season, and also from Turin, it is always with me 
 that they would lodge. They are in my house 
 as if they were at a wedding. I have even had 
 an English family, although the English do not 
 visit our town. But I want no more of that 
 nation : at every moment they ask for water— 
 hot water, cold water—as if they were fishes. 
 Say, is it not strange to need so much washing ? 
 They have the whole sea to bathe in !’ 
 
 ‘ The English come to Aleria V 
 
 ‘No, no, signora; be not afraid. I have only 
 good Christians now in my inn.’ 
 
5 2 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccolint 
 
 ‘ If the English do not come, I might stay a 
 day or two/ said Elvira to herself; adding 
 aloud : c Is Aleria a small place V 
 
 ‘ Not so small, signora. We have a fine 
 church, and—and the Palezzo Sinibaldi ’—seek¬ 
 ing not too successfully something which could 
 exalt the importance of her native place. c It 
 is true that the marchese is only there in the 
 bathing season ; but then what gaiety ! The 
 family come from Turin with friends and 
 servants ; they dance, they go out of an even¬ 
 ing on asses, and ride out into the country. 
 The marchese drives his carriage himself with 
 four bay horses. Just now there is no one in 
 the palace but the Signora Emilia, and as for 
 her . . . but of her I will say nothing. All is 
 perhaps not true that is whispered. What 
 good fortune if we keep you and the little lady 
 for the bathing season !’ 
 
 She was very curious to learn what brought 
 the young widow to Aleria. 
 
 ‘ You are not a Ligurian ?’ she added, de¬ 
 tecting the foreign accent of Elvira, who shook 
 her head without troubling herself to speak. 
 ‘ Your mamma is not well/ la Manfredi whispered 
 to the child. 
 
 Lina opened her eyes. 
 
 ‘ She is as well as usual,’ she answered with 
 
jfligbt 
 
 53 
 
 the indifference of a child to whom health is but 
 an empty word. 
 
 The carriage was hot, and crowded with 
 people talking in robust voices ; the noise, the 
 smell of garlic, the loud laughter overwhelmed 
 Elvira, accustomed to travel first-class, and 
 really ill. She drew a sigh of relief when the 
 train slackened speed, and the whistle an¬ 
 nounced Aleria at hand. Many passengers rose 
 in haste; la Manfredi took the valise in her 
 strong hand, and helped Elvira to alight. Lina 
 needed no help; she jumped down in an instant. 
 
 ‘ You will show me the inn, and the rabbits, 
 and the pigeons V she cried, skipping beside the 
 landlady, as they left the station amid the little 
 crowd returning from the pilgrimage. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes, surely. I will carry the valise,’ 
 said la Manfredi ; ‘it is but a dozen steps to 
 my inn.’ 
 
 Elvira followed as in a dream. 
 
 ‘ When shall I be left quiet V she said to 
 herself. She thought that once out of the 
 train and free from all the noise around her, in 
 a quiet room, she should want nothing more. 
 She had sacrificed her ticket for Genoa, but that 
 did not trouble her; she would take another, 
 and her luggage would go on and wait for her 
 there. 
 
54 
 
 IRiccolina IFUccoUni 
 
 It was a most beautiful afternoon; the roses, 
 refreshed by the rain of early morning, hung 
 over the walls in cataracts of blossom, mingled 
 with clusters of glycine ; the paulonias opened 
 their pale blue trumpets among their broad 
 leaves. May was everywhere; the air was 
 perfumed with a hundred delicate scents, and 
 the sea spread itself out a blue and glittering 
 sunlit plain. The little town was so close to 
 the water that it looked as if the houses had 
 trooped down to bathe, with the tall brick 
 tower of the Sinibaldi palace rising high above 
 their roofs; on the landward side the ancient 
 city wall still existed, and at either end of the 
 principal street were two great archways, where 
 in old times were gates, jealously closed at 
 night. The Red Rose inn was not in the town, 
 but in a little suburb, more modern and much 
 less picturesque, with a narrow, dirty street 
 before it, and the shore behind. 
 
 Although but a little way from the station, 
 Elvira felt as if she should never get there. 
 She could hardly follow the landlady, hurry¬ 
 ing on because, as she said, there was no one 
 but her husband to look after the customers; 
 the signora would know what it meant to leave 
 
 the house to a man, especially if-and 
 
 she shrugged her shoulders as if to say this 
 
JfUflbt 55 
 
 particular man was worth less even than 
 others. 
 
 They reached the Red Rose at last, and 
 Elvira was conducted to a room where, though 
 the floor was unwashed, the beds were very 
 clean ; she let herself drop on one, saying : 
 
 ‘ I am tired out and want nothing ; leave me 
 quiet.’ 
 
 ‘ But will you eat nothing ? The signorina 
 will be hungry,’ said the landlady, put out. 
 
 Elvira lifted her head, sighing. 
 
 ‘ Give her something, then; what do you 
 wish for, Lina ?’ She had not energy enough 
 to order anything. 
 
 £ If the signora will trust her daughter to me, 
 perhaps she could sleep a little,’ suggested la 
 Manfredi. ‘ The child will be perfectly safe 
 with me.’ She did not suppose that her offer 
 would be accepted, but Elvira answered 
 wearily : 
 
 ‘ Thanks, yes ! I will come and fetch her by- 
 and-by. Go, bambina.' 
 
 Lina did not wait to be told twice. She 
 was delighted with the novelty in her life. 
 She dined with the landlady ; examined the 
 kitchen, comparing it with Pempina’s; visited 
 the rabbits, fed the pigeons, and, finally, went 
 to play on the shore with the nieces whom la 
 
56 IRiccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 Manfredi had sent for, two girls older than her- 
 self, who allowed the little lady to do every¬ 
 thing she wished. Lina was as happy as a 
 queen, and they found the little despot very 
 amusing. She made dolls out of the petals of 
 the yellow poppies which grew in the sand; 
 plates and baskets which lasted at least ten 
 minutes with a lump of clay that she found 
 somewhere; she noticed everything. The 
 nieces of la Manfredi had spent their lives of 
 eleven and twelve years in Aleria, yet perhaps 
 they had hardly realized that there was an old 
 watch-tower on a reef upon which the sea 
 broke, but the painter’s daughter perceived it 
 at once, and began to copy it as well as she 
 could in damp sand, while her companions 
 looked on with immense admiration. Then, 
 leaving her tower, she sprang upon a purple¬ 
 mouthed shell which the sea brought to her 
 feet, and showed it to them with delight. 
 Nella and Elena had never before understood 
 that such things could be worth thinking about. 
 What an astonishing child ! 
 
 They were not allowed to go out of sight of 
 the servant sitting at the door which led out on 
 the sands and shelling peas, and from time to 
 time la Manfredi came out to look after them, 
 and then one or other of her nieces would run 
 
JpUflbt 
 
 57 
 
 up to her and tell in a whisper what wonderful 
 things Lina had said or done, or some little fact 
 which they had learned about her. Thus the 
 landlady was informed that her guests came 
 from Castellaro, but before that they had lived 
 at Lucca, where Lina’s father had died, and she 
 had a grandmother somewhere, not at Lucca, 
 but far, far away, and now they were going to 
 see a grandfather. La Manfredi began to 
 question Lina, but as soon as the child perceived 
 that she was undergoing a kind of examination, 
 her baby pride took offence; she turned her 
 back unceremoniously and ran to look at a jelly 
 fish carried along by the little waves. La 
 Manfredi and her nieces all laughed. 
 
 ‘ What a child !’ they cried. They were all 
 three ready to admire whatever this little 
 princess might do. 
 
 Towards evening Elvira roused herself and 
 rang her bell. No one came, and she went 
 slowly downstairs, passing a room where men 
 sat drinking, and at length finding la Manfredi 
 in the kitchen. She came forward to assure 
 Elvira that the little one was happy and w T ell 
 cared for. Elvira hardly listened. 
 
 ‘ I am not well,’ she said ; c if I am not better 
 to-morrow I must have a doctor. Is there a 
 good one in this place ?’ 
 
 8 
 
58 
 
 IRtccoltna IFUccoltnt 
 
 ‘ Certainly, signora ; we have a medico 
 condotto , who is much esteemed—the Dottore 
 Battistini. We will send for him if there is 
 need, but a good night will be what you want. 
 You should eat something, and stay here a few 
 days ; everyone gets well here, the air is so 
 pure, and the inn not bad either, is it ? If you 
 stay on we might make an arrangement about 
 the price. I will show you the house. Later 
 
 there will not be room even for a cat, but now- 
 
 This is my larder ; how clean it is, eh ? If you 
 saw the one at the Three Lemons, I wager you 
 would not eat much in that inn ! You see those 
 two rabbits ? I feel sure I can tell you a secret 
 —well, they are stuffed with straw ; sometimes 
 I hang up one, and sometimes two, and when a 
 neighbour comes, I leave the door open so that 
 they see these animals, and all say ; “ Holy, 
 patience ! what a hunter is thy husband !” 
 Thus they believe him good for something, and 
 it is the better for the inn ; but to tell the 
 truth, that blessed man lives with his head in a 
 sack, and leaves all to me/ she concluded, with 
 a sigh that might have blown out an Easter 
 taper. 
 
 Elvira listened indifferently ; she was slow to 
 seize the ridiculous side of a thing, and just then 
 could think only of herself. 
 
fflfgbt 
 
 59 
 
 ‘ I feel as if I were ice, and yet my head is on 
 fire,’ she said; ‘ I will go back to my room. 
 
 Send Lina as soon as she has had her supper. 
 Could the doctor come this evening ?’ 
 
 ‘ I will send and see,’ said la Manfredi, be¬ 
 ginning to regret having caught a guest likely 
 to fall ill on her hands. ‘ I hope it is nothing.’ 
 
 She fetched Lina, and sent for the doctor, 
 but the messenger returned to say that he had 
 been sent for to see the signore Barone, who 
 had had a stroke. The Baron lived five miles 
 off, and nobody even thought of asking his 
 medical man to leave him for a stranger who 
 had come to Aleria with one valise. Poor 
 Elvira threw herself on her bed without un¬ 
 dressing, not caring what became of her, but 
 conscious that she was a very unhappy creature, 
 and that she could bear neither Lina’s chatter 
 nor the light of the candle. Great things and 
 small mingled in her confused brain ; she was 
 not sure what she said, her words would not 
 obey her; she saw people in the room who 
 came and went with ugly faces and voices now 
 deep, now high, which hurt her ears. 
 
 ‘ Shut the door—lock it !’ she cried ; ‘ why 
 do those hideous people come here V and Lina 
 burst out laughing, thinking her mother was 
 making fun. 
 
6 o 
 
 IRiccolma IRtccoltni 
 
 The child undressed, talking all the while of 
 what she had seen and done, of her new friends, 
 of the cat who had shared her supper, of a 
 hundred things, while her mother tossed on her 
 bed, and moaned faintly : 
 
 ‘ Hush, Lina, hush ; I want to sleep,’ she 
 said from time to time. 
 
 4 Shall I say my prayers V the child asked, 
 and Elvira murmured : 
 
 4 Yes ; come here ; perhaps I shall not see 
 those faces if you say them.’ 
 
 Lina did not understand ; she pattered over 
 the boards with her little bare feet, in her white 
 nightdress, and knelt down to say her short 
 prayers. 
 
 ‘ And make mammina better,’ she added, 
 perceiving at last that her mother was in pain. 
 ‘ How hot you are !’ as she kissed the face on 
 the pillow. 
 
 ‘ I am cold,’ answered Elvira, shivering. 
 
 Lina laughed, much amused. 
 
 ‘ You are hot and cold all at once ? Good 
 night, mammina ; I will be very, very quiet, 
 and you will go to sleep.’ 
 
 Nothing was heard in the room but the soft 
 breathing of the child, soon fast asleep, and the 
 restless movements of the mother. 
 
 ‘ I thought they would not come when the 
 
jfliQbt 
 
 61 
 
 light was out,’ she muttered between her 
 chattering teeth ; ‘ but they are here still; it 
 is dark, but I see them. There are bad people 
 in this inn ; I am afraid. Perhaps Lina did 
 not lock the door ; I must do it, only I dare not 
 get up—someone might lay hold of me.’ 
 
 She lay still for a little while, trembling with 
 fear, and then looked cautiously round. 
 
 ‘ They are gone,’ she muttered ; ‘ I will get 
 up and do it now.’ 
 
 She rose and staggered to the door. 
 
 ‘ It is locked. How do they go in and out 
 then ? Ah, here they are again !’ she exclaimed, 
 with a cry of terror, and buried herself under 
 the bed clothes. 
 
 Lina heard nothing ; she was wrapped in that 
 blessed sleep of childhood which even thunder 
 cannot break. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW lina’s mother went away. 
 
 Lina awoke early, glanced at her mother’s bed, 
 and as she seemed asleep, remained quiet in 
 her own. She had been too often scolded for 
 awaking her to run and kiss her, and waited to 
 be called, but no call came; Lina got tired of 
 doing nothing, slipped quietly out of bed to get 
 her book, and stood for a moment looking at 
 her mother. Even to her childish eyes there 
 seemed something strange in the deep flush on 
 the face, and in the attitude of the motion¬ 
 less figure. Elvira lay raised on the pillows, 
 breathing heavily, with closed eyes, and very 
 still. 
 
 ‘ She is asleep,’ thought the child, listening 
 to the short, panting breath, and she went 
 back to bed with her book. 
 
 An hour later the landlady came to the door 
 to know what her guests would have for break¬ 
 fast. Hearing her knock, Lina looked at her 
 
Ibow Xina’s /IDotber went Hwap 
 
 63 
 
 mother, then ran to the door, and whispered 
 through the keyhole, ‘ Mammina is asleep.’ 
 
 ‘ I will come back/ answered la Manfredi. 
 
 ‘ But I am so hungry/ said the child, half 
 crying. She had not thought of it till then, 
 but now discovered that her usual breakfast - 
 time was long past. 
 
 ‘ My dear little creature, open the door, and 
 I will help you to dress/ said la Manfredi. 
 
 4 We will not wake your mamma.’ 
 
 Lina got a stool and climbed on it to unlock 
 the door. She did her best to make no noise, 
 but succeeded so ill that the landlady outside 
 smiled, saying to herself: ‘ If her mother does 
 not awake, she must sleep as soundly as the 
 Seven Brothers of Ephesus ; ’ but Elvira gave 
 no sign of hearing anything, although usually 
 she was very impatient of every accidental noise. 
 
 La Manfredi entered on tiptoe and glanced 
 at the bed. 
 
 6 Diamine !’ she exclaimed, and hurried to 
 touch Elvira’s hands and forehead. 
 
 ‘ It is a perniciosa’ she muttered, ‘ or per¬ 
 haps pleurisy. I saw that her cloak was wet 
 through. Ah, she is beginning to speak ! Do 
 you understand what she is saying ?’ turning 
 to the child, who stood beside her, looking with 
 alarm now at her mother and now at the land- 
 
64 
 
 IRIccoUna Httccoltni 
 
 lady. Elvira did not recognise them ; she was 
 whispering broken sentences, mixing French, 
 Italian and English together. La Manfredi 
 recognised the sounds of the two languages, 
 which she had heard customers speak, though 
 she understood only her own. 
 
 ‘ She must be a governess since she talks so 
 many languages,’ she reflected with dismay, for 
 governesses are not apt to he rich; and if this one 
 
 were likely to have a long illness- ‘ Your 
 
 mamma is a governess ?’ she asked the child. 
 
 ‘ No, indeed. Papa was a painter,’ said 
 Lina, with much pride. 
 
 ‘ Worse and worse ! What ill-luck made me 
 bring her to my inn ! unless indeed he was a 
 painter like Signor dei Bardi, who comes to 
 Aleria every bathing season. But she had 
 only one valise,’ reflected the landlady, who 
 knew nothing of the boxes awaiting their poor 
 owner in Genoa. 
 
 She turned rather sharply on the child. 
 
 ‘ Make haste, birnbct: I have too much to do 
 to lose time here.’ 
 
 ‘ But mammina is ill,’ said the little girl, her 
 eyes fixed on the bed. ‘ Why does she not 
 look at me ? Why does she talk so strangely ? 
 Mammy ! mammy 1’ 
 
 Hush, hush. We will make the doctor 
 
Ibow Xtna’s /iDotber went Hwag 
 
 65 
 
 come, and he will cure her in the twinkling of 
 an eye. Make haste, dear; I will send for 
 Bella and Elena to play with you again/ said 
 la Manfredi, more and more uneasy. She asked 
 herself if she should be blamed for having 
 neglected her guest, and wondered if Elvira 
 had tried to call anyone in the night; the bell- 
 rope lay on the floor as if some desperate hand 
 had pulled it down ; the water-jug was upset; 
 chairs were pushed here and there. e She was 
 delirious and ^walked about/ la Manfredi said 
 inwardly. ‘ Perhaps she went out of the room— 
 who knows ? There was no one to hear her on 
 this floor.’ 
 
 She dressed Lina and took her downstairs, 
 giving her some breakfast, and sent off her 
 husband to find out if the doctor had returned. 
 Lina wanted to go back to her mother, but 
 la Manfredi assured her that ‘ mamma sent her 
 many kisses, and was much better, but wished 
 to be quite quiet/ Lina looked at the woman 
 earnestly, and although it seemed to la Man¬ 
 fredi the most natural and innocent thing 
 possible to tell a lie when she found it con¬ 
 venient, she actually blushed beneath those 
 doubting eyes. 
 
 ‘ What would you like to do V she asked, 
 anxious to get rid of the child. 
 
 9 
 
66 
 
 IFUccoltna mtccoltnt 
 
 ‘ If mamma will let me, I should like to go 
 to a shop and have a hole made in this medal 
 for a ring 1 , and then I could wear it/ answered 
 
 O 1 
 
 Lina, brightening. 
 
 She had very much wanted to carry out this 
 plan, suggested by Pempina. She took out of 
 her pocket the sovereign which Mr. Rayner 
 had given her, wrapped up in a bit of not very 
 clean paper. 
 
 ‘ What is it V asked the landlady, examining 
 it. ‘ It seems to me money.’ 
 
 c It is not money at all,’ replied the little 
 one, with the certainty of ignorance ; ‘ it is a 
 holy medal. Do you not see St. George killing 
 the dragon ? Pempina told me that story. 
 The dragon wanted to eat up a princess, and 
 St. George said he should not. And on the 
 other side is a saint called Victoria, but Pem¬ 
 pina did not know who she was. I shall have 
 a ring put in, and then I can wear it.’ 
 
 La Manfredi agreed immediately, and sent 
 her husband to the jeweller’s with her, telling 
 him to keep her away as long as possible. 
 
 4 Make yourself useful for once,’ said she, and 
 went up to Elvira’s room. 
 
 ‘ We want a priest more than a doctor,’ she 
 said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘ I am in a 
 pretty scrape, magari /’ 
 
Ibow Sima’s /iDotber went Hwag 
 
 67 
 
 Even in the short time which had passed 
 since she had seen the invalid, she could see 
 that she was much worse. 
 
 Lina explained her wishes, and gave her 
 orders to the jeweller, with a clearness which 
 made him laugh, and went back with her coin 
 hanging round her neck, bent on showing it to 
 her mother. La Manfredi told her that the 
 doctor said her mamma was not to be disturbed, 
 and sent her out on the shore with her nieces. 
 Lina played with them for a long while without 
 seeming to think about her mother ; but all at 
 once she declared that she would go back to 
 mammina, and when they tried to keep her 
 with them she stamped on the ground and 
 escaped from their hands, running away like a 
 hare. She was upstairs in three bounds, and 
 rushed into her mother’s room. 
 
 ‘ Mammina!’ she cried, but stood still, 
 astonished at seeing a sister of charity sitting 
 near the bed with the absolute stillness of 
 which nuns have the secret. She made a sign 
 to the child to be quiet; Lina came forward, 
 her lips apart, her eyes full of fear. ‘ Is 
 mamma asleep ?’ she asked under her breath, 
 looking at Elvira, so changed that she was not 
 sure if this were her mother. The nun made a 
 sign of assent. 
 
68 
 
 mtccolina IRtccoltnt 
 
 4 Why does she look like that V 
 
 The sister again signed for silence, and Lina 
 crept into a corner and cried, with a dim per¬ 
 ception of something terrible which she could 
 not understand. The nun took no notice of 
 her ; she was there to watch her dying patient, 
 and for nothing else ; she did her duty, and 
 had no thought beyond it. 
 
 La Manfredi came in during the afternoon, 
 and took the child downstairs to eat something, 
 trying to amuse her, but the little one remained 
 sad, and shook her head languidly when the 
 two girls tried to make her play with them. 
 La Manfredi was too busy to pay her much 
 attention ; there was much to look to, and it 
 was a very serious thing to have a dying person 
 in the house. 
 
 4 It will drive away all my customers ; what 
 have I done to have a death in my house \’ she 
 exclaimed, with a consternation very natural 
 where death is held in such horror as in Italy. 
 A family will often leave a house even before a 
 relation has drawn his last breath, and this 
 from no want of affection, but because death 
 seems so fearful and intolerable a thing to them. 
 
 Every time la Manfredi came down from the 
 sick-room she looked more worried ; when Lina 
 asked timidly if she might go to her mother, 
 
1 bow Xtna’s flbotber went Hwap 69 
 
 she answered roughly, and then hugged her 
 fervently. The neighbours came in to ask 
 news of the stranger; they looked compas¬ 
 sionately at Lina, and talked together in low 
 voices ; the doctor came again, and a priest, no 
 one doubting but that Elvira was a Roman 
 Catholic. But Elvira knew nothing of what 
 passed around her ; she lay unconscious, motion¬ 
 less. Had she been cared for, and well nursed, 
 she might have recovered ; but the journey in 
 her wet clothes, the long hours when no one 
 was near her, made all that was now done use¬ 
 less ; she never recovered consciousness, and 
 towards night she died. 
 
 There was a terrible scene that night when 
 la Manfredi put Lina to bed without letting 
 her go into her mother’s room ; but at last she 
 went to sleep, and in the morning she was told 
 that her mother had gone away, but would 
 soon come back and fetch her. 
 
 ‘ Has she gone away as papa did ?’ asked the 
 child, making all who heard look with startled 
 eyes at one another. La Manfredi took her to 
 her sister’s house, and the two nieces did their 
 best to amuse her, with some success, but in 
 the evening she cried passionately, calling for 
 her mother and Pempina. The landlord, hear¬ 
 ing her cries and sobs, clutched his head with a 
 
7o 
 
 IFUccolina IFUccoUnt 
 
 gesture of despair, declaring he could not bear 
 it—he should have an illness—he should die, 
 too; and escaped from the inn, and consoled 
 himself by a game of cards with a friend, 
 leaving his wife, as usual, to get out of her 
 difficulties as best she might. La Manfredi 
 was very kind to the little orphan, but Lina 
 remained long inconsolable, calling for the young 
 mother who was no longer in the inn. The dead 
 are very quickly buried in Italy, and Elvira’s 
 body was lying in the mortuary chapel whence 
 it would be carried next day to the cemetery, 
 with its cypresses and its crosses of black, 
 rotting wood. La Manfredi asked herself if she 
 should buy mourning for the little orphan, who 
 was wearing colours, because Elvira, hating the 
 black dress which custom required her to wear 
 herself, cast it aside as soon as possible for the 
 child. The landlady resolved that she would 
 not buy any ; it was the affair of those rela¬ 
 tions who, no doubt, would soon claim Lina ; 
 such money as there was in Elvira’s purse 
 must pay for other expenses : it was little 
 enough. 
 
 Perhaps, as she thought thus, conscience 
 pricked her a little, for, though she had said 
 nothing about it, there was a small packet of 
 money in the valise which would have paid all 
 
Ibow Xina’s flfcotber went Hwap 71 
 
 expenses several times over, as Elvira had but 
 lately received her income for the next three 
 months; but la Manfredi was a cautious woman, 
 and reflected that not only had she been put to 
 much expense, and would have to buy a new 
 mattress, but she ought also to be well paid 
 for the anxiety and annoyance she had gone 
 through, and there was the doctor to be paid, 
 as well as the sisters of charity, and the funeral; 
 there would be so little left when all this was 
 done. She would pay all this, and whatever 
 was over was surely her due. And she had the 
 child to keep until she was claimed. She began 
 to think that the family ought to give her a 
 handsome sum over and above what she re¬ 
 tained. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the Red Rose had made 
 instead of losing money by the misfortune 
 which had occurred there. So many persons 
 came to hear the story that the inn was 
 crowded, and naturally all who came asked for 
 a glass of wine or a cup of black coffee. 
 
 ‘ Many halfpence make the till full by the 
 day’s end,’ the landlady said with satisfaction, 
 which made her all the kinder to Lina. 
 
 Of course the death of the unknown visitor 
 made a great sensation in the little town, where 
 events were few and strangers rarely came, 
 
72 
 
 IFUccoUita IRtccoltni 
 
 unless in the bathing season. The sindaco, 
 who held an office not unlike that of a mayor, 
 came to make inquiries, and his clerk wrote 
 down all the particulars that could be gathered, 
 and as soon as the news of Elvira’s illness 
 spread abroad, the notary arrived to ask if his 
 services were wanted. 
 
 But poor Elvira was already too ill to under¬ 
 stand anything, and when the sindaco, who 
 had a rough manner, and did not understand 
 children, questioned Lina, already frightened 
 and bewildered, she began to cry, and would 
 not answer him, so that all he could learn was 
 such scanty information as the landlady was 
 able to give him. 
 
 ‘ We must make inquiries at Castellaro,’ he 
 said, and la Manfredi replied that she was 
 going there for that very purpose. The sindaco 
 added that he hoped she would not find herself 
 with the child left on her hands, at which she 
 laughed, and assured him that there was no 
 fear of that; the signora was a lady, and, as 
 he knew, had had enough money to pay all 
 expenses. 
 
 She said nothing of the sum which she had 
 kept back. It would be time enough, she told 
 herself, to talk of that when the relations 
 appeared. 
 
Ibow %xm's /l&otber went Bwap 
 
 73 
 
 The next day Lina was so merry that la 
 Manfredi shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 ‘ Children have no hearts,’ she said; ‘ she has 
 already forgotten her poor mamma.’ 
 
 Neither she nor Lina herself understood that 
 this noisy mirth proceeded from the instinct of 
 escaping from half-comprehended grief. She 
 ran up and down the stairs, laughing and 
 shrieking, and raced along the sands like a 
 wild thing; but at night she again asked for 
 her mother, and it was not possible to calm her 
 till she had worn herself out with tears and 
 cries. 
 
 La Manfredi sent her the next day to spend 
 some hours with her nieces, while she herself 
 went to Castellaro, where she did not doubt 
 that she should learn the address of Elvira’s 
 family. It was a blow to find that no one 
 knew it, and she was assured at a shop where 
 she made inquiries that even if the servant 
 Pempina had not gone back to her village, 
 some miles off, she could have told nothing. 
 She had always said that her mistress never 
 told her anything, and no one had ever come 
 to the villa till that very day, when an old 
 gentleman, not an Italian, had come and asked 
 his way to it. Had she not seen him at the 
 station ? 
 
 10 
 
74 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccoUnt 
 
 La Manfredi recollected having met a little 
 elderly gentleman with a cane in his hand, 
 walking fast down the road ; but she had paid 
 him no attention, little guessing how much he 
 could have told her. As no letters had come 
 from Elvira, Mr. Rayner had come over to see 
 her, and easily learned where the Signora 
 Niccolini had lived ; but when he stood before 
 the villa it seemed as much shut up and 
 deserted as if uninhabited for two years. 
 
 ‘ This cannot be the house F he exclaimed, 
 and went back to the post-office to make new 
 inquiries, thinking that his small stock of 
 Italian had been misunderstood. 
 
 ‘ The signor can ask this gentleman ; he owns 
 the villa,’ said the postmaster, pointing to some¬ 
 one who had come in to buy stamps. Mr. 
 Rayner turned hastily to him and learned that 
 the young widow had gone away very suddenly 
 without leaving any address. He stood moving 
 his head up and down, and pursing his lips for 
 a few moments, and then marched back to the 
 station in hot haste and wrath. ‘ What a per¬ 
 verse, wrong-headed girl ! Why on earth did 
 not Dalton let me see his letter V he kept re¬ 
 peating to himself as he hurried along. 
 
 La Manfredi was exceedingly vexed when 
 she heard how she had missed ‘ the signoras 
 
ibow Xtna’s /l&otber went Hwa^ 
 
 75 
 
 father/ as she immediately made up her mind 
 that he was. 
 
 ‘ Holy peace !’ she cried, flinging up her 
 hands ; ‘ to have had him in my hand only to 
 lose him! English, do you think ? The poor 
 signora spoke English in her delirium. Per¬ 
 haps she was an English lady married to an 
 Italian—who knows ? She was of good family, 
 that I am sure of. I have not been a landlady 
 all these years without learning to judge what 
 people are. And she paid her bills before going 
 away ? That is well. Fare we] 1; I reverence 
 you. Till we meet again.’ 
 
 She had not learned much, but such informa¬ 
 tion as she had gathered was satisfactory, and 
 there was a certain pleasure in rousing the 
 surprise and pity of those with whom she 
 talked by the news of the young widow’s 
 sudden death. On the whole la Manfredi had 
 spent a pleasant afternoon, though on reflection 
 it seemed strange and unsatisfactory that 
 Elvira’s ‘ father ’ should not have known that 
 she was leaving Castellaro. 
 
 ‘ But, after all, who knows whether it were 
 her father V she reflected, and took courage, 
 declaring to the neighbours who predicted that 
 no one would claim the child that if this were 
 so she should gladly adopt her; she did not 
 
76 
 
 IHtccoltna IRiccolint 
 
 mind saying that, thanks to Heaven, she and 
 her husband were not so poor but that they 
 could take pity on an orphan, and that she did 
 not trouble herself for that matter; and she 
 smiled and felt gratified when, on hearing this, 
 the syndic’s wife, who had come to hear what 
 news she brought back from Castellaro, praised 
 her kind heart, and for the moment really felt 
 as if she meant what she said ; but the sinda- 
 chessa was a shrewd woman, and as she went 
 away she said to herself: 
 
 ‘ A load which feels light in the morning is 
 heavy by afternoon, and by evening all one 
 wants is to get rid of it. I hope that poor 
 child will not be left long on la Manfredi’s 
 hands/ 
 
 And then, as the days went on, and every¬ 
 one had his or her own affairs to think about, 
 the interest in the stranger who came to die at 
 the Red Rose died out, and nobody thought 
 
 9 J O 
 
 any more about Lina except the Manfredi 
 husband and wife, and their immediate neigh¬ 
 bours, who thought it a good joke that the 
 landlady should have the child left on her 
 hands, and tried her temper by their inquiries 
 whether she had yet heard anything of her 
 relations. 
 
 La Manfredi began to dislike the child. She 
 
(bow Xina’e /llbotbcr went Hwap 
 
 77 
 
 never now sent for her nieces to play with her, 
 and scolded her sharply for every trifling 
 offence, declaring that she had never known 
 such a naughty girl. Not without some reason, 
 for Lina, neglected and unhappy, with no one 
 to caress or train her, grew more and more un¬ 
 disciplined and indifferent to blame or punish¬ 
 ment. La Manfredi, however, was not a cruel 
 or hard-hearted person, and did not intend to 
 illtreat the child ; but she felt her increasingly 
 in her way, a burden and an expense, and the 
 cause of her beirm a laughingstock to her 
 neighbours. She gave up the hope of her being 
 claimed, and supposed that she should have to 
 keep her, and if so, where would be the profit 
 she had hoped for when she persuaded herself 
 that she had a right to the money in poor 
 Elvira’s purse ? If all had gone well, her con¬ 
 science would not have troubled her at all as to 
 that little matter, but, oddly enough, when 
 she seemed likely to lose instead of gaining, 
 she was uneasy and dissatisfied about it, and 
 had a kind of suspicion that Lina was left on 
 her hands as a sort of punishment. It did not 
 make the sight of the child more pleasant to 
 her, and to dispose of her for at least part of 
 the day, she determined to send her to the 
 school kept by the nuns in the old convent 
 
78 
 
 IKUccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 which they were still allowed to occupy in what 
 was appropriately enough called the Strada 
 Fredda, or Cold Street, a narrow by-way, 
 where the high wall of the convent rose on one 
 side, and that of the garden of Palezzo Sini- 
 baldi on the other, leaving hardly room 
 between them for the sun to shine in, even in 
 midsummer. Almost all the girls in Aleria, 
 of whatever rank, went to the classes held by 
 the nuns, and Lina was delighted to hear that 
 she was to become one of the pupils. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW LINA WENT TO SCHOOL. 
 
 Of late years education has made great strides 
 in Italy ; it is compulsory, and all teachers 
 must have certificates, nuns included, and the 
 old superficial education which used to be given 
 in convents is a thing of the past. Sometimes 
 the sisters who used to receive pupils now 
 engage young teachers, and themselves only 
 perform household work, cook and wash, and 
 prepare the girls for religious duties ; sometimes 
 they bravely set to work and study enough to 
 pass the examinations. The nuns at Aleria, 
 too poor to pay mistresses, and anxious to keep 
 the children in their own hands, had done this, 
 though with much reluctance and lamentation ; 
 indeed, they were very near abandoning their 
 school altogether when they found that among 
 the subjects in which mistresses must pass 
 gymnastics were included. They all thought it 
 a scandal that nuns, even in their long dresses, 
 
8o 
 
 IRtccoltna VUccoUni 
 
 should run and jump, and go through all 
 manner of positions—before an inspector, too, 
 who insisted that they should hold up their 
 trailing robes so that he could see their feet. 
 
 They debated the question very anxiously, 
 and even laid it before the Bishop, and some 
 were secretly much distressed that he decided 
 that they would do right to learn gymnastics 
 and keep the children, but no one could openly 
 object, and somehow or other the examination 
 was got through, and the certificate obtained. 
 
 The nuns who taught the older girls were 
 mostly capable persons, but the mistress of the 
 lowest was a certain Suora Pia, who unfor¬ 
 tunately disliked children, and, though she 
 honestly did her best, would say that she found 
 the lessons hours ‘ as long as Lent.’ 
 
 She got on fairly with quiet children, who 
 were rather dull and apathetic; but the lively, 
 roguish ones annoyed her so much that she 
 could hardly keep her hands off them, and of 
 course they returned her aversion, and plagued 
 her life out. 
 
 Lina arrived full of curiosity, enchanted to 
 find herself going to school with other children, 
 and without the least fear. Seeing how young 
 she was, the sister put her among the smallest 
 children, taking it for granted that she knew 
 
Ibow %\m went to School 
 
 81 
 
 nothing, and already prejudiced against her by 
 her eager looks and irrepressible desire to ask 
 questions of the other children. 
 
 ‘ I ought to be thankful for another oppor¬ 
 tunity of storing up treasures of patience and 
 self-sacrifice in heaven/ Suora Pia would often 
 say to herself as she came into her class-room, 
 
 ‘ for in the article of patience I fear I am not 
 famous/ And, indeed, before the lessons were 
 over, it was only too clear that she was not. 
 
 Lina opened her eyes wide on finding an 
 alphabet put into her hand, and jumped up to 
 remonstrate, but the sister stopped her mouth 
 without listening. Lina was silent; an idea 
 flashed into her mind, which made her eyes 
 sparkle with childish mischief. She watched 
 narrowly what the other children did, and when 
 called in her turn to learn her letters, she rose, 
 making a little sign to the pupils near her, as 
 much as to say, ‘ Wait and see what happens/ 
 and meekly repeated each letter as if she had 
 never heard it before, then, with a little laugh 
 of triumph, rapidly turning the pages of her 
 book, read off all the sentences which came 
 under her eye. 
 
 A mother, or a mistress who knew how to 
 deal with lively children, would have smiled, 
 but to Suora Pia this baby trick seemed a grave 
 
 11 
 
82 
 
 Ifttccolina IFtfccoUnt 
 
 want of respect. She sent Lina to kneel on a 
 stool in disgrace, and thenceforward disliked 
 her; indeed, if such a thing could be said of 
 a nun, she spited her. Lina’s first school day 
 was not precisely a triumph in the eyes of her 
 mistress, but all the naughty little rogues in 
 her class were laughing, and when they came 
 out of school they surrounded her, delighted. 
 Suora Pia was by no means loved, and anything 
 which annoyed her gave them lively satisfaction. 
 Lina found herself a heroine among her com¬ 
 panions, and enjoyed it greatly. 
 
 After such a beginning it was not wonderful 
 if the child often misbehaved, and was con¬ 
 stantly punished. It must be owned that she 
 generally deserved it. With no one to care for 
 or train her, she was fast growing rude and 
 violent. 
 
 ‘ I can’t have you always in my way,’ la 
 Manfredi would exclaim when she saw her, and 
 the child did not know where to go, since she 
 was forbidden to enter the ‘ restorante ’ where 
 the customers sat, and the little room which 
 she shared with the servant was a miserable 
 little dark den. She would run out on the 
 shore and play with the ragged children, whose 
 dialect she learned, together with many coarse 
 words ; she became dirty like them, with un- 
 
Ibow %im went to School 
 
 33 
 
 combed hair and torn frock. The neighbours 
 said that la Manfredi ought to be ashamed to 
 neglect a child thus, and often gave her a roll 
 or some toasted chestnuts, or shrugged their 
 shoulders as she passed, and looked meaningly 
 at one another, but beyond this nobody felt 
 called to go. 
 
 However, Lina was not unhappy. Entire 
 liberty, health, summer weather, and plenty of 
 playfellows prevented her from being sad, 
 though sometimes, all at once in the middle of 
 a game, some sudden recollection would make 
 her break away and throw herself down some¬ 
 where out of sight among the sandhills, sobbing 
 her heart out. 
 
 Young as she was, she soon became a leader 
 among her companions, who felt, without 
 reasoning about it, that she was their superior 
 by birth and breeding, and, above all, by that 
 gift which certain persons have of ruling others. 
 If no one could suggest how to carry out some 
 plan, they turned to Lina; if they were all 
 tired of their old games, Lina invented a new 
 one. She was despotic, and would fly into a 
 passion if not immediately obeyed, as indeed did 
 most of these hot-tempered little Italians ; but 
 she was very amusing, which few people are, 
 and this ensured her popularity. Lina was like 
 
IFUccolina IRtccoUni 
 
 84 
 
 a live flame among the other children, who 
 admired her and nudged each other as they 
 listened to her. 
 
 But if she were admired and happy on the 
 shore, things went ill with her in school. Suora 
 Pia would have been wise had she sent her to a 
 higher class, since she could read fluently, write 
 a little, and had some notion of arithmetic ; but 
 this idea never occurred to the sister, who did 
 all her work mechanically. The children of 
 Lina's age were all in her class, and therefore 
 Lina ought to be there, too. 
 
 Lina naturally did not see this, and, im¬ 
 patient of lessons which she had learned a year 
 before with ease, she employed herself in play¬ 
 ing tricks on her companions, or in trying the 
 patience of the poor nun, already worn thin by 
 the daily duty, which she detested, yet really 
 believed she fulfilled in the best manner 
 possible. Lina spent no small part of her time 
 in disgrace, shut up in the schoolroom when the 
 other children were free to play. 
 
 One fatal day she was kept in as usual, but, 
 foreseeing what would happen, she had furnished 
 herself with means of amusement, and listened 
 with entire indifference to the discourse of 
 Suora Pia, who assured her that no child so 
 naughty had ever before been seen in her class. 
 
