ll the more clearly for the
sound of the bubbling waves leaping against the 'Laura' when the wind
is high! And as for our children," he paused and laughed, "per la
Santissima Madonna! if the salt and iron of the ocean be not in their
blood, they will be no children of mine!"

I smiled at his enthusiasm, and pouring out some choice Montepulciano,
bade him taste it. He did so with a keen appreciation of its flavor,
such as many a so-called connoisseur of wines does not possess.

"To your health, eccellenza!" he said, "and may you long enjoy your
life!"

I thanked him; but in my heart I was far from echoing the kindly wish.

"And are you going to fulfill the prophecy of your friends, Andrea?" I
asked. "Are you about to marry?"

He set down his glass only partly emptied, and smiled with an air of
mystery.

"Ebbene! chi sa!" he replied, with a gay little shrug of his shoulders,
yet with a sudden tenderness in his keen eyes that did not escape me.
"There is a maiden--my mother loves her well--she is little and fair as
Carmelo Neri's Teresa--so high," and he laid his brown hand lightly on
his breast, "her head touches just here," and he laughed. "She looks as
frail as a lily, but she is hardy as a sea-gull, and no one loves the
wild waves more than she. Perhaps, in the month of the Madonna, when
the white lilies bloom--perhaps!--one can never tell--the old song may
be sung for us--

"Chi sa fervente amar
Solo e felice!"

And humming the tune of the well-known love-ditty under his breath, he
raised his glass of wine to his lips and drained it off with a relish,
while his honest face beamed with gayety and pleasure. Always the same
story, I thought, moodily. Love, the tempter--Love, the
destroyer--Love, the curse! Was there NO escape possible from this
bewildering snare that thus caught and slew the souls of men?

CHAPTER XXXIII.

He soon roused himself from his pleasant reverie, and drawing his chair
closer to mine, assumed an air of mystery.

"And for your friend who is in trouble," he said, in a confidential
tone, then paused and looked at me as though waiting permission to
proceed.

I nodded.

"Go on, amico. What have you arranged?"

"Everything!" he announced, with an air of triumph. "All is smooth
sailing. At six o'clock on Friday morning the 'Rondinella,' that is the
brig I told you of, eccellenza, will weigh anchor for Civita Vecchia.
Her captain, old Antonio Bardi, will wait ten minutes