AN ITALIAN ROMANCE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIII, Issue 123, 26 May 1902, Page 6

AN ITALIAN ROMANCE.

CHAPTES L

"See, cara mia. What a good fortune the cards are prophesying for you; nine of hearts, your wish; nine of clubs, a journey; ten of clubs, a large town; king of hearts, one who ■will love you; seven and two cf hearts, the love and affection he will give you, could anything be better?" and so saying, Antonia, the fortuneteller of Subiaca, laid down the cards and gently stroked the glossy hair of the young girl, who knelt by 4ier side gazing in silent suspense at the cards which were arranged in a Circle on an old three-legged stool which served as a table.

The whole scene formed a real picture of Italian life. Subiaca in itself is a dream of beauty, a quaint, oldfashioned town, very little altered since the Middle Ages, built in the slope of a steep olive-clad hill, with many an ill-paved winding street, up and down which the inhabitants wended their way, often pushed on one side by trains of heavy laden mules with varied loads of country

produce. The streets in some parts are so narrow that tbe roofs of tbe houses almost overlap each other, and the rays of the sun hardly find between the rows of poor dwel__ngs, which, windowless and often doorless, stand on each side of the Streets. „ Little rivulets of water generally flow down the gutters on either side, and serve to wash away some of the accumulated dirt and rubbish. It is interesting to watch the different types of persons who ceaselessly pursue their way in the dolce far niente manner peculiar to southern races. A bearer of fresh water carried in a gourd on his back may first pass you, followed by boys playing on pipes, then a sturdy monk with dark eyes shining under his brown cowl will appear, his fingers, automatically telling his beads, then the mules led by their respective owners, fine-built men from the hills with rather a brigand appearance hasten past, old men and women with babies on their backs, then troops of children—all these are passing ever up and down, and often a tingling of a bell will cause all to draw on one side to allow space for a procession of priests and acolytes to pass, bearing the Holy Sacrament to some poor toiler in life's journey who is swiftly nearing tbe threshold of the Life of Peace; for in Italy the Church ever looks after her poorest children. As this procession passes all reverently kneel and bend their heads, praying that some portion of the blessing the priest is going to bestow may descend on them. Independent of the passers-by there is much still life in the streets, as in Italy no one sits indoors, but all not in motion sit in groups outside their respective houses, the old women with their knitting, the young; ones spinning. There a cobbler is "busy making the wooden shoes" so -much needed for walking along the ill-paved streets; there the blacksmith is shoeing the mules; there an improvisatore is reciting his last new production; close by is a girl singing a love song to tbe sound of her guitar, with he whom she loves, a dark-browed peasant of the Alban Hill, lying lazily at her feet, resting from his work.

About midday a calm silence pervades the streets as all are having their siesta after their dinner (which consists mainly of macaroni, water and melons), always eaten out of doors, laps serving as tables. During the meal a great babble of talking may be heard, news and gossip is discussed, and then all dispose themselves to sleep, no one forgetting, however, to place some remnant of their repast on one side, tp be given to any mendicant friar who passes by, and whose Order depends entirely for its sustenance on the alms of the poor.

The day on which my story opens was one of those ethereal spring days in Italy with its brilliant sun and azure blue ?ky, the air laden with the perfume of the many sweetscented flowers, roses, violets, jasmine, narcissus, on the culture of which we bestow such ceaseless care, but which in these favoured regions spring up by themselves, as if it were by enchantment. As I said, the hour was that of the siesta, and no sound was heard but that of the ceaseless buzzing of the myriads of small insects, so small as hardly to bo visible to the naked eye except where in a close mass they darkened a ray of sunlight, and it was in the midst of this, hushed silence that the old fortune-teller with wrinkled face and bent back could be seen seated on a three-legged stool in the archway of one of the tumble-down old houses telling her fortune by the greasy much-befingered cards, spread before her on a wooden settle which served as a table to Gioja, the young, beautiful gir.l who knelt by her side in her picturesque peasant costume, consisting of a short woollen petticoat, clump shoes, white apron and bodice, and a bright-coloured handkerchief loosely tied over her head, her lovely black hair escaping from under it. She eagerly drank in each word the old woman uttered, and gazed with her sparkling bright eyes now at her and then at the cards, scarcely able to keep in the excitement that each of the cards caused her when named, and their several meanings explained." Perfect silence, only broken by the murmur of their voices, the hum of the insects, the ticking of an old clock, and at intervals by the crowing of a cock or the hawing of a donkey, also denizens of the house.