Ibow 2tma went to School 
 
 35 
 
 The room where Lina was left to repent was 
 large and bare, with desks, benches, and a 
 crucifix against the wall at the further end. 
 These whitewashed walls had suggested to her 
 the idea of profiting by the unused space, 
 which was almost as good to draw on as sheets 
 of paper. She had smuggled in with her a bit 
 of charcoal, promising herself that she would 
 use it if kept in, and really not meaning any 
 harm by it. She jumped for joy at finding her¬ 
 self alone, and ran to the nearest wall, charcoal 
 in hand. The time passed like a flash ; she did 
 not hear the sister come back, nor the return of 
 the children, until a burst of laughter, exclama¬ 
 tions and wonder made her turn and see the 
 pupils pressing forward to see what she had 
 done; while Suora Pia, dumb with horror, 
 stared at the wall, embellished by—yes, surely 
 her eyes did not deceive her—by the portrait 
 of a nun, of herself, with upraised finger and 
 open mouth, scolding a pupil. 
 
 The sketch was really remarkable as the work 
 of a young child, and a painter would have 
 exclaimed at the promise it contained; but 
 Suora Pia saw nothing but the impertinence to 
 herself, and the scandal of seeing a nun carica¬ 
 tured, to say nothing of the delight of the 
 children, who forgot discipline, and crowded 
 
86 
 
 IFUccolitta Wiccolfnt 
 
 round to see and laugh, while the little culprit 
 stood by, smiling, quite unconscious of her 
 offence. She did not mean her work as a 
 caricature at all; that ill-shaped nose and 
 that unflattered mouth represented to her the 
 actual features of the sister. 
 
 But this happy state of mind did not last 
 long ; a tight grip was on her shoulder ; a voice, 
 trembling with anger, was announcing what a 
 wicked, malicious child she was, and what an 
 exemplary punishment she deserved, and the 
 children stood round in consternation, asking 
 each other under their breath what the sister 
 would do to her. 
 
 Lina looked up all astonishment. 
 
 ‘ I did not mean to be naughty,’ she said, 
 much injured; ‘ why do you scold me ? It is not 
 my fault if your nose is like a boiled chestnut.’ 
 
 One may be a nun and yet retain certain 
 human weaknesses. The sister looked at the 
 portrait, and heard again ill suppressed laughter 
 among her scholars. 
 
 ‘ I shall not say any more to you,’ she said, 
 giving Lina a shake ; ‘ you are too wicked, but 
 you will ask pardon of your companions for the 
 scandal you have caused, and then you will 
 kneel down and make the sign of the Cross 
 with your tongue on the floor.’ 
 
Ibow %U \a went to School 
 
 87 
 
 It was'a punishment once much in favour 
 in convent schools, but the pupils of Suora Pia 
 had never heard of it, for they belonged to 
 modern times, which have swept away this 
 kind of discipline. They stared aghast, as if 
 they could not believe what they heard. 
 
 ‘ Do as I tell you,’ said Suora Pia to Lina, 
 looking seriously at her. Lina did not stir ; 
 she gazed incredulously at the sister. ‘ Do 
 you hear me V repeated Suora Pia, with another 
 shake. 
 
 At this solemn moment, when no one ventured 
 to breathe, the door opened, and a little girl 
 stole in, late, and ashamed. Seeing the children's 
 frightened faces, and the sister standing over 
 Lina, she stood still in astonishment, and Lina, 
 catching sight of the half-opened door, sprang 
 from under the nun’s hand and darted out. 
 
 She never returned to Suora Pia’s class. 
 The scandal of what had occurred was great ; 
 of course the children spread the story, and 
 some hearers were shocked, and some laughed. 
 It is possible that Suora Pia’s superiors blamed 
 her for her bad management, but of this out¬ 
 siders knew nothing. La Manfredi slapped 
 Lina, and was very angry, but she was too 
 busy preparing her house for the bathers, who 
 would soon arrive, to trouble herself much 
 
88 
 
 IRtccoltna IFUccoltnt 
 
 about her. The holidays were at hand, and 
 after that she would send her back to take 
 whatever punishment the sister chose to give 
 her. Lina, on the other hand, protested that 
 she would never again go to school, and wept 
 with anger on hearing that the portrait of 
 Suora Pia had been whitewashed. 
 
 c I made her much prettier than she is !’ she 
 exclaimed. * If I had made her like what she 
 
 is, then-’ by which it might be seen that 
 
 Lina had mastered at least one of the principles 
 which make a successful portrait-painter. 
 
 Had she been a native of Aleria, obligatory 
 instruction would have stepped in, and she 
 must have submitted to going back to school; 
 but, being a waif and stray, no one was especially 
 concerned in this matter, and she returned to 
 her former neglected but not unhappy life, 
 vastly amused by the scenes on the beach 
 when the bagnanti arrived, and spent the day 
 in the sea, or in little shelters, with a table 
 and chairs, and a dressing-room, and whole 
 families bathed together; babies screaming, 
 their elders ducking or swimming, or sitting 
 in holes grubbed in the hot sand, or paying 
 each other visits, the ladies in their hooded 
 bathing-gowns, the children bare-legged and 
 bare-armed, the gentlemen very slightly clothed 
 
Ibow Xttta went to School 
 
 89 
 
 indeed. High-born families and those of the 
 middle-class bathed and laughed together with 
 friendly familiarity, and an entire absence of 
 hauteur on the one side or presumption on 
 the other ; they were in villeggiatura , and on 
 the best of terms, but this did not in the least 
 imply acquaintance when they all went back to 
 Turin or Genoa, or whatever place they belonged 
 to; it was a temporary state of things, and no 
 one supposed it anything else. 
 
 Lina and her companions paddled in the 
 warm sea, got wet from head to foot; kneaded 
 and patted one another with hot sand, screamed, 
 laughed and played all day long. The landlord 
 or the maid would give her something to eat 
 when she ran indoors, and the nights were so 
 hot that more than once she slept among the 
 sandhills rather than go indoors to the oppres¬ 
 sive little room which she shared with the 
 maid. She liked the wild, idle life, but some¬ 
 times a great longing for her father or her 
 grandmother or her mother still came over 
 her, and she would puzzle herself why no one 
 came to fetch her, and why she was left to la 
 Manfredi, who was unkind, and reproached her 
 for being an expense. The landlord was a 
 good-natured man enough, and showed her a 
 rough kindness, but he could not resist joking 
 
 12 1 
 
9 ° 
 
 IRiccoltna IFUccoltnf 
 
 his wife on the fine present she had made him 
 in Lina, which always put her in a rage. His 
 wife generally had the upper hand of him, and 
 he enjoyed this little bit of revenge, without 
 reflecting that Lina was the sufferer. 
 
 There was no doubt that for once in her life 
 la Manfredi had overreached herself, and it 
 mortified her very much. She would have 
 given a great deal to get rid of the child, and 
 regretted extremely that her unwise certainty 
 of seeing relations arrive full of gratitude 
 for all she had done for Lini had made her 
 throw cold water on all suggestions of the 
 syndic that he should make inquiries about 
 them. She had not cared, too, that he should 
 ask too many questions about what money or 
 ornaments the dead mother had brought with 
 her; there was a gold cross which she had 
 found after the funeral, dropped in a dark 
 corner, which was quite too much for her 
 honesty ; la speziala (apothecary’s wife), her 
 own cousin, only had a silver one, though her 
 husband had promised that if business were 
 good he would some day buy her a gold one. 
 What envy would she feel if she saw la Man¬ 
 fredi with such a cross as this ! And surely her 
 care of the poor signora deserved a reward. 
 La Manfredi wore the cross, and silenced 
 
Ibow X(na went to School 
 
 9 1 
 
 Lina peremptorily when she asserted it was 
 mammina’s. 
 
 4 She gave it me out of gratitude for all I did 
 for her, poor angel,’ said the landlady. 
 
 Lina could not contradict this, but she 
 remained persuaded that mammina had done 
 nothing of the kind. La Manfredi never put 
 it on without feeling that the child was silently 
 protesting against her having it, and it would 
 be impossible to say how much this added to 
 her desire to get rid of Lina, and her anger 
 when she felt that she must keep her whether 
 she would or not, but just now she thought and 
 saw very little of her, for the Led Lose and 
 the Three Lemons, and all the lodgings in 
 Aleria, were full; the summer was an unusually 
 hot one, and even people who usually spent it 
 on thevcjpoderi (country property), were passing 
 at least a few weeks by the seaside. The 
 Palazzo Sinibaldi, usually so grim and silent, 
 now echoed with voices ; the marchese and his 
 wife and children, and a large party of friends, 
 had come from Turin; Signor dei Bardi, a 
 painter of some fame, had arrived from Florence 
 with his little boy ; there were families from 
 Cuneo and Mondovi. Aleria had not known 
 such a good season for years ; and, to crown 
 all, it was an excellent summer for the vintage. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A QUIET LIFE. 
 
 The Palazzo Sinibaldi stood in the long and 
 winding street between the two old gateways, 
 which was crossed by three or four still 
 narrower, leading on the one hand into little 
 squares, or to the open country, and on the 
 other to the beach, so that through some dark 
 archway would appear a glimpse of water now 
 sparkling and blue in sunlight, now lashed by 
 the wind and tumbling in great green waves 
 upon the sand. 
 
 The main street was so narrow that it was 
 quite a feat for the Marchese di Sinibaldi to 
 drive his carriage and four horses through it, 
 and even when a long cart went by, laden with 
 the red wine of the district, or a mule loaded 
 with firewood, the groups of people loitering on 
 the pavement had to retreat promptly under 
 archways, or indoors, to avoid being run over. 
 Here and there it widened a little, and allowed 
 
B (Siutet %\U 
 
 93 
 
 the sunshine to enter and beautify all it 
 touched, as sunshine can ; but generally the 
 houses were so high and so near together that 
 if the inhabitants kept their green or gray 
 Venetian blinds closed till evening, this was 
 rather from habit than necessity. 
 
 Not seldom a building showed signs of having 
 suffered from earthquakes, and cracks filled 
 with mortar and clamps of iron told a tale 
 which might be repeated any day ; but nobody 
 ever seemed to feel any apprehension. 
 
 Many of the houses had formerly been in¬ 
 habited by noble families, now extinct or living 
 elsewhere, or very poor, and the different floors 
 were either empty or let out to several families, 
 those best off living on the piano nobile or 
 on the higher floor, while the poorer had the 
 mezzanino and the garrets, while below were 
 shops whose little windows allowed almost 
 nothing to be seen of the crockery or the 
 macaroni and oil and maize and polenta sold 
 within ; but if a ray of light entered by the 
 doorway, it revealed that these shops, appar¬ 
 ently so small, extended far back, under vaulted 
 roofs, into a mysterious darkness. A customer 
 seldom seemed to enter; the shopkeepers 
 loitered at the doors without seeming to expect 
 or desire any ; if the weather were fine, little 
 
94 
 
 IRtccollna IFUccolini 
 
 groups sat on stone-benches talking, and all 
 the babies appeared to be taught to walk in 
 the street. At any moment there might be 
 seen two or three mothers and grandmothers 
 kneeling on the pavement with arms out¬ 
 stretched to receive the child tottering from 
 one to the other, while the neighbours looked 
 on and applauded, and the older children played 
 in the middle of the street, and shouted and 
 cuffed one another; or in the evening danced 
 to the sound of the music heard through the 
 open windows of the Palazzo Sinibaldi. The 
 main street of Aleria was always a scene to 
 delight a painter, with its ancient dwellings 
 and its shifting groups to which the red and 
 amber kerchiefs of the women, and the scarlet 
 caps of the sardine fishers gave bright colour, 
 and Signor dei Bardi, looking from his windows, 
 made more than one sketch which was worked 
 up later into a picture. He had rooms in what 
 had once been a rival palace to the Sinibaldi’s. 
 There had been a time when the two families 
 convulsed the little town by their quarrels, and 
 raised their tall towers, each seeking to have a 
 loftier one than the other ; but the Sinibaldi 
 had triumphed, and pulled down their enemies’ 
 tower and driven them out, and now their 
 palazzo had passed into other hands, and no one 
 
B ®utet %itc 
 
 95 
 
 remembered the old rivalry any more, or knew 
 why the Sinibaldi roofs were overlooked by a 
 lofty tower, while the Palazzo Ampelio had 
 none. 
 
 Outside both looked equally grim, with their 
 lower windows all grated, and their great doors, 
 whose fine old bronze knockers were never used. 
 Even when the Sinibaldi came to Aleria thev 
 went out and in by a side entrance in the Via 
 Fredda. They were gay and fashionable people, 
 but one branch of the family had grown very 
 poor, and to this belonged that Sora Emilia of 
 whom the landlady of the Ped Pose had spoken 
 with a little air of mystery. 
 
 She had lived over thirty years in the 
 palazzo, first with her widowed mother, who 
 had a right by a family arrangement to a few 
 rooms there, and then alone, rarely going out¬ 
 side its walls, except to go to church, always 
 attended by an old servant who also acted as 
 caretaker of the palazzo during the nine months 
 that the marchese and his family were else¬ 
 where. 
 
 It seemed an impossible thing for one woman 
 to look after the great building, but old Italian 
 palaces have no carpets and little furniture, 
 and the servants do not trouble themselves 
 much as to dust. As soon as the c masters’ 
 
96 
 
 IFUccoltna Miccoltnt 
 
 were gone the old woman closed the shutters 
 and doors, and troubled herself very little about 
 the rooms until their return, a way of keeping 
 a house which simplified work very much. Her 
 name was Illuminata ; she was one of a large 
 family, and the names of grandmothers and 
 aunts had been used up before her birth, so she 
 got that of the saint on whose day she was 
 born. Her mistress called her Nata, but every¬ 
 one else knew her as Mirtilla (whortleberry), a 
 nickname bestowed on her from her dark com¬ 
 plexion. She was a Florentine, and always 
 gave her mistress the Florentine title of Sora, 
 instead of Signora, and it had become the habit 
 in Aleria to do the same, thus distinguishing 
 her from two other Emilias who lived there. 
 The old woman was idle and a great chatter¬ 
 box, but devoted to her mistress, and if anyone 
 wanted to put her in a rage it was only 
 necessary to hint at the belief that Sora Emilia 
 had the evil eye, a thing very generally believed 
 in the town. 
 
 To have the evil eye is a really terrible thing, 
 as everyone in Italy knows. The kindest and 
 best people may have this fatal power and 
 must exercise it, whether they will or not; who¬ 
 ever possesses it carries misfortune about with 
 him. If he smile on some one a misfortune is 
 
B ®utet %tt e 
 
 97 
 
 sure to follow ; if he praises anything it will 
 certainly be lost or broken ; his blessings are 
 as curses; and his curses are ten times more 
 powerful than those of anyone else. This old 
 superstition is still strong in Italy, and that 
 not only among the poor and uneducated. 
 The mothers of gentle birth as well as those 
 of lower rank did not fail to make the sign 
 with their fingers which is supposed to avert 
 the consequences of the evil eye when poor Sora 
 Emilia, who loved children, admired or spoke 
 to their little ones, and though the poor lady 
 had no suspicion of her evil reputation, she was 
 conscious of an unfriendly feeling towards her, 
 and perceiving herself unwelcome in other 
 people’s houses, seldom left her own. 
 
 There was another cause which made her a 
 suspected person : her dead father had taken 
 an active part in delivering the Vaudois Pro¬ 
 testants from the cruel oppression which had 
 been their portion until so late as 1848, and 
 it was hinted that his daughter held strange 
 opinions. True, she was constantly seen in 
 church, and Mirtilla angrily protested that she 
 was the best of Christians, but who could say ? 
 —the chances were that she was a heretic. 
 And a heretic in Aleria was an unheard - of 
 thing. Everyone knew what was the end of 
 
 13 
 
98 
 
 IRtccoltna IFUccoltni 
 
 sucli people after this life. The priests knew 
 well how much Sora Emilia gave away, though 
 she was very poor, but they, too, looked coldly 
 on her. She was the daughter of Emilio di 
 Sinibaldi, who had not only protected the 
 Vaudois, but had fought in the War of Italian 
 Independence, and sent his eldest son to join 
 Garibaldi. It was already a great sin to have 
 championed those obstinate rebels in the moun¬ 
 tain valleys who for centuries had declared 
 themselves followers of apostolic teaching, and 
 resisted sword and fire and all the thunders of 
 Rome, but to be the friend of Garibaldi was 
 even worse. What would you have ! the 
 daughter of such a father ! . . . 
 
 It was, however, not easy to understand how 
 the poor Sora Emilia had gained an evil repu¬ 
 tation. Certainly she was very plain, and 
 slightly deformed, but she had a kind smile, 
 and there was nothing unusual in the pale blue 
 eyes that looked out under their wrinkled eye¬ 
 lids. Yet Aleria called her la strega (the witch), 
 and wondered that Mirtilla would live with 
 her, to which the old woman would retort : 
 
 ‘ My lady is a good Christian, and so was her 
 late father; what do I care for what these 
 pumpkin-heads choose to say ! I am a Floren¬ 
 tine, I, and no Ligurian. Let them chatter !’ 
 
B Quiet Xite 
 
 99 
 
 She could chatter, too, like sparrows going 
 to roost, and brought all the news of the little 
 town to her lady when she looked in of an 
 evening to ask if nothing was wanted, uncombed, 
 slovenly; sometimes, when the weather was hot, 
 barefoot. Her talk was as disconnected as 
 those exercises in a grammar which state that 
 borage is a plant which flowers in the spring, 
 and then that Phidias was a famous sculptor, 
 but her flood of talk amused her mistress, and 
 brought a little life into the uneventful days ; 
 not that Sora Emilia ever complained of the 
 dulness of her life or of her narrow income ; 
 she was a simple soul, gently contented ; know¬ 
 ing herself of no importance to anyone, and 
 expecting nothing from others, least of all from 
 her fashionable Turin relatives, whose yearly 
 arrival did not alter her quiet life, beyond two 
 or three visits, scrupulously returned by her. 
 
 The relationship was distant: they had few 
 interests in common, and Sora Emilia’s old 
 black dress did not make a good figure in the 
 marchesa’s drawing-room. It must be owned 
 that the costume of Sora Emilia did not set 
 her off. She wore an unfashionable black gown, 
 without collar or cuffs ; her grizzled hair was 
 twisted in a little knob on the top of her head ; 
 her light, projecting eyes looked nervously 
 
100 
 
 IFUccoUna IRiccoltnt 
 
 about her, under thick, gray eyebrows ; she was 
 short-sighted, and stretched out her head 
 anxiously when she tried to see anything, or 
 spoke to anyone. The handsome Marchesa 
 would shrug her shoulders if she caught sight 
 of her going out or coming home on a Sunday, 
 or on catching sight of her from some window 
 at work in the neglected garden behind the 
 palazzo, in the little corner which the late 
 Marchese had bidden her consider hers. 
 
 ‘ She ought to be a peasant s wife,’ her cousin 
 would say disdainfully, for gardening is not a 
 common taste among Italian ladies. 
 
 This bit of ground, however, was the one 
 pleasure in Sora Emilia’s life. She planted her 
 little square of peas and beans, watered her 
 larkspurs and picked the caterpillars off her 
 rosebushes ; she worked there in early morning, 
 and late in the evening. Aleria entirely shared 
 the contempt of the Marchesa for such doings. 
 Where could Sora Emilia have learned such 
 tastes ? 
 
 The bathing season brought a little variety 
 into her life, for each year families who had 
 known her parents or were connected with her 
 family came to spend a few weeks in Aleria, 
 and visits were interchanged, and sometimes 
 she would spend an evening with one or 
 
a Quiet OLife 
 
 IOI 
 
 another. They were old friends, to whom her 
 poverty and her old dress were a matter of no 
 consequence ; she was a Sinibaldi, and one of 
 themselves ; the daughter, too, of a brave 
 soldier, who had died of wounds received in 
 fighting for the independence of his country. 
 Of course no one whispered to them of the 
 strange prejudice which existed in Aleria against 
 Sora Emilia ; there was very little acquaint¬ 
 ance between the bagnanti and the residents, 
 who in summer usually let their houses and 
 went away for change of air to inland places. 
 
 One afternoon Sora Emilia was returning 
 from a visit to some of these friends, accom¬ 
 panied by her maid Mirtilla. Notwithstanding 
 that she was more than middle-aged, she would 
 not have thought it possible to go out alone. 
 She was also escorted by her old friend the 
 Florentine painter, Signor dei Bardi, and his 
 little dark-eyed son, Gino. Their way back to 
 the Palazzo Sinibaldi led through a small square, 
 where was an ancient church, with walls of a 
 colour between yellow and white. The large 
 doors were open, but to those standing without 
 in the sun all the interior seemed filled with 
 a soft darkness in which a lamp, burning before 
 an altar at the far end of the building, shone 
 like a large star. 
 
102 
 
 IRlccoltna IRtccoltnt 
 
 On the flight of steps leading up to the 
 church were a group of children, lying on the 
 ground or sitting with their elbows on their 
 knees and their chins in their hands, all gazing 
 up at one of their number, who was evidently 
 relating some story with animated expressive 
 gestures—a ragged little thing, with black hair 
 cut by a careless pair of scissors jaggedly across 
 her forehead; brown, bare legs, and small 
 brown arms and hands. The painter signed to 
 his companions to stop and listen. They could 
 hear plainly what the little maid was relating. 
 
 ‘ And after he had tried for a long, long while 
 to find the road, he came at last to a wood, and 
 then he saw a terrible thing, a thing that would 
 make you all die of fear. 7 
 
 She stopped and looked with wide-open eyes 
 and hand uplifted at her breathless audience, 
 pausing to let her words have some effect. 
 
 ‘ Go on ! go on !’ they cried. 
 
 ‘ He saw two wild beasts, a spotted lynx 
 and a wolf. What would you have done, all 
 you ? You would have run away, fast, fast 7 — 
 throwing out her arms, ‘ but he stood still. 7 
 
 ‘He was too scared to stir,’ suggested a boy. 
 
 She turned her eyes upon him with immense 
 contempt, and continued as if there had been 
 no interruption. 
 
H Q,utet life 
 
 103 
 
 4 For he saw someone coming to save him 
 from the wild beast, some one tall and very, 
 very grave, who took his hand and said, 
 “ Dante, I come from a lovely lady, and I will 
 show you strange things,” and then they went 
 on, and the beasts dared not so much as look 
 at them.’ 
 
 The children drew a long breath, and stirred 
 as if a weight were lifted off them. 
 
 4 It is the “ Divina Commedia ” that she is 
 telling them!’ whispered Signor dei Bardi. 
 4 How on earth—:— Hush ! what is she doing 
 now V 
 
 The child had gone up to the wall of the 
 church; she looked over her shoulder at her 
 companions.. 
 
 4 Do you want to know what those two were 
 like ? Wait a little moment; I will show you.’ 
 
 They jumped up with one accord and pressed 
 round her. 
 
 4 Wait, I tell you,’ she repeated vehemently, 
 4 or I will rub it all out.’ 
 
 At this terrible threat the children drew 
 back, standing on tip-toe, and pushing one 
 another, but keeping a respectful distance; the 
 little party, looking on unobserved below, could 
 perceive that a drawing was being executed on 
 the wall with a burnt stick. 
 
104 
 
 IFUccolma fliccoltnt 
 
 4 Look, Sora Emilia, look !’ whispered the 
 painter. ‘ We must see what she does. With 
 what authority the little minx rules them all, 
 though everyone is older than she.’ 
 
 ‘ Have you done, Lina V cried an impatient 
 voice. 
 
 Lina turned, moving a little to one side, 
 and showed two figures, laurel-crowned, and 
 wearing long robes, drawn in black on the wall. 
 The children flocked round, commenting, ques¬ 
 tioning, while Signor dei Bardi exclaimed: ‘Cos- 
 petto!’ and looked at his companions, astonished. 
 
 4 Yes, they are Dante and Virgil,’ Emilia 
 answered, equally surprised, though not aware, 
 as he was, how few children could have pro¬ 
 duced anything so full of promise. 4 How can 
 a child of that rank know anything about it ?’ 
 
 4 And how well it is done ! Gino, you little 
 rascal, when wdll you do anything as good V 
 
 The dark - eyed little lad shrugged his 
 shoulders and laughed, and his father went on 
 eagerly : 
 
 4 1 must speak to her. Here, my child, come 
 and tell me how you know anything about 
 Dante.’ 
 
 The children fell back, suspicious and curious; 
 Lina turned and looked at the stranger without 
 answering. He repeated his question. 
 
H (SJuiet %ifc 
 
 I0 5 
 
 ‘ Maria told me,’ she answered reluctantly. 
 
 ‘ Maria was a Tuscan, eh ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, signor ; do you know her ?’ exclaimed 
 the child with such hope and joy that he was 
 quite sorry to have to say ‘No.’ Lina’s lips 
 trembled ; her eyes were veiled with tears. 
 
 ‘ Let us go,’ she said to the other children, 
 and turned her back on Dei Bardi. 
 
 ‘ Wait, little one, wait. Tell me who Maria 
 was.’ 
 
 ‘ Granny’s maid. Perhaps you know granny?’ 
 said Lina with new hope. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps I do. What is her name ?’ 
 
 ‘ La Sora Ersilia.’ 
 
 Dei Bardi looked at her surprised, and ex¬ 
 changed a glance with Sora Emilia. How came 
 this neglected child to own a grandmother able 
 to keep a servant, and called by the title of 
 Sora ? 
 
 ‘ But what is her surname V 
 
 ‘ I do not know. Everybody called her Sora 
 Ersilia.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you know yours ?’ 
 
 ‘ I am Niccolina Niccolini.’ 
 
 ‘ Are you of Aleria ?’ 
 
 ‘ No, indeed,’ she answered, with disdain that 
 made them all laugh. 
 
 ‘ Have you a mother, little one ?’ 
 
 14 
 
io6 
 
 Wccoltna IRtccoltnt 
 
 ‘ She is dead. ’ 
 
 ‘ And your father V 
 
 ‘ He is dead, too.’ 
 
 ‘ Poor little one !’ murmured Sora Emilia 
 softly. Lina heard the words and tone, looked 
 at her, and came a little nearer. 
 
 ‘ And what was your father’s trade V 
 
 ‘ He was a painter. He painted very, very 
 well.’ 
 
 ‘ Sign-boards,’ called out a boy from the 
 listening group of children. 
 
 Lina turned on him in fury. 
 
 ‘ Thou ! Hold thy peace, or I will give thee 
 the best lattone thou hast ever heard of!’ she 
 cried. c Lattone ’ is a Tuscan word meaning a 
 slap which sends in the crown of a hat. Signor 
 dei Bardi burst out laughing. 
 
 ‘ That is a Tuscan child !’ he exclaimed. 
 ‘ Well, what did your father paint ?’ 
 
 ‘ Portraits. His name was Gaetano Niccolini.’ 
 
 ‘ Did you ever hear it ?’ asked Sora Emilia. 
 
 ‘ Never. Why, how the child looks at me ! 
 You do not think much of me since I do not 
 know your father, eh V 
 
 ‘ Nothing at all,’ answered Lina, with an 
 expressive gesture; and darting down the steps 
 she vanished, while the children laughed and 
 nudged one another, saying : ‘ He got the worst 
 
H QiUet 3Lite 
 
 107 
 
 with the little princess.’ It was thus they 
 called Lina, from her authoritative airs and a 
 certain refinement and superiority which they 
 were aware of in a kind of unconscious way. 
 
 ‘ Whose child is she ?’ Sora Emilia asked 
 one. 
 
 4 Nobody’s,’ he muttered, and they all scam¬ 
 pered off* for fear ‘ the witch ’ should ask any 
 more questions. 
 
 ‘ Padrona (mistress), I can tell you who she 
 is,’ interrupted Mirtilla, who had looked on 
 with lively interest. ‘ The poor little thing is 
 the child of that stranger who died at the Red 
 Rose several months ago. No one has ever 
 come to claim her.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes ; how came I to forget ? Every¬ 
 one talked of it ; the poor lady came here from 
 
 Castellaro, and- My dear friend, you are 
 
 not listening to a word I say !’ 
 
 ‘ A thousand excuses !’ answered the painter, 
 who was studying the sketch on the wall. ‘ I 
 
 was thinking- Look here, Gino, this is 
 
 done by a child younger than you are, and 
 with no teaching.’ 
 
 ‘ What a lucky little girl !’ returned his son, 
 unabashed. 
 
 ‘ You hear, Sora Emilia ? Hopeful, is it not ?’ 
 
 ‘ I am sure Gino means to be a great painter 
 
io8 
 
 IRtccoUna IRtccoUnt 
 
 by-and-by,’ said Sora Emilia, in a peace-making 
 tone. 
 
 ‘ I mean to be a lawyer,’ answered the 
 
 b °y- 
 
 ‘ No doubt this is a recollection of something 
 she has seen,’ Dei Bardi went on; ‘ but when a 
 child of that age can reproduce from memory 
 as well as this, one sees that she is the de¬ 
 scendant of a painter—even though I never 
 heard of him,’ he added, laughing. 4 A hand¬ 
 some child, too; how her eyes flashed—by the 
 way, we saw her the other day on the shore, 
 Gino.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, I know we did, babbo, and she knew 
 * us again.’ 
 
 ‘ To be sure. She was giving a dancing 
 lesson to two others, and I stopped to look on. 
 This did not please the signorina ; she stopped, 
 looked at me, and said, “ Children, the lesson 
 is finished ; make the sign of the cross and go 
 home.” ’ 
 
 ‘ Poor little one ! I hope la Manfredi is kind 
 to her; but it is a scandal to let her run thus 
 about with all the poorest children.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, as for kind, padrona,’ put in Mirtella 
 meaningly. 
 
 4 1 must see her again ; I fancy there is the 
 subject of a picture in that group listening to 
 
a carnet Xife 
 
 109 
 
 her — “ The Improvisatriee ” — yes, yes ; I 
 must think it out,’ said Signor dei Bardi 
 absently; he was already possessed by the 
 idea dawning in his mind, and if he perceived 
 that anything outside of it existed, it was only 
 with an impatient wish to get rid of it. He 
 made his farewells at the door of the Palazzo 
 Sinibaldi, and walked off with Gino, talking to 
 himself; and only when he had got half-way 
 back to his villa did he realize that he had not 
 any other companion. He stood still and looked 
 round bewildered. ‘ Why—why—where is Sora 
 Emilia V he asked helplessly. 
 
 ‘ We said good-bye to her at the palazzo, 
 babbo,’ answered Gino, his eyes dancing with 
 amusement. 
 
 ‘ Did we ? You are sure I said good-bye V 
 
 ‘ Yes. There is the little girl !’ 
 
 ‘ Where ? Call her—get her to come F ex¬ 
 claimed his father, quite forgetting his anxiety 
 as to possible discourtesy towards Sora Emilia. 
 
 Gino crossed the street. 
 
 ‘ This is for you, 7 he said, offering her a box 
 of sugar-plums ; ‘ will you have it V 
 
 Lina gave him an inquiring look, returned his 
 smile, and took the box with a pretty little 
 bend of her head and wave of the hand, and 
 went away down a side street. 
 
I 10 
 
 IRtccoUna IFUccoltut 
 
 ‘ Why did you not make her come V exclaimed 
 his father. 
 
 ‘ She is a little lady/ answered Gino enigma¬ 
 tically. 
 
 ‘ Well, I can find her at the Red Rose/ said 
 Dei Bardi, and fell to thinking of his picture 
 again. 
 
 Sora Emilia had gone into the palazzo laugh¬ 
 ing with all her heart. 
 
 ‘ What a man!’ said she; ‘ when he is 
 thinking about his painting all his family might 
 die without his finding it out. I wish we could 
 do something for that little girl, Nata.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! my mistress, my heart leapt to hear 
 her speak like a Christian, and not like all these 
 people here. If I had known before that she 
 was one of us !’ exclaimed the old woman. 
 
 She always counted Sora Emilia as a Tuscan, 
 because on the mother s side her padrona was a 
 Florentine. The old servant had in the highest 
 degree that pride in her own province, and 
 contempt for all others, which has made it so 
 long an almost impossible thing for Italy to 
 become united into one country, with a nation 
 whose pride shall be not that they are Romans 
 or Tuscans or Lombards, but Italians. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MIRTILLA TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 Sora Emilia was in the habit of going to an 
 early service on Sunday morning, preferring it 
 to the 4 sung mass ’ later in the day, which was 
 attended by the fashionable world of Aleria—in 
 other words, the visitors, for Aleria could not 
 be said to have any fashionable people of its 
 own. She was followed by Mirtilla, whose dark 
 face looked out from a yellow handkerchief, 
 fresh from the wash, to do honour to the day. 
 As they passed in, pushing aside the heavy 
 curtain hanging in the inner doorway, Sora 
 Emilia felt something touch her hand, and 
 looking down, perceived Lina offering her a 
 bunch of bell’nomo, as forget-me-not is called 
 in Liguria, circled by wild maidenhair fern, 
 which she must have gone a long way to find. 
 
 ‘ For you,’ said the child in a whisper. 
 
 Sora Emilia took the flowers with a smile of 
 thanks, and when she had found a seat she saw 
 
11 2 
 
 IRiccoltna IFUccolim 
 
 Lina still beside her. The little one had been 
 washed and combed, and wore a gay handker¬ 
 chief on her head ; she did not understand a 
 word of the Latin prayers, but she said her own, 
 which she had almost forgotten to do, and 
 watched to see what Sora Emilia did, kneeling 
 or standing when she did. When first she was 
 at the Red Rose she had always been taken to 
 church by la Manfredi, who made a point of 
 attending early mass, but latterly the landlady 
 had ceased to take her, perhaps ashamed of her 
 old patched frocks. 
 
 Lina soon finished all the prayers she knew, 
 but she remained very quiet, looking at Sora 
 Emilia ; Mirtilla, while she muttered her devo¬ 
 tions and dropped the beads of her rosary 
 through her fingers, had her eyes on the child, 
 and observed the looks she turned on her lady. 
 
 ‘ She is not afraid of her,’ she said to herself, 
 surprised; ‘ she is not a little fool, like those 
 others. She is handsome, like our Florentines. 
 Maybe her parents were of Florence.’ And she 
 felt so stirred by this thought that she nudged 
 the child, and asked in a loud whisper : ‘ Are 
 you from my town—Florence V 
 
 Lina, still mindful of old teaching that she 
 must not talk in church, looked at her with 
 scandalized eyes, and answered nothing, though 
 
flDtrttUa to tbc IRescue 
 
 113 
 
 chattering in church was a common thing 
 enough. 
 
 4 Do you not understand me ?’ asked the old 
 woman impatiently ; she did not comprehend 
 such scruples. 
 
 ‘ Hush !’ returned Lina severely. ‘ Only 
 naughty people talk in church. Mammina 
 said so.’ 
 
 4 My word !’ said the old servant, too much 
 amused to be angry; ‘ the chickens teach 
 manners to the brood hen.’ 
 
 But she held her tongue until they were out 
 of church, Lina still keeping close to Sora 
 Emilia, and then said with a laugh : 
 
 ‘ Now, perhaps, the signorina will answer me. 
 Is she a Florentine ?’ 
 
 She used the formal mode of address in sport, 
 but Lina took it quite seriously. 
 
 4 1 will speak now, if you like,’ she said. 
 
 ‘Listen, listen, mistress! she speaks as we 
 do, not like these Ligurians, with their low talk. 
 Go on, little one, go on, for it is a pleasure to 
 hear you.’ 
 
 4 1 am glad if it is a pleasure to you,’ answered 
 Lina gravely. 
 
 4 And you come from Florence, is it not so ?’ 
 
 4 I do not know ; we lived in a big, beautiful 
 town before we went to Lucca.’ 
 
 15 
 
IPUccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 114 
 
 { Yes, yes ; a big, beautiful town!’ exclaimed 
 Mirtilla, all but hugging her in the open street. 
 
 ‘ What did I say, mistress ? And then ? Tell 
 us all you remember.’ 
 
 Lina looked in the friendly old face and 
 smiled ; it reminded her of Pempina’s. A 
 question or two from Sora Emilia was readily 
 answered ; they listened with great interest. 
 
 4 And mamma never came back, nor papa 
 either/ she concluded her little story; ‘ and 
 granny does not know where I am, or she would 
 come and fetch me.’ 
 
 4 My poor little one!’ said Sora Emilia once 
 more. 4 But la Manfredi is good to you V 
 
 4 She is not good to me/ answered Lina, with 
 an angry gesture and sparkling eyes. 
 
 4 What do you mean, my child V 
 
 4 She sends me away ; she beats me; look!’ 
 uncovering a little arm where was a bruise as if 
 an angry hand had grasped it. 
 
 4 Shame upon her!’ exclaimed Mirtilla, her 
 eyes flashing almost as brightly as had Linas. 
 
 4 Perhaps you were a naughty child/ sug¬ 
 gested Sora Emilia, not willing to show how 
 sympathetic she felt, and signing to Mirtilla to 
 hold her tongue ; but the old woman’s mutter- 
 ings and gesticulations were so expressive that 
 she might as well have spoken out. 
 
ZllMrtUla to tbe IRescue 
 
 “5 
 
 ‘ I broke a jar/ muttered Lina. 
 
 ‘ You must be more careful, my child. Why 
 do you run about with the boys in the street 
 and learn rough manners ? These children are 
 not your equals, surely. 
 
 ‘ I like it; I do so like to make them all mind 
 me, and I have nothing else to do.’ 
 
 ‘It is true that the schools are closed this 
 month,’ said Sora Emilia to her maid. 
 
 ‘ I am not going to school,’ exclaimed Lina, 
 knitting her black eyebrows. ‘ I hate Suora 
 Pia!’ 
 
 ‘ How ! how ! what words are these V said 
 Sora Emilia severely. 
 
 ‘ I hate her ! She wanted to make me lick 
 the ground for a punishment. I am never going 
 back to her—never !’ 
 
 ‘ Children who talk thus do not please me,’ 
 said Sora Emilia, and she paid no more atten¬ 
 tion to the child, though in her heart she pitied 
 her profoundly, and was asking herself what 
 could be done for her. Mirtilla touched her 
 arm, giving a glance out of the corner of her 
 eyes at Lina. The child was crying silently, 
 but bitterly. 
 
 ‘ Dear little girl! do not cry,’ exclaimed Sora 
 Emilia, distressed. ‘ I did not mean to make 
 you unhappy.’ 
 
IMccoIina IFUccoUnt 
 
 116 
 
 Lina made no reply ; she dried her eyes with 
 her sleeve many times, but the tears still fell, 
 and the little sleeve became quite wet. She 
 said nothing, and smothered her sobs with all 
 her might, but she seemed inconsolable. 
 
 Mirtilla looked at her mistress savagely, as 
 much as to say : 
 
 ‘ I hope you are satisfied with what you have 
 done,’ and stroked the child’s shoulder. ‘ Come, 
 come, little one ; you will make the mistress 
 cry too,’ she said, with something like a sob in 
 her own voice. 
 
 Lina raised her eyes to the kind, plain face 
 which seemed to her so lovable, and saw that 
 there really were tears on Sora Emilia’s eye¬ 
 lashes. She caught her hand and kissed it 
 vehemently, then turned and shot down an 
 archway, leaving the mistress and maid looking 
 after her with wet eyes. 
 
 ‘ Beat an angel like that!’ exclaimed Mirtilla 
 furiously. 
 
 Sora Emilia shook her head. 
 
 4 An angel who has a good deal of a demon 
 in her, I fear. But what a dear child ! And 
 well born, too. What will become of her ?’ 
 
