w about D'Avencourt's friendly advice concerning the matrimonial
knot? "A man should not walk on the edge of a precipice with his eyes
shut." Very true. But if his eyes are open, and he has his enemy by the
throat, the edge of a precipice is a convenient position for hurling
that enemy down to death in a quiet way, that the world need know
nothing of! So for the present I preferred the precipice to walking on
level ground.

I rose from my seat near the Punto d'Angelo. It was growing late in the
afternoon. From the little church below me soft bells rang out the
Angelus, and with them chimed in a solemn and harsher sound from the
turret of the Monte Vergine. I lifted my hat with the customary
reverence, and stood listening, with my feet deep in the grass and
scented thyme, and more than once glanced up at the height whereon the
venerable sanctuary held its post, like some lonely old god of memory
brooding over vanished years. There, according to tradition, was once
celebrated the worship of the many-breasted Cybele; down that very
slope of grass dotted with violets had rushed the howling, naked
priests beating their discordant drums and shrinking their laments for
the loss of Atys, the beautiful youth, their goddess's paramour.
Infidelity again!--even in this ancient legend, what did Cybele care
for old Saturn, whose wife she was? Nothing, less than nothing!--and
her adorers worshiped not her chastity, but her faithlessness; it is
the way of the world to this day!

The bells ceased ringing; I descended the hill and returned homeward
through a shady valley, full of the odor of pines and bog-myrtle. On
reaching the gate of the Signora Monti's humble yet picturesque
dwelling, I heard the sound of laughter and clapping of hands, and
looking in the direction of the orchard, I saw Vincenzo hard at work,
his shirt-sleeves rolled up to the shoulder, splitting some goodly logs
of wood, while Lilla stood beside him, merrily applauding and
encouraging his efforts. He seemed quite in his element, and wielded
his ax with a regularity and vigor I should scarcely have expected from
a man whom I was accustomed to see performing the somewhat effeminate
duties of a valet-de-chambre. I watched him and the fair girl beside
him for a few moments, myself unperceived.

If this little budding romance were left alone it would ripen into a
flower, and Vincenzo would be a happier man than his master. He was a
true Tuscan, from the very way he ha