Nor was this silence disturbed by two : aen who were watching the scene from the other side of the street unnoticed by the women. One of the men—evidently her lover from the intense delight that spread over his face as he watched the girl—was from his costume a goatherd, as over his shoulder hung the goat skin coat, and he wore the long leather gaiters

which serve as a protection to their legs in their hazardous climbs over the hills, which are covered with prickly bushes, and in his hand he carried a long stick with a crook. The other was clearly a stranger, and from his fair complexion and hair an Englishman; and he watched the scene from an artistic point of view, and kept shifting his position so as to find from which side to get the best e__f>ct, and having done so proceeded to sit down on a rough stone bench and to undo his drawing materials, which he had in a canvas bag in bis hand. It must be admitted glani;-". of admiration escaped from him as he looked at Gioja kneeling in her graceful position, her face lighted up with intense delight as the cards turned up favourably to her. These looks of admiration were much resented by the Italian, who each time he detected them scowled at the stranger, while he instinctively too*- bold of the stiletto all Italians carry in their waistband.

We must now leave the two onlookers and return to Gioja, who, stroking tne old v man's withered band, said: "You have truly, dear friend, told me all that is sweet and beautiful; but are you sure you see no clouds in the future, am I sure to marry the one who will love me? Just now it seemed to me as if a shadow bad passed over the cards, and I noticed you slurred even the ace of spades r.nd the nine. Do not hesitate 11 tell me if you see any trouble in the future. I would rather know it, and I may not have a chance of seeing you again. My little home lies so far away up tbe valley, and my parents seldom let me come so far; but to-day they bid me take an offering of milk and cheese to one of the padres in the monastery, and having done so, I flew on here to try and find you; but now I must soon be re-! turning, so tell ne all and quickly." The old woman did not answer for a moment, and when she did a look of pain swept across her face. "Carina, Carina," she said, "you want to know tod much. In each life there is sadness and shadow; but your name is 'Gioja,' and that will, I pray, carry you safely through all. You will marry the man who loves you, but " and here she paused, "it seems as if some danger lies in your pa -, 'i, and that your happiness will be —but there," she stopped, then said, "this is all m the hand of Fate. These cards often do not tell the truth. W I-.o knows whether their life will be happy or not? But yours surely, Gioja mia, will be a happy one. And in the end," she murmured softly, "there is *he passing away of this life, which frees ub from all pain and sorrow. And now, you must speed away home, for your parents will be missing you, and, besides, there is Pietro, your betrothed, who has evidently been looking out for you to escort you back along the road." At the mention of Pietro a cloud passed over Gioja's face, and sue s-u. hastily, -"I'-do not "want Pietro's company. We have indeed been betroth'Sd by our parents since I w. s :. child, but with no consent of mine. He shall not walk back with me; see, I will slip out by your back door and so avoid him." And so saying she kissed the old woman's hand, who gravely shook her bead, and vanished with the swiftness of a goat and pursued her way alone, a narrow path which by a circuitous route would lead i_<_r home.

CHAPTER H.

Singing and laughing softly to herself Gioja pursued her way along the narrow path which was full of danger for it ran aloncr the side of a deep ravine, and in some places where it had been washed away by the rains there was hardly room for her feet to tread and it was only by clinging to the rock on one side of her she could get alonsr at all, but being used from childhood to the mountain life she had no fear, when suddenly on turning a sharp corner she saw, what made even her start back with a cry of alarm, that the path had been completely' washed away and had left a great chasm which was quite impossible for her to gpt over. There was nqthing for it but for her to turn rpund and retrace her steps all the way back ,tp Subiaca; this she was on the point of doing when suddenly she heard a voice behind her saying with a foreign accent:—

"Slgnorina, can I be of any assistance to you? If not, perhaps you cap he to me. I am a stranger in these parts and am staying at the Monastery of Subiaca some way out of town and have lost my way, so can we mutually help each other?"

