the
old home just above Fiesole." His eyes grew pensive and sad. "It is all
gone now--finished. That was before I became a soldier. But one thinks
of it sometimes."

"I understand. And no doubt you would be glad to return to the life of
your boyhood?"

He looked a little startled.

"Not to leave YOU, eccellenza!"

I smiled rather sadly. "Not to leave ME? Not if you wedded Lilla Monti?"

His olive cheek flushed, but he shook his head.

"Impossible! She would not listen to me. She is a child."

"She will soon be a woman, believe me! A little more of your company
will make her so. But there is plenty of time. She is beautiful, as you
said: and something better than that, she is innocent--think of that,
Vincenzo! Do you know how rare a thing innocence is--in a woman?
Respect it as you respect God; let her young life be sacred to you."

He glanced upward reverently.

"Eccellenza, I would as soon tear the Madonna from her altars as vex or
frighten Lilla!"

I smiled and said no more, but turned into the house. From that moment
I resolved to let this little love-idye have a fair chance of success.
Therefore I remained at Avellino much longer than I had at first
intended, not for my own sake, but for Vincenzo's. He served me
faithfully; he should have his reward. I took a pleasure in noticing
that my efforts to promote his cause were not altogether wasted. I
spoke with Lilla often on indifferent matters that interested her, and
watched her constantly when she was all unaware of my observant gaze.
With me she was as frank and fearless as a tame robin; but after some
days I found that she grew shy of mentioning the name of Vincenzo, that
she blushed when he approached her, that she was timid of asking him to
do anything for her; and from all these little signs I knew her mind,
as one knows by the rosy streaks in the sky that the sunrise is near.

One afternoon I called the Signora Monti to my room. She came,
surprised, and a little anxious. Was anything wrong with the service? I
reassured her housewifely scruples, and came to the point at once.

"I would speak to you of your child, the little Lilla," I said, kindly.
"Have you ever thought that she may marry?"

Her dark bold eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered.

"Truly I have," she replied with a wistful sadness; "but I have prayed,
perhaps foolishly, that she would not leave me yet. I love her so well;
she is always a babe to me, so small and sweet! I put