 They were entering the palazzo as she spoke. 
 Cheerful voices were heard in all directions ; 
 servants were coming and going ; a group of 
 
/UMrtUla to tbe IRescue 117 
 
 people stood laughing and talking in the loggia 
 overhead, its open arcades sheltering them from 
 the sun. Sora Emilia had no share in this 
 gay and pleasant life ; she went up to her own 
 rooms and took off her bonnet, glad to return 
 to her quiet apartment. It always cost her an 
 effort to go out of doors, where she might meet 
 acquaintances and have to talk to them ; her 
 solitary life had painfully increased her natural 
 shyness and the sense of being wanted by 
 nobody. 
 
 Mirtilla could talk of nothing but Lina ; she 
 went and came, now flicking a little dust off 
 one thing, apparently that it might settle on 
 another ; now setting a pot to boil, and each 
 time she appeared before her mistress she 
 recommenced the subject. 
 
 The next morning she went out to buy two 
 eggs and some chestnut flour, and took the 
 opportunity of learning all she could about 
 Lina. She came back in a fury. 
 
 ‘ Listen, mistress,’ she cried shrilly, ‘ that 
 donnaccia (nasty woman) at first treated that 
 little piece of marchpane just as if she were an 
 angel from Paradise, saying that she was as 
 her own daughter, and she saw light only 
 through her eyes. You see, she thought that 
 relations would come and claim the child, and 
 
118 
 
 Ifttccoltna IKUccoUnt 
 
 pay her well. She went to Castellaro and heard 
 that the poor mother’s father had been there 
 seeking her. Very good ; but no one came for 
 Lina. Ahi, ahi ! For awhile she says she 
 does not care : it is a good work to give a home 
 to an orphan, and will count for her in the other 
 world, and all the neighbours agree, and praise 
 her ; but, little by little, she wearies of waiting 
 for this reward which she will have in Paradise, 
 finding that in this world she must buy clothes 
 for the child, and wash her and feed her ; she 
 continues to say that it is a good work, 
 but-’ 
 
 ‘ I understand ; it is like Father Zappata, 
 who preached well and lived ill,’ said Sora 
 Emilia, using a well-known Tuscan proverb. 
 
 ‘Just so, sora padrona. And now you see 
 how things are. Every time that la Manfredi 
 wastes money, or business is slack, or some 
 neighbour laughs and asks when the child’s 
 relations are coming, Lina suffers for it. If I 
 were rich I know what I would do.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, if we were rich, my dear woman/ 
 answered Sora Emilia, smiling and sighing, 
 and she sat thinking. 
 
 Mirtilla waited, her little black eyes aglow 
 with eagerness, but her face fell when her 
 mistress said : 
 
Airtilla to tbe IRescue 
 
 119 
 
 4 There is that orphanage in Turin ; perhaps, 
 with economy-’ 
 
 4 Che, che, sora padrona ; do not talk to me 
 of economy. You will not leave yourself a 
 farthing’s worth of cheese !’ answered Mirtilla 
 angrily, and she went out of the room grumbling. 
 In a quarter of an hour she was back again. 
 4 1 want no wages, 1/ said she, in the same 
 ill-humoured tone. 4 1 cannot think why you 
 give me any; I have my food and a bed, and 
 the Signor Marchese pays me for keeping the 
 house in his absence. I am rich. See you ? 
 I am able to afford myself a pleasure if I 
 choose, and if we can take that poor little one 
 out of the hands of that evil woman, let us 
 do it/ 
 
 4 You silly old thing!’ said her mistress, 
 touched and smiling; 4 do you suppose that 
 your small wages would pay for her in an 
 orphanage V 
 
 4 No, sora padrona, but if we had her here- 
 
 three do not eat much more than two/ 
 
 4 Here !’ repeated her mistress in consterna¬ 
 tion. 
 
 4 Why not, dear sora padrona ? it would cheer 
 us up. When the family from Turin are not 
 here the palazzo is a tomb; we need something 
 young to give us the courage to live. You 
 
120 
 
 IRtccoUita IRtccoltnt 
 
 know that I say not this for you, who are still 
 young-’ 
 
 ‘ Guai !’ I am old, too, my dear woman.’ 
 
 ‘ If anyone but your ladyship said so ! But 
 you will think about the thing ? That child, 
 with her dark eyes and her Tuscan tongue, has 
 thrown a spell on me.’ 
 
 ‘ So I see, indeed.’ 
 
 ‘ Lively as a fire-fly ; that is the name every¬ 
 one gives her, unless they call her the little 
 princess, and merry as a finch—when she does 
 not weep, poor child ! The baker’s wife told 
 me that sometimes some rascal of a lad will 
 call to her : “ Your parents are come,” or 
 some other heartless joke, and then she will 
 spring at him like a wild cat, and afterwards 
 run away to cry.’ 
 
 ‘ Poor little one ! But listen, donnina (little 
 woman); I am too poor, and far too inexperi¬ 
 enced to undertake what you propose so care¬ 
 lessly. An old maid cannot bring up a child.’ 
 
 ‘ Does it seem so to your ladyship ?’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly it seems so. If I could place her 
 in some orphanage-’ 
 
 ‘ Of course it is not at all your duty, sora 
 padrona. It is no affair of yours what becomes 
 of this poor child,’ said the crafty old woman, 
 < though to see a Florentine in the hands of la 
 
flMrttlla to tfoe IRescne 
 
 I 2 T 
 
 Manfredi, to be beaten and grudged her bit of 
 bread, makes my blood boil. But there are 
 others in the town who could have pity on her, 
 though, to be sure, they do not.’ 
 
 ‘ No doubt they have other duties, and such 
 a responsibility is a terrible thing/ 
 
 ‘ You would say, not helping her ?’ 
 
 ‘ I meant the undertaking it. But it is true 
 not to do so is also a responsibility. You have 
 put a long thorn into my foot, donnina ,’ said 
 Sora Emilia, smiling, but nervously. 
 
 She was a simple, kind soul, very little used 
 to consider cases of conscience, and very doubt¬ 
 ful of her own judgment. 
 
 ‘ Children grow up,’ she said piteously. ‘ I 
 am really not fit for such a burden. A girl to 
 watch over !’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes ; they grow up, but not all at once. 
 And this one loves you already.’ 
 
 ‘ Loves me ! What nonsense ! Do you think 
 I am one with whom people fall in love at first 
 sight ?’ 
 
 ‘ And why not ? If you are not married it 
 is your own fault.’ 
 
 ‘ It is because I had no dowry, and no good 
 looks, flatterer,’ answered her mistress, smiling 
 rather sadly. 
 
 Mirtilla shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 16 
 
122 
 
 IFUccoltna IFtfccoUnt 
 
 4 It may be that some preferred your lady¬ 
 ship’s sister, who was beautiful, no doubt; but, 
 as for me- Enough, enough ; do not be dis¬ 
 
 pleased ; I say no more. But as for Lina, I 
 have seen her look at you with those eyes 
 which speak better than words. The other 
 day-’ 
 
 ‘ I recollect how she kissed my hand. What 
 a strange child !’ 
 
 ‘ Altro ! she is not kindly spoken to every 
 day. She worships you, I say. Only yester¬ 
 day-’ but here Mirtilla stopped suddenly, 
 
 biting her tongue, for she could not exactly 
 relate to her lady that Lina was reported to 
 have slapped a companion who laughed at the 
 witch. ‘ I say no more ; I am not a woman of 
 many words, as you know, my mistress ; and it 
 is not for me to meddle in the affairs of my 
 betters, I know that well. Yet, when I think 
 
 of that little angel- But I will not say 
 
 another word, be satisfied. Your ladyship will 
 think about it ?’ 
 
 ‘ I will think and I will pray, my good Nata ; 
 be sure of that. I only wish to do what is 
 right,’ answered her mistress, who had never 
 done anything all her life but try to obey her 
 conscience, though the humble creature did not 
 guess it. 
 
AMrttlla to tbe IRescue 
 
 123 
 
 She sat thinking about the child all that 
 afternoon. 
 
 * What can be her story ?’ she asked herself. 
 ‘ Nata is certainly right in saying she is a 
 Florentine.’ 
 
 By birth Sora Emilia was a Piedmontese, like 
 her father, and she had the grave, reflective 
 character of many Piedmontese, but by the 
 mother’s side she was a Tuscan, and she felt a 
 little innocent pride in her own Florentine 
 Italian. She did not venture to speak it with 
 Piedmontese friends ; they used their own 
 dialect, and would have thought it very absurd 
 had she not done so too ; but she was always 
 glad to have an opportunity to talk it, and 
 the sound in Lina’s mouth immediately awoke 
 a tender feeling in her heart as well as in 
 Mirtilla’s. 
 
 As a girl, she had spent a few brief, happy 
 months in Florence, and remembered them as at 
 once the happiest and saddest time in her life. It 
 was all an old story now ; no one knew any¬ 
 thing about it except, perhaps, Mirtilla, who 
 had been in her mother’s service, and had 
 always had very sharp eyes and ears; but, 
 chatterbox as she was, like all Italians, she 
 could hold her tongue when she chose, and 
 never let even Sora Emilia know that she 
 
124 
 
 mtccoltna IRtccoltnt 
 
 guessed the sad little girlish romance which 
 still made everything Tuscan dear to the old 
 maid, who was thinking of old times as she 
 sat solitary in her drawing-room, with its scanty 
 furniture, its ancient tapestry covering the 
 walls, and the faded painting on the ceiling, all 
 contrasting oddly enough with the crochet and 
 knitted couvrettes on the backs of the heavy 
 old chairs. Sora Emilia did a great deal of 
 crochet, and knitted coarse lace to adorn pillow¬ 
 cases for herself and her married sister and her 
 friends. Heavy curtains, as old as the tapestry, 
 hung by the windows summer and winter; the 
 floor was brick. A little modern table and 
 some artificial flowers, made by Sora Emilia as 
 a girl, looked as much out of place as did the 
 crochet couvrettes, but nobody could have sat 
 comfortably at the large heavy table which was 
 pushed against the wall. The room had a 
 stately look ; it might not be comfortable in 
 English eyes, but it suited Sora Emilia, and 
 she was not at all unhappy, though poor and 
 solitary, and in the position, so awkward in 
 Italy, of being an unmarried elderly woman. 
 
 Mirtilla kept her word, as far as not urging 
 her desire of having Lina in Palazzo Sinibaldi 
 went, but she never missed an opportunity of 
 somehow keeping it before her mistress. 
 
/IlMrtilla to tbe IRescue 
 
 I2 5 
 
 With so simple and straightforward a person 
 as Sora Emilia diplomacy really might have 
 seemed wasted, but Mirtilla, though an honest 
 old woman, felt an indescribable pleasure when 
 she compassed some end by unsuspected and 
 ingenious ways ; to do a thing in a roundabout 
 manner appeared to her more prudent than to 
 use open ways and go straight to the point. 
 Sora Emilia knew her too well not to perceive 
 her aim, but she was influenced all the same by 
 the crafty hints and suggestions dropped from 
 time to time. She could not forget the assertion 
 that Lina loved her ; it touched her deeply : 
 few people had ever done so, and she had not 
 many to love. Sometimes her home seemed 
 very empty. 
 
 Nevertheless, she could not see that it would 
 be right for her to take charge of Lina ; her 
 brothers might disapprove ; her married sister 
 certainly would, and her brother-in-law would 
 call her an old fool. The thought of this family 
 displeasure was terrible to her; she could not 
 face it even in imagination, nor fancy herself 
 venturing on such an act without her relations’ 
 leave. 
 
 An unmarried woman in Italy who lives with 
 her parents rarely is allowed any independence; 
 she is governed like a child ; she has no money 
 
126 
 
 IRiccoUtta IFltccollnt 
 
 to spend ; her clothes are bought for her ; she 
 only goes out with her mother’s leave, with 
 some family friend who brings her safely home 
 again. Until her mother’s death, five years 
 earlier, Sora Emilia had never so much as 
 bought herself a pair of gloves, and when left 
 alone, although nearly forty-five, she found 
 herself quite lost and bewildered by a crowd of 
 small daily matters, without any experience of 
 life, and a painful sense of being unprotected 
 and in a strange, almost improper, position, 
 which would have made her fly to her sister had 
 it been possible. But the Contessa Isabella, 
 married to an officer of the artillery, had no 
 settled home, nor did her husband at all desire 
 to have a sister-in-law living with him. 
 
 One brother was a priest in a seminary, the 
 other in South America, where so many Italians 
 seek occupation. Sora Emilia had no choice but 
 to live on in the old palace with Mirtilla. She 
 was too gentle and cheerful to bewail herself; 
 she occupied herself with her bit of garden, 
 went to church, gave all she could to the poor, 
 and now and then went out to pay a visit. 
 She neither expected nor wished for any 
 change, unless perhaps in summer, when other 
 people went in villeggiatura , and she recollected 
 the little old house in Piedmont among the 
 
AMrtilla to the IRescue 
 
 127 
 
 chestnut woods where her family used to spend 
 the hot weather in her girlhood. Then, looking 
 at the dazzling sea, and the roads thick with 
 white dust, she would sigh a little—that was 
 
 all. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW HOME. 
 
 Although Signor dei Bardi was supposed to be 
 come to Aleria for sea-bathing and holiday¬ 
 making, like the rest of the bagnanti , if an idea 
 for a painting seized him, he was apt to work 
 just as hard as if he had been in his studio at 
 Florence, and nobody saw anything of him till 
 evening, when he would join his wife among 
 her friends, and put in his word, while they 
 talked over who had come or gone, and how the 
 signora such-a-one had brought a trunk full of 
 fashionable clothes with her, as indeed the 
 dowry she brought her husband gave her a full 
 right to do ; how such another had only the old 
 gowns of last year turned and dyed ; how this 
 couple were engaged to be married, and those 
 wanted to be, and so on for hours. Sometimes 
 they talked a little of music, rarely of books, 
 not at all of the weather, and a great deal about 
 
H Bew Borne 
 
 129 
 
 health, which was always an interesting subject, 
 very fully and freely discussed. 
 
 Now and then the old painter got a little 
 tired of the chatter, and would slip away with 
 a friend, or pay Sora Emilia a visit, sometimes 
 accompanied by his little ten-year-old son, who 
 did not at all disdain the sugarplums which he 
 got from her. He came a week or so after their 
 meeting with Lina on the church steps, and 
 having exchanged the usual courteous greetings, 
 sat down, rubbing his hands, and said : 
 
 ‘ Well, you do not ask about my picture.’ 
 
 ‘ What picture V 
 
 ‘ What picture! You ask me what picture ? 
 he retorted, looking at her amazed. It seemed 
 quite impossible to him that she should have 
 forgotten a thing so important. 
 
 ‘ Excuse me ; I know I am very stupid,’ said 
 Sora Emilia, who was one of those gentle, 
 nervous people always ready to believe them¬ 
 selves in the wrong. ‘ A picture ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; a picture,’ retorted the painter 
 snappishly ; ‘ my picture, of which I had the 
 honour to speak to you ten days ago—“ The 
 Young Improvisatrice.” ’ 
 
 ‘ Of course. I remember very well now.’ 
 
 ‘ Better late than never,’ muttered Dei Bardi, 
 still put out. 
 
 17 
 
130 
 
 IFtfccoUita IRtccolmi 
 
 ‘ And—and—you have put the little girl in 
 it ?’ said poor Sora Emilia, seeking to say some¬ 
 thing which might appease him, but her good 
 intentions were not crowned with the success 
 they deserved, for he looked at her with in¬ 
 creased indignation. 
 
 ‘ Yes ; I have put the little girl in it,’ he 
 answered sarcastically. ‘ Perhaps you will tell 
 me how I could paint a picture to which she 
 gives the name without putting her in ? Little 
 minx P he added, forgetting his ill humour as 
 he thought of his painting, ‘ I had hard work 
 to get her to sit, I can tell you. She would not 
 hear of it, though I offered her goodies as 
 excellent as those which Gino is munching 
 at this moment—hung her head and sulked ; 
 she has taken a dislike to me—why, I don’t 
 know.’ 
 
 ‘ Because you said you had never heard of 
 her father,’ interposed Gino. 
 
 ‘ Possibly. Ah, I dare say that is it. Well, 
 I got Gino to ask what she would come for, and 
 my signorina sends me word she must have a 
 half lira’ (five pence) 'each time. What do you 
 think of that ? She should be a tradesman’s 
 daughter, not an artist’s,’ said Dei Bardi, 
 laughing. 
 
 ‘ I know why she wanted the money, and it 
 
H IRew Ibome 
 
 1 3 1 
 
 is all right,’ interposed Gino, while Sora Emilia 
 was saying : 
 
 ‘ It does not seem natural in a child, and does 
 not please me/ 
 
 ‘ Oh, you know, do you ? It seems you are 
 in her confidence,’ laughed his father. 
 
 Gino nodded gravely. He was a pretty, slim 
 boy, with soft, dark eyes. 
 
 ‘ You allow me V he said courteously to Sora 
 Emilia, putting aside half his sugarplums. * I 
 have a use for them.’ 
 
 4 1 wager they are for his little friend. Well, 
 but I have not told you half my difficulties ; 
 she came according to promise, and punctually, 
 too,’ said the old painter with meditative sur¬ 
 prise, for punctuality is not an Italian virtue. 
 
 ‘ Yes, she came ; but how ? The landlady had 
 made no objection to it; in fact, she seemed very 
 indifferent to what became of the child ; talked 
 by the hour of the misfortune of having her on 
 her hands, and so on ; I did not listen to half 
 of it. I knew she would do what I wanted, for 
 I told her I wanted rooms for a family about 
 to come here. So, as I said, the child came. 
 Alas ! she was washed, brushed, put into a 
 muslin frock belonging to some niece of la 
 Manfredi’s, done up for the occasion, and instead 
 of the wild little creature I had seen, behold, a 
 
i 3 2 
 
 IRiccoUna VUccoltnf 
 
 signorina ! I sent her straight back with 
 orders not to return till she was like her old 
 self, on which she ran off and sent me word she 
 should not come at all. However, I saw her 
 on the shore, and sent Gino to talk to her, and 
 now all goes well/ 
 
 4 What kind of a child is she V 
 1 How should I know ? Do you think I spend 
 my time in studying her character V 
 
 ‘ It seems to me that to make a good por¬ 
 trait one should understand the character of 
 the sitter/ 
 
 4 Up to a certain point that is true. But 
 the character of that little wasp is soon studied. 
 I have sketched the group before the church 
 from memory, and I have my eye on three brats 
 as models. The children here are wonderfully 
 picturesque/ 
 
 ‘ That is true. Do you think this little Lina 
 is a peasant or of the tradesman class ?’ 
 
 4 Neither. On one side or both, she is of 
 
 ‘ And how do you judge V 
 ‘ I have studied types enough to be certain/ 
 
 ‘ Poor little one !’ repeated Sora Emilia once 
 more. 
 
 ‘ As for the father, he could not have made 
 his mark, or I should have heard of him, though 
 
B IRew ibome 
 
 133 
 
 Niccolini is so common a name in Tuscany that 
 to ask to what family he belonged is like 
 inquiring for a Mary in Ravenna,’ said Signor 
 dei Bardi, using a well-known saying; ‘ but 
 whoever he was, he has bequeathed a turn for 
 art to his child. You should have seen how 
 at home and happy she was in my studio. It 
 is a pity she cannot have good teaching.’ 
 
 ‘ You should take her and educate her,’ 
 suggested Sora Emilia, with a hope that here 
 was a way out of the difficulties into which 
 Mirtilla’s proposal had led her. 
 
 ‘ Many thanks 1’ answered Dei Bardi, bowing 
 to her. ‘ I find Gino gives me already enough 
 to do. What do you say, boy ? would you like 
 to have a sister ?’ 
 
 ‘ If it were Lina I should, babbo.’ 
 
 ‘ I wager that your mother would not say 
 the same. No, signora mia. If anyone takes 
 the child, why not yourself, who have not 
 already a boy on your hands V 
 
 ‘ You think so too!’ said Sora Emilia faintly. 
 
 ‘ I think so too! Certainly, certainly!’ 
 answered her old friend, much amused to find 
 his joke taken seriously ; ‘ no doubt about it. 
 You will earn your share of Paradise by training 
 that little demon, I will promise you that. 
 Consider it, signora, consider it.’ 
 
T 34 
 
 IRiccolina IRtccollnt 
 
 ‘ I will,’ she answered gravely with a troubled 
 look. ‘ Perhaps it really is my duty/ 
 
 Dei Bardi went away delighted, to tell all 
 the bagnanti that Sora Emilia was thinking 
 about adopting a child, and everybody laughed 
 over it all that evening. It thus came to the 
 ears of the Marchesa Sinibaldi, who asked her 
 husband whether his cousin ought to be allowed 
 to make herself so absurd, and he, shrugging 
 his shoulders, asked how it was any affair 
 of his. 
 
 ‘ It is your affair if everyone is laughing at 
 your cousin,’ retorted his wife. ' If you will not 
 tell her not to be so ridiculous, I shall.’ 
 
 The Marchesa was a rich and fashionable 
 lady, who looked down at all times with great 
 contempt on the old maid, but when she 
 appeared in Sora Emilia’s drawing-room to call 
 her to account, she was silenced by the gentle 
 dignity with which she was met. 
 
 ‘ I have decided nothing; what I may think 
 right to do by-and-by I cannot at present say,’ 
 Sora Emilia replied, and the Marchesa had the 
 unpleasant sense of having shown herself im¬ 
 pertinent. 
 
 'Well, it is your own affair,’ she said rising, 
 much annoyed. 
 
 ‘ Just so,’ answered Sora Emilia peaceably. 
 
B IRew Ibome 
 
 T 35 
 
 ‘ But what will your sister Isabella say V 
 suggested the March esa, turning in the door¬ 
 way. 
 
 c We shall see as soon as there is anything to 
 tell her/ replied Sora Emilia, and the Marchesa 
 retired discomfited, wondering how, almost 
 without speaking, the quiet old maid had put 
 her in the wrong. She told her husband that 
 he must write to Isabella, to which he answered 
 that he had never done so in his life, and what 
 kind of figure should he cut if he wrote now 
 to tell her that her sister was adopting a child, 
 which was no affair of his, if then, after all, 
 Emilia meant nothing of the kind ? 
 
 And it really appeared as if Sora Emilia 
 meant to do nothing; the visitors soon forgot 
 all about it, and Signor dei Bardi thought of 
 nothing but his picture, which he carried 
 away at the end of the bathing season, well 
 advanced, with many studies which were to be 
 worked up into it. Aleria dropped back into 
 its usual tranquil state, and the only inhabitants 
 of the Palazzo Sinibaldi were Sora Emilia and 
 her maid. For several Sundays Lina appeared 
 beside Sora Emilia in church, and when they 
 came out together the boys would make faces 
 and call out rude jokes which made Mirtilla, 
 who understood their dialect, quite furious. 
 
136 
 
 IRiccoltna IFUccoUni 
 
 Luckily, Sora Emilia did not, or never supposed 
 that their remarks concerned herself; but Lina 
 took them to heart, not for herself, but for Sora 
 Emilia, and appeared no more. At first Sora 
 Emilia was relieved by not seeing her; then she 
 began to wonder what had become of her, and 
 at last she asked her maid if she knew any¬ 
 thing about her. 
 
 ‘ She is ill,’ answered Mirtilla brusquely. 
 
 Sora Emilia started. 
 
 c How, she is ill! And since when ?’ 
 
 c A fortnight.’ 
 
 ‘ What is amiss V 
 
 ‘ Measles.’ Mirtilla’s replies were very laconic, 
 a sure sign that she was much put out. 
 
 ‘ Measles are not always serious,’ said her 
 mistress, understanding very well what was 
 meant by this tone, but troubled, for measles 
 are much dreaded in Italy. 
 
 ‘ So la Manfredi says. Maybe, if children 
 are looked after.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you mean that she is not looked after. 
 How do you know V 
 
 ‘ I saw it with these eyes.’ 
 
 ‘ You have seen the child ?’ 
 
 4 II Manfredi told me she was ill, not the 
 wife; she has still a family in the inn who 
 would go if they knew, and she will have 
 
H IRew ibome 
 
 137 
 
 nothing said. I went upstairs and found her 
 dried up with thirst without being able to get 
 even a mouthful of water, and she dared not 
 call anyone for fear of being scolded. She was 
 crying quietly, and saying: “ Daddy, daddy.” 
 It was a heart break to see, sora padrona.’ 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! why did you not tell me 
 at once V 
 
 ‘ I did not know that the sora padrona would 
 care to hear.’ 
 
 ‘ I will go and see her,’ said Sora Emilia, un¬ 
 heeding this very undeserved reproach. * Per¬ 
 haps it may please her.’ 
 
 4 Please her ! She knew me in a minute, and 
 asked if you would come.’ 
 
 4 And you did not say so! You have done 
 wrong, Nata. Give me my mantle at once, 
 and accompany me to the inn.’ 
 
 It was true that Lina had measles, and also 
 true that nobody took any care of her. La 
 Manfredi supposed that all children must have 
 them, and get over them. Lina gave her 
 trouble enough already without being nursed. 
 And if the family lodging with her heard of it! 
 She opened her eyes with dismay on seeing 
 Sora Emilia, and though she received her with 
 deference, she said to herself that now the 
 lodgers would hear; misfortune was sure to 
 
 18 
 
IFUccoltna IRiccoltnt 
 
 138 
 
 come of such a visit, and she hastily made the 
 ‘ horns ’ to avert the evil eye under her apron, 
 while reluctantly showing her up to the room 
 where Lina was. She had to go in first and 
 open the shutters which made the room dark, 
 and she bit her lips as she saw the effect which 
 the closed windows, the unmade bed and un¬ 
 tidy room made on the visitors. 4 Light hurts 
 the eyes,’ she explained, 4 when people have 
 measles.’ 
 
 Lina raised herself on her hot pillow to see 
 who had come in. 
 
 4 Sora Emilia ! Oh, Sora Emilia !’ she cried 
 out. 
 
 4 Dear child f said Sora Emilia, and sat down 
 by the bed, caressing the rough little head 
 pressed against her shoulder. 
 
 4 Well, well, and I ? Have you not a word 
 for Mirtilla ?’ exclaimed the old servant, threat¬ 
 ening her jokingly. 
 
 Lina looked at her and smiled. She did not 
 talk; she seemed entirely contented by having 
 Sora Emilia near her. La Manfredi would much 
 have preferred staying, and preventing awkward 
 revelations, but her husband’s voice shouted for 
 her from below. 
 
 4 1 come, I come—I will return directly, 
 signora ; excuse me.’ 
 
B IRew ibonte 
 
 139 
 
 ‘ Do not hurry,’ answered Sora Emilia quietly, 
 as the landlady went reluctantly. 
 
 ‘Well, sora padrona ?’ said Mirtilla, wagging 
 her old head up and down. 
 
 ‘ How long have you been ill, my child V asked 
 Sora Emilia. 
 
 ‘ I do not know.’ 
 
 ‘ Has the doctor been to see you V 
 
 6 La Manfredi says it is not worth while.’ 
 
 ‘ She would have to pay him,’ observed Mir¬ 
 tilla. ‘ The child is not a native of these parts.’ 
 
 ‘ That is true. Are you in pain ?’ 
 
 ‘My eyes hurt me, and the nights are so 
 long. ’ 
 
 ‘ Are you alone at night ?’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, and I am so afraid of the dark.’ 
 
 ‘ There is a moon now.’ 
 
 ‘ I know ; but La Manfredi keeps the shutters 
 closed, because, she says, I went to the window 
 and should have fallen out if she had not hap¬ 
 pened to come into the room. And she beat 
 me ; but I cannot recollect doing it.’ 
 
 Lina began to cry, and Mirtilla’s gesture 
 expressed a multitude of things; but her mis¬ 
 tress left her no time to speak. 
 
 ‘ Nata,’ said she resolutely, ‘ as soon as this 
 child can be moved, she comes to us. I have 
 made up my mind.’ 
 
140 
 
 IWccoUna IRtccolmi 
 
 4 And you do well, sora padrona !’ exclaimed 
 the maid, clapping her hands. 4 Do you under¬ 
 stand, my little angel ? You are to live with 
 us, and no one shall beat you there—that I 
 promise you, and I hope there will never be 
 any reason to do so. Would you like to come, 
 my little one V 
 
 4 Go to you—to stay ?’ said Lina incredu¬ 
 lously. 
 
 4 To be our little daughter, my heart,’ added 
 Mirtilla. 
 
 Lina lifted her thin little arms and put them 
 round Sora Emilia’s neck, hiding her face on 
 her breast. She did not say a word ; but that 
 fervent hug brought tears into the eyes of Sora 
 Emilia, who had never been so embraced in her 
 life. 
 
 4 Via, via ! do not excite yourself, dear child. 
 You must get well quickly, to be able to come.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, do not leave me ! Take me to-day ; 
 oh, do take me to-day !’ 
 
 4 Yes, yes ; it is beautiful weather. We will 
 wrap her up well, and I will carry her ; she is as 
 light as a feather !’ exclaimed Mirtilla. 
 
 4 There is a carriage belonging to the inn; 
 you need not carry her. But the impru¬ 
 dence-’ 
 
 4 Does the sora padrona think it more 
 
H IRew ibome 
 
 141 
 
 prudent to leave her here V suggested Mirtilla, 
 significantly. 
 
 Sora Emilia looked round, and then her eyes 
 met those of Lina, wide open with anxiety. 
 
 ‘ You are right,’ she said. ‘ I will go down 
 and speak to la Manfredi. Stay here with the 
 child.’ 
 
 ‘ La Manfredi will not make difficulties/ said 
 Mirtilla, with an expressive nod. 
 
 ‘ Altro !’ exclaimed Lina ; 4 she is always say¬ 
 ing I am a burden ; she said so yesterday to her 
 husband, when he came to see me. He is not 
 bad to me ; only when he gets drunk—you 
 know he drinks like a Silenus.’ 
 
 Mirtilla nodded again. Neither she nor Lina 
 knew that Silenus was an old Roman god; but 
 such allusions are still common in popular 
 speech. Sora Emilia looked scandalized. 
 
 ‘ Hush, hush! you must not talk so, my 
 child. I will come back.’ 
 
 Lina’s eyes followed her wistfully. ‘ She is 
 not rich ?’ she asked. 
 
 4 What does that matter to you V 
 
 ‘ I will try not to cost much. La Manfredi 
 is always saying that I cost her Peru ; but I 
 will try not to tear my frocks, and eat as little 
 as I can.’ 
 
 4 My little angel ! But do not talk such 
 
142 
 
 IRiccoltna TOccolitti 
 
 nonsense, my bit of sugar—rich or poor, we 
 have enough for you.’ 
 
 ‘ I have money,’ said the child, with pride. 
 ‘ I will give it to you ; Signor dei Bardi, who 
 painted my portrait, gave it me. I said I would 
 have it instead of goodies, because I thought, 
 when I got enough, I would go back to Pem- 
 pina, our maid, at Castellaro. I only told Gino, 
 and he gave me a whole lira of his own. But I 
 got ill, and now I am glad I did not go, for I 
 would rather live in Palazzo Sinibaldi.’ 
 
 ‘ What a little rogue!’ exclaimed Mirtilla, 
 delighted. ‘ And what did you mean to do, 
 when you found Pempina V 
 
 ‘ First, I meant to get up very early, and go 
 to the station and take a third-class ticket. 
 Gino told me it cost less than the others ; and 
 then at Castellaro I should have asked the baker’s 
 wife to show me the way to Santa Maura, where 
 Pempina lives, and I would have kept her goat 
 for her. She said her nephew was getting too 
 big for it. Gino and I made it up together. 
 When I was tired of being painted, his babbo 
 let me play with him. I love Gino !’ 
 
 ‘ And no doubt Gino loves you,’ chuckled the 
 old servant. 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, he said so. Next year, when they 
 come for bathing, he was to come and look for 
 
H IRew Ibome 
 
 143 
 
 me at Santa Maura. How surprised he will be 
 to find me in Palazzo Sinibaldi!’ 
 
 Meanwhile Sora Emilia was talking with the 
 landlady. She went straight to the point. 
 
 ‘ You have heard nothing of the child’s re¬ 
 lations ?’ she said. 
 
 ‘ Guai! No, signora. What a misfortune for 
 people who have to work for their bread to be 
 thus burdened with a child who is nothing to 
 them ! I do not speak of myself; everyone 
 knows I have a tender heart, which is a 
 calamity, signora ; but my husband will not 
 pardon my having brought that unhappy one 
 here. Could I know she would die ?’ 
 
 ‘ You feel the child then a burden V 
 
 La Manfredi hesitated; she suspected a con¬ 
 cealed reproof. Perhaps the neighbours had 
 talked. She assumed an offended air. 
 
 ‘ It seems to me that it cannot be otherwise, 
 though everyone knows I treat her like my own 
 daughter. What trifle of money the mother 
 had did not go far.’ 
 
 ‘ Did she have no clothes, no ornaments V 
 asked Sora Emilia, anxious to discover some 
 trace of the child’s family. 
 
 ‘ She had only a little valise with almost 
 nothing in it,’ answered la Manfredi, uncomfort¬ 
 ably conscious that the large, pale eyes of Sora 
 
144 
 
 IRtccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 Emilia were fixed upon her. Sora Emilia, being 
 very short-sighted, often gazed thus at anyone 
 near without knowing it, especially when she 
 was thinking. ‘ As for the cross, the poor lady 
 gave it me ; I will swear that/ 
 
 ‘ Let me see it,’ said Sora Emilia, without 
 showing that she had heard nothing of any cross. 
 
 Very reluctantly la Manfredi fetched it, over¬ 
 ruled by the eyes of her unwelcome visitor. 
 
 ‘ She gave it as a token of gratitude for all I 
 did for her/ she said defiantly, while Sora 
 Emilia examined the gold cross, which had 
 ‘ E. D/ engraved on the back. The landlady 
 watched her uneasily. 
 
 ‘ The child ought to have it; later it might 
 be a means of her being recognised by her 
 family. If the mother could speak of anything, 
 I cannot understand how it was she said nothing 
 about her daughter/ 
 
 ‘ I have told the truth, signora. If the 
 signora does not believe me, so much the worse. 
 She will excuse me ; I hear the customers call¬ 
 ing, and my husband- Holy patience ! I 
 
 come, I come !’ 
 
 ‘ You would be glad then to be rid of this 
 burden V 
 
 ‘ If anyone would pay a little sum weekly,’ 
 suggested the landlady eagerly. 
 
H iflew Iborne 
 
 *45 
 
 ‘ I know no one to do this.’ La Manfredi 
 gloomed again. ‘ But I will take her myself. 
 Please to order your fly. Good-morning, Nino 
 Manfredi.’ The landlord entered as she spoke, 
 bowing respectfully, and casting an inquiring 
 glance at his wife, who was standing dumb with 
 surprise. ‘ Your wife tells me that the little 
 girl is an unwelcome burden, and I mean to 
 take her.’ 
 
 ‘ It is great good luck for her, signora. She 
 does not cost as much as you may think,’ said 
 the landlord, who had a kind heart; ‘ but my 
 wife does not like children, and we cannot 
 bring her up properly, so, as I say, it is great 
 luck for Lina if you take her.’ 
 
 ‘ I take her at once. In your wife’s place I 
 should give her that cross, but this I leave to 
 her conscience.’ 
 
 ‘ It is mine, and I keep it,’ answered la 
 Manfredi obstinately, while her husband looked 
 put out, and left the room. 
 
 4 Do as you like, but it will bring you no 
 good,’ answered Sora Emilia coldly, and went 
 upstairs, reflecting that, though it might be 
 perilous to move Lina, the sooner she was 
 out of these hands the better. La Manfredi 
 stayed below, furious and frightened. She 
 knew, too, that all the neighbours would cry 
 
 19 
 
146 
 
 IRtccolma VUccoUnt 
 
 out at her letting Lina go to ‘ the witch.’ As 
 to what would happen to Lina, she did not care 
 much ; she was not exactly a bad woman, but 
 she felt the child as ‘ a cross,’ as she said, and 
 so long as a hand came to lift it off her she did 
 not care whose it was. What troubled her was 
 the prophecy of evil uttered by Sora Emilia. 
 But she really could not give up the cross, a 
 handsomer one than was owned even by her 
 cousin, who wore a bonnet on Sunday as if she 
 had been a lady. La Manfredi only ventured 
 on a kerchief and a fan, but she could wear the 
 gold cross and be triumphant. 
 
 Presently she went upstairs. 
 
 ‘ You will recollect all I have done for you V 
 she said, looking with angry eyes at Lina on 
 Sora Emilia’s knee. 
 
 ‘ I shall always recollect how you beat me,’ 
 retorted Lina. 
 
 c Children have no heart,’ muttered la 
 Manfredi, and saw them drive off without 
 another word. The landlord drove them, and 
 kissed Lina when he lifted her out of the fly at 
 the door of the palazzo, saying, ‘ Good-bye, little 
 one ; this is a white day for you. I shall miss 
 you, you know.’ 
 
 4 Come and see me soon,’ said Lina, adding, 
 while Mirtilla carried her upstairs, 1 He never 
 
B 1 Revo Ibome 
 
 M7 
 
 slapped me, and when la Manfredi punished 
 me, he always told her to let me alone. I like 
 il Manfredi so much !’ 
 
 ‘ She is grateful/ thought Sora Emilia with 
 satisfaction. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHAT LINA RECOLLECTED. 
 
 ‘What will Isabella say?’ the Marchesa had 
 asked, and these words kept buzzing in the 
 ears of Sora Emilia all the while that she was 
 conveying Lina to the palazzo. The sight of 
 the child so neglected, so glad of her coming, 
 had suddenly ended all her hesitations; her 
 kind heart had spoken more loudly than her 
 prudence, and she could not repent, although 
 assailed anew by the doubts and fears which 
 had made the thing just accomplished appear 
 impossible. ‘ After all, there is no need to say 
 anything to Isabella at present; I shall not be 
 writing to her for some time,’ she said to herself. 
 Mirtilla would have declared that Sora Emilia’s 
 concerns were her own affair, but this was a 
 bold and independent view, such as the timid 
 spinster was quite incapable of taking, and 
 Mirtilla herself was much braver out of Sora 
 Isabella’s presence than in it. 
 
Mbat %um IRecollecteb 
 
 149 
 
 Mirtilla was overflowing with exultation. 
 She chattered unceasingly, going and coming, 
 hunting out a little bed forgotten in a garret, 
 airing sheets brought from the store of house¬ 
 hold linen kept in a gaily-painted Florentine 
 chest; she wanted to prepare half a dozen 
 dishes for the little invalid, who lay in Sora 
 Emilia’s arms, very tired, but happy, watching 
 all that went on with a smile of pleasure. 
 After she was laid in the bed she drew down 
 Sora Emilia’s head to her, and kissed her 
 fervently. When her good friend freed herself 
 from that clasp there were tears in her eyes. 
 It seemed to her as if an empty place in her 
 heart had been suddenly filled up, and for the 
 moment she did not care at all what Isabella 
 might say. 
 
 ‘ Now go and fetch the doctor, Nata,’ said 
 she, but this order met with decided opposition. 
 
 ‘ Che ! che ! excuse me, my mistress, but the 
 child will get well without a doctor. A little 
 herb tea, plenty of care, and the measles will 
 pass like a dream. We can spend our pence 
 better, and Heaven knows we have not too 
 many.’ 
 
 * That is true,’ said Sora Emilia, full of 
 thought. ‘ The child will need new clothes, and— 
 and-Do you know what children require ?’ 
 