This speech made her turn more swiftly, and she found herself face to face with a tall fine looking" young man who gazed at her with respectful admiration. His fair hair and blue eyes were proofs of his English origin, and we recognise in him the artist who had been watching the card scene in the Subiaca street.

"Surely, sir, I would gladly show you the way to the monastery which lies down there," pointing to a spot in the valley beneath them, "but see what there is before us, this chasm we cannot cross so our only way is to retrace our steps and reach it by the longer road. My home lies beyond the Monastery so I will gladly accompany you."

The artist and the girl in single file which, needless to say, did not lend itself to conversation, turned and pursued their way along the narrow path, but once they regained the road near Subiaea the young man came and walked by Gioja's side, and in very fair Italian he asked her many questions about the country around, her life and its surroundings, but never did a word of flattery escape his lips, though ever and anon his artistic eye could not fail to admire her fine carriage and beautiful face, lit up as it was then with her bright eyes sparkling with the unwonted delight of being spoken to in a waj' which, with its deep respect and interest, was far above the conversation of those she lived with.' She answered all his questions quietly and modestly, and the road wi__ch| generally seemed so' long brought them to their parting point far too quickly. On approacning the turn to the Monastery the young man turned to her and said: "Signorina, I can never thank you enough, buf yet an-

other favour I would ask you, -which is to give me an. opportunity of finishing this little Bketcb I took the liberty of taking -while you were having your fortune told. I am lodging here for some days -with the hospitable monks, so will yim! grant nae this favour, and , come here and let me .finish it to-morrow morning?"

Gioja's cheeks flushed' crimson with delight and surprise at so unexpected an honour, but she answered smilingly yet with hesitation.

"Pardon, signor, if I ask you instead ~to come and honour our small cottage with a visit, and ask my parents.'as my father and mother are, oh! so stern, and would be very, very displeased if I met the signor again,without their, knowing it. Indeed, indeed, I could not do so." ,A look of surprise passed over Arthur's, face, but it was in a pleased voice he' replied. : "It is I, sighorma, who was wrong to propose it, point put to me where your home lies and I will present my request to your parents myself." , "Signor, you gee that little village hidden among the rocks on the opposite hill; my father is a cobbler, and when you get to the village you have to ask for Francesco, the cobbler, and anyone will guide you, and npw, signor, adio," ana before he realised it Gioja shot away like an arrow out of a bow, and was soon out of sight. Arthur made his way up the steep path to tbe monastery, and sat for some time in silent contemplation on the terrace outside the building. And indeed the view which lay before him afforded great scope for contemplation and admiration. The Monastery of Subiaca is well known for the beauty of its position; perched on the summit of a •high hill, it commands a view over the whole country for miles, a luxuriant; valley with a stream meandering through it lies at its feet, on the opposite side' of the valley hill rises above hill like the undulating waves of the sea, each -bill crowned by a tiny nest of houses, or rather hovels, most of them door and windowless. Gazing at these hamlets, built as they often are on the edge of rocks, and with no appearance of any path or road leading to them, one wonders how the daily necessaries of life are supplied to, and what are the occupations of, their inhabitants; probably generation after generation are born, live and die there unknown and unsought aft£r by the rest of the world. Amid each nest of houses rises the spire of a tiny church, and at eventide the Angelus is pealed out by the various) bells in tones of mellowed sweetness.

Olive trees grow all over the hills, and their deep dark green stands out well in the foreground, till in the far distance they fade away into the blue horizon. As Arthur gazed at |he wonderful view he wondered to himself in which of the windowless houses in the village that Gioja had pointed out to him did she live, and he could not help thinking to himself that so bright and beautiful a girl ought to have more civilised surroundings. "It is terrible to think of," he said, half to himself. "How pleased she wasj at the idea of my taking (her portrait. Just the type I* have been seeking for for my Academy picture. But am I wise, I wonder, in disturbing her life; probably it will make her and spoil her sweet, fresh happiness, and give her consciousness of her beauty, which would rob it of all it» charm. Her fate in life is probably already fixed; I cannot help thinking that that fellow who so scowled at me in the street when I was sketching must be mixed up in it. Here comes one of the good monks to call me to my evening meal. I will. ask him what he knows of Gioja," and with these thoughts he turned to a monk who slowly approached him and said, "My father, I crave your pardon for so long loitering, but your beautiful view and the glorious sunset must plead my excuse. You are happy to live in the midst, of such glorious surroundings. The spot in itself is so heavenly it must indeed be a foretaste to you of the Eternal Heaven to which your holy footsteps cannot fail to lead you. A perfect peace truly envelops one's life here, and the thought of returning to tbe din and turmoil of the world in hateful to me. Gladly would I linger on.here, but it cannot be."

