cellenza," murmured the Sicilian,
thoughtfully. "Would there were more like you! Often when fortune gives
a kick to a man, nothing will suit but that all who see him must kick
him also. And thus the povero diavolo dies of so many kicks, often!
This friend of yours is young, senza dubbio?"

"Yes, quite young, not yet thirty."

"It is as if you were a father to him!" exclaimed Andrea,
enthusiastically. "I hope he may be truly grateful to you, eccellenza."

"I hope so too," I said, unable to resist a smile. "And now, amico,
take this," and I pressed a small sealed packet into his hand. "It is
for yourself. Do not open it till you are at home with the mother you
love so well, and the little maiden you spoke of by your side. If its
contents please you, as I believe they will, think that _I_ am also
rendered happier by your happiness."

His dark eyes sparkled with gratitude as I spoke, and setting the
valise he held down on the ground, he stretched out his hand half
timidly, half frankly. I shook it warmly and bade him farewell.

"Per Bacco!" he said, with a sort of shamefaced eagerness, "the very
devil must have caught my tongue in his fingers! There is something I
ought to say to you, eccellenza, but for my life I cannot find the
right words. I must thank you better when I see you next."

"Yes," I answered, dreamily and somewhat wearily, "when you see me
next, Andrea, you shall thank me if you will; but believe me, I need no
thanks."

And thus we parted, never to meet again--he to the strong glad life
that is born of the wind and sea, and I to--. But let me not
anticipate. Step by step through the labyrinths of memory let me go
over the old ground watered with blood and tears, not missing one sharp
stone of detail on the drear pathway leading to the bitter end.

That same evening I had an interview with Vincenzo. He was melancholy
and taciturn--a mood which was the result of an announcement I had
previously made to him--namely, that his services would not be required
during my wedding-trip. He had hoped to accompany me and to occupy the
position of courier, valet, major-domo, and generally confidential
attendant--a hope which had partially soothed the vexation he had
evidently felt at the notion of my marrying at all.

His plans were now frustrated, and if ever the good-natured fellow
could be ill-tempered, he was assuredly so on this occasion. He stood
before me with his usual respectful air, but he avoided my gl