IFUccoltna IFUccoltnt 
 
 150 
 
 She found herself at once met by one of those 
 difficulties which she had vaguely foreseen. 
 She did not know in the least what a child 
 might want, and Mirtilla had no more practical 
 experience than herself, but she at all events 
 felt a cheerful confidence in being able to solve 
 any question that could present itself. 4 Be not 
 troubled, sora padrona; I know Mariuccia the 
 sarta (dressmaker): she will tell me many 
 things. All will go well.’ 
 
 4 Very good, but be careful how you spend. 
 You know-’ 
 
 ‘ I know, I know ; do not be uneasy,’ returned 
 the old woman joyously, thinking to herself 
 that she would draw out a whole pound from 
 the savings bank, where she had a little sum 
 put away to pay for her funeral. ‘ Magari! it 
 is better to spend on the living than on the 
 dead,’ she said to herself, 4 and I will say 
 nothing to the mistress; she will think that the 
 few shillings she can give me bought all. Eh, 
 eh ! she would not let me spend my wages on 
 the little one ; I will do it another way.’ And 
 Mirtilla chuckled with delight. 
 
 4 But if the child is not so well to-morrow, I 
 must have the doctor,’ said her lady, returning 
 to the former subject, unconscious of what her 
 maid was plotting. 
 
Mbat %xna IRecollecteb 
 
 151 
 
 ‘ Surely, surely. But she will do right well. 
 See, she sleeps. It would be a useless expense. 
 If, indeed, she were a native of the place-’ 
 
 4 We will see/ answered Sora Emilia, watching 
 with satisfaction how quietly the child slept. 
 ‘ If you know anyone experienced in measles, 
 ask her advice.’ 
 
 ‘As for mothers whose children have had 
 measles, I need only enter the first house I see.’ 
 
 ‘ Are there other illnesses that a child has ?’ 
 asked Sora Emilia anxiously, while a long pro¬ 
 cession of possible maladies passed before her 
 mind’s eye. 
 
 ‘ Let me see. There is whooping-cough,’ said 
 Mirtilla, counting on her fingers ; ‘ and scarlet 
 fever, and chicken-pox, and perhaps small-pox.’ 
 
 ‘ Good heavens ! enough, enough !’ 
 
 ‘ And one can have scarlet fever and measles 
 twice,’ added Mirtilla pitilessly. 
 
 She went out, leaving her mistress pale with 
 dismay, which, however, vanished in a sweet 
 content as she looked at the child sleeping in 
 the little bed beside her own. 
 
 Before long Mirtilla returned. Usually when 
 she went out her absence was a prolonged one. 
 
 ‘ Imagine, my lady !’ she whispered, ‘ everything 
 is known at once in this blessed town before 
 even it happens ! Scarely had I gone out when 
 
! 5 2 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccoUni 
 
 the doctor came up to praise the kind action you 
 had done, and to say that if you would do him 
 the honour to let him join in this charitable act, 
 as medico condotto , of course, he would respect¬ 
 fully do so. I thanked him, saying for the 
 moment we did not need him/ 
 
 4 You did right,’ replied her mistress, colouring 
 faintly; she did not care at all that everyone 
 knew she was poor, but this manner of making 
 her feel it roused the Sinibaldi pride. 4 He 
 
 meant well, but- However, he has a good 
 
 heart/ 
 
 4 That is most true, but it would be a great 
 honour for him to doctor anyone in the palazzo. 
 He said that with your leave his wife would 
 call on you to-morrow. Their children lately 
 had measles, and she can tell us all we want to 
 know.’ 
 
 4 Very good,’ said Sora Emilia after a 
 moment. 4 1 have no objection. Put a candle 
 and matches by my bed ; I will sit up a little 
 while to-night to be sure how the child sleeps.’ 
 
 She did as she had said, but, unaccustomed to 
 sit up late, she soon fell asleep in her armchair 
 by Lina’s bed. She started up towards 
 midnight, feeling her hands kissed repeatedly. 
 Rubbing her eyes, she tried to recollect where 
 she was, heard a little stir in the room as if 
 
Wbat %ina IRecollecteb 
 
 *5 3 
 
 someone scuffled into bed, and waking up 
 thoroughly, exclaimed hastily : ‘ My child, are 
 you awake V Two little arms clasped her, and 
 Lina’s lips pressed hers with a long kiss. ‘ Are 
 you in pain ? Did you get up ? Do you want 
 anything ?’ 
 
 ‘ Something to drink.’ 
 
 Mirtilla had left a cooling drink by the 
 bedside. 
 
 ‘ Thank youand the dark head was laid 
 again on the pillow, and Emilia never knew 
 whether it was a dream or if the child had got 
 up to make sure she was there, and had kissed 
 her hands. She resolved to keep wide awake, 
 to prevent any possible imprudence, but never¬ 
 theless, when Mirtilla entered in the morning, 
 she was met by an uplifted finger and a ‘ Do not 
 wake Sora Emilia ’ from Lina. The old woman 
 burst out laughing, and Sora Emilia awoke, 
 much abashed. 
 
 ‘ How do you think the child is, Nata?—she 
 seems to me feverish. At what hour will 
 Signora Battistini come ?’ 
 
 4 1 can fetch her, but the child looks well 
 to me.’ 
 
 ‘ I am needlessly anxious, I dare say, but I 
 should be glad to hear what a mother would 
 say. I hope she may come.’ 
 
 20 
 
iS4 
 
 TOccoItna TOccoltni 
 
 £ She will, she will! It is an honour for her.’ 
 
 However, the doctor’s wife was not of this 
 opinion, and the doctor was learning how rash 
 it is to promise for other people, even for a wife. 
 Though she would not own it, Signora Battistini 
 shared the popular prejudice against the poor 
 lady, and found a hundred reasons why she 
 could not pay her a visit, while her husband 
 alternately laughed at and persuaded her. He 
 was young, with the modest salary of a medico 
 condotto —an office somewhat answering to that 
 of parish doctor, only he had to visit all natives 
 of his district, whether rich or poor, without 
 fees from them. He had often wished to be 
 called in at the Palazzo Sinibaldi, but every¬ 
 one there, including guests, always seemed in 
 the best of health, unfortunately, as he would 
 say with a sigh. 
 
 ‘ Che, che ! here is an opportunity of having 
 a patient in the palazzo, and you refuse to help 
 me,’ he cried to his wife. ‘ Is it possible that 
 you listen to what they say against Sora 
 Emilia, people who would not hesitate to 
 send for that old cheat whom they call the 
 Witch of the Mountain V 
 
 ‘ Indeed I would not, Gianluca,’ pleaded his 
 wife. 
 
 ‘ You ? I should hope not! My own wife ! 
 
Mbat %ina IRecollecteb 
 
 !55 
 
 But as for the others. . . . Just imagine, I 
 arrived unexpectedly yesterday at the convent 
 to see Suor Crocifissa, who has erysipelas, and 
 there were the other nuns, all confused and 
 upset, bustling out someone before I could come 
 into the cell. I guessed how it was. “ You 
 have had that impostor here,” said I. They 
 seemed not to understand. c< We have seen no 
 one,” said they ; “ we were saying our prayers.” 
 But I know well enough they had sent for her/ 
 
 ‘ What a shame ! But is the sister better V 
 asked his wife, indignant at the affront to her 
 husband, but much interested as to the result of 
 the witch's intervention. 
 
 ‘ Of course. She believes in the witch and 
 not in me. I doubt if they will give her what 
 I prescribe. But faith will pull her through.' 
 
 ‘I do not believe that Sora Emilia is a witch, 
 Gianluca, but she certainly has the evil eye, and 
 I must think of you and the children. The 
 last time she went to Signor Caranti's house-’ 
 
 However, she yielded and went to the palazzo, 
 and her mother’s heart got the better of super¬ 
 stition. 
 
 ‘ After all, she has done what no one else has 
 thought of doing,’ she reflected. ‘ What a 
 handsome child 1’ 
 
 And she was so good to Lina, so sure that 
 
IRtccolina IMccolint 
 
 the child would soon be well, knew so 
 thoroughly all the things of which poor Sora 
 Emilia was ignorant, that she found herself 
 treated as an old friend and anxiously urged to 
 come again soon. 
 
 She went out of the palazzo full of kind 
 feelings towards the child and her good friend, 
 and found herself face to face with the landlady 
 of the Red Rose, walking with reluctant steps 
 and scowling face. 
 
 ‘ Ah ! you are going to ask for the child V 
 said Signora Battistini; ‘ she is doing well.’ 
 
 £ No doubt she is doing well, and if not it is 
 because she was taken out of her bed with no 
 will of mine,’ returned the landlady sharply. 
 
 ‘ I have sent back every rag belonging to her, 
 and now I am taking this cross—I have a right 
 to keep it, and that I stand to ; but when one 
 like Sora Emilia comes into your house, and 
 calls evil down on you if you refuse to do a 
 thing, one knows what to expect.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean V asked the doctor’s wife 
 with anxious curiosity. 
 
 ‘ Listen, signora. I need not say what 
 happens wherever that lady is seen. Well, 
 yesterday she came to me ; she declared that 
 this cross belonged to Lina ; she stared at me 
 with those eyes of hers-enough ; hardly 
 
Wbat %im IRecollecteb 
 
 *57 
 
 was she gone when I hear a crash ; the maid 
 has dropped the soup tureen at the very moment 
 when the Signori Varada and Bersezio come in 
 to dine, and you may think if they like to be 
 kept fasting.’ 
 
 ‘ Servants break where there is no evil eye. 
 I know it but too well.’ 
 
 4 Wait, signora, wait. I run to see what has 
 happened, and my foot slips in the grease ; I 
 fall, and sprain my hand ; and half an hour 
 later, taking a heavy pot off the fire with one 
 hand, because I could not use the other, I 
 let it drop, and the scalding water fell on my 
 foot. And as if all this were not enough, the 
 last of my chickens were eaten by rats. One 
 sees what it is to have the Sora Emilia wish 
 one ill.’ 
 
 Signora Battistini listened in perturbation, 
 though her common-sense told her there was 
 nothing very strange in this series of mis¬ 
 fortunes. 
 
 4 In any case, you do well to restore the cross,’ 
 she said ; 4 perhaps one day it may help to have 
 the child recognised.’ 
 
 4 They say that a good action brings good 
 fortune,’ said la Manfredi; 4 1 have not found 
 it so. The saints know what worry I have had, 
 first with the mother and then with the child, 
 
TOccoUtta IRtccoltnt 
 
 158 
 
 and as for what I have spent, do not speak to 
 me of it.’ 
 
 Signora Battistina reflected that a good action 
 done against one’s will does not perhaps merit 
 much recompense, but she only answered : 
 
 ‘ I am sorry you have had expenses. It was 
 said that the poor mother had money/ 
 
 ‘ So many things are said, signora. The 
 double would not pay me for the time and 
 trouble I have given. Excuse me, signora, shall 
 you be going again to the palazzo ? I should 
 be very thankful if you would take the cross ; 
 I want to get back/ 
 
 Signora Battistini promised to deliver it next 
 day. She, too, wanted to get home, to make 
 sure that nothing had gone wrong there. All 
 was well, and she breathed freely, and had 
 courage to encounter the exclamations and dis¬ 
 approval of the friends whom she met that 
 evening at a small party. 
 
 ‘ You went to see Sora Emilia !’ they cried. 
 ‘ Nothing would have induced me. And is it 
 true that she has nothing sacred in her room ? 
 No crucifix nor rosary nor pictures, not even a 
 blessed palm branch V 
 
 ‘ I saw none, but there was a book of devotion 
 on a table/ 
 
 4 Nothing else ? What kind of book V 
 
Mbat Xlna IRecollecteb 
 
 T 59 
 
 ‘ An old black leather volume.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah ! and what do you think it was ?’ 
 
 ‘1 was not there to play the spy,’ answered 
 the doctor’s wife rather angrily. ‘Perhaps a 
 Bible.’ 
 
 ‘ A Bible ! It is said that the English, who 
 are the most disagreeable people in the world, 
 are always reading it.’ 
 
 ‘ The English are very religious ; I have heard 
 that they hear a sermon every day,’ said the 
 syndic’s wife. 
 
 ‘ Imagine that ! But as to l’Emilia, what 
 would you have ? Her father was a black sheep; 
 I have heard that he moved heaven and earth 
 to get privileges for the Yaldesi from the House 
 of Savoy. I do not understand about it, but so 
 Padre Antonio says.’ 
 
 ‘ But who then are these Yaldesi ?’ 
 
 ‘ That I hardly know—heretics, I fancy ; and 
 Sora Emilia will be tarred with the same brush 
 as the father ; and I cannot understand, Lucia, 
 how you could risk yourself thus.’ 
 
 Nevertheless, Signora Battistini returned the 
 next day to the palazzo to see the child, and to 
 prevent Mirtilla from carrying out a hundred 
 plans which made the young mother shudder, 
 and ask herself how a child would fare in the 
 hands of an old maid and an ignorant servant. 
 
i6o 
 
 IRiccoltna IRlccolmt 
 
 However, Lina was doing well, and showed 
 great delight at recovering her cross. 
 
 ‘ My mammy always wore it/ she said ; ‘ see, 
 here on the back is E for Elvira, and a D—I 
 do not know for what; she said it was her name 
 when she was a little girl/ 
 
 ‘ Her maiden name. If only she knew it!’ 
 said the doctor’s wife. Sora Emilia made a 
 sign of assent, inwardly reproaching herself for 
 being glad that the child could not tell it. 
 Already she could not bear the thought of 
 losing her. ‘ Do you know where your mamma 
 was born V asked Signora Battistini. 
 
 ‘ No. She never told me; but it was far, 
 far from here.’ 
 
 ‘ And you never saw any of her relatives ?’ 
 
 ‘ No; I do not know.’ The child seemed 
 puzzled. £ An ugly old gentleman came one 
 day and talked to her, and I think she cried, 
 and next day we left Castellaro.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you know what the old gentleman said ?’ 
 
 Sora Emilia made a movement as if to 
 silence her. She shrank from inducing the 
 little girl to betray what perhaps the dead 
 mother would not have had repeated. 
 
 ‘ We ought to lose no chance of learning 
 something about the child,’ whispered Signora 
 Battistini; and Sora Emilia submitted. 
 
Mbat Xttta iRecollecteb 
 
 i6r 
 
 4 1 do not know what he wanted; he talked 
 English.’ 
 
 4 He talked English ?’ 
 
 4 Yes. Ah, I know now: he said mamma 
 ought to take me to her country.’ 
 
 ‘Was she not Italian, then?’ asked Sora 
 Emilia, so much interested that she forgot her 
 scruples. 
 
 4 I do not know. Sometimes she spoke 
 English to me, and on Sunday she used to 
 take me to a church where the priest spoke 
 it, too.’ 
 
 The two ladies looked at one another, 
 astonished. 
 
 4 But granny and my aunts always spoke 
 Italian, and papa—only he talked English to 
 mamma, I think.’ 
 
 4 La Manfredi believes the mother was a 
 governess,’ whispered the doctor’s wife. 
 
 Lina’s quick ears caught the words. 
 
 ‘ She was not one bit a governess,’ she said 
 indignantly. 4 She was a rich lady of a noble 
 family ; Maria, granny’s maid, said so.’ 
 
 The two ladies smiled. 
 
 4 Do not take silly fancies into your head, 
 my dear,’ said Sora Emilia, with a shade of 
 reproof. 4 Noble ladies do not marry painters.’ 
 
 4 She was noble,’ persisted the child ; 4 but 
 
 21 
 
162 
 
 IRiccoliita IRtccoltnt 
 
 she loved papa, and left all to follow him. 
 Maria said so, but she told me not to tell.’ 
 
 For the second time the listeners exchanged 
 quick looks. 
 
 ‘It may be so,’ murmured the doctor’s wife. 
 
 ‘ Who knows V 
 
 ‘ It is said that English women are capable 
 of anything,’ returned Sora Emilia in a low 
 voice. 4 Perhaps the child is right.’ 
 
 ‘ Mammy said her mother was dead, but not 
 her father; I think we were going to him,’ 
 pursued Lina. 
 
 4 But why did you come here ?’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know.’ 
 
 ‘ They had only one valise,’ said Signora 
 Battistini to Sora Emilia. 
 
 ‘ Altro ! We had several boxes ; where are 
 our boxes V 
 
 ‘ Were they directed ?’ 
 
 ‘ I think not. I remember that Pempina 
 asked mamma if she would not write where 
 they were to go, and she would not.’ 
 
 ‘ It is too late now to make inquiries. What 
 a pity ! Why did you not tell the syndic about 
 the boxes, child ?’ 
 
 ‘ He asked me a heap of nonsense,’ said Lina 
 indignantly, ‘ and I was frightened, and cried, 
 and then he was cross.’ 
 
Mb at Xtna 1RecoUecteb 
 
 163 
 
 ‘ A woman would have learned everything,’ 
 said Signora Battistini; ‘ no doubt the syndic 
 does not know how to question children. How 
 unlucky ! Do not talk any more, my little 
 one,’ she went on, remarking the shining eyes 
 and flushed cheeks of the child, excited by the 
 recollections suddenly aroused. ‘ I will turn 
 your pillow, and you must try to sleep. If 
 you are good, I will bring my Riri and Dina 
 to see you, with the leave of Sora Emilia,’ 
 added the signora, turning to her hostess. 
 
 ‘ Ah, say they may come!’ implored Lina; 
 
 ‘ I will sleep all night and be quite well to¬ 
 morrow if you will, and love you so much, so 
 much !’ 
 
 The little rogue already knew how to manage 
 Sora Emilia, who gave quite an eager consent, 
 and took a grateful leave of the doctor’s wife. 
 
 cl 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LIFE IN THE PALAZZO. 
 
 In old days the Palazzo Sinibaldi had been 
 a fortress ; the walls were at least ten feet 
 thick, and all the lower windows were strongly 
 grated. As for the upper ones, their gray 
 outer shutters were usually closed, a precaution 
 very necessary in summer to keep out swarms 
 of flies, but which continued even when there 
 was neither sun nor a plague of insects to fear. 
 These grated and shuttered windows gave the 
 old palazzo a grim and prison-like air, as 
 they also did to the Palazzo Ampelio over 
 the way. 
 
 The rooms used by the family when they 
 came from Turin were furnished in modern 
 fashion, but all the others looked much as they 
 must have done in the Middle Ages. The great 
 stone staircase was uncarpeted and very dirty ; 
 the floors were brick; a large brazier stood in 
 the middle of the hall, along whose walls were 
 
%\tc in tbe lpala330 
 
 165 
 
 ranged long, high-backed lockers, black with 
 age, which served as cupboards for the men- 
 servants’ clothes, when—up to the time of the 
 present Marchese—they made their toilet in 
 the hall, a habit still existing in some old- 
 fashioned families. 
 
 Many rooms were unused and closed from 
 year’s end to year’s end, and dust lay thickly 
 on the heavy chairs and marble tables, on the 
 mirrors in their tarnished gilded frames, and 
 the shelves where stood the books collected by 
 some ecclesiastic of the family in bygone years. 
 On the walls hung portraits of stately lords 
 and ladies, some framed, others not, dusty and 
 faded, and always with the family arms painted 
 somewhere on the canvas, now above, now on 
 one side, or at the foot of the portraits, re¬ 
 presenting a long line of ancestors, dead 
 
 a g°- 
 
 Sora Emilia’s rooms were furnished in even 
 a more old-fashioned way than the rest of the 
 house, because, when her mother came to Aleria, 
 a widow and very poor, to live in the rooms 
 secured to her by her marriage contract in the 
 palazzo built by her husband’s forefathers, the 
 old Marchese, father of the present one, wishing 
 to do something for her without spending the 
 money which he was said to love rather too 
 
i66 
 
 IRtccoluta IKUccoUtti 
 
 much, bade her take from the lumber-rooms 
 enough furniture for her needs. 
 
 Oddly mingled with ancient chairs, covered 
 with stamped leather, a heavy table and an 
 old cabinet, were certain treasures brought from 
 Turin, and housed here because Sora Emilia’s 
 eldest brother, a priest in a seminary, had no 
 place for them; the second brother was out of 
 reach ; the married sister, that Isabella whom 
 Sora Emilia held in such awe, moving about 
 with her soldier husband, could carry no super¬ 
 fluities with her. A line of miniatures and 
 another of photographs were fastened on the 
 faded tapestry which covered the walls ; a 
 little work-table contrasted strangely with the 
 massive, stately furniture in whose company it 
 found itself; a rug, the colours of which had 
 once been gay, covered part of the stone floor. 
 There was an ample hearth, but for years no 
 fire had been kindled there, although in January 
 and February winter made itself distinctly felt 
 in Aleria. The walls of the palazzo were very 
 thick ; wood was dear, and when the day was 
 cold, Sora Emilia sat in any ray of sun she 
 could find, muffled in a shawl, her feet on one 
 of those little brass boxes pierced with holes, 
 which are called scaldini , and filled with hot 
 ashes, waiting for milder weather with melan- 
 
%ifc in tbe [Palajso 
 
 167 
 
 choly resignation, like everybody else in the 
 little town. Fortunately, cold days were not 
 numerous, and it was seldom that the sun did 
 not shine more or less during the day. 
 
 Looking at Lina, it occurred to her for the 
 first time that her rooms were cold, and perhaps 
 the child might suffer from it when winter 
 came. Usually she thought little about the 
 change of seasons, but now she was glad to 
 reflect that each day would become milder and 
 more sunny, and give Lina more chance of 
 getting well, which, indeed, she speedily did, 
 persuading Sora Emilia in a day or two to let 
 her go into her salotto , where she amused 
 herself by examining its contents. This diversion 
 presently palling on her, she asked Sora Emilia 
 to tell her a story; and when her friend asserted 
 that she knew none, Lina looked gravely at her 
 and asked : 
 
 ‘ Have you a headache ? When I used to 
 ask mamma to tell me a story she always had 
 a headache. Well, then, I will tell you one 
 instead.’ 
 
 And she launched into so marvellous a tale 
 that Sora Emilia, little used to children, especi¬ 
 ally imaginative ones, listened with consterna¬ 
 tion, and did not know what to say when 
 Lina demanded with triumph : 
 
i68 
 
 tttccoltna IWccolhtf 
 
 ‘ Did you like my story ? Now I will tell 
 you another.’ 
 
 ‘ But where can you have heard such stories, 
 my child ?’ 
 
 ‘ I make them in my head, and if you will 
 give me a bit of paper, I will draw you pictures 
 of all the people in them. You will give me 
 some paper, signora ? That donnaccia (nasty 
 woman) of a Manfredi never would ; but some¬ 
 times he did. I am like papa : when he was 
 little he kept every bit of paper to draw on. 
 He was a great painter, though that horrid old 
 man said he had never heard of him.’ 
 
 c Ah, you recollect that,’ said Sora Emilia, 
 smiling, amused at the flash of indignation in 
 Lina’s whole face. ‘ But it is not pretty to call 
 people by such names. I am very fond of Signor 
 dei Bardi.’ 
 
 ‘ Are you ? Well, so am I of Gino ; he is my 
 friend. I told him why I wanted money instead 
 of goodies, and he gave me a lira. Does he 
 know I am come to live here ?’ 
 
 ‘ He will, when he comes next summer. Tell 
 me more about your father,’ said Sora Emilia, 
 feeling that she ought to learn all she could 
 before the childish memories grew too dim. 
 
 ‘ He used to tell me how his mother and 
 uncle wanted him to be a priest, like the uncle 
 
Xffe In tbe pala33o 
 
 169 
 
 who brought him up and taught him his 
 lessons.’ Lina evidently did not realize that the 
 mother and uncle were any relations of hers. 
 c He had to study—study all day ; of an evening 
 he and his uncle went for a walk, and then to 
 the apothecary’s, where his uncle talked with 
 friends, and papa got a sheet of paper from the 
 apothecary’s wife, and sat in a corner to draw.’ 
 
 ‘ And how did he become a painter ?’ 
 
 ‘ I do not know ; but I mean to be a painter, 
 too.’ 
 
 Sora Emilia belonged to a time and class 
 alien to such ideas. 
 
 ‘ Women are not meant to be artists, my 
 dear,’ she answered. 
 
 ‘ But they are. Daddy told me of Marietta 
 Robusti, and Elisabetta Sirani, who was 
 poisoned by a wicked friend. Listen; I will 
 tell you about it.’ 
 
 Sora Emilia gave but a divided attention ; 
 she was thinking over such scraps of the child’s 
 history as she had gathered, and wondering 
 how it could be that one of evidently gentle 
 birth had been thus lost and abandoned. She 
 was roused by the little voice saying triumph¬ 
 antly : 
 
 ‘ So you see that women can be painters.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps the story is not true, dear.’ 
 
 22 
 
tfUccoMna IFUccoUni 
 
 
 170 
 
 ‘ Not true ! It was daddy who told me, and 
 promised to show me Elisabetta’s portrait at 
 Bologna, painted by herself/ 
 
 ‘ But when did she live ? I never heard any¬ 
 one speak of her , 7 said Sora Emilia, which was 
 not a very strong argument, had Lina only 
 known it. 
 
 ‘ Long, long ago.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, that is quite another thing , 7 returned 
 Sora Emilia, with a sigh of relief; ‘ women did 
 very strange things in old times, such as no 
 well-born persons dream of in our day . 7 
 
 Lina looked at her, and said nothing ; Sora 
 Emilia supposed she was convinced, and fell 
 again into thought, from which she was roused 
 by a plaintive little voice saying : 
 
 ‘Now, I am tired of talking 7 —a thing, it 
 must be admitted, which rarely happened— 
 ‘ it’s your turn. Tell me what your daddy did, 
 when he was little ; was he a good little boy, or 
 a bad one V 
 
 ‘ I am afraid he was rather a bad one , 7 an¬ 
 swered Sora Emilia, laughing a little. 
 
 ‘ Oh, how glad I am ! How ? how V 
 
 ‘ To begin with, then : he had to be sent to 
 school when quite a child, because he would not 
 obey the priest whom my grandfather had 
 chosen to teach his sons. He was a good man, 
 
%itc ttt tbe pala330 
 
 171 
 
 that priest, and my father esteemed him much 
 in after-days ; but he had no notion how to 
 treat children, and he was hot-tempered ; he 
 was for ever thrashing the boys, especially my 
 father, because he was such a restless little rogue. 
 When of an afternoon he took his nap he 
 dared not trust him alone, and kept him with 
 him in a darkened room, and of a night he 
 made him say all the evening prayers with 
 him.’ 
 
 ‘ And in school V asked Lina hopefully. 
 
 ‘ Worse and worse. You cannot guess how 
 severe the discipline was then ; the priests 
 managed the boys as men would who knew 
 nothing of children, and expected absolute 
 obedience. The first week my father went, all 
 the boys took a walk to a church some way off, 
 two and two, repeating prayers aloud as they 
 went. Once out in the country, it was not 
 possible to keep strict order, and a little liberty 
 was—well, not allowed, but unwillingly tole¬ 
 rated, by the priests who accompanied the 
 procession. In the church my father found a 
 cousin ; the two slipped into a cafe, and when 
 the roll-call was heard he did not answer. Of 
 course he was soon found, and for four days he 
 had nothing but thin soup and dry bread/ 
 
 4 1 would not have touched it 1’ 
 
172 
 
 IRiccoIma IRtccoltnt 
 
 ‘ I think you would. Shall we try V 
 
 £ If ever I run away from you/ answered the 
 child, looking at her with eyes so full of affec¬ 
 tion that Sora Emilia felt her own grow wet as 
 she kissed her, and went on with her story. 
 
 ‘ Unfortunately, ever after my father had the 
 name of a black sheep among the masters, and 
 was always in disgrace. Once he had to write 
 out a punishment lesson ; it was in winter, and 
 the class-room freezing. There was a fire at 
 one end ; every scholar gave a log daily to keep 
 it up; the priest, a certain Don Basile, who 
 was keeping guard over my father, sat by it; 
 but the poor pupil had to sit far off at the 
 long table. He asked leave to warm his hands; 
 it was refused. “ I cannot write,” said my 
 father ; and Don Basile replied : “ Stay where 
 you are, or I’ll thrash you !” All the same, my 
 father slipped towards the fire. Don Basile 
 turned, saw him, and pinched his ear with the 
 hot tongs.’ 
 
 c I would have killed him !’ cried Lina 
 violently. 
 
 ‘ You do not know what you are saying, 
 child,’ returned Sora Emilia austerely, repenting 
 having begun a story so unedifying. 
 
 ‘ But what happened ? Ah, do tell me quickly 
 what happened ! ’ 
 
%xtc in tbe fl>ala33o 
 
 173 
 
 ‘ I am sorry to say that my father sprang on 
 the priest with a log from the wood basket.’ 
 
 ‘ And gave him a lattone —that nasty priest ? 
 Say he did ! Do say he did f 
 
 ‘ Alas ! yes ; and fled home. All the family 
 were in the greatest alarm ; for at that time 
 the power of the priest was unbounded. Of 
 course he had to go back and take his thrash¬ 
 ing ; but he did not feel it much, because he 
 had put on all his own jackets and his brother’s 
 too. You clap your hands ? Ah, child, that 
 blow was never forgotten, and long years after 
 he found it recollected against him. But you 
 are too young to hear these things.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you tell me when I am older V 
 ‘ We shall see. Now, what would you like 
 to do ? You must not tire your eyes.’ 
 
 ‘ Bead me something. ’ 
 
 Poor Sora Emilia looked much at a loss. 
 Books are few in Italian houses, and where a 
 circulating library chances to exist only men 
 go there to seek a volume now and then. Italian 
 women and children hardly read anything. 
 Perhaps two or three prize-books, or a novel, 
 may be seen in a drawing-room, rarely anything 
 else. Sora Emilia never opened a book ; pro¬ 
 bably she had never looked at a newspaper ; 
 certainly she had never bought a single volume 
 
174 
 
 IRtccolma Vltccolfnt 
 
 in her life. However, she recollected that among 
 the family papers in a closet there were two 
 or three—come she knew not whence, and 
 brought here with other things from Turin. 
 She went to seek them, hoping to find some¬ 
 thing which might amuse Lina. There was 
 Tasso’s ‘Gerusalemme Liberata,’ the ‘ Life of St. 
 Scholastica,’ an old volume of Goldoni’s plays, 
 the ‘ Life of Alfieri,’ and a translation of ‘ Uncle 
 Toni’s Cabin,’ which someone had given to her 
 sister Isabella—the only story which she had 
 been allowed to read before her marriage. It 
 did not seem a book likely to be popular among 
 Italians ; yet it had an extraordinary success, 
 and to girls, to whom stories were things un¬ 
 known, it seemed the most delightful reading. 
 
 Emilia, however, had not seen it; but, per¬ 
 ceiving the name of her sister on the cover, she 
 felt safe in reading it, and it would be difficult 
 to say whether she or Lina were the more fasci¬ 
 nated. Mirtilla could hardly make them hear 
 when she announced that dinner was ready, and 
 stood amazed to see them thus absorbed. 
 
 ‘ If it were the dream-book, I could under¬ 
 stand this,’ she said. Mirtilla read with diffi¬ 
 culty, but she had studied the dream-book so 
 constantly that she knew every word of it. 
 She consulted it every time she dreamed, and 
 
%if e in tbe fl>ala330 
 
 J 75 
 
 firmly believed in the explanations found there, 
 but she could not comprehend how people could 
 be so interested in a story ‘ not true/ as she 
 said. ‘ One would think these people you tell 
 me of were your blood-relations !’ 
 
 And, to tell the truth, Sora Emilia and Lina 
 were much more interested in the characters 
 whose story they were following than some 
 people ever are in their relations. When the 
 book was finished they began it again, and it 
 would not be safe to guess how often it was 
 re-read. One result was, that Lina expressed a 
 strong desire to have this Bible that the book 
 said so much about. Did Sora Emilia know it ? 
 
 ‘ I have one/ she answered, after a moment’s 
 hesitation. 
 
 Lina’s face lighted up. ‘ How ? the same, 
 the very same that Uncle Tom had ? Oh, do 
 show it to me ! ; And Sora Emilia fetched from 
 her bedroom a small volume, bound in black 
 leather, with silver clasps. She opened it 
 reverently. 
 
 ‘ It has been in the fire/ said Lina 
 wonderingly. 
 
 ‘ It was saved from a burning house—the only 
 thing that was rescued—and carried into exile. 
 After many years, it was brought back, but the 
 owner was dead. And this was inside it/ 
 
IRiccolina IRtccoIinf 
 
 I 76 
 
 ‘ Was Uncle Tom the owner ?’ 
 
 ‘ No, no, child. I did not mean that this 
 very book was his.’ 
 
 Lina was disappointed. ‘ And what is drawn 
 on this paper ?’ she said, pointing to one 
 gummed inside the Bible. ‘It is a house. 
 Whoever did that could not draw one bit.’ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps not. But he loved that house, so I 
 suppose he tried to make a picture of it.’ 
 
 ‘ Where is it ?’ 
 
 ‘ A long way from here in a mountain valley,’ 
 answered Sora Emilia, her eyes growing wet. 
 ‘ It is a little old house, with such thick walls, 
 you would think it was a fortress, and a few 
 rooms. No one lives in it now.’ 
 
 ‘ Who used to live there ?’ 
 
 ‘ It belonged to my father, and when we were 
 children we went there in the summer with 
 him and my mother. It was what I looked 
 forward to all the year round.’ 
 
 ‘ Why do you not go there now V 
 
 ‘ It costs too much money, dear.’ 
 
 Lina’s quick ear caught the tone in Sora 
 Emilia’s voice ; she looked up at her, and then 
 kissed her hand. 
 
 ‘ Why do you do that, bimba ?’ asked her 
 friend, smiling; but Lina made no answer. She 
 looked again at the drawing which she had 
 
%itc in tbe pala33o 
 
 177 
 
 judged so severely. ‘ Why is there a little 
 cross here V she asked, pointing to a mark near 
 one window. 
 
 4 Is there ? I never noticed it. It is an 
 accident, I suppose.’ 
 
 4 It is made on purpose. It means some¬ 
 thing.’ 
 
 ‘Well, you must try to find out what. It 
 will be something for you to do.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you read me some of this book some¬ 
 times ? Mamma had one, but grannie said it 
 was a Protestant book, and she did not like me 
 to hear it. Mamma did not read it much, you 
 know,’ said Lina apologetically. ‘Perhaps yours 
 is different. Hers was in English.’ 
 
 ‘ It is God’s Word, child, and He meant us 
 to read it,’ answered Sora Emilia. ‘ It is His 
 message to us.’ 
 
 It was such opinions as these which made 
 Don Lorenzo, the parish priest, and the ladies 
 of Aleria hold Sora Emilia in suspicion, and 
 cast up the misdeeds of her father against her; 
 but how they became known was difficult to 
 guess, since she was not intimate enough with 
 anyone to express them in society. At first the 
 conduct of Signora Battistini in not only fre¬ 
 quenting the Palazzo Sinibaldi, but in actually 
 taking her children there, aroused a chorus of 
 
 23 
 
178 
 
 IFUccollrta IFUccoUnt 
 
 disapprobation. As for her husband, no doubt 
 he was a freethinker, like so many doctors; but 
 that the mother of a family should do such a 
 thing was inconceivable. It was not pleasant 
 to Signora Battistini to feel herself disapproved 
 of, but by-and-by, when no harm befell her or 
 her children, and Lina was seen smiling and 
 joyous beside Sora Emilia, the mothers of Aleria 
 began to feel an interest in the old maid who 
 had undertaken the difficult task of bringing up 
 a child. They asked each other how, poor as 
 all knew her to be, she could feed and clothe 
 her charge. They all knew how much even 
 shoes cost, let alone other things. How the 
 child grew, and how handsome she was ! Sora 
 Emilia had done a good action in taking her. 
 Public opinion veered round to Sora Emilia’s 
 side, and she was aware of it with surprise and 
 pleasure, laying it all down to the interest 
 inspired by Lina. Who would not wish to see 
 in her house a child so graceful, so clever ? 
 And they could not well invite Lina alone, so 
 they asked her too. She was too timid, and 
 had lived too much out of society to accept such 
 invitations willingly, but for Lina’s sake they 
 could not be refused. And thus, by degrees, 
 the prejudice against Sora Emilia died out, at 
 all events among her equals; and she often 
 
%ifc in tbe pala330 
 
 179 
 
 spent an evening in one house or another, where 
 the ladies knitted and embroidered, and the 
 younger ones played at noisy games, or danced 
 to a much later hour than would have been 
 thought possible, except at a ball in England, 
 and yet were as fresh next day as if they 
 had gone to bed at eight o’clock instead of 
 midnight. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN OFFER AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 How to occupy Lina was an ever-pressing 
 question with Sora Emilia. Recovered from 
 her short illness, she grew more full of life, 
 more active than ever, and the vagabond habits 
 acquired while neglected and uncontrolled by 
 the landlady of the Red Rose made her doubly 
 restless. She ran all over the palazzo, helped 
 Mirtilla or hindered her as the case might be, 
 went out with her to make such small purchases 
 as were required, and studied the family pictures 
 hanging below the painted frieze which ran 
 along the walls—marchesi and conti, some in 
 armour, with lace collars over their gorgets, 
 stiff and stately ladies, and a cardinal, whose 
 red hat hung above his likeness. 
 
 Lina found great pleasure in wandering 
 through the great, silent rooms, now lifting her 
 eyes to the ceilings, where mythological sub¬ 
 jects were painted between gilded beams, now 
 
Hn ©ffec anD its Consequences 
 
 181 
 
 examining the massive furniture, the high- 
 backed chairs with the family arms on each, the 
 marble tables, the little black clocks with ivory 
 figures on either side, which had not been 
 wound up time out of mind, the faded silk 
 curtains, the locked cabinets, which she vainly 
 longed to open. She did not care for the 
 apartments occupied by the Marchese and his 
 family; it was the part of the house where 
 nothing modern was to be seen which attracted 
 her. 
 
 Sora Emilia could not understand the restless 
 activity of the child at all, nor her desire to be 
 always doing something. She would have 
 liked to keep her always beside her, and re¬ 
 peatedly told her how at Lina’s age she herself 
 used to sit by her mother for hours, and never 
 dreamed of doing anything without asking per¬ 
 mission. ‘ How very stupid !’ responded Lina, 
 and ‘ How changed children are !’ sighed poor 
 Sora Emilia, who had been a feeble, ailing, 
 quiet girl, brought up austerely, and accus¬ 
 tomed to the last day of her mother’s life to 
 obey her as implicitly as when she w r as five years 
 old. Now that she was left alone, she con¬ 
 tinued the life to which she had been trained ; 
 she would knit or crochet or tat a border by 
 the hour, or do nothing at all with calm con- 
 
IRiccoltna IRtccoUm 
 
 182 
 
 tent, asking for no other amusement than to 
 sit sometimes on the loggia, looking out and 
 watching the townsfolk taking their evening 
 walk or leaning over their balconies—the syndic 
 passing below, with his wife and a daughter on 
 either side of him, the young ladies looking 
 straight before them like well-brought-up girls, 
 the wife greeting her friends; or the doctor and 
 his family ; two priests, perhaps, going for a 
 quiet walk, and lifting their hats as they passed 
 the church at the end of the street; the group 
 of shopkeepers sitting on a stone bench near 
 the wine-shop, sending a buzz of talk out on 
 the evening air. 
 
 Sora Emilia was quite content to be a 
 spectator of it all; she had never taken any 
 active part in life, and had little to regret 
 except the summers when, with all her family, 
 she used to go to the country house of which she 
 had spoken to Lina, when, lying in the grass 
 under the chestnut-trees, she quietly enjoyed 
 the blue sky, the cool shade, and the smell of 
 the hay, while the hum of insect life and the 
 shrill notes of the cicalas caressed her ear and 
 soothed her into a half-sleep. 
 