"You are welcome, signor, to our modest hospitality for so long as you like to stay, and if it brings you peace why not prolong it?" said the monk, Father Thomas by name. "Life is so short the more peaceful we can make it the better. Yet," he added, "peace comes from within us, not from outside surroundings, and very often there may be more peace beneath a velvet and' satin garb than under a monk's habit. True happiness lies in knowing as little as we can of the world and its false and delusive happiness. Those who live in these far away villages are happy, They have no wishes or desires beyond their homes, no thoughts for the future—their -daily toil supplies their daily wants."

"And do. they earn much?" asked Arthur.

"Four or five pence a day suffices for them, their wants are few, a little rice, a little macaroni, goats' milk, a bed of straw, a few sticks for their fire, and that is all they need., No one is idle, everyone has his qr her work to do."

Arthur thought it would be a favourable moment to ask for some information about Gioja, not that she was anything tp him,.he said ,to himself, but just for curiosity;., so; pointing to his shoes, "-1.6 said, "By the way, Father, as you say that air trades are represented in these hamlets, is there a cobbler among them in yonder village," pointing to one across the valley, "who could renovate these soles, which have suffered sorely, in .my wanderings along your ' rugged paths?"

"A cobbler, let me think," replied the Father; "yes, surely, there is one, by name Francesco, who Jives in that high perched up village—"and See, the sun is just setting behind his house, that small one perched on a rock, but, my. son, I should advise you if you go to him not to tahe any notice of or say sweet things to his daughter, as he and her mother never let any stranger speak to her, so fearful they are of anything coming in the way of an engagement they have made for her since she was five years old with Pietro, the son of the one well-to-do peasant in the place, I warn you of this, a§ Gioja, whose growing up I have yearly watched

over, is a being radiant in beauty and the embodiment of the happiness her name denotes. But there, there will be no danger; you English are cold by nature, and not easily impressed, so if it please you to-morrow I will accompany you,, as the path is intricate and difficult to find. And .now, Signor, I pray you come in, the sun is setting, and it is not good for strangers to stay out in the mist, which ever rises from the valley at sunset. Your evening meal is ready, and I will leave you to eat it in peace, while I go to vespers, for which the bell is now ringing. So "saying, he led the way into the monastery, and Arthur partook with great relish of the simple meal of eggs, bread and grapes that awaited him, and then betook himself to tbe small dormitory which had been assigned to him when he first arrived there some days back. His couch was a hard One, but youth and a good conscience soon drifted him into the land of dreams, where monks, cobbler, peasants, and Gioja soon mixed themselves up in dire ; confusion, and he never woke till the Matin bell rang- out the hour oi morning prayer. ...

He started up with the confused idea in his mind that some fate hung over him that, day; and as he slowly dressed his brows knit as if he was debating some knotty problem in hjs mind, a problem that was not solved when a knock came at his door. On his opening it one of the serving monks, with a cheerful "Bon giorno, signor," banded him a wooden tray on which besides the usual morning fragrant cup of chocolate there lay some letters. These he hastily took, saying to himself, "They shall decide for me." The first one or two he tossed aside as being of no importance, but the two remaining ones he read carefully, and their perusal did not appear to give him much pleasure. One from his sister was a long one, but the only portion of it which has any reference to this story was as follows: —"And indeed, dear, we do long for your return, these long wanderings of yours make mother and me so anxious, you know how anxious she is for your marriage with Dorothy to take place, it was our father'swish, and Dorothy has been so good and patient: could you not soon return and let it take place in July? I am sure you would be fir happier in a settled life. Do come to us." The other was from the Dorothy in question herself, and was not expressed in the words of patience his sister referred to; on the contrary, she wrote, "I really begin to think, dear. Arthur, that you do not care for me; the position you place me in by ever delaying our wedding makes it very unpleasant fbr me. I really must beg you to tell me candidly whether I am to consider myself engaged to you or not." He read these letters carefully, then put them into his pocket, saying, "What fools women are to so press their point; of course I must marry that milk-and-water cousin of mine, but I will not be hurried into it, and I shall certainly stay oh here a bit. Once married I skull never have a chance of coming to my beautiful, poetic ItSily; Dorothy has not an ounce of romance in her; there is more , deep feeling in...one,of Gioja's eyes than in her whole nature. I will just write and satisfy her and my sister by saying the wedding shall be in July, but that the sketches I am at work upon will not allow me to be home before June; this is only the beginning of May, so I can just spend another fourteen days more in this abode of pleasure"; so he hastily wrote off letters to this effect to his sister Helen and to his (betrothed, Miss Mitford, and then betook him in search of the monk who had promised to be his guide to Gioja's village.

