out into crags, then again fell in blank abrupt precipices, their
edges fringed with shrubs, the recesses of their sides sheltering
wild-flowers of the most varied hues, whose sprays and blossoms waved in
the sweet breath of morning. Equally varied, and as delicately
beautiful, were the ethereal tints of the mountain tops, to which the
cloudless sky seemed to impart a tinge of its azure. On the edge of a
ravine, midway up a mountain, were seen a few crumbling walls, and a
fragment of a broken tower, sole remains of some ancient stronghold,
which, centuries before, had frowned over the vale. The hut of a
goatherd or charcoal-burner, here and there dotted the hill-side; and at
the southern limit of the valley, just before its change of direction
took it out of sight of the convent, were visible the houses of a small
hamlet, surrounded by plantations, and half buried amidst blossoms of
the tenderest rose-colour and most dazzling white. Masses of beech and
ilex clothed the lower slopes of the mountains, and from out of their
dark setting of foliage the grey walls of the Dominican convent arose
like a pale and shadowy spectre. The fresh brightness of spring was the
characteristic of the whole scene; the year seemed rejoicing in its
youthful vigour, and to express its delight by millions of mute voices,
which spoke out of each leaf and twig that danced in the breeze. Nor
were other and audible voices wanting. The lark was singing in the sky,
the grasshopper had begun its chirp, the rills and rivulets that
splashed or trickled from the hills, gave out their indistinct murmur;
whilst, heard far above these voices of nature, the toll of the matin
bell resounded through the valley, calling the devoutly disposed to
their morning thanksgiving.

The angelus had ceased to ring when Rita and her party came in sight of
the Dominican convent, their horses and mules giving evidence, by their
jaded appearance, of having been ridden far, and over rough and painful
roads. The gipsy rode in front, vigilant and unfatigued--although he had
now been in the saddle, with little intermission, for a whole day and
night--and was followed by Rita, to whose delicate frame the long ride
had been an exertion as unusual as it was trying. But a resolute spirit
had compensated for physical weakness, and, uncomplaining, she had borne
up against the hardships of the preceding ten hours. She was pale and
harassed; her hair, uncurled by the night fogs, hung in