 She watched Lina’s wild racing and capering 
 when they went for a country walk with mild 
 wonder, and trembled lest she should make a 
 
Bn <Mer attfc its Consequences 
 
 183 
 
 scandal every time that they went to the 
 syndic’s vineyard, where they were often invited, 
 together with Signora Battistini and her Riri 
 and Dina, whose real names were Maria and 
 Bernarda, but no one ever called them so. 
 They worshipped Lina, and on every Thursday, 
 the weekly holiday, were clamorous to see her. 
 
 The syndic’s wife, who was Dina’s godmother, 
 was fond of children, and easily persuaded to 
 ask them all—of course, Sora Emilia could not 
 be left out—to her vineyard, whither they all 
 walked together, Emilia in her old bonnet and 
 black dress which had done such long service, 
 and the two other ladies in hats, all three 
 carrying fans. The children were dressed as 
 simply as possible; it was all very friendly and 
 easy. They sat under the cherry-trees, near a 
 border where two or three rose-bushes grew 
 half wild, and ate cherries or grapes according 
 to the season; the children played together, 
 and if they strayed out of sight there was sure 
 to be an anxious call of 4 Riri!’ or ‘ Lina, where 
 are you ?’ 
 
 Children, especially girls, are ‘ careful com¬ 
 forts ’ in Italy. Sora Emilia was always uneasy 
 lest la Battistini, or, still more, the syndic’s 
 wife, should think her child ill brought up, and 
 a bad companion for the other two, whom she 
 
184 
 
 IRtccoUtta IFUccoUnt 
 
 made as wild as herself; but times were changed 
 since Emilia’s girlhood. Signora Battistini was 
 not shocked at all: she was enthusiastic about 
 gymnastics and higher education, matters which 
 the syndic’s wife shrugged her shoulders over, 
 and which alarmed Sora Emilia extremely; she 
 could not understand them at all, and secretly 
 thought them not quite proper. 
 
 This, indeed, was the sentiment of most 
 people who thought about what might be called 
 the 4 New Learning ’ in Aleria and many other 
 places, but la Battistini, and other young 
 mothers here and there, had ambitious views for 
 their children, and looked forward to the girls 
 taking a position as teachers in a college at 
 Turin, or Milan, or Rome, and finally marrying 
 professors. Where such hopes prevailed every¬ 
 thing was apt to be sacrificed to lessons, as the 
 one thing needful, family comfort included; but 
 Signora Battistini was too fond of her husband 
 to do this ; and, besides, at present Riri and 
 Dina could only attend the nuns’ school. If 
 her dream for them was ever to be realized, 
 they must be sent to a convitto (boarding- 
 school), and pass those terrible examinations 
 for their diplomas ; and though she put away 
 every halfpenny she could, it was very doubtful 
 how the expenses could be met, even though the 
 
Bn (Mer anfc its Consequences 
 
 185 
 
 doctor got some occasional practice among the 
 visitors in the summer, to eke out his salary of 
 eight pounds a year as medico condotto. 
 
 Sora Emilia would listen mildly to all that 
 
 %j 
 
 the young mother had to say on this subject, 
 but inwardly she protested against every word, 
 and resolved that Lina should be brought up 
 in good old ways, like herself. Alas! the 
 gentle old maid had not counted with changed 
 times and Lina herself, who, stimulated by her 
 little friends, dreamed of triumphs and prizes, 
 and declared that she meant to go back to 
 school. ‘Not to Suora Pia’s class/' she said ; ‘ I 
 am not a baby ; I shall be with Biri, and have 
 Suora Elena for my mistress; she knows how to 
 teach: she is not an empty pumpkin, like Suora 
 Pia/ 
 
 ‘ Lina, I am astonished! You know very 
 well how naughty it is to speak thus/ said Sora 
 Emilia, greatly scandalized. ‘ Plow dare you 
 call Suora Pia, a nun, an empty pumpkin F 
 She cast an alarmed look at Signora Battistini, 
 and if in one way she was relieved, in another 
 she was still more shocked, to see her biting her 
 lips to prevent herself from laughing. 
 
 ‘ But she is an empty pumpkin f returned 
 Lina indignantly ; ‘ she cannot teach, and she 
 made them whitewash my picture.’ 
 
 24 
 
i86 
 
 IFUccoltna IFUccoUnt 
 
 4 You mean to be a painter some day, is it not 
 so, Lina V said Signora Battistini. 
 
 Lina shot a swift glance at Sora Emilia. 
 
 4 Yes/ she answered brusquely. 4 Come along, 
 Dina.’ And she scampered off. 
 
 The two ladies were sitting on a bench above 
 the shore, whence they could keep an eye on the 
 children at play. The sun had set, but a rich 
 saffron glow suffused the western sky ; a great 
 headland stood purple against it. High up 
 where saffron faded into pale blue a star shone 
 large and clear ; the sea had a thousand delicate 
 tints and shades. Sora Emilia saw none of 
 these things ; she looked with distress at her 
 companion and said : 
 
 c I would ask you not to encourage her in this 
 idea. I hoped she had forgotten it/ 
 
 4 Forgotten it! But she speaks of it con- 
 
 ‘ Not to me/ said Sora Emilia, rather hurt. 
 
 4 1 suppose only mothers understand children. ’ 
 
 4 Perhaps/ assented Signora Battistini, who, 
 of course, being a mother, was fully persuaded 
 of this, though by-and-by she would learn how 
 many mistakes even the best mother sadly owns 
 to herself that she makes, and perhaps might 
 find with a keener pang than Sora Emilia that 
 she did not 4 understand * her girls, however 
 
Hit ©ffer anfc its Consequences 
 
 187 
 
 much love there was between her and them. 
 It did not surprise her that Lina said nothing 
 about her plans to Sora Emilia ; the child was 
 far too quick-witted not to be aware when 
 sympathy was lacking, and, besides, though full 
 of tenderness and affection, and anxious to show 
 herself sympathetic, Sora Emilia was so timid 
 and easily rebuffed that she often seemed severe 
 when only shrinking into herself, and she was 
 painfully scrupulous and nervous where Lina 
 was concerned. 
 
 Nevertheless, her life had grown much happier 
 since the child had come to her ; she no longer 
 felt that void which had depressed her, and she 
 had a bond of interest with all the mothers who 
 smiled kindly at her little perplexities, and 
 readily gave her all the advice she could desire 
 —perhaps rather more ; but she listened humbly, 
 taking it for granted that they must know all 
 of which she felt so ignorant. She went on 
 speaking after a moment: 
 
 ‘ Certainly she is always drawing, but I only 
 thought of it as a means of keeping her quiet. 
 If she has a sheet of paper, she will sit still 
 by the hour. Luckily, there are a good many 
 blank ones in the old account-books and family 
 papers which I have in my cupboard ; you may 
 think I do not waste my money in buying any. 
 
i88 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccolmi 
 
 Yes ; she seems to want nothing else when she 
 is drawing, though a bit of quicksilver at other 
 times.’ 
 
 She stopped because Lina came racing back, 
 followed by the other children. 
 
 ‘ I said I should be first,’ she cried. ‘ Zietta ’ 
 (little aunt ; a name she had found for Sora 
 Emilia), ‘ I will not call Suora Pia an empty 
 pumpkin any more, since you do not like it, but 
 you will let me go to school V 
 
 ‘ We shall see. Perhaps when you have 
 learned to say fettuccia instead of nastro (ribbon), 
 and bacino instead of catinella (basin), I may 
 think about it.’ 
 
 Sora Emilia was very particular as to Lina’s 
 language. Not only did she prohibit many 
 words learned from her companions when she 
 ran wild on the shore and in the streets of 
 Aleria, but she made war on all which she did 
 not consider Tuscan. The good Emilia was 
 decidedly pedantic in this respect. 
 
 ‘ I will, I will, zietta. But you will promise 
 me that I shall go to school to-morrow V 
 
 ‘ Cannot you even wait till next week ?’ said 
 Sora Emilia, feeling quite overpowered by this 
 impetuosity. 
 
 ‘ Better an egg to-day than a hen to-morrow,’ 
 returned Lina ; and this time Signora Battistini 
 
an ©ffer an& its Consequences 
 
 189 
 
 burst out laughing, and Emilia could not help 
 doing the same. They sent the children away 
 to play on the shore again, and Signora Battis- 
 tini said : 
 
 ‘ Content her, dear signora; she needs com¬ 
 panions and the discipline of school. See how 
 she overflows with life and spirits ; if ever 
 she is naughty, it is because she has nothing 
 to do.’ 
 
 c It is true. But my mother—heaven keep 
 her in its peace !—my mother would never have 
 allowed us to leave her during several hours, or 
 to chatter of a hundred things outside of family 
 interests. It seems to me very perilous. 5 
 
 ‘ Do you think it was better when girls were 
 educated in a convent V 
 
 1 Surely ; they were perfectly safe there.’ 
 
 ‘ They often learned a great many things 
 from one another which would have greatly 
 surprised the nuns. And as for me, I cannot 
 think it well that children should grow up far 
 from their parents, hardly knowing them, in 
 fact, with no tie of common interests between 
 brothers and sisters. My mother was sent to 
 a convent at five years old, and only left it to 
 marry a man she had never seen. She had 
 been very happy, and always loved the nuns 
 better than her own sisters. I always said to 
 
190 
 
 VUccoUna Vltccolini 
 
 myself that it should not be thus with my 
 children/ 
 
 ‘ Perhaps you are right; I cannot say,’ 
 answered Sora Emilia, rising with a sigh. ‘ We 
 must call the children and go home/ 
 
 ‘ Children, come and divide these cakes,’ called 
 Signora Battistini; and they came ; but when 
 offered the cakes, Dina touched Lina with a 
 meaning look, and both declined. Signora 
 Battistini smiled, and did not press them ; Biri 
 ate her share with satisfaction. 
 
 Sora Emilia could not take the matter so 
 quietly. The fare in Palazzo Sinibaldi was so 
 extremely simple that a little treat such as a 
 cake was an event to Lina, and if she refused 
 it, surely she could not feel well. When they 
 reached the palazzo, Sora Emilia anxiously 
 questioned her. 
 
 ‘ Oh, I am quite well, and hungry, too,’ 
 answered Lina ; ‘ but Dina and I settled that we 
 would not eat any as a self-denial for St. Joseph’s 
 sake. Dina says that the sisters say it is a 
 good thing to give up something you like for a 
 saint’s sake, and so we thought that if we did 
 this, and then asked St. Joseph to make me be 
 sent to school, it would be a good plan. But 
 Biri was nasty ; she said St. Joseph would not 
 care, if we only did it to get him to help us; 
 
Hit <Mer anfc its Consequences 191 
 
 and she likes cakes, she said. So do I, but I 
 did not eat any,’ concluded Lina with satisfac¬ 
 tion. 
 
 4 I agree with Rira,’ said Sora Emilia dryly. 
 
 Lina opened her black eyes. 
 
 4 But the nuns say-’ she began. 
 
 4 Listen, my child. You wanted to make a 
 little bargain, did you not ? Should I be 
 pleased if you treated me so ?’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, but you are different.’ 
 
 4 Think a little, and perhaps it will not seem 
 so very different. And, Lina, when you want 
 something that is right and good for you, do 
 you ask Nata or me for it V 
 
 4 1 ask you, unless I am afraid you will say 
 no, and then I get Nata to ask.’ 
 
 4 And which do I like best V 
 
 Lina flushed red. 
 
 4 1 think you like me to ask your own se If. ’ 
 
 4 And be sure, child, that the dear Lord likes 
 best that you should ask Him and no one else,’ 
 said Sora Emilia. 
 
 Lina looked at her with large, wondering 
 eyes, but she said no more. 
 
 Of course the question of school was settled 
 as Lina desired, though her friend had to go 
 without a much-needed new dress to pay for 
 books and schooling, of which sacrifice she said 
 
192 
 
 fUccolitta IRtccoltnt 
 
 nothing, and she grew interested in various 
 new subjects which Lina chattered to her about. 
 
 Mirtilla had to go and come with the child, 
 for every scholar was escorted backwards and 
 forwards ; even Signora Battistini, for all her 
 advanced notions, would not have dreamed of 
 letting her children walk the length of their 
 street alone, and always took them to the 
 convent herself and fetched them home, as did 
 all the other mothers of Aleria whose children 
 went there, unless they had a maid who could 
 be spared to go, which was seldom the case. 
 
 Lina learned fast and well, and was a 
 favourite with her teachers as well as among 
 her schoolfellows, and the months went by so 
 fast that summer had come again before either 
 she or Sora Emilia could believe it possible. 
 Of course it brought the bagnanti with it. 
 
 Sora Emilia was secretly nervous at the 
 prospects of meeting Signor dei Bardi, and 
 undergoing the fire of his wit on her having 
 taken his advice as to Lina, but she need not 
 have troubled herself; he had forgotten all 
 about the matter, and Lina as a nicely-dressed, 
 well-behaved little lady did not interest him at 
 all; he hardly connected her with his Impro- 
 visatrice, and, besides, he had sold the picture 
 and begun another, and, though he was always 
 
Hn Qttev anfc its Consequences 193 
 
 absorbed in a painting as long as it was in hand, 
 when once it was finished he cared no more 
 about it. ‘ I paint a subject out of my mind,’ 
 he would say. 
 
 He came this year without his wife, who 
 was detained by the illness of her father, and 
 therefore had all the responsibility of Gino on 
 his shoulders. Father and son were very fond 
 of one another, but he was glad sometimes to 
 dispose safely of him, and thus Gino spent a 
 good deal of time in Palazzo Sinibaldi, and he 
 and Lina had a great deal of confidential con¬ 
 versation. Gino had been her first friend, 
 and though she was fond of Kiri and Dina, 
 they were not nearly so dear to her as he 
 was. 
 
 Sora Emilia used to wonder sometimes what 
 the boy and girl were saying to one another as 
 they sat together, talking by the hour in low 
 voices in the semi-twilight of the shuttered 
 room, cool and silent, while outside everything 
 was ablaze and burned with fierce sunshine. If 
 any words reached her, they always seemed to be 
 about Gino’s books and Lina’s lessons, and her 
 drawing. 
 
 Signor dei Bardi still clung to the hope that 
 his son would follow in his steps and be a 
 painter, but everyone else saw that the boy had 
 
 25 
 
T 94 
 
 IRiccoUrta IRtccollnl 
 
 no turn for art. It was a constant struggle 
 during the holidays on the father’s part to get 
 Gino to paint at least an hour or two a day, 
 and on the boy’s to escape these unwelcome 
 lessons. 
 
 4 If you can’t paint, I suppose you can’t,’ said 
 Lina with deep regret. ‘ I suppose you can 
 only be a lawyer.’ She spoke with depressed 
 contempt. 
 
 4 It is better to be a good lawyer than a bad 
 artist,’ returned Gino ; ‘ but I should not mind 
 painting, since babbo wishes it so much, for a 
 little time every day, if I had you to paint with 
 me.’ 
 
 And in pursuance of this idea Gino volunteered 
 to his father that he would consent to study 
 with him if Lina came too. Signor dei Bardi 
 laughed as at a good joke, but Gino was in 
 grave earnest. 
 
 ‘ Do you not recollect how well she drew last 
 year, babbo ?’ he said. ‘ She ought to be taught, 
 not I.’ 
 
 ‘It is a pretty thing to have you making 
 conditions with me, you young rascal,’ said 
 Signor dei Bardi. ‘When I was your age, 
 if my father-’ 
 
 But Gino knew he had got his own way, and 
 stopped the words with a hug. 
 
Htt <Mer anfc its Consequences 195 
 
 It was more difficult to persuade Sora Emilia; 
 she did not like the plan at all. 
 
 ‘ I do not think it desirable/ she said with 
 unwonted decision when Gino came flying to 
 tell her what he had arranged, and how babbo 
 was coming to talk to her about it. ‘ I am 
 sorry, Gino, but I cannot allow it.’ 
 
 Lina, who had sprung up all glowing with 
 joy, stood looking at her, dumb and pale; she 
 could find no words. 
 
 ‘ I am sorry, my child, since you wish it,’ 
 went on Sora Emilia, without the least idea how 
 poorly her words represented the tumultuous 
 delight and longing in Lina’s breast when she 
 suddenly heard of Gino’s plan, which he had 
 kept a profound secret ; ‘ but I do not choose to 
 accept Signor dei Bardi’s proposal. You must 
 believe-’ 
 
 ‘ You are very cruel,’ broke in Lina in almost 
 a whisper, casting a look on Sora Emilia which 
 startled her inexpressibly, and she dashed out 
 of the room. 
 
 ‘ You see, she cares more about her painting 
 than anything,’ said Gino calmly, and poor Sora 
 Emilia, quite pale and trembling, could only 
 respond : 
 
 ‘ So I see, indeed.’ 
 
 ‘ And when one never expected to have what 
 
196 
 
 IRiccoltna IRiccoltnt 
 
 one wanted, and got the chance, it feels worse 
 to lose it,’ went on Gino in the same gentle tone. 
 
 4 Gino, you understand nothing about it. 
 I think Nata had better take you home/ said 
 Sora Emilia, much disturbed. 
 
 Although Gino was eleven years old, nobody 
 would have thought it possible that he should 
 return through the little town alone. 
 
 4 All right,’ he answered, kissing her hand in 
 farewell. 4 I will find Nata.’ 
 
 4 Do not go to Lina. I wish her to be left 
 alone. ’ 
 
 4 All right,’ answered Gino again. 4 Babbo 
 will be surprised, I think. He has been asked 
 a hundred times to take a pupil, and never 
 would. Adieu, signora.’ 
 
 He made his courteous little bow in the 
 doorway and disappeared, leaving poor Sora 
 Emilia overwhelmed by the sense of rejecting 
 a special favour. She had not thought of it 
 in this light. 
 
 4 What will Gino say to his father V she 
 thought; but even the fear of offending her 
 old friend was forgotten as she thought of the 
 look which Lina had launched at her. 4 She 
 does not love me any longer,’ she sighed. 
 4 Have I done wrong ? What would her mother 
 have done V 
 
Hu Qftev anb its Consequences 
 
 197 
 
 As it happened, whatever mistakes Sora 
 Emilia might make, she brought up Lina 
 much better than poor Elvira would have done ; 
 but no doubt she was at a disadvantage in not 
 having the universally-acknowledged authority 
 of a parent. Lina did not come back. Unfor¬ 
 tunately, it was by no means rare for her to 
 fall into a passion; but until now she had 
 quickly repented, and run to kiss Sora Emilia, 
 and to ask pardon. This time Lina thought 
 her so cruel, so tyrannical, she was so unhappy 
 that she did not know what to do or say to 
 relieve herself. She ran away to a room as far 
 as possible from Sora Emilia’s apartment, and 
 believed herself the most miserable, ill-used 
 child in the world. She threw herself on the 
 floor with her hands in her black curls, and 
 rolled about and said all the naughtiest and 
 most ungrateful things that a passionate little 
 Southerner could think of, not tearful but 
 furious. By-and-by the dim light in the 
 shuttered room, the chill of the marble floor, 
 the silence and solitude, began to impress 
 her. She was an imaginative child, always 
 much affected by her surroundings. She sat 
 up, and a sense of new desolation came upon 
 her. * Babbo ! babbo f she wailed. 
 
 To her childish mind so long a time had 
 
198 
 
 IRtccoUna IFUccoltnt 
 
 passed since she saw any other of her relations 
 that the recollection of them had grown vague 
 and uncertain. Even her mother became a dim 
 memory. But of her father she thought often ; 
 she had loved him with all her warm little 
 heart, and had seldom been away from him. 
 He had found comfort and compensation in his 
 little daughter for many disappointments and 
 dark hours. 
 
 ‘ Babbo would like me to learn to paint,’ 
 she sobbed, with a confused idea that if she 
 could do as he had done it would bring him 
 nearer. ‘ Sora Emilia is very cruel.’ And her 
 eyes flashed through tears again. ‘ I wonder 
 where Sora Emilia is,’ was her next thought, 
 and then it struck her as strange and even 
 alarming that no one should have come to look 
 for her all this while. Sora Emilia must be 
 very angry with her. Gentle and timid as she 
 was, she could be angry sometimes, Lina knew, 
 and the thought made her afraid, a sense of 
 guilt coming heavily upon her as she remem¬ 
 bered all the accusations which she had been 
 bringing against her. To be sure, Sora Emilia 
 did not know of them—and yet Lina had a kind 
 of belief that she did. At all events, Lina 
 herself knew very well. It was with a sad 
 little face, and a heart divided between alarm 
 
Bn Offer anfc its Consequences 
 
 i 99 
 
 and resentment, that at length she went with 
 slow' steps to Sora Emilia’s sitting-room, very 
 doubtful what to do or say. 
 
 Sora Emilia was sitting with her back to 
 the window, so that Lina could not see her 
 face very well. She had had a visit from Signor 
 dei Bardi, so happy and so much amused that 
 it was a pleasure to see him, and a thousand 
 miles from imagining that any difficulties could 
 arise from Sora Emilia. It appeared that Gino 
 had said nothing at all, which made her position 
 all the more difficult, and now she sat embar¬ 
 rassed, considering how to explain why she had 
 yielded. For she had yielded. 
 
 4 Lina, come here,’ she said. 4 1 have seen 
 Signor dei Bardi.’ 
 
 And then she paused, and Lina’s heart 
 swelled anew in rebellion. She knew what 
 would come next; the offer had been refused. 
 Sora Emilia said no more for several minutes, 
 reflecting on what had passed between her and 
 the painter. It had seemed very difficult to 
 refuse when her old friend was rejoicing over 
 having found a means of fastening his little son 
 down to w'ork ; but she w'as not prepared to 
 give way for that. 
 
 4 1 must consider Lina,’ she said. 
 
 4 Lina,’ repeated Dei Bardi, to whom Lina 
 
200 
 
 IFUccoluta IFUccoUni 
 
 was only the means of interesting his boy in 
 the art so dear to himself. ‘ Ah, you would 
 ask if she has any creative power V 
 
 Sora Emilia had very vague ideas as to what 
 creative power might be, and meant something 
 very different. 
 
 4 How can I tell ? She is almost a baby ; 
 but from those drawings of hers which Gino 
 showed me I should say she had. At all 
 events, with good teaching she can get her 
 living by copying in the galleries by-and-by.’ 
 
 4 But I have no wish that she should get her 
 living thus.’ 
 
 ‘ No ? But I suppose she must work for her 
 bread ? What better can you suggest V 
 
 Strange to say, Sora Emilia, so anxious for 
 Lina, had never faced this question. 
 
 ‘ Yes, I suppose so/ she answered hesitatingly, 
 and heard nothing of what Dei Bardi went on 
 saying. ‘ Do you really mean that a girl of 
 Linas rank can do such a thing without im- 
 propriety V she asked. 
 
 ‘ What is her rank V asked Dei Bardi rather 
 wickedly. 
 
 ‘ She is a lady. You said so yourself the 
 first time you saw her.’ 
 
 ‘ It is true. Well, why not ? Being well 
 born does not put money in one’s purse, my 
 
Hit Offer ant) its Consequences 
 
 201 
 
 dear lady. Even gentlefolk must live/ And 
 as Sora Emilia did not reply he rose. ‘ A 
 rivederla , dear lady. Then I shall expect the 
 child to-morrow. Ah, ah ! I have found the 
 way to get a hold on that rogue of mine. There 
 is nothing he will not do to please that little 
 witch. If she were eighteen instead of eight 
 I should think twice before letting her be his 
 fellow-student.’ 
 
 And he departed, chuckling, and convinced 
 that his proposal had been accepted, while Sora 
 Emilia sat meditating on Lina’s future. 
 
 4 Suppose I were to die,’ she thought with 
 terror. And the fear translated itself to Lina 
 in, 4 You know, my child, while I live you have 
 a home, but I am not young, and some day 
 you will have to work.’ 
 
 Lina listened with wide-open eyes, half 
 frightened, half defiant. Sora Emilia went on : 
 
 4 Signor dei Bardi thinks you could maintain 
 yourself by copying pictures. I had not thought 
 of this, and it seems difficult to me to under¬ 
 stand it. But since he says so, I ought not to 
 prevent your having lessons from him. I believe 
 it is a great favour.’ 
 
 4 Am I to paint in Signor dei Bardi’s studio V 
 
 4 Yes. It makes you happy ?’ said Sora 
 Emilia, smiling, and almost reconciled to the 
 
 26 
 
202 
 
 IRiccolma VUccolfttf 
 
 plan, seeing the child’s incredulous joy. Lina 
 sprang into the air with delight; then she 
 recollected all the hard and ungrateful things 
 which she had said and thought about Sora 
 Emilia, and she sat down without a word, and 
 leant her head on her lap. When Sora Emilia, 
 surprised at her silence and stillness, stroked 
 her cheek, she found that Lina was crying 
 quietly. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHAT MR. RAYNER HEARD AT THE RED ROSE. 
 
 Sora Emilia was naturally a scrupulous, 
 nervous person, apt to torment herself un¬ 
 necessarily, and her uneventful life gave her 
 a great deal of time to do so. She sometimes 
 noticed that it was seldom the things which 
 she had feared that really came to pass, or 
 the mistakes which she thought she had made 
 that turned out most serious, but she could not 
 leave off harassing herself. She had often 
 troubled her mind as to what ‘ Isabella ’ would 
 say when she heard about Lina—as yet Sora 
 Emilia had never had courage to tell her—and 
 she had been much afraid of the disapproval 
 sure, she thought, to be shown by her cousins 
 and her acquaintance among the bagnctnti when 
 the summer brought them to Aleria; but as far 
 as these latter were concerned she got off very 
 well. The Marchesa shrugged her shoulders, 
 indeed, and ignored the child if she saw her, 
 
204 
 
 IRtccoltna IRtccoltnt 
 
 but did no worse, and though, no doubt, people 
 pronounced Sora Emilia rash and unwise in 
 thus burdening herself, they liked Lina, and 
 were good to her, and she made friends with 
 all the children. Sora Emilia found for perhaps 
 the thousandth time that she had worried 
 herself needlessly, while overlooking a real 
 cause for anxiety. That suggestion of Signor 
 Dei Bardi’s as to Lina’s uncertain future planted 
 a long thorn in her foot, as she would have said. 
 
 ‘ How could I never have thought of it V she 
 asked herself again and again, and such sharp 
 eyes as those of Mirtilla could not but note her 
 perturbation. 
 
 ‘ What is troubling you now, mistress V she 
 asked unceremoniously. ‘ If you worry your¬ 
 self thus you will waste like a candle in a 
 draught.’ 
 
 O 
 
 ‘ I was asking myself how we were to find a 
 dowry for Lina,’ her lady answered. It seemed 
 to her that girls should marry, not work ; but 
 young men in Italy do not marry penniless girls: 
 if by chance they were so rash as to wish to do 
 so their families would certainly not allow it. 
 
 ‘ I, too, think much of it,’ returned Mirtilla 
 gravely. 
 
 But neither mistress nor maid could see 
 their way to accumulating this all-important 
 
Mbat /lbt\ magnet bearb at tbe IReb IRose 205 
 
 dowry. Already the cost of feeding, clothing, 
 and educating ‘ their child,’ as they called her, 
 made itself seriously felt. It would have seemed 
 impossible to live more economically than they 
 had always done; yet, by some miracle, they 
 did so, glad to stint themselves for love of the 
 child, who never found it out; and when the 
 brother in South America sent a little gift of 
 money, as he now and then did, it was almost 
 all spent on Lina. 
 
 ‘ Dei Bardi tells me she might earn money by 
 copying pictures,’ continued Sora Emilia, rather 
 timidly. She did not know how the idea would 
 look to her prime minister, and was afraid of 
 her disapproval. When Mirtilla disapproved, 
 she expressed herself with great frankness. 
 
 ‘Well, why not ?’ returned Mirtilla briskly. 
 
 ‘ I do not say that she should copy things only 
 fit for pagans, such as I have seen in our 
 Florence—though, to be sure, she could paint 
 clothes on them—but madonnas and saints : 
 these it is a pious work to make. My uncle, who 
 built a chapel on his little bit of ground, paid a 
 young fellow two or even three scudi, I believe, 
 for painting San Zeno, his patron, and Santa 
 Barbara, his wife’s patron, inside it. A brush 
 and a little paint, and you earn three scudi! 
 The plan pleases me.’ 
 
206 
 
 IRtccolma IRtccoUni 
 
 Sora Emilia gave a sigh of relief. Fortified 
 by Mirtilla’s approval, she could allow herself to 
 sympathise fully with the ecstasy of Lina, who, 
 sure that she should never be naughty again, 
 could talk and think of nothing else but her 
 lessons with Signor dei Bardi, even when her 
 expectations as to what she should do in his 
 studio had to be very considerably modified ; 
 and her hopes of handling colours and brushes 
 proved a far-off dream, for, although Signor dei 
 Bardi accepted her simply as a means of attract¬ 
 ing Gino, he loved and respected his art too 
 much to allow her to play with it, and Lina 
 found herself set to tasks which seemed dry 
 and dull to her; but Gino whispered that every¬ 
 one began thus, and she submitted without a 
 murmur. Her diligence pleased her master; 
 he began to be interested in her. ‘ Pity she is 
 not a boy ! I would take her to Florence !’ he 
 said to himself. 4 If Gino had half her talent !* 
 And he sighed. That his son should have no 
 turn—not more turn, he put it to himself—for 
 the art which was his own delight was the 
 crook in Signor dei Bardi’s prosperous lot. Gino 
 conscientiously fulfilled his part of the compact, 
 but he could not produce a talent which he had 
 not got, and his father had never realized this 
 so clearly as now when he saw the enthusiasm 
 
Wbat /iDt\ iRasner heart) at the IReb IRose 207 
 
 of Lina, and the progress which she made in the 
 few lessons that he gave her before leaving 
 Aleria. 
 
 The bagnanti did not spend the whole sum¬ 
 mer there; they took a certain number of 
 ‘ baths,’ and then went inland, and Dei Bardi 
 did like the rest. He would willingly have 
 lingered this year with his two pupils, but his 
 wife was impatient to have Gino with her ; 
 and Lina saw her master and her playfellow 
 depart, 'to her sorrow, only consoled by the 
 promise of more lessons another summer, and 
 by an ample provision of studies and drawing 
 materials. 
 
 ‘ She ought to do nothing but draw,’ Dei 
 Bardi vehemently assured Sora Emilia. ‘ Do 
 not let her waste her time over rubbish— 
 embroidery, arithmetic—all that kind of thing. 
 She ought to devote herself to painting. Let 
 her work at that, and nothing else.’ 
 
 Sora Emilia, however, could not accept this 
 dictum. She was mortified and surprised that 
 Lina had nothing pretty to show—nothing but 
 some studies, which looked very unfinished and 
 uninteresting to her. If this were all the result 
 of so many hours of work ! Sora Emilia could 
 make nothing of it. She sent Lina back to 
 school, which, after all, was the wisest thing to 
 
208 
 
 IRtccollna ntccoUni 
 
 do, and taught her French herself, which, like 
 all educated Italians, she spoke fluently, though 
 not with a Parisian accent, and, indeed, it is by 
 no means all French people who do so; and Lina 
 fell back into her former ways readily, playing 
 on the Thursday holiday with Riri and Dina 
 very happily—though inwardly she did not 
 think them to be compared as companions with 
 Gino, who indeed was a very fascinating little 
 boy—and easily taking the first place in her 
 class, where, except Riri, none of the girls were 
 particularly clever, or anxious to excel. But 
 Lina always wanted to excel, no matter what 
 she had in hand, and no class could be absolutely 
 dull or uninterested where she was. She was 
 too eager and authoritative always to get on 
 with her companions, but she was popular, and 
 an acknowledged leader among them, just as 
 she had been with the children in the streets 
 who called her c Little Princess,’ though she 
 was one of the youngest, and nobody’s child. 
 
 But all her spare time was given to drawing, 
 and sometimes under her fingers would grow, 
 she hardly knew how, faces which she had not 
 thought about for such a long time that they 
 only returned when she was thus employed. 
 Sora Emilia was never quite sure whether they 
 were likenesses of real people or imaginary ones— 
 
Mbat jflbr* IRa^iter bearb at tbe IReb IRose 209 
 
 Lina did not always seem sure herself—but she 
 secretly preserved them, as possibly giving a 
 clue to the child’s history. Thus she came to 
 have a fair notion of what 4 nonna ’ was like, 
 and nonna’s daughters, and the husband of one 
 of them ; and one day, a girlish, discontented 
 head appeared under Lina’s pencil, which she 
 said was mammina herself. 
 
 Sora Emilia studied it with great interest, 
 but shook her head. 4 It is not like you, my 
 child,’ she said incredulously, taking it for 
 granted that Lina must resemble her mother. 
 The child would never show any likeness of her 
 father. 4 It is not babbo,’ she would say, stamp¬ 
 ing her little feet with vexation, and the paper 
 was torn or crumpled up before anyone could 
 save it. 
 
 The autumn came to an end ; the shore was 
 deserted ; there were no more rides in the fresh¬ 
 ening evenings on donkeys, or meetings among 
 friends for 4 four skips,’ as they called the little 
 impromptu dances which so often ended the 
 day. The Marchesa’s family returned to Turin, 
 and Aleria fell back into its usual routine. 
 Lina felt as if she had always lived there; she 
 looked forward, not back. The next summer 
 would bring Gino, and more lessons from Signor 
 dei Bardi; and meanwhile, she was busy and 
 
 27 
 
210 
 
 IRiccolma IFUccoltnt 
 
 happy, and quite sure she should never do or 
 say anything again to grieve or displease Sora 
 Emilia, now that she might draw as much as 
 she liked—a resolution not difficult to keep, 
 since all was made so smooth for her, but which 
 she broke very thoroughly the first time that 
 temptation came. 
 
 It happened in this wise. In early spring 
 Aleria held a triennial festa, to which, for time 
 out of mind, all the villages and little towns near 
 sent spectators—the festa of Santa Appollonia— 
 not the saint whose name appears in the Roman 
 calendar, but a local one, with a local legend. 
 An antiquary, who chanced to be at Aleria on 
 one such occasion, declared that it really was an 
 ancient festival in honour of Apollo, and this 
 profane explanation was somewhat borne out 
 by the custom of carrying boughs of laurel in 
 the procession which went through the streets. 
 It is needless to say that those who took part 
 in it had no suspicion of any such origin, and 
 probably, for the most part, knew nothing about 
 the sun god, any more than they did that the 
 plait of red and blue and white wool which was 
 placed on the forehead of the poor oxen when 
 led to the butcher’s, represented the sacrificial 
 fillet of classic times; but the festa was ex¬ 
 ceedingly popular—a time when new dresses 
 
Mbat /lfct\ IRa^ner beavfc at tbe IReb 1 Rose 211 
 
 were produced, and confraternities from all 
 the district round walked in procession, and 
 friends met and were entertained with a hos¬ 
 pitality unknown at any other time of the year. 
 Italian hospitality usually consists of a glass of 
 wine and a biscuit, and nobody expects to be 
 more substantially entertained; indeed, the 
 usual style of meeting among men is not at 
 any house, but at a cafe, where everybody 
 pays for what he orders. But on the festa of 
 Santa Appollonia quite lavish hospitality—for 
 Italy—was shown. 
 
 One especial feature of the ceremonies was 
 that a number of young children walked in the 
 procession, dressed as angels, or nuns, or in the 
 character of some saint, and there was not a 
 little rivalry as to which could be best got up 
 and considered the prettiest by the spectators. 
 Lina and her friends, Riri and Dina, were too old 
 for this, but their minds were full of the ques¬ 
 tion of new frocks ; and Lina anxiously inquired 
 from Mirtilla if she was to have one. The old 
 woman’s black eyes danced. 
 
 ‘ Hold thy peace, my tongue, and I will 
 give thee a biscuit,’ she said to herself, using 
 a familiar locution ; then aloud : 
 
 ‘ But no, but no, child ! A new frock ! Holy 
 patience ! You would make an oyster laugh. 
 
2 12 
 
 IRiccoltna IRfccoltm 
 
 Where should the money come from, I ask you ? 
 No, my piece of marchpane ; you must content 
 yourself with what you have. ’ 
 
 And she wagged her head up and down, and 
 chuckled in a way which would have betrayed 
 her had Lina been less occupied by her own 
 wrongs. 
 
 Mirtilla laughed at her black looks. 
 
 ‘ You must just make yourself contented,’ she 
 repeated. 
 
 ‘ I shall be the only one in the school who 
 has not a new frock,’ said Lina angrily. 
 
 ‘ That is true. It is a pity, truly. And the 
 notary’s daughter has a pink frock with a hat 
 to match, and the apothecary’s a white one, 
 with shoes which are a pleasure to see, and the 
 stationmaster’s girl has green, with a sash. 
 It is truly a pity that you have only this old 
 thing.’ 
 
 ‘ I will not go to the funzione /’ exclaimed Lina 
 in a passion. 4 1 will stay at home with Sora 
 Emilia, who is not going because she is a witch.’ 
 
 She did not know how words which had 
 formerly enraged her from other lips sprang 
 from her own, and started as she uttered them, 
 but still more at the infuriated look launched 
 at her by Mirtilla, choking with indignation. 
 When the Aleriani called her mistress a witch 
 
Mb at /ibt\ IRapttet bearb at tbe IReb IRose 213 
 
 she knew it was only a vulgar taunt, but from 
 the mouth of a Tuscan—and Lina was a Tuscan 
 —it was an accusation horrible to a good Roman 
 Catholic ; for in Tuscany witchcraft is a living 
 thing, handed down from times far earlier than 
 the Christian era, known as c the old religion,’ 
 secret, venerated, carried on in certain families, 
 carefully concealed from the priests, and be¬ 
 lieved in a great deal more than anything which 
 they teach ; connected, too, with strange and 
 dark practices. Mirtilla could not be a Tuscan 
 peasant without knowing this. She had, indeed, 
 her private superstitions ; she would say a spell 
 to cure her weak eyes when she saw the first 
 swallow; she knew that a lizard with two tails 
 brought good luck, and she had learned many 
 charms when the peasants met together in 
 winter, and after repeating the Rosary, told 
 stories, no one knew how old, or strange experi¬ 
 ences of their own. 
 
 She herself had seen the rising sun bow to 
 the Madonna in the chapel on the hills above 
 Aleria three times on St. John’s Eve, a remark¬ 
 able event which she related with absolute 
 conviction ; but witchcraft was an altogether 
 abominable and excommunicated thing, and 
 when she found breath she turned on Lina like 
 a wild cat. 
 
2 14 
 
 IRiccolina TOccoUni 
 
 * What is that you say V she cried, her voice 
 rising shrill and shriller. ‘Do I hear right ? 
 You—you to say this thing! You, whom my 
 lady lifted out of the gutter, who belonged to 
 nobody, and whom she took into her home and 
 her heart. It was my doing that she did it— 
 out on me ! Go 1 you have a black heart; you 
 will come to a bad end. A witch ! One of the 
 noble Sinibaldi a witch ! Shame on you, un¬ 
 grateful little creature ! A witch, when with 
 her own hands she planted those convolvuli 
 which are in blossom in the garden. A new¬ 
 born babe knows that no sorcerer can come 
 where convolvulus grows. Get out of my 
 sight, I say ; let me see you no more.’ 
 
 All the while that she was speaking she was 
 dragging Lina into Sora Emilia’s bedroom. 
 