For the monks, though little past eight o'clock, the day and all its work was already far advanced. Some were in the garden, a garden which crept all in and out among tbe rocks where, amid their shades, all the early spring flowers were cultivated — narcussus, violets, lijacs, roses, scenting the air with their many perfumes. In. more secluded part vegetables were cultivated, and yet in another all the many herbs which are so much used in Italy in cases of sickness, and whose simple powers of healing are often so far mpre effective than the costly drugs of other countries.

The monks are specially learned in the art of healing by herbs, and for every ill that flesh is heir to they have a herb in reauine_js. Their vineyard is never neglecteu, and all their small industries are a source of revenue to the monastery and enable .it to help the poor around themWithin some are employed in distilling scents from the flowers, others in drying and preparing the herbs for use; all domestic work is done by them, while some of the more educated among them spend their days in illuminating manuscripts, with . the same patience though not with the same skill, perhaps, as in the bygone ages of olden time,

Before we follow our artist "in hia search for his guide it will be well to tell our readers something about him. Arthur Vincent was the young, er son of Lord Vincent, and from his earliest years he had shown a great talent for painting; and as years went hy this talent became so de* veloped that he was able to take his place among the artists of the day, and this year he hoped would be one of triumph to him, as he had every reason to believe his picture would be worthy of acceptance by the Royal Academy. Its subject was that of an Italian procession, a re* production of a mediaeval one which takes place yearly in Sienna in the early days of August, and it was tor the principal woman's figure in the procession, who during the festivities acted as "Queen of Beauty," that he had sought : ar and wide for a suitable subject to serve as a model for it. Till his eyes lighted on Gioja he had been unsuccessful. He loved his art for the sake of art, he had no need to pursue it for the sake of money; though a younger son, he had been left by his father, who had died a few years previously, quite well off, added to which his elder brother was unmarried, so he had every prospect of succeeding to the title and. property. All was indeed prosperous in his life, and by the world at large he was looked upon as one of those whom the gods smile on, but he had that hanging over his head which took

