lasses and laid them on the table beside me.

"As you have seen me once without them, you can see me again," I
observed, gently. "I wear them for a special purpose. Here in Avellino
the purpose does not hold. Thus far I confide in you. But beware how
you betray my confidence."

"Eccellenza!" cried Vincenzo, in truly pained accents, and with a
grieved look.

I rose and laid my hand on his arm.

"There! I was wrong--forgive me. You are honest; you have served your
country well enough to know the value of fidelity and duty. But when
you say I have not lost my youth, you are wrong, Vincenzo! I HAVE lost
it--it has been killed within me by a great sorrow. The strength, the
suppleness of limb, the brightness of eye these are mere outward
things: but in the heart and soul are the chill and drear bitterness of
deserted age. Nay, do not smile; I am in truth very old--so old that I
tire of my length of days; yet again, not too old to appreciate your
affection, amico, and"--here I forced a faint smile--"when I see the
maiden Lilla, I will tell you frankly what I think of her."

Vincenzo stooped his head, caught my hand within his own, and kissed
it, then left the room abruptly, to hide the tears that my words had
brought to his eyes. He was sorry for me, I could see, and I judged him
rightly when I thought that the very mystery surrounding me increased
his attachment. On the whole, I was glad he had seen me undisguised, as
it was a relief to me to be without my smoked glasses for a time, and
during all the rest of my stay at Avellino I never wore them once.

One day I saw Lilla. I had strolled up to a quaint church situated on a
rugged hill and surrounded by fine old chestnut-trees, where there was
a picture of the Scourging of Christ, said to have been the work of Fra
Angelico. The little sanctuary was quite deserted when I entered it,
and I paused on the threshold, touched by the simplicity of the place
and soothed by the intense silence. I walked on my tiptoe up to the
corner where hung the picture I had come to see, and as I did so a girl
passed me with a light step, carrying a basket of fragrant winter
narcissi and maiden-hair fern. Something in her graceful, noiseless
movements caused me to look after her; but she had turned her back to
me and was kneeling at the shrine consecrated to the Virgin, having
placed her flowers on the lowest step of the altar. She was dressed in
peasant costume--a simple, short blue skirt an