 ‘ There!’ she exclaimed, loosing her, and 
 pointing to the little bed which Lina occupied 
 there. ‘ Behold, heartless one!’ and Lina 
 looked, and saw a new frock, a hat trimmed 
 with white ribbons, and a pair of dainty shoes. 
 She did not hear a word more of what Mirtilla 
 was saying ; it seemed to her that she was the 
 wickedest child in the world, and in a moment 
 she was out of the room, fleeing to the furthest 
 chamber in the palazzo, overwhelmed with 
 
 remorse. 
 
Mbat /ibt\ IRayiter bearb at tbe IReb IRose 215 
 
 ‘ The little serpent! I have made her hear 
 what she is/ muttered Mirtilla ; but by-and-by 
 her self-satisfaction diminished ; she began to 
 reproach herself for having spoiled the child’s 
 pleasure in her new things, and went to seek 
 her. 
 
 ‘ Holy patience !’ she began angrily, when at 
 length she discovered her. ‘ Would you kill 
 me with going up and down to find you ? But, 
 child !’—her tone changing suddenly—‘ you are 
 white as a lily ; what will my lady say ? Ah, 
 animal that I am, it is all my fault. I have 
 spoiled your pleasure, and made you weep. 
 Smile, my bit of sugar, child of my heart! it is 
 all over now, neh ? Kiss your old Mirtilla: 
 you are but a baby ; you meant no harm. Ah ! 
 I could beat myself black and blue.’ 
 
 Lina tried to smile, and returned the hug ; but 
 she was not comforted, and certain things which 
 Mirtilla had said remained ever after in her 
 memory. 
 
 When Sora Emilia saw her she instantly took 
 alarm. 
 
 ‘ This child is ill/ she said, and her tender 
 anxiety made Lina feel herself wickeder than 
 ever, and the headache consequent on her 
 violent fit of crying sufficiently explained the 
 quiet way in which she looked at the pretty 
 
2l6 
 
 IRiccoUna IRiccoltni 
 
 toilette which had cost mistress and maid in¬ 
 numerable little bits of self-denial. ‘ Poor little 
 one! and I had hoped she would be so pleased,’ 
 said Sora Emilia to herself, disappointed, while 
 Lina whispered to Mirtilla : 
 
 ‘ I will wear my old things ; put these away,’ 
 a piece of self-sacrifice which horrified the old 
 servant, who explained by expressive pantomime 
 that it was out of the question, and Lina sub¬ 
 mitted with a new meekness, though much 
 mortified that she could not thus expiate her 
 naughtiness. 
 
 ‘ But I suppose they would not like it if I did 
 not look nice,’ she thought, sighing, and, indeed, 
 nothing could have been a greater mortification 
 to Mirtilla and her mistress than to have seen 
 their child less daintily dressed than others of 
 her age. 
 
 However penitent Lina might be, no child 
 could have helped feeling happy when the 
 morning of the festa came, all sunshine, and she 
 wore such a pretty new frock. 
 
 4 How good you are to me !’ she whispered, 
 as she kissed Sora Emilia, who returned the 
 embrace tenderly ; but said to herself, a little 
 sadly : 
 
 ‘ If she were really my child, she would not 
 think about my being good to her.’ 
 
Mbat /n>t\ IRapner bearb at tbe IReb IRose 217 
 
 She stayed at home, and let Mirtilla take 
 Lina to the piazza before the principal church ; 
 Mirtilla wore a new yellow handkerchief on her 
 head, and her black eyes sparkled as she nodded 
 to her acquaintance. The streets were full of 
 people; the church bells were ringing ; every¬ 
 body was going towards the piazza, to wait 
 until the procession came there from the little 
 old church, where the relics of the saint were 
 preserved. BAri and Dina were already there 
 with their mother, and signed vehemently to 
 Lina to join them ; they were too excited to 
 stand still, and exclaimed rapturously at her 
 pretty toilette, while their mother silently asked 
 herself how many small sacrifices it had cost 
 Sora Emilia. 
 
 Lina forgot her remorse, and chattered and 
 laughed with her little friends, impatient at the 
 delay of the procession, and recognising every¬ 
 body whom she knew in the crowd; while 
 Mirtilla, holding her hand, chimed in, just as 
 excited and overflowing with chatter as the 
 children, and, indeed, everybody else in the 
 cheerful, good-humoured throng. 
 
 It was a gay and picturesque scene ; the 
 March sun shone out of an azure sky upon the 
 crowd, calling out the colour of the scarlet or 
 yellow handkerchiefs on the women’s heads, and 
 
 28 
 
2l8 
 
 IRtccolina IRtccoltm 
 
 of their green or red aprons, and lighting up 
 the fagade of the church ; now and then a puff 
 of sweet air waved the ribbons on the children’s 
 hats; a buzz of talk rose on all sides. 
 
 Suddenly the bells overhead clashed out, and 
 everybody stirred and exclaimed : 
 
 4 They come !’ 
 
 A moment later the head of the procession 
 appeared, and everybody said : 4 The orphans f 
 as the children from a large orphanage marched 
 into the square, two and two, the first couple 
 proudly staggering under a great crucifix, 
 while here and there beside them walked a 
 black-robed nun, the stiff white wings of her 
 cap standing out on either side of her face. 
 They stood still below the long flight of steps 
 leading up to the church, and raised a chant, 
 taken up by the 4 Daughters of Mary,’ who 
 followed them, dressed in white and blue, and 
 the crowd smiled with pleasure, for most of 
 these were daughters of well-to-do people in and 
 about Aleria ; and several led a little sister, who 
 laughed recognition to father or mother in the 
 throng, delighted at playing a part in the pro¬ 
 cession. 
 
 4 See ! see ! what a darling is la Lisa,’ or 4 la 
 Lucia/ one and another murmured, as some 
 little one came by, with white wings fastened 
 
TKUbat flbr. IRaptter bearb at tbe 1Reb iRose 219 
 
 to her shoulders, or blushed and smiled from 
 under a miniature nun s coif, or perhaps some 
 critic would declare that the angels were better 
 got up and more numerous three years before. 
 A guild of married women came next, ‘Daughters 
 of St. Elizabeth/ with yellow gauze robes of a 
 fashion handed down for centuries over their 
 ordinary dresses, and a great banner laboriously 
 borne by one at the head of the troop. Equally 
 antique were the white tunics of the con¬ 
 fraternity of men who followed, with banners 
 and an immense cross, their deep, hoarse voices 
 mingling with the women’s soprani, and lastly 
 came the clergy, four bearing under a silken 
 canopy the relics of the saint in a silver casket, 
 and four more the Host, at sight of which men, 
 women, and children sank on their knees, and 
 only rose when it had entered the church. 
 Then, indeed, all started up and pressed 
 forward, knowing that there was no room for 
 such a congregation, and the rush was very 
 much such as is seen at a popular theatre ; Lina 
 was at once swept away from her little friends, 
 but Mirtilla gripped her, and, after a few 
 moments, they wedged their way into the 
 church, though many were forced to stand 
 outside. Lina was crimson ; she pulled Mirtilla 
 down to her lips as they stood by a pillar, glad 
 
220 
 
 Yltccolfna mtccolini 
 
 even of such a place as this out of the crush ; 
 to find chairs was hopeless. 
 
 4 Mirtilla,’ she whispered, 4 did you see that 
 little old gentleman who stared at me as we got 
 by ? It is he who came to Castellaro.’ 
 
 4 Accidente !’ escaped Mirtilla. The profane 
 exclamation was unnoticed in the press and 
 trampling around them. 4 Let us go!’ But 
 they were wedged in, and could not stir. She 
 looked round with terror. 4 He is outside ? 
 Ah, the saints be thanked ! As soon as people 
 move, we will slip out by the little door. 
 How! This heretic would take away the light 
 of our eyes, and break Sora Emilias heart ! 
 You think he knew you V 
 
 4 Yes,’ answered Lina, recalling the look of 
 startled recognition which had fallen on her. 
 
 Mirtilla groaned aloud. 4 It shall not be ! 
 My lady would break her heart if she lost you, 
 and so should I, my daughter !’ 
 
 The organ pealed through the building, the 
 choir chanted; Mirtilla told her beads with all 
 her might, and Lina stood in a tumult of per¬ 
 plexed feeling. 
 
 This Englishman knew her mother’s family. 
 Perhaps he had come to look for her. She 
 would no longer be 4 nobody’s child ’—a 4 girl 
 out of the gutter.’ Lina recollected with keen 
 
Mbat /IDt\ IRapner bearb at tbe IReb tRose 221 
 
 resentment the angry words which Mirtilla had 
 quite forgotten. But it would break Sora 
 Emilias heart to lose her—Mirtilla said so— 
 Sora Emilia, who had been so good to her, and 
 for whom she had never done anything. She 
 did not hear a word of the sermon—all in 
 praise of St. Appollonia—and was startled by 
 the stir of the congregation rising to go out. 
 
 Mirtilla gripped her. c This way, this way f 
 she muttered. 
 
 ‘ Yes, let us go that way,’ Lina answered. 
 She had made up her mind, if Sora Emilia 
 wanted her so much, she would stay. It was 
 generously resolved, none the less so that she 
 could not fully measure the extent of the sacri¬ 
 fice, nor guess that Sora Emilia would certainly 
 not have allowed it. 
 
 ‘ Quick, quick f Mirtilla muttered, hurrying 
 her along. ‘ I shall have no rest till we are 
 at home—nor there. My daughter,’ as a new 
 thought struck her, ‘ we will not trouble my 
 lady by speaking of this. You understand ?’ 
 And she added to herself: c Who knows what 
 that saint might think it right to do ? I will 
 not have her disturbed. Madonna ! if that old 
 man should make inquiries ! There is a stone 
 on my heart when I think of it.’ 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Rayner was waiting with in- 
 
222 
 
 IRiccolina IRtccoUni 
 
 describable impatience for the congregation to 
 come out, and his surprise and annoyance was 
 great when he did not see the child who had 
 attracted his attention. He had merely come 
 to Aleria to see the festa, which interested him, 
 for he was somewhat of an antiquary ; but he 
 felt that he had found something of more im¬ 
 portance than vestiges of a pagan ceremony. 
 
 ‘ It must surely be the Niccolini child/ he 
 thought; and when he could not see her any¬ 
 where, he hurried back to the Red Rose, where 
 he had ordered dinner, and summoned the land¬ 
 lady. La Manfredi, her husband, and her maids, 
 all had their hands full on this busy day, and she 
 came unwillingly; but his first question held her 
 still in dismay. 
 
 ‘ A young English widow, with a child,’ she 
 said slowly, while thinking how unwelcome any 
 discovery of how she had treated Lina might 
 be. ‘ No, signor, none such lives here. I know 
 every inhabitant of Aleria, naturally. No 
 Englishwoman is here.’ 
 
 ‘ But, I tell you, I saw the child; black hair 
 and eyes , 5 said Mr. Rayner, recalling how dis¬ 
 pleased he had been by those un-English eyes 
 the first time he saw them. ‘ It is true she may 
 have come over from Castellaro.’ 
 
 4 No such lady lives there, signor , 5 said la 
 
Wbat IRapner bearb at tbe IReb IRose 223 
 
 Manfredi hastily. 4 I know, because one of my 
 
 maids- Santa ! here! you come from Cas- 
 
 tellaro—tell this signor if any English lady lives 
 there now.’ 
 
 One of those indescribable slight gestures, by 
 which Italians convey so much, made the servant 
 perfectly aware of the line she was to take. 
 
 4 No, signora, never, since the young widow 
 went away. The house is still unlet, and we 
 never heard any more of her.’ 
 
 Of course Santa was perfectly aware that 
 Elvira had come to Aleria, and that her child 
 lived there still; but she watched her mistress’s 
 face, and said no more. 
 
 4 I must make inquiries,’ said Mr. Rayner, 
 much disappointed. 
 
 ‘ Who can the child be whom this signor saw 
 in the piazza V said la Manfredi, turning to her 
 maid, with an admirably acted perplexity. 
 
 4 1 have seen one who is very like the English 
 signora’s little daughter, but she belongs to the 
 Palazzo Sinibaldi,’ remarked Santa. She knew 
 very well why la Manfredi did not want to help 
 the English stranger in his search, and that it 
 would be to her advantage if she played into 
 her hands. 4 A child with bright eyes and black 
 hair.’ 
 
 4 Oh, then I suppose I am mistaken,’ said 
 
224 
 
 IRiccolitta IFUccoUnt 
 
 Mr. Rayner, greatly downcast. 4 It is several 
 years since I saw the child. Let me have my 
 dinner. ’ 
 
 La Manfredi hastened to bring it, and after 
 that he went to the station, and she breathed 
 again. 
 
 4 I remembered him, as soon as he began 
 asking about the widow,’ she said to herself. 
 4 Heaven ! all this has made me bad blood; I 
 must doctor myself at once. Ah, that meddle¬ 
 some old witch would, no doubt, be glad enough 
 to be free of the child by now ; but she took 
 her, and she shall keep her; I am not going to 
 lift the load for her.’ 
 
 This was her revenge on Sora Emilia, whom 
 she judged by herself, and she smiled with vin¬ 
 dictive satisfaction as she hastened to serve 
 her customers. 
 
 4 1 will burn a candle to Santa Filomena, my 
 patron, that all went so well, and that the old 
 fool of an Englishman sent for me, and not my 
 husband,’ she added piously. 
 
 Lina said very little about the festa. She sat 
 drawing silently all the evening, until suddenly 
 she remarked: 
 
 4 Camilla Balsamo says she will give me a lira 
 (tenpence) to take her portrait. And so will 
 Ghita Brocchi.’ 
 
TKUbat /Ibr* iRaptter bearb at tbe IReb iRose 225 
 
 ‘ You should not take money from your com¬ 
 panions, child!’ answered Sora Emilia, scan¬ 
 dalized. 
 
 ‘ Their mothers will pay it. Signor dei Bardi 
 is paid for taking portraits. I want to earn 
 money, for I cost a great deal.’ 
 
 ‘ Signor dei Bardi !’ laughed Sora Emilia. 
 
 ‘ And as for what you cost- What are 
 
 you drawing now V 
 
 She came to see. Linas blush and involun¬ 
 tary movement escaped her short-sighted eyes. 
 
 ‘ Who is this V she asked, struck by a certain 
 air of reality and truth about the sketch. 
 
 ‘ Where have you seen this gentleman V 
 
 ‘ He—it is the old man who came to see 
 mamma at Castelarro,’ said Lina. 
 
 She had hardly known what she was draw¬ 
 ing, busied with many thoughts, and the like¬ 
 ness of Mr. Rayner had grown unconsciously 
 under her fingers—a very different one from 
 that which she had drawn in the sand after 
 their first meeting. 
 
 ‘ Ah!’ said Sora Emilia, much interested. 
 
 4 You must give me this, my child. 5 
 
 And when Lina was gone to bed she showed 
 it to Mirtilla, saying : 
 
 ‘ We must keep this ; it may be a means of 
 identifying the child one day.’ 
 
 29 
 
226 
 
 IRlccoltita IRtccoltnt 
 
 ‘ Madonna! would you let her go then, 
 padrona V 
 
 ‘ It would be my duty ; I can do so little for 
 her/ sighed Sora Emilia. 
 
 And Mirtilla agreed ; but when, a day or two 
 later, her lady looked for the sketch, it was 
 nowhere to be found, and Mirtilla knew 
 nothing about it. 
 
 ‘ How I do mislay things !’ said Sora Emilia, 
 vexed with herself. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A BOLT FROM THE BLUE. 
 
 Thus an enemy and a friend combined to hinder 
 Lina from recovering a family; and little by 
 little she began to forget the meeting with 
 Mr. Rayner, and the longings which sprang 
 from it, absorbed as she was in the interests of 
 her daily life. She was a child who always got 
 a great deal of enjoyment and interest out of 
 the present, though it did not prevent her 
 having decided plans for the future. When 
 she was twelve years old she had risen to be 
 in the first class at her school, and had no rival 
 but Riri Battistini, who was ambitious and 
 clever, and looked forward to gaining high 
 certificates, and being a mistress where now she 
 was a scholar ; for the nuns, oppressed by the 
 ever-increasing demands of modern education, 
 talked of having a ‘ lay mistress ’ to help them, 
 and promised to take Riri, when she was old 
 enough. The salary was small, as it always is 
 
228 
 
 IRlccoltita IFUccoltni 
 
 in Italy, where many a teacher gets but sixteen 
 pounds a year; but Riri would be able to live 
 with her parents, which was the more desirable 
 as Dina meant to be a Sister of Charity, and 
 looked forward to it as eagerly as her sister 
 did to passing a first class examination at Turin, 
 or Lina to being a painter. A few years earlier 
 the Battistini girls would not have dreamed of 
 thus planning their own future, but would have 
 supposed, as indeed many of their companions 
 still did, that their only destiny was to be married 
 some day, to whomever their parents should 
 select as a husband; but in Italy, as elsewhere, 
 
 ‘ the old order changeth,’ for good and for ill, 
 often with a great clash and discord between 
 the old and the young. Lina’s eagerness about 
 her studies always bewildered Sora Emilia. 
 
 4 But since you are set on painting, why do you 
 want to learn all these other things ?’ she asked. 
 
 And Lina calmly replied : ‘ Leonardo da Vinci 
 knew everything that there was to know, and I 
 want to do so too.’ 
 
 It was evident that the poor nuns would want 
 a new mistress if Lina remained with them. 
 
 This summer brought a severe disappoint¬ 
 ment : Gino did not come to Aleria. The truth 
 was, that his mother thought him too old to make 
 a playfellow of Lina, who was ‘nobody’s child ’; 
 
H Bolt from tbe Blue 
 
 229 
 
 not even legally adopted by Sora Emilia, who 
 was not of the age which Italian law requires 
 for such a step, even if she had dared to take 
 it without leave from her family. So Signora 
 dei Bardi resisted all her son’s entreaties, and 
 when he appealed to his father was told, 4 You 
 must do as your mother wishes.’ 
 
 Signor dei Bardi spoke the more resolutely— 
 though indeed he was never very resolute in 
 opposing Gino—that at length he had sorrow¬ 
 fully allowed that his son might probably make 
 a good lawyer, but never a painter. However, 
 he had grown so much interested in Lina’s pro¬ 
 gress, that he came alone to Aleria to give her 
 lessons, and regretted more than ever that she 
 was not a boy, and his son. 
 
 Separated from the boy, who was the light of 
 his eyes, he could not resist the desire to talk 
 of him and show his letters to anyone who 
 would listen, and as he could not but perceive 
 that none of his friends cared very much to hear, 
 except those in Palazzo Sinibaldi, it was natu¬ 
 rally to them that he turned. Gino had none 
 of an English schoolboy’s aversion to letter¬ 
 writing ; on the contrary, he sent long epistles, 
 full of details, to which Sora Emilia listened 
 with boundless interest, for they were written 
 from that Waldensian valley where her own 
 
230 
 
 IRtccoltna IRiccoltnt 
 
 summers in early life had been passed. Signora 
 dei Bardi, a Piemontese, had inherited a small 
 property there, where she spent part of the hot 
 weather, with the resignation of an Italian 
 woman bored by country life, yet accepting it 
 as a necessity. 
 
 As she listened to what Gino wrote about his 
 daily life, the people whom he knew, Sora Emilia 
 seemed to see the green and wooded hills, with a 
 glimpse of mountains in the distance, the river 
 flowing crystal clear between verdant banks, or 
 rushing furious after rain and making the 
 wooden bridges tremble, the farm-houses with 
 court-yard and wooden galleries. 
 
 ‘ Tell him to write again, often/ she said, 
 with glistening eyes, ‘ and to tell me how the 
 Appias are—that good old man and his wife 
 who live near our little home, who loved my 
 dear father so well.’ 
 
 And Gino obeyed, enclosing also a note for 
 Lina, which his father, only wishing to please 
 the boy, handed over to Lina, before the scan¬ 
 dalized Sora Emilia could interfere. 
 
 ‘ It is unheard of!’ she murmured, recovering 
 breath in time to say aloud, ‘ Read it to us, my 
 child/ 
 
 Lina did so, delighted. She had never had 
 a letter until now in her life, and looked from 
 
B JBolt from the ^Slue 
 
 231 
 
 one to the other joyously as she read. Even 
 Sora Emilia could have found no fault with the 
 discreet little note, but for the postscript: 
 ‘ When we are grown up we will see as much 
 of one another as ever we like.’ 
 
 ‘ That we will,’ said Lina heartily. 
 
 And Sora Emilia gasped, while Signor dei 
 Bardi burst out laughing, and wickedly sug¬ 
 gested that he could enclose a reply; but here 
 Emilia interposed, colouring quite hotly, and 
 remarking that it was not proper for a young 
 girl to write to a boy who was not her brother, 
 nor even a cousin. 
 
 Lina stared at her, and then became thought¬ 
 ful, and Signor dei Bardi, still laughing, said 
 aside, ‘ My dear lady, there are things better 
 left unsaid.’ 
 
 But Sora Emilia did not understand. 
 
 When he went away he left, as usual, mate¬ 
 rials for painting and studies for Lina to copy, 
 lamenting that she could not draw from busts 
 or life, and owning mournfully how little any¬ 
 thing he could do supplied the want of full 
 and continued instruction. 
 
 ‘ You ought, positively, to bring her to 
 Florence,’ he said, forgetting both how impos¬ 
 sible such a plan was to Sora Emilia, and how 
 little his wife would approve of it. In fact, 
 
232 
 
 IFUccollna IFUccoUttf 
 
 even the postage of the drawings which Lina 
 was to send him would have been a serious diffi¬ 
 culty, where every extra penny had to be taken 
 from something necessary, as Lina knew. But 
 she had a little source of income in the portraits 
 which she made of her friends and their rela¬ 
 tions ; a great many people wished for her clever 
 little water-colour likenesses, and she would 
 bring home, now two, now three lire, and say 
 joyously to Mirtilla, ‘ When next I want gloves 
 or shoes spend this, and do not ask Zia for 
 money.’ And Mirtilla would laugh delighted, 
 and put away the money towards Lina’s dowry, 
 drawing for the amount on her fast-lessening 
 store in the savings-bank, as indeed she did 
 when Lina asked if there were enough left of 
 her earnings to pay for sending her drawings 
 to Florence. Whatever happened, the child’s 
 dowry must not be touched. 
 
 Lina worked steadily, both at school and at 
 home; but she began to feel that she was 
 learning nothing new from the nuns, and that 
 she needed more teaching than she could have in 
 Signor dei Bardi’s short visits to Aleria if she 
 was really to be a painter. She grew restless 
 and out of heart. Childhood was over, and she 
 felt the disquiet and perplexities which come 
 with girlhood, and harass both the one who 
 
B Bolt front the Blue 
 
 233 
 
 feels them and those about her. ‘ I shall 
 never be able to be a real painter !’ she would 
 say to herself, and wring her hands in despair¬ 
 ing impatience, although she had been trained 
 into something of self-control. This was the 
 cry into which many feelings which she did not 
 understand, or only half understood, translated 
 itself. 
 
 Sora Emilia looked on, and sighed and 
 worried herself, unable to be controlled by 
 Signora Battistini’s calm assurance that all 
 girls were troublesome to themselves and others. 
 
 ‘ What shall I do if I cannot make her happy?’ 
 the poor lady asked herself. 
 
 She need not have troubled herself. A bolt 
 from the blue altered the whole position of 
 affairs, and scattered ruin around it. A letter 
 from her sister Isabella announced that, since 
 Dr. Battistini was about to give up the post of 
 medico condotto, as his practice was now too 
 large to allow him to keep it, their cousin, the 
 marchese, had used his influence to have her 
 son appointed in his place, and, of course, he 
 would live with Emilia; it would save the 
 expense of a lodging, and Mirtilla could wait 
 on him. Isabella would come with him in a 
 few days to arrange everything. 
 
 ‘ That is the Signora Isabella all over!’ ex- 
 
 30 
 
234 
 
 VUccoltna IFUccoltnt 
 
 claimed Mirtilla, as her speechless mistress 
 handed her the letter, and with much diffi¬ 
 culty she spelled out the contents more or less 
 correctly. ‘Not so much as to ask if it suits 
 you or not! Next week, too ! Holy patience ! 
 But, after all, the signorino is your nephew; it 
 is right we should have him with us. What 
 troubles you so much, my lady ? He will pay 
 his share, naturally.’ 
 
 ‘ Not that F gasped Sora Emilia. ‘ It is 
 Lina !’ 
 
 ‘ Lina ?’ And then, grasping the situation, 
 the old woman’s face fell; she gazed in con¬ 
 sternation at her mistress. 
 
 ‘ I have never told my sister anything about 
 her; it—it did not seem necessary,’ said Sora 
 Emilia, feeling, as everyone sooner or later must 
 do, how want of moral courage revenges itself; 
 c and besides—a young man and a girl living 
 together—it is impossible.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, it is impossible!’ responded Mirtilla, 
 aghast. 
 
 They knew that if even it were possible that 
 Aleria might condone such a breach of Italian 
 usages, Isabella certainly would not. What 
 was to be done ? They debated the question 
 the whole morning, knowing that they must 
 come to some conclusion before Lina returned 
 
B Bolt from tbe Blue 
 
 2 35 
 
 from school, since her quick eyes would certainly 
 see that something was gravely amiss; and in all 
 her utter perplexity and distress Sora Emilia 
 felt as a no small additional burden the thought 
 of having a young man, a strange young man— 
 for she could not think of this medico condotto 
 as the baby she recollected—as an inmate. A 
 young man! What would he do ? What 
 would he require ? She had not the least 
 notion. 
 
 ‘ Listen, Nata,’ she said at last, putting this 
 anxious question aside. e I will write to Dei 
 Bardi. He thinks so much of Lina that surely 
 he will do something for her. The price of one 
 of his pictures would pay all her expenses for 
 years.’ 
 
 ‘ That is true, mistress ; but his wife is saving 
 everything for Gino ; she will not let him spend 
 on anyone else. He will be rich one day—Gino; 
 
 and who knows-’ And Mirtilla chuckled 
 
 meaningly. 
 
 ‘ It is useless to look forward. I will write,’ 
 said Sora Emilia, the more decidedly that it 
 cost her much to take this step. 
 
 ‘ But for the moment, signora V 
 
 ‘ Ah, that is the first question. I do not 
 know—I cannot think what to do. Ah ! yes 
 I do ; I will send her for a while to the Appias 
 
236 
 
 IRtccoUna Wiccoltnt 
 
 —the good Appias. She will be happy and safe; 
 and they will do anything for one of my family.’ 
 
 Mirtilla made an odd, angry sound. 4 You 
 would send her to heretics ! It is a sin, 
 padrona !’ she exclaimed. 
 
 4 Yes, yes, those good people will keep her 
 safe. It is the only thing to do. If Isabella 
 found her here—and the child is so sensitive 
 and high-spirited-’ 
 
 4 But the journey will cost money, and the 
 little one cannot travel alone, mistress.’ 
 
 This last difficulty almost wrecked the plan. 
 Let a girl travel alone ! Sora Emilia shuddered 
 at the thought. 
 
 4 It is impossible !’ she agreed. But when 
 she reflected on other difficulties, she began to 
 think it not so impossible, and at last—that it 
 must be. 
 
 Mirtilla shook her head, and felt that the 
 world was coming to an end. 
 
 4 As for expense,’ her mistress went on, 4 1 
 have not enough money, but you will help me. 
 I would not take your savings formerly, but 
 now— Why, what is the matter, foolish 
 woman V 
 
 4 Alas ! mistress,’ said Mirtilla, blushing 
 through her tanned wrinkles, 4 forgive me; 
 truly I thought to do well, and there were so 
 
H Bolt front the Blue 
 
 237 
 
 many things of which the dear angel had need 
 —I have nothing left in the bank/ 
 
 ‘ Oh, Nata!’ said her mistress, holding out 
 her hand to her. And the two women wept 
 together. 
 
 It had, indeed, been quite necessary to settle 
 what steps to take before Lina returned from 
 school, for she noted Mirtilla’s forced gaiety, 
 and the reddened eyelids of Sora Emilia in a 
 moment. 
 
 4 What has happened ?’ she demanded. ‘Has 
 —has anyone come ?’ 
 
 The question seemed almost miraculously 
 apposite to the two, who could not guess that 
 Lina was thinking how Mr. Rayner had already 
 twice appeared on the scene. 
 
 ‘ How could you guess ? I only knew myself 
 this morning that my sister and her son were 
 coming next week/ said Sora Emilia. 
 
 ‘ Oh,’ said Lina, at once disappointed and re¬ 
 lieved. ‘ How old is the boy ?’ 
 
 ‘ He is a young man, and will be medico 
 condotto here/ said Sora Emilia, trembling as 
 she approached the revelation which must be 
 made. ‘ He is to live with me, and my sister 
 says he will want a bedroom and a study.’ 
 
 ‘ But it is your apartment/ said Lina, opening 
 her eyes. 
 
238 
 
 YUccoUita IRtccoltnt 
 
 ‘ It is my sister’s too. That is,’ said Sora 
 Emilia, recollecting for the first time that 
 unless Isabella were a widow, she had no claim 
 on it—‘ naturally, she treats it as hers. And, 
 as we have only two bedrooms furnished, I must 
 take Nata into mine. 
 
 ‘And I V demanded Lina, more surprised than 
 ever. Something prevented Sora Emilia from 
 replying, and Lina went on eagerly: 4 While your 
 sister is here, I can go to Signora Battistini, and 
 sleep with Biri and Dina. What fun !’ Her 
 eyes danced with delight. 
 
 Sora Emilia looked helplessly at Mirtilla, who 
 came loyally to the rescue. She was as averse 
 to sending Lina to heretics as ever. But a new 
 thought had flashed into her mind, which put 
 the plan in a more favourable light. 
 
 ‘We have found a better plan than that, 
 my heart. What do you think of a summer 
 in the country ? A journey! Think of 
 that r 
 
 ‘ Alone V exclaimed Lina incredulously. 
 
 ‘ I am thinking of sending you to those good 
 old people of whom I have often told you— 
 who live near our old country house.’ said Sora 
 Emilia, trying to speak cheerfully, while with 
 difficulty stifling her tears. She had not enough 
 moral courage to say more. 
 
B Bolt from the JBlue 
 
 239 
 
 Lina turned quickly upon her. ‘ For how 
 long V she asked. 
 
 ‘ I—I do not know. I—hope not for long.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not understand,’ said Lina, in the same 
 brusque tone. 
 
 And again Mirtilla rushed to the rescue. 
 
 ‘ Thou knowest, my angel,’ she said jestingly, 
 ‘ a big girl cannot live in the same house with a 
 young gentleman who is no relation. What 
 would people say ? But he will soon marry, 
 and doubtless his cousin, the Signor Marchese, 
 will give him an apartment—the saints know 
 we have room enough in the palazzo, and then 
 thou wilt come back to us.’ 
 
 ‘ How do you know he will soon marry? And 
 if not-when am I to go V 
 
 ‘ We thought of next Monday,’ faltered Sora 
 Emilia, much perturbed at the unexpected 
 manner in which her tidings were received. 
 
 ‘ All right! the examinations will be over by 
 then,’ said Lina, and left the room. 
 
 ‘ Has she really no heart ? This child whom 
 I love so much f exclaimed Sora Emilia. ‘Nata, 
 this is worst of all !’ 
 
 ‘ You know nothing about it, mistress,’ 
 growled the old servant. 
 
 And indeed, Lina was filled by a tempest of 
 feelings. 
 
240 
 
 IRtccoUtta IRtccolint 
 
 4 She sends me away! Yes, for I am nobody’s 
 child—taken out of the gutter,’ she cried to 
 herself, recalling the words once spoken to her 
 with all the more bitterness now that she 
 understood them better. 4 1 am nothing to Sora 
 Emilia ; she is good to me, that is all. Oh 
 father !’ 
 
 For a long time she had not thought about 
 her father ; but now his name sprang to her 
 lips. It was the bitterest moment in Lina’s 
 young life. But she was no longer the violent, 
 undisciplined child of three years earlier ; she 
 had responded to Sora Emilia’s careful training, 
 and little by little she recollected that she must 
 not be ungrateful. 4 Zia ’ certainly only let her 
 go because she could not help it, and would find 
 some way of having her back; and then the 
 thought of a journey, of new scenes, was con¬ 
 soling, and she returned with a pale, tired 
 little face, but a quiet look, and said : 4 1 will 
 go, Zia, since you think I must; but you will 
 have me back as soon as you can—will you 
 not V 
 
 4 Oh, my child 1’ exclaimed Sora Emilia, em¬ 
 bracing her with a sob, and was comforted. 
 
 After this things went more smoothly ; there 
 was a great deal of talk about what Lina 
 would see, and the pleasure which her letters 
 
B 3Bolt from the ffilue 
 
 241 
 
 would give Sora Emilia, and how fortunate it 
 was that the holidays were just beginning. 
 
 £ But I shall miss Signor dei Bardi !’ cried 
 Lina, in sudden consternation. 
 
 ‘ He may be at Angrogna,’ suggested Sora 
 Emilia; and Mirtilla added, with a delighted 
 chuckle : 
 
 ‘ And no doubt Gino will be there.’ 
 
 This was the thought that half reconciled her 
 to Lina’s departure. Lina crimsoned with joy. 
 
 ‘ Gino ! perhaps I shall see Gino !’ she cried. 
 
 Sora Emilia said nothing; she thought that 
 this sadly complicated matters. 
 
 ‘ I shall see Gino!’ Lina repeated to Mirtilla, 
 as they looked over her wardrobe together, 
 and the old woman chuckled and nodded her 
 head. ‘ I am sorry to miss the bagnanti 
 though, for I should have earned money by 
 taking likenesses, and I do so want to get 
 enough to buy a little vineyard and a tiny 
 house on it for Sora Emilia. That is the thing 
 she would like best in the world; she told me 
 so. How is my journey to be paid for V 
 
 ‘ You shall do it yourself, my heart; does 
 not that please you ?’ said Mirtilla, though sad 
 at heart thus to use Lina’s little earnings. 
 
 c I—but we have spent all my money on 
 clothes.’ 
 
 31 
 
242 
 
 Ifltccolma IRiccoiini 
 
 ‘ No, no, dear one ; I only told you so to 
 please you. Via! I know it was not true, 
 but where is the harm of a little lie which 
 hurts no one and gives pleasure ? I have all 
 your money, and you shall pay for the journey.’ 
 
 Lina was too well used to Mirtilla’s style of 
 morality to be shocked, but she was keenly 
 mortified. 
 
 4 Then I have not saved Sora Emilia any¬ 
 thing ?’ she asked. 
 
 ‘ All the better, or what should we do now ? 
 If there were only enough for me to go too ! 
 Travel alone ! what a scandal !’ 
 
 And this was the universal sentiment in 
 Aleria. Of course, she cannot now live in the 
 palazzo, everyone agreed; but to let her travel 
 alone ! Is it possible ? That at least should 
 never have been allowed. 
 
 Like Mirtilla, everybody supposed that the 
 young doctor would only come for a short time, 
 but Sora Emilia had no such hope, nor dared 
 she trust that Isabella would not hear all 
 about Lina before she had been two days in 
 Aleria. 
 
 ‘ If only I had told her at first,’ she said to 
 herself, full of vain regret that she had been 
 such a coward. ‘ It is true that she might 
 have come and forbidden me to keep the child, 
 
H Bolt from tbe Blue 
 
 243 
 
 or made my brothers do so. How angry she 
 will be!’ 
 
 And she trembled at the very thought of 
 Isabella’s displeasure. 
 
 Although Signora Battistini was thought in 
 Aleria to hold advanced views, she was quite 
 as much shocked to hear of Lina’s solitary 
 journey as the strictest Conservative, and knew 
 much better what the real and grave diffi¬ 
 culties of such a proceeding would be than did 
 Sora Emilia, who had not left the town for 
 over twenty years. She had intended to go to 
 Turin in the autumn to arrange for the future 
 education of her Biri, and now she settled to 
 go at once, taking Lina, and seeing her into 
 the train for Torre Pellice, where she would be 
 met. 
 
 ‘ How much I owe you!’ exclaimed Sora 
 Emilia, embracing her tearfully, and Signora 
 Battistini answered heartily : 
 
 ‘ There is nothing I would not do for you or 
 Lina.’ 
 
 Indeed, she had been so constantly consulted 
 about Lina’s health and clothes and educa¬ 
 tion, that she regarded her as something of a 
 daughter, and she had long ago forgotten that 
 she had ever feared the short-sighted eyes of 
 Sora Emilia. 
 
244 
 
 IFUccoUtta IRiccoltitt 
 
 The relief of knowing that Lina would be in 
 safe keeping, at least as far as Turin, was so 
 great that Sora Emilia could bid farewell at the 
 station with almost a smile, and Mirtilla was 
 quite gay; but this was a little part played to 
 conceal from Lina and others how uncertain the 
 time of her return was. She, too, feared the 
 despotic Isabella, and cowered at the thought 
 of what she would say when she heard about 
 Lina, as she was sure to do almost as soon as 
 she arrived. Mistress and maid went home in 
 the lowest spirits, to think and say a hundred 
 times a day, ‘ How we miss her ! Where will 
 the dear child be just now V 
 
 At Turin Signora Battistini had to let Lina 
 continue her journey alone, and could not but 
 think how frightened in such a case would be 
 her own Riri and Dina. Lina was not frightened 
 at all. She was a high-spirited creature, and 
 the early years when she ran w T ild had given 
 her an independence suppressed but not up¬ 
 rooted by her life in the Palazzo Sinibaldi; in¬ 
 stead of being alarmed by novelty, it delighted 
 her. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes,’ she answered brightly to Signora 
 Battistini’s various admonitions; ‘ do not trouble 
 about me. I will write to-morrow to Alena.’ 
 
 ‘And send me a post-card, too,’ said her 
 
B 1Bo\t front tbe JBlue 
 
 245 
 
 friend, who had supplied her with writing 
 materials, and she stood looking as long as she 
 could at the little face leaning from the window 
 of the train. Poor Sora Emilia would have 
 again wondered if her child could be heartless, 
 seeing her so merry, but Signora Battistini 
 knew children’s ways, and could make allowance 
 for excitement and novelty. She knew that 
 when darkness and solitude made themselves 
 felt, the child’s pillow would be wet with tears. 
 How fortunate that she was so cheerful just now ! 
 
 She had had the forethought to write down 
 the names of the few stations between Turin 
 and Torre Pellice, and Lina sat at the window 
 and noted each as the slow train paused at 
 every one, and her eye sought the line of distant 
 mountains at the far edge of the plain, and her 
 heart beat as she thought of all the stories 
 which Sora Emilia had told her of the ancestors 
 of those Yaldesi among whom she was going, of 
 their devotion to the simple faith which lived 
 among them, handed down from the earliest 
 times; of the heroic endurance with which 
 they met cruel persecution and death, or exile 
 almost worse. Lina took out of her basket 
 with reverence Sora Emilia’s last gift, put into 
 her hands with tears. 
 
 4 You must treasure it always, and bring it 
 
246 
 
 mtccoUna IRtccoltm 
 
 back safely,’ she had said, touching the little 
 old black Bible tenderly. £ It is the most 
 precious thing I have. Yes, yes, I wish you 
 to have it, and—and Isabella never likes to see 
 it.’ So Lina carried away the little volume 
 with the marks of fire upon it, and felt as if it 
 represented all the sufferings of the slaughtered 
 saints against whose wrongs Milton raised an 
 appeal to Heaven. 
 
 ‘ Torre Pellice!’ and the train stopped at 
 a little station. Two or three people got out, 
 Lina among them, and a tall, gray-haired old 
 man with large, grave features came forward, 
 evidently seeking someone. 
 