away all the zest of bis happiness in life, and this was his engagement to his cousin Dorothy Mitford. Left an orphan at an early age, Lord and Lady Vincent had taken her into their home and brought her up; and from the earliest moment of doing so they had decided that she should be betrothed to the younger son. The two children as they then Were seemed to be a perfect match; they played and studied together, and what they .egta in play calling each other, "little nhsbana" and "little wife," meeting with the approbation, and being indeed the secret wish of. Lord and Lady Vincent, became serious earnest. This was. specially the case, with Dorothy, who looked upon Arthur as her sole property. When he went to school her thoughts were ever of him, and the romances and novels she read as she grew older kindled her love and admiration for him. He was her knight-errant, her Troubadour. She sitting at home had nothing to divert ber thoughts from him, and he ever stood out before her as a hero of romance. He, on the other hand, each time he returned to school thought less and less of the pink-and-white cousin he left behind. Truth, to say, she had not Improved in appearance as she |frew up. - She was just •■•■. an ordinary white - faced girl, with dolly-blue eyes, a girl with no bright cleverness and no talents like his, nor had she the power of appreciating them- She clung to the idea of marrying him partly from love but still more from ambition. He longed to shake off the yoke but could not find any reasonable pretext for doing so. Dorothy was an orphan and penniless, and this consideration alone bound him to her. Such being the position of affairs, we will return to Arthur, whom we shall find in .the company of Father Thomas, who had not forgotten his promise of guidance given the day before. So on this lovely May morning the monk led Arthur to his fate. The monk, in his brown garb and whit girdle round his waist, went first and Arthur followed in a light suit and, straw hat, carrying a parcel containing tbe shoes he wanted to be renovated, a mere pretext to gain access to Gioja. Along the narrow path they went, first descending rapidly till they reached the river in the valley, which they crossed by means of a rickety wooden bridge, then they began their laborious ascent of the opposite hill. Ever and anon they stopped to gaze at the lovely views all round them, to listen to. the sweet song of the birds, and to intoxicate themselves with the perfume of the many - scented flowers that grew all round them. It was indeed an ideal walk on this sweet day of May, and Arthur's artistic soul was too powerfully influenced by it to desire conversation which in any case would have been difficult, as thie path was too narrow and rugged to admit of two walking along it abreast, up and up they climbed, each turn disclosing some fresh scene of beauty, and they had nearly approached their destination when they suddenly came face to face with a man in peasant's costume whom Arthur at once recognised as having seen in Subiaca. The man on seeing them, looked at Arthur scornfully, but with native reverence bent to kiss the monk's hem, who said, "Bless you, my son," and then added, "Can you tell me if Francesco, the cobbler, is in, as this friend of mine wants to have a pair of shoes mended?" Pietro's brow at "this clouded over still more, and in the most surly tone of voice, and with a look of suppressed hatred towards Arthur, he replied, "Yes, father," and then suddenly turned round, and retraced bis steps from whence he had come. His reason for this was to forestall •Arthur's arrival, and warn Francesco that a dangerous stranger was coming, and that it would be well for Gioja to be kept out of his way. Arthur saw his look, and grasped his intention, and turning to the monk said, "I do not like the look of that man; who is he?" "That is Pietro, my son," replied Father Thomas; "he who I told you is betrothed to Gioja; I only wish it was not so, and nothing I should be more grateful for than if some fate Stepped in to stop, the match, as he has nothing io recommend him; he is of a morose and jealous character, and would never make any woman happy. But 'Che sara sara,' one can but hope all may turn out for the hest." ■ :.,

l.y this time the path had led them up a long flight of rough-hswn steps cut out of the rock, and they entered the tumble-down and narrow streets of Zalio. and after many winding an- intricate turns they stopped at the door of a poor, windowless house, and the monk having rapped at it, a voice said "Entrac." The monk opened tlie door, and it was indeed into a poverty-Strieker.^room which he and Arthur entered. Just an earth floor, walls and ceiling, from which the plaster had long since fallen, an open fireplace, in which lay a few faggots, a table which hardly supported itself on its three legs, a small stool on which Francesco, the cobbler, sat, were ail the room contained, l_-e only signs of refinement were three, pots of flowers and a bird in a cage, which Arthur quickly discovered in the corner of the room, and which he. inßtinctively felt belonged to Gioja. The old cobbler did not rise ag- they entered, but in a grutT voice asked what they wanted. Having taken the parcel and looked at tne shoes, he said, "The repairs will not take long; if the signor will return in an hour he will find them ready, and then pointed to the door as a sign they were to go, and return at the hour specified. But this is not what Arthur wanted, and on the monk saying that, having accomplished his mission as guide, his avocations at the monastery did not permit him to stay all that time, Arthur begged him not to wait for him, saying he could easily find his way back, and then, turning to the cobbler, he saiu, "Would it be asking too great a favour if you would allow me to rest here while you are working, as Italian sun and the long walk have much tired me, and indeed I should be grateful if I might have a glass of water." This he said in the hope that Gioja might be called to bring it him, as he heard her voice in an adjoining room. Jiut in this he was also foiled as, though Francesco in a harsh voice bid him be seated

(the table, however, being the only available seat), he called "Katrina, Eatrina," and on the entrance of a woman looking as surly as himself, evidently his wife, he bid her fetch a glass of water, and Arthur, having drunk it, the old man again looked towards the door as a sign for him to go. But Arthur having established himself on the table, and"possession _.emg nine points of the law," was determined to remain and try whether by diplomacy and coaxing he could not bring tne old man and his wife, who remained standing in the room, to grant his request that he should be allowed to paint Gioja's portrait. So after a few moments' pause he began by saying, "I am an artist, and am most anxious to find some beautiful, brignt Italian girl to sit to me as a study for a picture I am painting. I am ready to pay well for the time that she sits; do you Icnow of any girl here Who would like to earn some gold pieces?"

