ndled his wood-ax; I could see that
he loved the life of the hills and fields--the life of a simple farmer
and fruit-grower, full of innocent enjoyments, as sweet as the ripe
apples in his orchard. I could foresee his future with Lilla beside
him. He would have days of unwearying contentment, rendered beautiful
by the free fresh air and the fragrance of flowers--his evenings would
slip softly by to the tinkle of the mandolin, and the sound of his wife
and children's singing.

What fairer fate could a man desire?--what life more certain to keep
health in the body and peace in the mind? Could I not help him to his
happiness, I wondered? I, who had grown stern with long brooding upon
my vengeance--could I not aid in bringing joy to others! If I could, my
mind would be somewhat lightened of its burden--a burden grown heavier
since Guide's death, for from his blood had sprung forth a new group of
Furies, that lashed me on to my task with scorpion whips of redoubled
wrath and passionate ferocity. Yet if I could do one good action
now--would it not be as a star shining in the midst of my soul's storm
and darkness? Just then Lilla laughed--how sweetly!--the laugh of a
very young child. What amused her now? I looked, and saw that she had
taken the ax from Vincenzo, and lifting it in her little hands, was
endeavoring bravely to imitate his strong and telling stroke; he
meanwhile stood aside with an air of smiling superiority, mingled with
a good deal of admiration for the slight active figure arrayed in the
blue kirtle and scarlet bodice, on which the warm rays of the late sun
fell with so much amorous tenderness. Poor little Lilla! A penknife
would have made as much impression as her valorous blows produced on
the inflexible, gnarled, knotty old stump she essayed to split in
twain. Flushed and breathless with her efforts, she looked prettier
than ever, and at last, baffled, she resigned her ax to Vincenzo,
laughing gayly at her incapacity for wood-cutting, and daintily shaking
her apron free from the chips and dust, till a call from her mother
caused her to run swiftly into the house, leaving Vincenzo working away
as arduously as ever. I went up to him; he saw me approaching, and
paused in his labors with an air of slight embarrassment.

"You like this sort of work, amico?" I said, gently.

"An old habit, eccellenza--nothing more. It reminds me of the days of
my youth, when I worked for my mother. Ah! a pleasant place it was--