 6 Is it Signor Appia ?’ Lina asked in Italian, 
 forgetting for the moment that in the valleys 
 French was spoken ; but almost all the inhabit¬ 
 ants who are at all educated talk not only 
 French but Italian, as well as their own singular 
 Yaldese patois, and the old man turned at once 
 to say with grave respect: 
 
 £ Yes, signorina, you are welcome.’ 
 
 Then he lifted Lina’s modest valise and carried 
 it to a rough country vehicle, drawn by a strong 
 horse, helped her to get in, lifted his hat to the 
 stationmaster, a smart young officer, lieutenant 
 in the army of King Umberto, who was taking 
 charge of the station in order to know all about 
 
E Bolt front tbe Blue 
 
 247 
 
 trains and railroads in time of war, and drove 
 off. 
 
 His farm lay in a side valley, and the horse 
 soon slackened its pace as they mounted the 
 steep hill ; a gray-green torrent rushed over 
 rocks far below on the left, and on the other 
 hand rose mountain lawns, where gentians were 
 growing now, and later, pale lilac crocuses 
 would shoot through the grass. 
 
 Lina was not a little surprised by her com¬ 
 panion’s silence; used to vivacious, talkative 
 surroundings, she had expected a hundred eager 
 questions about Sora Emilia, herself—every¬ 
 thing. The silence of her companion oppressed 
 her ; she felt that it must be broken. 
 
 ‘ Sora Emilia sends many greetings,’ she said. 
 
 ‘ Offer her all my respects,’ replied the 
 farmer. His face had lightened a little on 
 hearing Sora Emilia’s name ; that was all. 
 
 Lina was silent, too ; tears started to her 
 eyes. At another time she would have chattered 
 on, but a sudden sense of desolation smote her 
 with keen pain. Everything was strange to 
 her; even the greenness of the trees, the 
 abundance of streams, the mountain slopes, 
 scared her, used as she was to gray olives, and 
 dazzling sea and dusty roads. 
 
 By-and-by they drove into a large courtyard. 
 
248 
 
 IRiccolUta IFUccoUni 
 
 with farm buildings on one side and a house on 
 the other ; a wooden gallery, along which vines 
 clambered, ran all along the first-floor, and an 
 old woman, dressed like a peasant, was leaning 
 over it. She came quietly down. 
 
 ‘ Dear mademoiselle, we are glad to receive 
 you,’ she said gently. 
 
 Lina smiled, but all this respect chilled her. 
 She had always been loved and scolded and 
 treated as a child ; now, all at once, she seemed 
 to have turned into a young lady. 
 
 ‘ Call me Lina,’ she said ; but Madame Appia, 
 
 being slightly deaf, did not hear, nor, had she 
 
 heard, would she have heeded. It was not 
 * 
 
 possible to her to call the girl sent by a Sini- 
 baldi to visit her by a Christian name. ‘ My 
 adopted niece/ Sora Emilia had called her in the 
 hurried and not very explicit letter in which 
 she had begged the Appias to give house-room 
 for a while to Lina. They were glad to do any¬ 
 thing for the daughter of the Conte Sinibaldi, 
 to whom all Yaldesi owed a deep debt of grati¬ 
 tude, and they had an affectionate recollection 
 of Emilia herself, who used often to visit them 
 with her father, but they could not regard 
 Lina as one of themselves; she was a stranger, 
 and a young lady, and they had anxiously 
 discussed together what was to be done if she 
 
H Bolt from tbe Blue 
 
 249 
 
 should wish to go to Mass, as was most likely— 
 to Mass from their' house ? Old Appia had 
 almost felt it a point of conscience to stipulate 
 that this should not be, and, though he had 
 not actually named it in replying to Sora 
 Emilia, it lay heavy on his mind. Nowhere 
 under outward harmony does religious feeling 
 run stronger than in the valleys, and it is always 
 ready to break out, although now actual perse¬ 
 cution on either side is illegal. 
 
 The next day was a Sunday, and it was no 
 small relief to the old couple, that Lina took it as 
 a matter of course that she should accompany 
 them to their chapel, understanding, indeed, 
 little or nothing of the points of difference 
 between the Roman Church and that of the 
 Yaldesi. Luckily, they did not guess how little 
 she liked the bare white walls—the want of all 
 exterior helps to devotion. 
 
 ‘ How ugly it all is !’ she said to herself; 
 and the sermon seemed to her endless. In 
 truth, the sermon has far too much replaced 
 prayer in a Yaldensian service. 
 
 The congregation consisted entirely of peasants 
 and farmers. The Appias were among the most 
 important people there. In early times there 
 were some noble families among the Yaldesi; 
 but little by little they were exterminated, or, 
 
 32 
 
250 
 
 TOccoltita IRlccoUnt 
 
 weary of persecution, turned Roman Catholics, 
 though still here and there might be found 
 some one among them who sympathized with 
 the brave and steadfast mountaineers who 
 counted lands and life as nothing compared 
 to the faith which they had inherited from 
 their forefathers. The father of Sora Emilia 
 had been one of these. 
 
 The congregation came out to find rain falling, 
 and instantly up went the dark-red and bright- 
 green umbrellas. The minister hurried into his 
 house to snatch a hasty meal before going off to 
 a distant hamlet, where he would hold a second 
 service, and then go on some miles further for a 
 third. 
 
 Madame Appia took Lina’s hand, and walked 
 home as fast as she could, without waiting for 
 her husband, who had some matters to discuss 
 with the elders who managed the affairs of the 
 parish. 
 
 ‘ You have no umbrella V she said, sheltering 
 Lina under the ample extent of her own. 
 
 Lina shook her head. Nobody at Aleria 
 dreamed of encountering rain or wind, unless 
 it were quite unavoidable; and if she had to 
 go to school on a wet day, it was all she could 
 do to wrest permission from Sora Emilia, or to 
 persuade Mirtilla to take her. 
 
H Bolt front tfoe Blue 
 
 25 1 
 
 She found the time hang heavily, and this 
 was a new sensation for Lina, who in Palazzo 
 Sinibaldi never felt the day long enough. 
 There was no one to chatter to; the maid was 
 busy and silent ; the timid, nervous manner 
 of Madame Appia gave a sense of constraint. 
 A dozen times she turned to say something 
 to Sora Emilia, or Mirtilla, only to recollect, 
 with a sharp pang, that they were far away. 
 Everything was new and strange here: the 
 fields, where purple salvia and pink persicaria 
 made a glow of colour, and great white daisies 
 starred the rich grass ; the chestnut trees, the 
 gray-green torrent; the farmhouse, the meals. 
 Lina looked on amazed at the dinner, so unlike 
 the frugal meal in the Palazzo Sinibaldi, and 
 wondered why anybody should want more than 
 a little cup of black coffee in the morning, a dish 
 or two for dinner, and a little soup and salad for 
 supper. That was all that anybody in Aleria 
 expected. In the valleys, however, the damp 
 and almost northern climate no doubt demanded 
 more solid nourishment; besides which, the 
 farmer’s wife wanted to do honour to her guest, 
 and pressed all the dishes upon her—distressed 
 and mortified by her small appetite. She asked 
 herself whether she should tempt her with 
 bricelets—the cakes of those parts—or make a 
 
252 
 
 WfccoUna IRtccoltm 
 
 dose of herb-tea—burrage and sage—for her, or, 
 perhaps, Carlsbad salts would be best—they 
 cured everything. 
 
 Fortunately for Lina, she decided on the 
 bricelets, and went away as soon as she could 
 to make them. 
 
 Lina wrote to Sora Emilia and to Riri, and 
 then asked herself what to do next. The rain 
 was over, and she went into the vineyard, where 
 she saw old Appia sitting on a bench, his large 
 hands on his knees, his eyes on the mountain - 
 peak opposite, round which clouds were float¬ 
 ing, lending it imposing height and grandeur. 
 ‘ The heights of the hills are His also,' he mut¬ 
 tered as he looked, no doubt recalling how his 
 people had taken refuge in those heights, to 
 escape the troops sent against them—some 
 dying there of cold and want, in the cruel 
 winter, some murdered by their persecutors, 
 a few escaping. 
 
 Lina guessed his thoughts, and asked eagerly 
 if he would tell her about those times. He 
 turned a grave, almost stern look upon her. 
 
 ‘ Best not think of what has been done in the 
 valleys, if we are to live in charity with the 
 children of our enemies,’ he answered. 
 
 She did not venture to ask more, though she 
 murmured, in a disappointed voice : 
 
B Bolt from tbe Blue 
 
 2 53 
 
 ‘ Sora Emilia used to tell me about it.’ 
 
 The old man’s face softened. 
 
 ‘ That is well done by her father’s daughter,’ 
 he answered, but said no more. 
 
 Lina was almost angry. To her these recol¬ 
 lections were but a romantic story, while for the 
 Yaldesi they awakened feelings of hatred and 
 wrath such as they dared not indulge in. This 
 reluctance to speak of the past was very 
 general, but it was not always easy to tell 
 whether it arose from forgetfulness of what had 
 come and gone, or a shrinking from recalling it. 
 There were anniversaries when a deliverance 
 was solemnly celebrated, and a few families had 
 papers or a Bible belonging to some murdered 
 ancestor ; but usually nothing could be extracted 
 by Lina concerning their sad and noble history. 
 She had come among a silent and industrious 
 race, born under the shadow of oppression and 
 fear, isolated from their fellow-countrymen, and 
 little accessible to new ideas. It must be owned 
 that she did not feel at all at home among 
 them. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 Lina was of a nature much too eager and joyous 
 not to find some interest and pleasure in her 
 new life, though she was often homesick, and 
 wondered when she should be recalled. Perhaps 
 her hosts wondered, too, though they were too 
 hospitable to say so, even to one another. This 
 prolonged stay could not but surprise them, for 
 Sora Emilia had only asked them to receive 
 Lina for a day or two, persuading herself that 
 Signor dei Bardi would do something for the 
 pupil whose talent he praised so highly. 
 
 Sora Emilia was a very simple-minded person, 
 who took her rule of life direct from her New 
 Testament, and quite believed that other people 
 did so too. Dei Bardi had plenty of money ; 
 Lina needed help ; of course he would give it. 
 But, unfortunately, few persons take this view, 
 and Signor dei Bardi considered that his money 
 ought to be kept for Gino, and that Lina had 
 
3\\ tbe Dailey 
 
 2 55 
 
 no claim on him, though he was vexed and dis¬ 
 appointed not to find her at Aleria. 
 
 Poor Sora Emilia learned with a painful shock 
 of surprise that her point of view seemed merely 
 absurd to her old friend and to her sister 
 Isabella. 
 
 4 1 dare say I am very foolish; of course, I 
 know nothing of the world,’ she said humbly 
 and sadly, and neither she nor others were 
 aware that, after all, hers was the key that 
 would unlock half the problems of that un¬ 
 intelligible world. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lina occupied herself as much as 
 she could, and made friends with all the people 
 and animals on the farm. She learned to make 
 butter and bread, and, after many failures, 
 succeeded in milking a cow ; she drew portraits 
 of the farming hands, their wives and children, 
 and sent a likeness of the grave, thoughtful old 
 farmer himself to Sora Emilia, which called 
 forth warm praise from Dei Bardi when he saw 
 it. All the people on and about the farm 
 adored her ; she was always welcome, coming 
 and going among them as she liked, and 
 wandering as she pleased, without any check 
 from ‘ Magna,’ as everyone called Madame 
 Appia ; she and her husband liked the old- 
 fashioned titles of Magna and Barba, answering 
 
256 
 
 IFUccoltna IRiccoUm 
 
 to Dame and Master, and Lina soon caught 
 them up and used them as their people did. 
 
 Perhaps Magna allowed rather too much 
 freedom, for on one occasion, at least, Lina got 
 into some danger, barely avoiding a broken 
 pitcher flung down on her from a high bank. 
 She jumped back, and it crashed and broke on 
 the road, while a malicious head craned from 
 above, and a boy’s voice called out with a rude 
 laugh : 
 
 ‘ That is for you, little gallows-heretic.’ 
 
 Lina was so much exasperated that she stopped 
 and exclaimed: 
 
 ‘ You coward, to try to hurt a girl!’ and it 
 was fortunate for her that the wheels of a 
 cart were heard, or worse might have come 
 of it. She darted home to tell her indignant 
 story. 
 
 Old Appia shook his head. 
 
 4 I shall speak to the Sindaco,’ he said; 4 he 
 does not love us, but he knows that it is not 
 legal to insult us now. But go no more near 
 that place ; there are three or four cottages up 
 there full of bad families, descended from a band 
 who, a hundred years ago, came by night and 
 murdered the Valdesi who lived there, men, 
 women, and children, and took their homes and 
 lands.’ 
 
3 n tbe IDallep 
 
 257 
 
 ‘ But why were they not punished V demanded 
 Lina with flashing eyes. 
 
 £ Punished!’ repeated the old man, smiling 
 strangely ; ‘ the authorities said that they had 
 done well. But when the French invaded 
 Piedmont, it was to us and not to such scum as 
 those that the king trusted to defend the passes. 
 And we did/ added the old Valdese with a glow 
 of pride on his rugged face. 
 
 ‘ And then—then ? Was he not grateful V 
 
 1 It is written, “ Put not your trust in princes ,” 9 
 he answered with the same meaning smile as 
 before, and Lina could draw no more from him ; 
 but she had discovered a book about the Yaldesi, 
 and learned for herself how cruelly this people, 
 whose sole crime consisted in holding the simple 
 and primitive faith handed down from very 
 early times, had suffered for it, and her heart 
 burned as she read. 
 
 A little later she saw her enemy of the broken 
 pot again, fortunately unseen by him. Climb¬ 
 ing in a lonely part of the valley in search 
 of a cave mentioned in her book, in which a 
 number of Yaldesi had found refuge, she saw 
 him coming with a companion, and, feeling 
 much as if she herself were fleeing from deadly 
 foes, she hid among the rocks, her heart beat¬ 
 ing fast. 
 
 33 
 
258 
 
 IFUccoUna IRlccoUm 
 
 The two lads were talking eagerly together; 
 one had a spade, the other a ball dangling from 
 a long string; they made for the cave which 
 Lina had been seeking in vain, jeering one 
 another, as people will do who want to shake 
 off inward fears. At the mouth they paused, 
 neither willing to go in first; finally they 
 entered at the same moment. 
 
 Lina was frightened, but her curiosity was 
 strongly excited, and she crept out of her 
 hiding-place, and peeped down into the cave 
 through a crack in the rocky roof. It was 
 large and lofty ; a little light flittered in, and 
 she could see the boys standing close together, 
 lighting an end of candle, and staring at the 
 ball swinging from its string all the more that 
 the hand which held it was shaking. 
 
 ‘ Give it here/ said the elder lad inrpatiently, 
 and, held steadily, after a time it moved more 
 slowly, and at last swung regularly. 
 
 ‘ It’s here !’ the boys muttered at the same 
 time, looking eagerly at one another, and then, 
 giving the ball back to his companion, the one 
 with the spade began to dig. 
 
 Lina watched breathless overhead. 
 
 4 Make haste f the other said, in an angry, 
 frightened voice, ‘ the candle is going out.’ 
 
 ‘ There is nothing but rock and stones,’ said 
 
3 n tbe Dallep 
 
 2 S 9 
 
 the lad with the spade, stopping to recover 
 breath. ‘ I have heard say that the Evil One 
 turns the heretics’ money into stones.’ 
 
 ‘ Here, give me the spade,’ said his com¬ 
 panion angrily, and began to dig in his turn. 
 
 Lina understood now that they expected to 
 find money. She would have liked to go on 
 watching, but had sense enough to know that 
 she would do well to escape while the lads 
 were engrossed in their search, and she fled 
 away as noiselessly and as fast as she could. 
 
 Old Appia looked stern over her story. 
 
 ‘ You should not run wild over the country 
 thus, mademoiselle,’ he said ; ‘ What were they 
 doing ? Practices out of heathen times, that 
 is all.’ 
 
 But when his wife’s deafness allowed her to 
 take in what Lina had to tell, she showed 
 considerably more interest. 
 
 ‘ They had a magic ball!’ she said eagerly ; 
 ‘ now I wonder how they came by it ? Do you 
 not know, mademoiselle ? . . . Well, no doubt 
 it is all nonsense, as my husband would say ’— 
 he had gone out of the room—‘ but still I have 
 heard that those who possess one can find 
 treasure. Old people have told me so, and the 
 old know many things.’ She evidently did 
 not realize that she was an old woman herself. 
 
260 
 
 IFUccolma IKUccoUm 
 
 £ But why should they look for treasure in 
 that cave V 
 
 ‘ It is known that many of our people buried 
 what money or valuables they could in the bad 
 days, and so many never came back to find 
 them. No one knew where the place was, 
 except the dead. Some who are only poor 
 peasants now would be rich if they knew where 
 their ancestors’ money lay hid.’ 
 
 ‘ But did they not mark the place ?’ 
 
 ‘ Oh yes, no doubt; but marks got swept 
 away where fire and sword came, as everyone 
 who knew what the sign meant was killed.’ 
 
 A sudden thought flashed into Lina’s mind ; 
 she crimsoned. 
 
 ‘ Wait, wait, I want to show you something,’ 
 she cried, flying out of the room, and, as usual, 
 taking away Magna’s breath by her rapid 
 movements. She returned directly holding 
 Sora Emilia’s little old Bible. ‘ Look, what 
 does that mean ?’ she exclaimed, taking out 
 the drawing of the ancient manor-house which 
 had once called forth her scorn. ‘ There is a 
 cross—what does that mean ? Do you not 
 understand ?’ almost dancing with impatience, 
 as the old woman looked with slow, puzzled 
 eyes. ‘ Ah ! here is Barba —he will under¬ 
 stand.’ 
 
Sn tbe 261 
 
 The farmer took both the Bible and the bit 
 of paper, but it was at the former that he 
 looked. 
 
 ‘ How did you come by this ?’ he asked, 
 astonished, touching it reverently. 
 
 4 It is Sora Emilia’s. She let me bring it. 
 Oh, Barba-’ 
 
 ‘ She should not have parted with it,’ he 
 said, with grave surprise and disapproval. ‘ It 
 belonged to a martyr.’ 
 
 ‘I am to take it back. But look, do look ! 
 This is the old house here—it is very badly 
 drawn,’ said Lina, her artistic feelings making 
 themselves heard even in the interest of what 
 she had to say, ‘ but it is the house. And 
 there is a mark by that window. What does 
 that mean ? Oh, I know! I know it is to 
 show that something is hidden there, and now 
 it will be found, and Sora Emilia will not be 
 poor any longer. Oh, what a good thing it is 
 that I came here! Let us go and look now, 
 this minute.’ 
 
 But this course was declared by Barba to 
 be out of the question. He had no right to 
 pull down the walls of the manor to look for 
 possible valuables; the consent of the family 
 must be asked ; there might be many diffi¬ 
 culties. 
 
262 
 
 IFUccoUna IRiccollnf 
 
 ‘ You are a hard-hearted old man, and I will 
 write and tell Sora Emilia so !’ cried Lina, with 
 all her old vehemence. 
 
 Old Appia looked at her. 
 
 ‘ You forget yourself, mademoiselle/ he said, 
 and went away. 
 
 Lina shed some angry tears, and then was 
 ashamed of herself, and said so ; and she wrote 
 to Sora Emilia in a more composed and reason¬ 
 able manner than she would have otherwise 
 done, but then impatience got the upper hand 
 again, and she counted the hours till she could 
 get a reply. 
 
 4 She will have my letter to-morrow, in the 
 evening,’ she said ; ‘ oh, how can I wait till I 
 hear from her!’ 
 
 The letter, however, did not arouse the 
 pleasurable feelings which Lina confidently 
 imagined; on the contrary, it alarmed and 
 disturbed Sora Emilia exceedingly ; and it came, 
 too, at such an unlucky moment—-just when her 
 sister and nephew and she were all sitting 
 together, the two former smoking cigarettes. 
 Like many Italian women, Donna Isabella 
 smoked habitually; she was a large, hand¬ 
 some, middle-aged woman, with black eyes and 
 eyebrows, and a deep voice. 
 
 Sora Emilia glanced apprehensively at her 
 
Sit the Dallep 
 
 263 
 
 as she took the letter, and signed hurriedly to 
 Mirtilla not to wait or ask about its contents. 
 Mirtilla obeyed with unwonted meekness. Of 
 course Donna Isabella had immediately learned 
 all about Lina, and both Mirtilla and Sora 
 Emilia had been quite prostrated by the weight 
 of her contempt and displeasure. 
 
 4 What can the dear child be dreaming of?’ 
 said poor Sora Emilia to herself, trembling. 
 
 ‘ As if I could give leave without the permis¬ 
 sion of my family ! They would think her 
 impertinent; I should never dare to name it.’ 
 
 At that moment Isabella stretched out her 
 hand for the letter. It seemed to her a matter 
 of course that she should read any which her 
 unmarried sister received. 
 
 ‘ From that child!’ she said, and Emilia 
 winced at the tone and look. ‘ Pray where 
 does she get money to waste on postage V 
 
 ‘ She—she pays for it, sister. She has a 
 little money which she earned-’ 
 
 Donna Isabella was not listening. 
 
 ‘ She seems to write every day,’ she went on 
 witheringly. 
 
 4 No, I assure you, sister. I have only had 
 three letters since you came.’ 
 
 4 Then Mirtilla has. Yes, I found the foolish 
 old woman crying for joy over one last week. 
 
264 
 
 IRiccoltna mtccoltnt 
 
 Now, understand once for all, Emilia, that this 
 girl does not return here. You must get rid 
 of her. You had no right, as you know very 
 well, ever to have her. If you had not known 
 it, you would not have concealed the thing. 
 Old maids ought to be shut up in convents 
 where they cannot make fools of themselves. 
 But at all events here she does not return.’ 
 
 ‘ Excuse me, mamma,’ said her son, in his 
 gentle, indifferent voice, ‘but I imagined this 
 apartment belonged to my aunt V 
 
 c What has that to do with it V demanded 
 his mother, genuinely astonished, and then 
 seeing him smile, she perceived for the first time 
 that it had something to do with it. Sora 
 Emilia gave her nephew a surprised, frightened, 
 grateful look, and her heart warmed to him. 
 He was no longer only c a young man ’ to her, 
 but her own nephew, who took her part. If 
 there were anyone of whom Isabella felt in awe, 
 it was her quiet, silent son. She coloured 
 angrily, and began to read the letter. 
 
 £ What is all this about a paper ?’ she asked, 
 so abruptly that Sora Emilia stammered in 
 confusion, and it took a great deal of sharp 
 cross-questioning before Isabella could under¬ 
 stand. When she did she looked thoughtful, 
 not displeased, as her sister expected. 
 
3tt tbe Dailey 
 
 265 
 
 ‘ The thing is possible; at all events it is 
 worth trying/ she said, thinking with a sigh 
 how very acceptable a little money would be. 
 £ Write and say so/ 
 
 So Lina got the permission so ardently 
 desired, but there were still vexatious obstacles. 
 Old Appia would do nothing without the 
 presence of his minister and the sindaco (mayor), 
 saying that he must be careful—it would not 
 do to set ill tongues wagging; and then the 
 sindaco, unwilling to trouble himself for a 
 Valdese, demanded a written authorization for 
 the search from all concerned. Lina knew that 
 one brother was in South America, and was 
 much surprised when his signature appeared 
 among the rest, not guessing that Donna 
 Isabella had promptly settled that matter by 
 writing it herself. The sindaco did not know 
 this, but he brought forward a number of 
 objections, which Appia rightly interpreted 
 when he said : 
 
 ‘ The old story; if it is possible to harass one 
 of us, they do it even yet. Not all, no, but 
 most of them. And it has never been for¬ 
 gotten that the father of Sora Emilia stood our 
 friend, and that his son fought with Garibaldi. 
 And the sindaco’s wife is a bigot, and hates 
 
 34 
 
266 
 
 VUccoUna IRtccoltm 
 
 4 But you will not give up V cried Lina. 
 ‘ Sora Emilia is so poor !’ 
 
 The farmer did not give up; though he had 
 the timorous caution of an oppressed race, he 
 had the tenacity of his people too, but just 
 when he thought he had successfully brought 
 the matter to a point, a new difficulty arose. 
 Somebody suggested to the sindaco that since 
 the Sinibaldi who hid the money, if money 
 there were, was a heretic and a rebel, the 
 property left by him had been nearly all con¬ 
 fiscated ; whatever was found ought to belong 
 to the Commune, or even be divided among the 
 local authorities. The sindaco’s wife took up 
 this view very warmly, and induced her husband 
 to make every possible delay until she could 
 consult a cousin who was a lawyer. 
 
 The cousin unkindly assured them that they 
 would have no claim whatever, and then they felt 
 as if they had been cheated out of what should 
 have been theirs, and were more reluctant than 
 ever to forward the search. It seemed such a 
 simple matter, but nothing is simple in Italy, 
 where there are always wheels within wheels, 
 and interest is all-powerful. 
 
 So the time slipped by, and nothing was 
 done, and Lina’s home-sickness grew and grew 
 into a passion of longing to leave these green 
 
5n tbe lMle\? 
 
 267 
 
 fields and these enclosing mountains and the 
 river—the happy river which could escape from 
 the valley, and return to Aleria, and all that it 
 meant to her. How was she ever to learn 
 anything more if she stayed here ? How bear 
 the long days in this place where nobody wanted 
 her, where Gino did not come, and where his 
 aunt, who did, took no notice of her, though she 
 had often seen her at Aleria in the bathing 
 season. 
 
 ‘ You see, mademoiselle, she would not notice 
 one in our house; she does not love us of the 
 religion,’ Magna had explained, when Lina 
 expressed her wonder. 
 
 It seemed to Lina that this put the finishing 
 touch to her despair. Had she not been a 
 really loving and generous child, she would 
 have written letter after letter, imploring Sora 
 Emilia to let her come back; as it was, if her 
 home-sickness peeped out, it was unknown to 
 her. c I know she wants me,’ she would say to 
 herself. ‘ She will send for me as soon as 
 she can.’ 
 
 But her hopes began to sink very low, and 
 Magna began again to consider the desira¬ 
 bility of burrage tea and Carlsbad salts, as she 
 noted her saddened face and failing appetite. 
 
 ‘ Nobody’s child !’ Lina would whisper to herself 
 
268 
 
 ftUccoltita IFUccoUtti 
 
 with bitter tears, when there was no one by to 
 see, and perhaps she was tempted to regret 
 having hidden from Mr. Rayner on that festa 
 day in Aleria. Mirtilla would have been very 
 miserable could she have guessed how her angry 
 words, forgotten by her in a few hours, haunted 
 the child whom she loved better than anyone 
 in the world except her lady. But there is no 
 taking back spoken words; Lina recollected 
 every one used on that occasion by Mirtilla, and 
 they smarted. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 WHAT GINO HAD TO SAY. 
 
 It was certainly not Gino’s fault that he had 
 not spent the summer holidays at his aunt’s. 
 His mother, delighted at being able to go to 
 Aleria without the risk of finding ‘ that girl ’ 
 there, as she called Lina, had let him suppose 
 Lina would, as usual, be found in the Palazzo 
 Sinibaldi. It was an unwise way of treating a 
 lad of sixteen, and his deep disappointment and 
 displeasure when he learned the truth startled 
 her, and made her feel what Italians are slow 
 to realize, that honesty really is the best policy. 
 Gino did not say much; she wished he had, but 
 he drew back into himself, and she felt that 
 she had lost her boy’s confidence. 
 
 Nor did she get much comfort from her 
 husband, who only said with vexation, 4 The 
 boy’s holidays are spoiled.’ He was out of 
 humour, regretting his promising pupil, and 
 feeling a reproof in the sad wonder of Sora 
 
270 
 
 IRtccoliita IRiccolmt 
 
 Emilia, who evidently could not understand 
 why he would do nothing for Lina. ‘ What 
 possible claim has the girl on me V he said to 
 himself, but still he felt uncomfortable, and 
 went but seldom to the palazzo. 
 
 On the other hand, Gino was often to be 
 found there. If he could not see Lina, at least 
 he could talk of her to Sora Emilia and Mirtilla, 
 and read her letters to them—when Isabella 
 was not present. He did not love Donna 
 Isabella. Sora Emilia would not send his 
 messages to Lina, but she could not help telling 
 her darling how often she saw him, and how he 
 wished for her return. 
 
 ‘ Almost as much as I do,’ wrote Sora Emilia 
 with wet eyes. 
 
 She still flattered herself that she could 
 have Lina back. Isabella would soon go, and 
 
 then- But her son would stay. What— 
 
 what was to be done? She lay awake long 
 hours vainly seeking to answer this question, 
 little guessing that it would be settled for her 
 by people whose very name she had never heard. 
 
 The bathing season ended; Donna Isabella 
 went away, but Lina was still the guest of the 
 Appias. Sora Emilia had written a confused 
 and sad little note, excusing herself for leaving 
 her so long, and begging them to accept a small 
 
Wbat (Bitto bab to Sap 
 
 271 
 
 sum to pay for her board, money sent by her 
 brother in South America, whose affairs seemed 
 prospering. The farmer accepted it simply as 
 a matter of course. It seemed to him only 
 just, but his wife would fain have refused ; she 
 had grown very fond of Lina. 
 
 ‘We have no child—now,’ she suggested 
 timidly. ‘ Could we not adopt this one V 
 
 But her husband made a sign of refusal; he 
 would not put anyone in the place of his dead 
 son—it displeased him that she should have 
 proposed it. She submitted, sighing, without 
 another word ; she had never opposed her 
 husband in her life, and indeed old Appia’s will 
 was law to all his belongings. Lina did not 
 guess how gladly Magna would have given her 
 a home, and probably, though this did not 
 occur to anybody, she would not at all have 
 liked to be the adopted child of these worthy 
 people. 
 
 She knew through Sora Emilia that the Dei 
 Bardi had returned earlier than usual to 
 Florence, because there was to be an Art Ex¬ 
 hibition late in the autumn, and Dei Bardi 
 not only had pictures to send in but was on 
 the committee of management, and Gino was 
 deeply interested in it; if he could not draw 
 he was at all events very proud of his father’s 
 
272 
 
 IRiccolina IFUccoUnt 
 
 fame and talent, and he wanted to hear all 
 about what was arranged. 
 
 ‘ If I could only see that Exhibition !’ Lina 
 sighed to herself; and Gino on his side would 
 say to his father, 4 If only that money were 
 found, perhaps Sora Emilia would bring Lina 
 here,’ which indeed was a thing not in the least 
 likely, whatever happened, though Lina was 
 destined to be at Florence through quite other 
 means, and the Exhibition was the place where 
 that clue would be found which Mrs. Dalton 
 had been vainly seeking for months, in fact 
 ever since the sudden death of Mr. Dalton. 
 
 The first day of the Fine Arts Exhibition in 
 Florence brought a crowd to the rooms where 
 it was held—a pushing, gaily-dressed throng, 
 where as usual few looked and commented 
 intelligently, and the greater number went 
 away no wiser than they came. Among them 
 were Mr. Eayner and Mrs. Dalton. Mr. Eayner 
 really knew a good deal about art, and almost 
 any exhibition had an attraction for him ; he 
 went about in high spirits, criticizing and 
 making notes on his catalogue, and constantly 
 turning to his companion. He was in his 
 element, and did not discover that it was an 
 effort to her to attend to his remarks. She 
 looked ill and tired, and felt out of place in this 
 
Mbat Giito bab to Sa£ 
 
 273 
 
 gay and bustling scene, where indeed she had 
 come only to please her old friend, who always 
 wanted a companion. Her thoughts were with 
 that vain search which she had undertaken so 
 eagerly, and she always seemed to hear the 
 words of her dying husband, ‘ Find Elvira. I 
 have not done my duty by her.’ 
 
 She had done her best, but at the outset was 
 alarmed and discouraged to learn from the 
 lawyer who had had charge of Elvira’s small 
 affairs that for some years he had heard nothing 
 of her, and that her dividends had remained in 
 his hands untouched. Mrs. Dalton determined 
 to go to Italy and trace out the Niccolini family, 
 and Mr. Itayner at once declared that he should 
 accompany her; it had always been his con¬ 
 viction that everything would have gone right 
 had he but had the management of the affair. 
 After considerable difficulty and expense, they 
 came on the track they were seeking, but only 
 to learn with dismay that nothing was known 
 of Elvira. Signora Niccolini had supposed her 
 with her father, and seemed to care very little 
 what had become of her. Mrs. Dalton was 
 filled with compassion for Elvira as she listened, 
 and looked at this Italian mother-in-law of the 
 lower middle-class, untidy, repellent, evidently 
 suspicious of strangers, and very bitter against 
 
 35 
 
274 
 
 IRiccoiina HtccoUnt 
 
 the heretic English girl who had ruined her 
 son’s career. She did not even seem to care 
 particularly about her grandchild. 
 
 ‘ Her mother chose, against my wish, to bring 
 her up in her own way,’ she said coldly. ‘ She 
 will be English, like her.’ 
 
 The interview left Mrs. Dalton inexpressibly 
 discouraged and full of fears. She felt sure 
 that Elvira was dead, and if so, where was the 
 child ? Assuredly she did not expect to find 
 the reply in this crowd, where she felt her 
 deep mourning and her sad heart equally out 
 of place. 
 
 ‘ I think I must find a seat,’ she said, as two 
 Englishwomen jostled past, one saying to the 
 other : * Look, there is a picture of a Christian 
 martyr!’ pointing to a large portrait of Pro¬ 
 metheus bound to his rock, to which her com¬ 
 panion replied, without even a glance, ‘ Yes, 
 yes, but come on; if we stop and look at 
 things we shall never do the Exhibition.’ ‘ I 
 am afraid my brains are growing as confused 
 as those of those two ladies seem to be,’ Mrs. 
 Dalton said, smiling. 
 
 ‘ Directly, directly. I will find you a seat; 
 but just come and look at Dei Bardi’s pictures, 
 they should be just here. He is one of the 
 few whose work is worth looking at. An 
 
Wbat Glito bab to Sap 
 
 275 
 
 exhibition of modern Italian art in Florence,’ 
 growled Mr. Rayner, wagging his head up and 
 down in his old, disapproving fashion. ‘ Why, 
 what a press there is ! There should be some¬ 
 thing out of the common here.’ 
 
 It was some time before he could make his 
 way to the popular picture which had collected 
 so many spectators round it. Sold as soon as 
 it was finished, ‘ The young Improvisatrice ’ 
 had become the property of a rich American, 
 living in Florence, who now allowed it to be 
 shown in the Exhibition. Few people had seen 
 it until now, and it had at once won general 
 favour. When Mr. Rayner at length stood 
 before it, he stared at it with a perplexed 
 interest which had nothing to do with its 
 artistic merits. 
 
 ‘ Whom does that face remind me of ?’ he 
 muttered ; ‘ why, yes, of course, poor Elvira’s 
 little girl, and the one I saw at Aleria. It must 
 be a common type, I suppose, although I never 
 saw it except those two times.’ 
 
 £ Little Niccolina was like that V said Mrs. 
 Dalton, forgetting at once how tired she was. 
 ‘ Then she was no common child. What 
 vivacity and character there is in the little face!’ 
 
 4 1 should like to know,’ began Mr. Rayner, 
 looking round as if to find someone to whom to 
 
276 
 
 mtccolina Wiccoltnt 
 
 speak, indifferent to the crowd which pressed 
 upon him and his companion, impatient at their 
 long station before the picture which everyone 
 wanted to see, and his eye fell on Gino, who 
 had been standing near for a long while, enjoy¬ 
 ing the admiration called forth by his fathers 
 painting. He had noticed the more than usual 
 interest shown by the English gentleman and 
 lady, and though he did not understand what 
 they said, the name of Niccolina at once caught 
 his ear and excited him so much that he could 
 hardly help speaking to them. He made a step 
 forward when Mr. Rayner looked at him, and 
 his eager and animated face showed how ready 
 he was to be spoken to. 
 
 ‘ Can you tell me anything about this picture?’ 
 Mr. Rayner asked in his slow, correct Italian. 
 
 ‘ Certainly, sir. My father painted it,’ 
 answered Gino, bowing. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton drew closer. She did not know 
 Italian, but she was attracted by the slim, grace¬ 
 ful, dark-eyed lad. 
 
 ‘ Then can you tell me who sat for the chief 
 figure—the child who is telling the others a 
 story V 
 
 1 Yes; but she is not a beggar child,’ said 
 Gino, jealous for his little friend. ‘ She lives at 
 Aleria, in the Palazzo Sinibaldi.’ 
 
Mbat Gino bab to Sa£ 
 
 277 
 
 4 Then it is the one I saw there,’ said Mr. 
 Rayner. 4 Strange enough !’ 
 
 4 She is the Signorina Niccolina Niccolini,’ 
 said Gino, feeling as if he were launching a bolt 
 with no certainty where or what it might not 
 strike. Its effect surpassed his utmost expecta¬ 
 tion. Mrs. Dalton, catching the name, gave a 
 faint cry; Mr. Rayner stared at him help¬ 
 lessly. 
 
 4 My—my dear boy, tell us all about it,’ he 
 stammered ; 4 only let us find a quieter place ; 
 I—I don’t know whether I am on my head or 
 my heels.’ 
 
 4 There are not many people in the little room 
 where the mosaic work is, and plenty of seats,’ 
 said Gino, leading the way with inexpressible 
 triumph and delight, and when he had installed 
 his companions in comparative solitude, he 
 added : 4 Perhaps the signora would prefer that 
 I should speak French ?’ 
 
 4 Thank you ; I should,’ said Mrs. Dalton, 
 amused and pleased with the boy’s thoughtful¬ 
 ness, and Gino proceeded to relate Lina’s story 
 as far as he knew it, interrupted from time to 
 time by explanations and questions from Mr. 
 Rayner. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton said little; her heart was full of 
 thanksgiving and gladness. Even if there were 
 
273 
 
 IRiccollna IRtccolint 
 
 nothing to be done for Elvira, she had found 
 her child. 
 
 c The very first moment I am free I shall go 
 to Aleria and tell that abominable woman at 
 the Rosa Rossa what I think of her,’ said Mr. 
 Rayner in hot indignation. ‘ What could have 
 induced her to lie so shamelessly V 
 
 ‘ “ He who has offended never forgives,” ’ 
 answered Gino sententiously, making Mr. 
 Rayner smile, but Mrs. Dalton thought that 
 the bitter wisdom of the proverb came strangely 
 from such young lips. 
 
 ‘ She is the only one who does not love Lina.’ 
 
 ‘ You are very fond of her, eh V said Mr. 
 Rayner, smiling again. 
 
 ‘ Certainly, sir. We have been friends from 
 the first day we saw each other,’ Gino replied 
 seriously, and then a sudden cloud came over 
 his expressive face. What if these new-comers 
 should take Lina away to their own country ? 
 ‘Well, I can go and find her there,’ he said to 
 himself, and rose, seeing his mother in the 
 doorway. 
 
 ‘ Gino, I have been seeking you everywhere,’ 
 she began, and stopped, surprised to see that he 
 had evidently been making acquaintance with 
 the two strangers. 
 
 ‘ Allow me to introduce my mother,’ Gino 
 
Wbat (Bino bab to Sap 
 
 279 
 
 said, and Mrs. Dalton thought once more how 
 unlike the Italian lad’s courteous ease was to 
 the embarrassment which an English school¬ 
 boy would have shown in like circumstances. 
 c Mamma, this lady is Lina’s grandmother.’ 
 