The old cobbler's eyes glistened at these words, and he seemed as if going to reply, when his wife stepped in.

"No, signor, we know no one, so keep your gold to yourself; no one wants gold here." "Softly, softly, wife," broke in her husband, "I am not so sure of that; gold is gOod and helpful, and some would come in useful to help in Gioja's wedding," but here a look irom his wife stopped him.

"Gioja, what a pretty name!" said Arthu.; "who is Gioja? surely the bearer of such a name must be beautiful, and if she is going to be married &;irely some gold pieces would be of use." - '"'■ ; _>_ ■

The woman was moiag to reply, when suddenly thejfcld man threw down the shoe, anafgot up, saying, "Lisj/en to me; we should be fools to refuse the signor's biffer. Pietro's father may be rich, but he is stingy, and will not part with more than he is obliged to; gold pieces will be of great use, so, signor, Gioja shall sit to you for her picture, and you shall see and arrange it* with her at once." So saying, in a shrill voice, he called, "Gioja, Gioja," and Arthur had only time to beg the old man not to mention the money to her, when the rickety door between the rooms opened, and Gioja in all her beauty appeared on the threshold. She advanced timidly, hardly raising her eyes, not being sure whether to seem to recognise Arthur or not, but a slight sign from him warned her not to do so. She stood there silently, and, her whole form and bearing full of grace and dignity, seemed so at variance with her surroundings that Arthur could n6t help wondering whether the couple were indeed her parents, or whether there might not be some mystery about her.

He determined to question the monk more closely on his' return to the monastery. Now, the chief point was to arrange the sittings, so turning to the girl, he said, "Signorina, your father has kindly consented that I may do your picture; shall I come here to-morrow to begin it? And I would prefer painting it out of doors, just in an archway I passed in the street as I came here."

"The Signor indeed does me too great an honour, and I am quite at his disposition," she replied in her soft Italian tongue, curtseying as she spoke.. "To-morrow, then, at eleven," Arthur said; "till then addio," and taking up his shoes, which were then ready, with a bow to the parents he departed.

.No sooner had he gone than Pietro's evil face appeared in the doorway, and in angry accents he said: "And this is how you regard my warning; I told you to beware of the stranger. I have listened through the dpor to all that has passed, and my blood curdles when I think you are going to allow Gioja to sit. Remember, though, she is my property, and I have a say in the matter." ,

Gioja in the meantime had retired, so she did not near tne tirade, nor his continuing to say, "As to his gold, how do you know he has any to give, and what are a few gold pieces to me. You know I shall be rich; my father has a vineyard, an orchard, sheep and goats." "Softly, softly, Pietro," the cobbler said. "Gold pieces are not to be despised; your father may be rich, but he has a close hand; what has delayed your marriage +ill now but his avarice? "__ou know well that till I see what money is forthcoming, Gioja will not be 3'ours; it is difficult enough to keep her to the engage,ment, as you do not go the way to win her love, and it is only by pointing out to her the advantage it would be to us if she married you. Your father has made many promises I see no signs of his fulfilling. I have not yet told her what your father and you know, that she is not our child, and that her being high-born is what makes you both so eager for the marriage. If she knew this, and found out that the small sum left to us for her support till she was seventeen was just exhausted, and that we were selling her to you, her high-born pride would fire up and, she would leave the house. But if this delay on your father's ride continues she shall be told, as I do not mean to feed her on my small earnings, and in the, meantime do not put a spoke in the. wheel of her earning something for lis; and look well, "Pietro, to what I am going to say: If you let your jealous fiery nature lead you into any squabble with the stronger, or if any harm happens to him through you, you will have to deal with me. lean look after Gioja without your aid," and. so saying, the cobbler rose from his stool, and with a nod of adieu shuffled out of tho room.

(To be Continued Daily.)