 Signora dei Bardi stood amazed. A single 
 glance assured her that, instead of being ‘no¬ 
 body’s child,’ Lina was decidedly the child of 
 somebody ; and she regretted not having shown 
 her more kindness, for well-born, well-to-do 
 people may always prove useful. She spoke 
 very courteously, and sent Gino to find his 
 father, ‘ who was so fond of the dear girl,’ and 
 Dei Bardi came, almost as eager as his son, and 
 full of praises of Lina’s talent for painting. 
 
 His wife noticed that while Mrs. Dalton 
 listened with great interest, Mr. Rayner seemed 
 ill-satisfied, and replied to her remark, ‘ She has 
 no doubt inherited it from her father,’ with a 
 ‘ So much the worse,’ which was not a happy 
 observation to make before Dei Bardi ; and 
 everyone was relieved by Signora dei Bardi 
 saying calmly : 
 
 ‘ True ; a talent of that kind is not always 
 desirable for a girl.’ 
 
 It was not what Mr. Rayner had been think¬ 
 ing of, but it spared the necessity of explaining 
 family matters, which were best left in silence. 
 
280 
 
 IRtccolina mtccoUnf 
 
 ‘ You will be going very soon to seek your 
 little girl, signora ?’ Gino’s mother continued, 
 rousing up Mr. Rayner into bustling activity 
 by her words. 
 
 4 To be sure, to be sure,’ he said. 4 1 wonder 
 if it is too late to start to-day ? Well, yes, 
 perhaps—and you are tired. What a brute I 
 am !’ he added remorsefully, looking at his com¬ 
 panion’s pale face, 4 all this has tried you. 
 We had better go back to the hotel, and look 
 up trains for to-morrow. You ought to come 
 too, young sir,’ smiling at Gino, who would 
 have given all he had to do so, but knew that 
 it would not be allowed, even had Mr. Rayner 
 spoken seriously. 
 
 4 We will bring Lina to Florence,’ said Mrs. 
 Dalton kindly, and the boy’s dark eyes flashed 
 eloquent thanks. 
 
 4 Yes, yes ; and she can study with me,’ added 
 Dei Bardi, delighted, and his wife said nothing 
 against it. 
 
 Mr. Rayner bustled off to get a carriage, all 
 eager to procure a time-table and make out the 
 journey to Torre Pellice; and Signor dei Bardi 
 escorted Mrs. Dalton to the entrance hall, talk¬ 
 ing of Lina, and saying all he could in the short 
 time about the desirability of letting her study 
 art. He was disappointed that Mrs. Dalton 
 
Mbat CMno bab to Sap 
 
 281 
 
 did not respond more warmly, and laid it down 
 to English contempt for artists ; and he had 
 some hard things to say of this when he came 
 back to his wife and son. He did not guess 
 how shaken she was by the unexpected discovery 
 which she had made, nor how tired, body and 
 mind. She had had a great deal of anxious 
 business to attend to since her husband’s death, 
 and she had loved him much. It was no wonder 
 that she longed to be alone for a little while, to 
 think over what had happened, and to consider 
 what she should do in the future. 
 
 36 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 somebody’s child. 
 
 The sindaco was obstinate; but he had to do 
 with Donna Isabella, and when she took a thing 
 in hand, it was not easy to put a spoke in the 
 wheel. As soon as she comprehended the 
 reason for all the delay in searching the tower, 
 she wrote to her cousin the Marchese, who was 
 head of the family, begging him to push the 
 matter, and he in his turn wrote to the sindaco. 
 A title does not count for very much in such 
 a case in Italy, but the Marchese had many 
 friends who were deputies, and could occasion 
 much annoyance to the sindaco and the Com¬ 
 mune. There are a hundred ways of causing 
 annoyance and vexation in Italy, when one has 
 friends in office, and the sindaco knew it well. 
 As soon as he learned that the Marchese was 
 interested in the matter, he not only ceased his 
 opposition, but became anxious to lend all the 
 help he could, and came with his clerk to super- 
 
Somebot> 2 ’s CMlb 
 
 283 
 
 intend the search the very morning that Mrs. 
 Dalton and Mr. Rayner started from Turin for 
 Torre Pellice. 
 
 Lina’s excitement, now that the search was 
 really to be made, was beyond words ; and even 
 the old farmer allowed unusual emotion to 
 appear as they went, accompanied by the 
 minister of the parish, to the little old empty 
 tower, which looked more like a fortress than 
 a house habitable by people born in modern 
 times ; the windows were narrow, the walls 
 immensely thick, and the rooms very small. 
 But Sora Emilia had been happy there, and 
 always wondered at the indifference shown by 
 her mother and sister for this old family pos¬ 
 session. How often had she talked of it, and 
 described it! And how often Lina had wan¬ 
 dered round it, lifting longing eyes to the 
 spot where she believed the treasure to be 
 hidden, but unable to enter, because Donna 
 Isabella had the keys! Now she had sent 
 them, and Lina could enter. She had had a 
 childish idea that since the cross was marked 
 on the outside of the wall in the drawing, 
 a breach must be made from without; but 
 everybody laughed at her, declaring that the 
 search must be made from within. A work¬ 
 man followed the little party, with tools, and 
 
284 
 
 mtccolina mtccoltnt 
 
 all made their way up the winding stone stair¬ 
 case, and paused on the first-floor to consult the 
 drawing as to where they should begin. The 
 bare walls gave no hint ; cobwebs had grown 
 thickly upon them; a young tree had grown 
 up in a crack of the stone just below the 
 window, and the wind waved its branches before 
 the narrow opening, sending its shadows flicker¬ 
 ing over the dusty floor. No one had entered 
 here for years. 
 
 ‘According to the paper this must be the 
 room, and if anything is hidden it is on the 
 right of the window,’ said the sindaco. 
 
 4 On the left,’ said old Appia positively; and 
 they discussed the point obstinately until the 
 minister made them see that one meant on 
 his right hand from the outside, and the other 
 on his left from within; so they really meant 
 the same thing—a conclusion over which Appia 
 smiled quietly; and Lina’s irrepressible im¬ 
 patience was satisfied by the workman’s be¬ 
 ginning to pull down a bit of the wall, while 
 all looked on, silent, in growing excitement. 
 It was very slow work : the stones were set too 
 solidly and massively to yield to any ordinary 
 effort, and at the end of half an hour the man 
 stood up, hot and weary, pointing with a shrug 
 to the small impression made. 
 
Somebody’s Cbtld 
 
 285 
 
 ‘ Give me the pick f said old Appia suddenly; 
 and he struck such blows as soon made a 
 sensible difference, while the others looked on 
 astonished by the old man’s vigour, which put 
 the younger one’s strength to shame. 
 
 ‘ “ There were giants in those days,” ’ mur¬ 
 mured the minister, and the workman said, 
 laughing, something about being beaten with 
 his own tools. But Appia paid no heed, he felt 
 his pick go through more yielding stuff, and, 
 throwing it down, began pulling out the loose 
 rubble with his hands, while a smothered ex¬ 
 clamation escaped those looking on. Then he 
 stood back. ‘ Look — all of you!’ he said. 
 Monsieur will kindly examine.’ 
 
 And the sindaco, stepping eagerly forward, 
 thrust in his hand and found a niche, out of 
 which he drew a bundle of papers and a jar, 
 which was heavy. 
 
 ‘ Oh, let us see what is in it!’ Lina cried, 
 springing on it. But the sindaco laid his hand 
 promptly over the mouth. 
 
 ‘ This belongs to the Sinibaldi family,’ he 
 said, in his most official tone. ‘ No one must 
 touch it. Observe, every one, it has not been 
 even looked into. I fasten it up and seal it.’ 
 His clerk, at a sign, had lighted a taper and 
 offered wax, and the sindaco was now tying a 
 
286 
 
 IRtccoUna IRiccoltnt 
 
 piece of paper over the mouth, and sealing the 
 string round it. ‘ And I shall draw up a report 
 of this morning’s proceedings, which you, M. 
 Appia, and you, M. Hilaire, will sign, after 
 which my responsibility ceases. M. Appia will 
 take charge of what has been discovered. The 
 family will, of course, pay all expenses.’ 
 
 ‘ But I want to know what is in the jar!’ 
 cried poor Lina. 
 
 ‘ I dare say you do, mademoiselle. Well, I 
 will own to you, so do I,’ answered the sindaco, 
 relaxing into a smile. ‘ And I will say this 
 much—I believe it is money.’ 
 
 Only such a little witch as Lina could have 
 extracted even that much. 
 
 4 Money ! — really money ?’ she asked with 
 eagerness which provoked a laugh. 
 
 ‘ Already !’ the sindaco said meaningly, not 
 knowing anything of her reason for desiring it. 
 
 ‘ Well, whatever it is, I presume that M. Appia 
 will undertake to deliver it into the right 
 hands.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall go to Aleria to-morrow,’ answered 
 Appia gravely. The expense of the journey 
 was serious to him, and he was sorry to have to 
 take it. 
 
 Lina’s eyes flashed. ‘ Oh,’ she began, and 
 stopped short. Appia would go, would see 
 
Somebobg’s <Xbtl5 
 
 287 
 
 Sora Emilia, give her the things ; and she must 
 stay behind—she who had found them, who had 
 pictured handing over a treasure to Sora Emilia 
 a hundred times. Tears choked her. She 
 pushed by the sindaco who was now descend¬ 
 ing the stairs, almost falling head first as she 
 did so, and dashed into the open air. ‘ I wish 
 I was drowned in the Pellice f she was saying 
 to herself. The sight of two strangers coming 
 towards the tower checked her. Strangers 
 often came for a little while to the valleys, but 
 these seemed on their way to the tower—a lady 
 in black, a little old gentleman. Lina stood as 
 in a dream, gazing at them; she had forgotten 
 all the English she had ever known, but yet 
 she understood that the old gentleman, turning 
 eagerly to his companion, was exclaiming: 
 
 ‘ There she is ! That is the child P Lina’s 
 eyes went past him to the lady ; she saw the 
 sweet look of gladness that lighted up her face, 
 and made a step forward. 
 
 ‘ My little girl f the kind voice said, and Lina 
 was clasped in the most motherly embrace 
 which she had ever known. 
 
 By this time old Appia had come out of the 
 tower with the other men, and advanced in¬ 
 quiringly, not at all satisfied to see his charge 
 taken possession of by strangers, nor when ex- 
 
288 
 
 IFUccoUita IFUccoUni 
 
 planations were offered, would he hear of giving 
 her up. He was answerable to Sora Emilia for 
 the child, he said, and must wait for her 
 directions. This was quite right, though Mr. 
 Rayner fumed and fretted, making Appia look 
 more determined than ever ; but Mrs. Dalton 
 solved the difficulty. 
 
 ‘ It is due to Lina’s kind friend that we should 
 tell her ourselves,’ she said. ‘ Let us all go to 
 Aleria to-morrow. That is what you would 
 wish, my dear ?’ she added, feeling the start of 
 joy in the little hand which she was holding. 
 Lina’s face answered for her, though for once 
 the eager tongue could not find a word to say. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes, of course ; I was just going to 
 propose it,’ said Mr. Rayner, quite believing 
 what he asserted. 
 
 Everybody was satisfied except Madame 
 Appia, who brushed many tears quietly away 
 when no one was looking. Lina had crept into 
 her heart, and it would feel very empty when 
 she was gone, all the more that nobody would 
 think of this. Yes, after all, some one did ; 
 the old farmer laid his hand gently on her 
 shoulder and said, ‘ Courage, my good wife,’ 
 and she was comforted, for a tender word from 
 the stern old husband was as precious as it was 
 rare. 
 
Somebody's Child 
 
 289 
 
 Old Appia consented to let Lina pass the 
 evening with Mrs. Dalton and Mr. Rayner at 
 the inn where they had taken rooms, and it was 
 curious how in these new circumstances that 
 English side of her showed which nobody at 
 Aleria knew. She was shy and reserved, show¬ 
 ing none of her usual fearless gaiety, study¬ 
 ing these new-comers and conscious of being 
 studied, until she became her usual self on hear¬ 
 ing how she had been traced. 
 
 ‘ It was Gino who did it!—Gino P she cried, 
 her face brilliant with pleasure. 
 
 ‘ Yes, Gino, and we must go to Florence and 
 thank him,’ answered Mrs. Dalton, smiling, and 
 instantly two arms were thrown round her, 
 while Lina exclaimed : 
 
 ‘ Ah, you are good ! as good as bread !—as 
 Sora Emilia! How nice it is to belong to 
 someone P she added in a lowered voice. ‘ I do 
 belong really to you V 
 
 ‘ Yes, dear child, and I think we are going to 
 be very happy together/ 
 
 ‘ May I call you grandmamma ? Ah, you 
 know I have another grandmother.’ 
 
 ‘ I do ; we must tell her that you are found. ’ 
 
 ‘ How glad she will be to see me,’ said Lina. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton made no reply to this, and Mr. 
 Rayner interposed with : ‘Yes, yes ; but now 
 
 37 
 
290 
 
 IFUccoltna IFUccoUni 
 
 you are going to be an English girl you will 
 have to leave off all these wavings of the hands 
 and what not, and talk quietly. English girls 
 don’t raise their voices or get excited; but—bless 
 the child !—she does not even know her own 
 language.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you want me to be English ?’ asked 
 Lina, looking at Mrs. Dalton and ignoring Mr. 
 Rayner. ‘I am Italian, you know, and so is 
 Gino.’ 
 
 ‘ I do not want you to be anything but my 
 little girl, whom I shall love dearly,’ answered 
 Mrs. Dalton, and Lina’s fierce look melted, 
 though she long remembered Mr. Rayner’s 
 unlucky speech with resentment; and he on his 
 part, when she had gone back for the night to 
 the Appias, said with some vexation : 
 
 ‘ A handsome little creature. But you will 
 have your work cut out for you if she is ever 
 to be an English girl.’ 
 
 ‘ I shall not try,’ Mrs. Dalton answered, 
 smiling, and he grunted and shook his head. 
 
 The thought uppermost in Lina’s mind was 
 not what immediately touched herself, but 
 what Sora Emilia would say when she suddenly 
 appeared. She smiled happily to herself as she 
 looked out of the window of the train next day, 
 speeding towards Aleria, picturing the scene. 
 
Somebo&g’s Cbilfc 
 
 291 
 
 ‘ The sea ! the sea ! 1 she cried, springing up 
 joyfully, as at last the Mediterranean flashed 
 dazzling into sight. ‘ Ah, round that point is 
 Aleria ! Dear nonna, you will let me go quite 
 quietly and surprise them, and come a little 
 later, will you not ? The side-door into the 
 garden will be unlocked, and I shall slip in 
 quite quietly, on tiptoe, and make Mirtilla 
 scream. Oh, how slowly the train goes ! You 
 will go to the Tre Limoni, unless M. Rayner 
 prefers the Rosa Rossa,’ with a wicked glance 
 at the old gentleman, ‘ and M. Appia and I will 
 go to the palazzo. See ! in a minute Aleria will 
 be in sight. How hot and dry and nice it all 
 looks ! just as it used, and no mountains, only 
 dear little hills and vines and lemon-trees !’ 
 
 She had her way, and while Mr. Rayner was 
 still hunting for the ticket which as usual had 
 got into some unknown corner of his pocket, 
 she guided Appia down a by-way between high 
 walls, and under an archway to the side-door 
 of which she had spoken, and peeped into the 
 garden, her finger on her lips. 
 
 ‘ No one,’ she whispered, with a nod of 
 delight, beckoning him on. 4 Hush !’ and the 
 next moment she was flying up a staircase 
 which led to Sora Emilias apartment. She 
 could hear Mirtilla singing shrilly in the kitchen 
 
292 
 
 IFUccoUna IRiccoltnt 
 
 as she cooked her soup and macaroni, little 
 dreaming who was near. Opening a door 
 cautiously, she stole in and stood quite still, 
 unperceived for a moment by Sora Emilia, who 
 was sitting with a piece of embroidery by her, 
 which had not been touched that evening. 
 Her eyes were closed ; she was dozing. ‘ Hem! ’ 
 said Lina, very distinctly. Sora Emilia woke, 
 gazed, and started up with an outcry of 
 astonished, frightened joy, holding out her 
 arms. Mirtilla rushed in, and added her shrieks 
 of joy to the exclamations of her mistress and 
 Lina. Old Appia stood unnoticed in the door¬ 
 way until Lina suddenly recollected him. 
 
 ‘ Come in ! Come !’ she cried triumphantly. 
 
 ‘ See, Sora Emilia, here is M. Appia, and we 
 have found the treasure and my grandmother.’ 
 
 She spoke exactly as if both had been dis¬ 
 covered in the tower, and Sora Emilia was 
 hopelessly bewildered. It was too much for 
 her to take in at once, and a great deal of 
 explanation was required to bring her to com¬ 
 posure and comprehension. When she under¬ 
 stood, her face fell almost as much as did 
 Mirtilla’s. ‘ Truly, I ought to be glad!’ she 
 said, * but, alas ! I am very selfish. I always 
 
 hoped—and, perhaps now-’ she glanced 
 
 wistfully at the box into which Appia had put 
 
Somebofcp’s dbtlb 
 
 2 93 
 
 the papers and the jar; it was still unopened, for 
 nothing would induce her to touch it until her 
 nephew came in. 4 Lina, my child, I ought to 
 see this lady and gentleman. Will they come 
 soon V 
 
 She was trembling at the prospect; she had 
 never spoken to a foreigner in her life. 4 Can 
 they—can they talk anything but their own 
 tongue V she asked nervously. 
 
 4 Grandmamma speaks French, and Mr. 
 Rayner thinks he talks Italian,’ said Lina 
 with a wicked little laugh. 4 They are coming 
 presently/ 
 
 Poor Sora Emilia looked very uncomfortable, 
 but at all events she had not to make any 
 advances, since in Italy it is the strangers who 
 call on the residents. 
 
 4 When will your nephew come ? I want to 
 see the jar opened. What does anything else 
 matter V Lina cried, dancing with impatience, 
 while Mirtilla nodded full assent. 
 
 4 Oh, dear child, there are things that matter 
 much more!’ muttered Sora Emilia, thinking 
 how she was about to give up her child to 
 strangers who might or might not be good to 
 her. 
 
 But Lina was not listening. 4 1 want to go 
 and find Riri and Dina ; it is a hundred years 
 
294 
 
 TOccolitta IRtccollnt 
 
 since I saw them. Oh, how slowly the time 
 •goes!’ she exclaimed. 
 
 Old Appia and Sora Emilia looked at one 
 another with rather a sad smile. ‘We are old, 
 my good Appia,’ Emilia said, ‘ but indeed, when 
 I compare myself to this child, I do not think I 
 ever lived at all. Patience, little tempest, you 
 will not have long to wait, and I want to 
 hear about Madame Appia and my other old 
 friends. ’ 
 
 ‘ Eh ! life has come back to us with our little 
 angel,’ said Mirtilla, between laughing and 
 crying; ‘ it seems like a dream that she was 
 ever absent.’ 
 
 It seemed almost the same to Lina, though 
 she was all impatient to introduce Mrs. Dalton, 
 to open the jar, to run to her two friends, and 
 tell all her acquaintances that she was no 
 longer ‘nobody’s child.’ Thinking this, she 
 looked at Mirtilla with triumph, but she was 
 too generous a child to remind her of words 
 uttered without knowing how they would 
 wound. 
 
 ‘ I take my leave and reverence you, signora; 
 I must go by the early train to-morrow/ said 
 Appia, when he had answered all Sora Emilia’s 
 inquiries. ‘ Someone rings ; no doubt it is the 
 English gentlefolks. ’ 
 
Sontebobp’s Cbtlfc 
 
 2 95 
 
 ‘No, no ! no, indeed !’ cried Lina, seizing his 
 arm. 4 How can you go before-’ 
 
 4 It is my nephew,’ said Sora Emilia; 4 you 
 see, you cannot leave us yet.’ 
 
 The young doctor came in with an astonished 
 look, which changed immediately into a smile 
 of comprehension. Lina would hardly let him 
 greet the visitors; she thrust the papers into 
 his hands. 4 There—and here is the jar,’ she 
 cried. 4 Oh, now we shall know at last!’ 
 
 Sora Emilia signed to him to open the vase, 
 and all the eager eyes were fixed on it as he 
 undid the wrappings, and, lifting it, poured out 
 the contents on the table—a heap of gold coins, 
 which made Lina clap her hands with joy, and 
 Mirtilla thank all the saints, while Sora Emilia 
 actually trembled at the sight of them. 4 We 
 will count them presently, when we have looked 
 at the papers,’ her nephew said, and opened the 
 packet carefully. 4 There may be directions—a 
 will, perhaps.’ 
 
 4 A will ? But if this money should be left 
 away!’ said Mirtilla in alarm. 4 It is better 
 not to look; what do the musty papers signify?’ 
 
 However, no one attended to her, and each 
 paper was carefully examined. There were 
 title-deeds, of no more importance to anyone, 
 since the property which they represented had 
 
296 
 
 IRiccoliita IFUccoltm 
 
 long been confiscated or sold; a bundle of old 
 family letters; and lastly, one which told how, 
 perceiving surely that exile or imprisonment 
 was at hand, the writer, Paolo Emilio Sinibaldi, 
 had with the help of his faithful friend and 
 brother in the faith, Luca Appia, made a hiding- 
 place where moneys and papers could be placed 
 until the Lord should give better days to His 
 people. A look passed round the little circle, 
 and one and all felt how fitting it was that an 
 Appia should have had a hand in discovering the 
 deposit and restoring it to a descendant of the 
 Sinibaldi, whose name Sora Emilia bore, and 
 there was a grave smile of pleasure on the old 
 farmer’s face as he listened. 
 
 c And then Paolo Emilio tried to draw a plan 
 of the tower, and put it with the cross on it 
 into his Bible,’ cried Lina; ‘ but why are there 
 marks of fire on the cover, and where did 
 it go ?’ 
 
 4 Doubtless, when the Conte Emilio fled for 
 his life, he left the book with my forefather, 
 intending it to be passed to some relation if he 
 did not return,’ said Appia; ‘but the king’s 
 soldiers came suddenly and burned his house. 
 We have a tradition that Luca Appia saved 
 only his child and his Bible, which indeed was 
 not rightly his, but in his charge, and he, falling 
 
Somebofc^s Gbilb 
 
 297 
 
 soon after in fight, had no opportunity of telling 
 anyone what the paper in it meant, nor was 
 there afterwards any member of the family 
 who held by the religion or cared for our 
 sufferings until your honoured father, signora, 
 rose up to befriend us, and then, although he 
 knew only that the Bible we so highly prized 
 had once belonged to Conte Paolo, my father 
 offered it to him as a token of gratitude/ 
 
 ‘ Oh, how beautiful it is !’ exclaimed Lina, 
 and Sora Emilia’s eyes were full of tears. 
 
 4 My dear father !’ she murmured. ‘ He, too, 
 suffered for his conscience’ sake and for his 
 country.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you not count the money, signora V 
 interposed Mirtilla, much more interested in 
 this practical matter than in any recollections. 
 
 But the money was not to be counted yet, 
 for at this moment Mrs. Dalton tapped at the 
 door. No one had answered her knock at the 
 outer door, and she had found her w 7 ay upstairs 
 alone. 
 
 ‘ Ah, my grandmamma!’ cried Lina, flying 
 to meet her. ‘ Nonna, this is Sora Emilia, who 
 took me when I was “ nobody’s child,” and saved 
 me from that wicked woman at the Red Rose, 
 and she would have found me before if that 
 lying thing had not told Mr. Rayner I was not 
 
 38 
 
298 
 
 HUccoUna IRiccoltni 
 
 here. Mr. Rayner is the old gentleman whose 
 picture I drew—you recollect ? he is like this, 
 you know/ snatching up the pen with which 
 Sora Emilia had signed a receipt for old Appia, 
 to make a wonderfully life-like profile of Mr. 
 Rayner ; ‘ he came here on the festa of Sant 
 Apollonia, and I saw him, and so did Mirtilla; 
 you remember, Mirtilla V 
 
 ‘ My dear child, why did you say nothing V 
 exclaimed Sora Emilia, forgetting her fear of 
 the Englishwoman in her astonishment. 
 
 ‘ I did not want to leave you,’ said Lina in 
 a much lower tone, and then, turning to Mrs. 
 Dalton, she added with sweet apology : ‘ And 
 I had not seen you then.’ 
 
 Appia had gone quietly away, and the young 
 doctor followed him, with a murmured excuse, 
 leaving the two ladies to make acquaintance. 
 
 Each wished to be friendly, and Mrs. Dalton 
 was longing to express her gratitude to Lina’s 
 good friend, but the Italian thought the 
 Englishwoman stiff and proud, and Mrs. Dalton 
 felt the disadvantage of having to express 
 herself in a language which she could not 
 speak very fluently. It was only when she 
 rose to go that they began to understand one 
 another a little better. 
 
 ‘ I will try to make her as happy as you 
 
Somebobp’s Cbilfc 
 
 299 
 
 have done,’ Mrs. Dalton said, with so sweet a 
 smile that Sora Emilia’s heart suddenly warmed 
 towards her, and, holding her hand, she said 
 beseechingly : 
 
 < I shall see her sometimes ? You will not 
 take her quite away from us ?’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed I will not; she shall come to you 
 when you like.’ 
 
 ‘ I—I could not have her while my nephew 
 lives with me, but now that I have seen her 
 again I do not know how to part from her.’ 
 
 ‘ Grandmamma shall bring me, and we will 
 go to the Tre Limoni, and how mad that horrid 
 Manfredi will be!’ said Lina, skipping with 
 pleasure as much at the thought of her enemy’s 
 annoyance as at the prospect of returning. 
 
 ‘ And I may stay till evening, may I not ? 
 Only I must go and see Riri and Dina.’ 
 
 Sora Emilia and Mrs. Dalton parted with 
 mutual liking and esteem, and the conscious¬ 
 ness of having wanted to say a hundred things 
 which they had left unsaid. 
 
 ‘ That is a good woman,’ Sora Emilia said to 
 Mirtilla, who only replied by a grunt; and Mrs. 
 Dalton was thinking: ‘ What a kind and 
 
 tender heart!’ although Sora Emilia was 
 keenly aware that her visitor was of another 
 race and kind to herself; and the English- 
 
300 
 
 IRiccolma fUccoltm 
 
 woman smiled and wondered at the mixture of 
 uncouthness and simple dignity which charac¬ 
 terized the Italian. 
 
 There was another meeting for which Lina 
 was very eager, while Mrs. Dalton asked 
 herself uneasily what would be the outcome of 
 it. To Lina the thought of seeing her 4 real 
 grandmamma,’ as she put it to herself, and her 
 uncles and aunts, dimly yet fondly remembered, 
 was a rapture. It would have .to be, and at 
 once ; this was due to them, but Mrs. Dalton 
 wondered whether the result would be dis¬ 
 appointment, or whether, seeing the child so 
 Italian, affection would wake up in Signora 
 Niccolini’s heart, together with a desire to 
 take possession of her. Lina would almost 
 certainly wish to remain among her father’s 
 people, Mrs. Dalton thought, sighing, unless 
 indeed their narrow life and homeliness repelled 
 her. At present her mind was quite taken up 
 with the prospect of seeing them, and she 
 evidently did not feel as if she belonged in any 
 way to Mrs. Dalton. It was a tie which 
 might be very close or very loose, according to 
 circumstances; but as far as Mrs. Dalton was 
 concerned, she felt as if to have this bright, 
 eager creature growing up beside her would be 
 a new life to her. 
 
Sotnebofc^s (TbtlD 
 
 3 QI 
 
 ‘I must not be selfish/ she said to herself; 
 and she arranged for this second journey as 
 soon as Lina had seen her Aleria friends, and 
 had promised to come back at Christmas, with 
 grandmamma. 
 
 Apparently she had made up her mind that 
 they would live together ; but she might alter 
 it after seeing the Niccolini family. 
 
 * You ought to give her no choice/ Mr. Ray- 
 ner protested indignantly, as he unwillingly let 
 his two charges, as he considered them, start 
 without him. ‘ It is for you to settle.’ 
 
 But Mrs. Dalton knew better than to suppose 
 she could all at once lay hands on a young life 
 which had grown up apart from her. 
 
 A day’s journey brought them to the little 
 town where Signora Niccolini was living, with a 
 daughter married to a cousin who held some 
 small post under Government. There was a 
 small inn, where Mrs. Dalton took rooms, and 
 satisfied Lina’s eager desire to see her father’s 
 family as soon as possible. She went back to 
 the inn to spend some long and sad hours, dis¬ 
 couraged and solitary. In the evening Lina 
 returned, escorted by her aunt, who had a de¬ 
 precating and embarrassed air, and seemed only 
 anxious to get away, after speaking a few 
 sentences in very imperfect French. She kissed 
 
3° 2 
 
 IFUccottna WfccoHitt 
 
 Lina affectionately enough, and the child re¬ 
 turned the embrace, but in so listless and 
 dispirited a way, that Mrs. Dalton wondered 
 inwardly what had so changed her from the 
 impetuous, joyous creature of the morning. 
 Was it reluctance to leave her new-found 
 family, or had some sharp disappointment be¬ 
 fallen her ? She was soon to learn. 
 
 Lina came and sat on the brick floor of the 
 bedroom by her side, and sighed deeply. Mrs. 
 Dalton caressed her, and asked if she were very 
 sorry to leave her grandmother and aunts. 
 
 ‘ I am glad/ she answered, with a note of 
 keen resentment in her voice; and after a 
 moment she went on : ‘ The aunts were kind; 
 I love them. And I like uncle Doctor. But—’ 
 and she raised her brilliant eyes with a look 
 of mingled anger and sadness—‘ grandmother 
 said things—such things !—how am I to make 
 you understand ? I told her we were going 
 to Florence, and I should be in Signor dei 
 Bardi’s studio, and become an artist—like my 
 father ; and she looked—oh, she looked terrible! 
 She said that when he was born she made a 
 vow that he should be a priest; but when he 
 grew up he refused, and she could not keep her 
 vow, and that was why he had had such mis¬ 
 fortunes ; there is no blessing on disobedient 
 
Scmtebobp’s (TIMID 
 
 3°3 
 
 children. And then she told me mamma was 
 disobedient too, and had caused much sorrow 
 to her father, but that perhaps I could expiate 
 some of their sin and help their souls by being 
 a nun. She tried to make me promise, but I 
 cannot—I cannot! Do you think I must ?’ 
 
 She burst into tears, and Mrs. Dalton was so 
 sorry for her, and so angry, that she could 
 hardly trust herself to speak. 
 
 ‘ No, dear, certainly not. God asks for no 
 unwilling sacrifice,’ she said at last. ‘ And 
 since He has given you the wish and the power 
 to paint, you may be sure that is the work He 
 means you to do.’ 
 
 4 Grandmother does not understand that papa 
 had to do it,’ Lina continued, more quietly. 
 
 ‘ He died so young, and I think he left it for 
 me to do what he wanted to do, only he had 
 not time. 1 want to do it for him. But 
 mamma—did she-’ A sob choked her voice. 
 
 ‘ It is quite true that she married without 
 her father’s leave, dear one ; but she was very 
 young, and your father was not to blame. She 
 loved him very much,’ said Mrs. Dalton, recol¬ 
 lecting what Mr. Rayner had said on his return 
 from his interview with Elvira. 
 
 ‘ And she was going to find grandpapa when 
 she died at Aleria. I think she wanted to tell 
 
3°4 
 
 IRtccolina IFUccoltiti 
 
 him she was sorry,’ said Lina, and Mrs. Dalton 
 did not feel obliged to tell her that she was 
 mistaken. She asked instead : 
 
 ‘ Does Signora Niccolini want to keep you V 
 
 ‘No; I do not think so. She was too angry. 
 She did not kiss me when I went away. And 
 I thought she would be so glad to see me! 
 Ah, you do want me, do you not V Lina cried, 
 clinging to Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 ‘ Dear, you cannot understand how much I 
 want you. I had a little baby, who died ; now 
 I have lost my husband, and I was quite alone 
 until I found my dear little Lina, who is going 
 to love me, I think, and we shall be very happy 
 together.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes ! And if you want very much to 
 go to your own country instead of our living in 
 Florence-’ 
 
 ‘ Well, if I wanted to go to England instead 
 of letting you study in Signor Bardi’s studio, 
 would you be contented to do it ?’ 
 
 ‘ I would try to be, because you are so good 
 to me,’ said Lina, with something of the same 
 generous feeling which had made her hide her¬ 
 self from Mr. Rayner at Aleria; but her voice 
 quivered. 
 
 c My own plan was different,’ said Mrs. Dalton, 
 smiling. ‘ I have let my London house, because 
 
Somebotyfs GMlfc 
 
 305 
 
 your grandfather lost a great deal of money just 
 before his death.’ 
 
 4 You are poor!’ exclaimed Lina, aghast. 
 4 Oh ! shall I be a great expense, as I was to 
 Sora Emilia ?’ 
 
 4 Well, not exactly poor—not poor at all, but 
 not so rich as I was. And you are not very 
 poor either, for when you come of age you will 
 have the money that your mother would have 
 used had she lived.’ 
 
 It would not have been wise to tell this to 
 every girl, but Mrs. Dalton had judged Lina 
 rightly. Her face lighted up. 
 
 4 Oh, how I wish I could give some to Sora 
 Emilia !’ she said. 4 At all events, Mirtilla shall 
 have some. Do you know that she spent on me 
 all the savings she had made for her funeral V 
 
 4 Yes, you can give Mirtilla some money.’ 
 
 4 But if only Sora Emilia would take it, and 
 not give it to Donna Isabella. I am sure Donna 
 Isabella will want to have all we found in the 
 tower.’ 
 
 Lina had quite forgotten her own concerns in 
 the thought of Sora Emilia, and only recollected 
 them when Mrs. Dalton went on to say : 
 
 4 We shall go sometimes to England, for I 
 have old friends there, and you ought to know 
 your mother’s country.’ 
 
 39 
 
3°6 
 
 IRlccoUtta IRtccoltnt 
 
 ‘Yes. I am going to learn to speak English 
 as fast as I can.’ But Lina looked at her 
 with anxious eyes. ‘ Are all your friends like 
 Mr. Rayner V 
 
 ‘ Well, not quite ; but you must not dislike 
 Mr. Rayner. He was your grandfathers oldest 
 friend, and very fond of your mother/ 
 
 ‘ I wish I had not got to like him. I will try ; 
 but I think he is like St. Antony’s pig, which 
 poked its nose in everywhere,’ sighed Lina. 
 
 Mrs. Dalton laughed in spite of herself. 
 
 ‘ At all events, he has nothing to do with a 
 little plan that I have been making. I am 
 thinking of going to Florence, and asking 
 Signor dei Bardi where we can find a villa, not 
 too far from his studio.’ 
 
 She got no further ; Lina’s arms were about 
 her neck. 
 
 ‘ Oh, how I love you ! how I love you !’ she 
 cried. ‘ How happy I am, and how good you are ! 
 Then you are sure that I need not be a nun, 
 and that it is right for me to be an artist V 
 
 ‘ If you can,’ said Mrs. Dalton with a smile; 
 but Lina’s embrace had touched her to the heart, 
 and tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes ; I know that I can. I will do 
 everything that papa wanted to do, and it will 
 be for him,’ said Lina, looking at her with shin- 
 
Somebobp’s Gbxlfc 
 
 307 
 
 ing eyes. 4 How could I think I could have 
 given it up ? But if you had wished it very 
 much, I would have tried, I think. Oh, I am 
 glad that I can please at least one of my grand¬ 
 mothers I’ 
 
 Long after Lina was asleep, Mrs. Dalton sat at 
 the window of her bedroom, looking out on the 
 silent piazza, across which fell the black shadow 
 of a tall old brick tower, while the moon climbed 
 higher and higher in the purple night sky, 
 flooding all the surrounding country with silver 
 light, but throwing every arcade and archway 
 into darker shade. Many thoughts filled Mrs. 
 Dalton’s mind, but they were not now sad ones. 
 
 ‘ She will not be easy to bring up,’ she said 
 to herself, as she sat there ; ‘ I shall make mis¬ 
 takes, but with such a loving, generous nature 
 I need not be afraid.’ 
 
 She went and stood by the bed where Lina 
 lay, smiling happily in her sleep, and kissed her 
 gently. 
 
 ‘ God is very good to me,’ she thought; ‘ how 
 lonely I was! and now I have this child to fill 
 my life. My dear husband would be very 
 glad.’ 
 
 Lina had been quite right in supposing that 
 Donna Isabella would consider she had a claim 
 
TCUccoUna mtccoltnt 
 
 3°8 
 
 on Sora Emilias share of the ‘ treasure/ as 
 Mirtilla persisted in calling it, though it proved 
 to be so small that if both brothers had not 
 made over their share to their sisters nobody 
 would have been much the better for it. But 
 to Isabella, burdened with sons to bring up, and 
 to Sora Emilia, who never had had money enough 
 to buy anything not absolutely necessary, it 
 seemed quite a little fortune. Isabella pointed 
 out that a spinster could not 'possibly want 
 money, while a married woman had innumerable 
 uses for every penny she could get, but Sora 
 Emilia proved unexpectedly obstinate. Backed 
 up by Mirtilla and her nephew, who had grown 
 really fond of her, she defied Isabella, and 
 acted boldly for herself for the first time in 
 her life. 
 
 ‘ It will come to her children in the end/ she 
 said ; 4 but they must wait a few years.' 
 
 She had often thought that there would be 
 nothing left to wish for if she could own a bit 
 of ground with vines and a few fruit-trees, and 
 a little cottage of perhaps two rooms, where she 
 could invite her friends to eat cherries and 
 grapes, as the Sindaco’s wife did, but it had 
 seemed as unlikely as that she should be made 
 Queen of Italy. Now she could make her 
 dream a reality, and she was as proud of her 
 
Somebob^’s GbUfc 
 
 309 
 
 tiny property as if it had been a great estate, 
 and here she spent every fine day with friends 
 or alone with Mirtilla, whose pride and happiness 
 were beyond words. 
 
 ‘ Ah ! my mistress,’ she would say, ‘ what a 
 blessed day for us it was when we fetched home 
 that little angel; it is through her that all this 
 happiness has come, and la Manfredi tears her 
 hair with vexation that she ever let her go. 
 There is only one thing left to desire.’ 
 
 ‘ To have the dear child back,’ Sora Emilia 
 answered. ‘ Nothing is perfect, my poor Nata. 
 But she and her grandmother will come every 
 year ; that is a promise.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, yes, my mistress. But I meant if we 
 could keep her altogether. Well, who knows ? 
 The Signor Dottorino, your nephew, must marry 
 one day—why not our Lina ? It is true that 
 he seems to think more about ftiri Battistini. 
 And then there is Gino. He will be so well off, 
 and he worships the ground she steps on. I am 
 torn in two between them.’ 
 
 ‘ Hush, Nata; these children are too young 
 to make plans for. I am surprised at you,’ said 
 Sora Emilia as severely as she could, while 
 conscious of secretly doing much the same thing 
 herself. 
 
 ‘ Oh, young—altro ! You may be sure Gino 
 
3 IQ 
 
 IRlccoltita IRtccoltnt 
 
 has thought of it. That boy always knew his 
 own mind/ said Mirtilla, nodding her old head 
 sagaciously. 
 
 ‘ It is a matter to be settled by their relations/ 
 said Sora Emilia, quite unaware that when it 
 came to ‘ settling/ neither Gino nor Lina was 
 in the least likely to allow anyone to decide for 
 them. 
 
 £ The old order changeth, giving place to the 
 new/ and the young generation- in Italy have 
 found it out. It is happy for them when there 
 are as few difficulties in their way as Gino and 
 Lina were likely to meet with in the life that 
 lay before them. 
 
 THE END.