a, be careful not to let the house tumble into the lake
while we are away!"

* * * * *

During the journey on Lake Maggiore on board the _San Bernardino_, Luisa
remained in the second-class cabin most of the time. She went on deck
once to try and persuade Uncle Piero to go below also, but, although the
wind was cold, Uncle Piero, wrapped in his heavy grey travelling cloak,
would not stir from the deck, where he sat calmly watching the hills and
villages, and chatting with a priest from Locarno, with a little old
woman from Belgirate, and with other second-class passengers. Luisa was
obliged to leave him there, while she herself went below again,
preferring to be alone with her own thoughts. As they approached Isola
Bella a sense of inward excitement and a vague foreboding of many
things took possession of her. How would the meeting with Franco take
place? How would he treat her? Would he repeat Uncle Piero's sermon to
her? His letters were indeed always compassionate and tender, but who
does not know that we write in one way and speak in another? How and
where would they spend the evening? And then that other question, that
question it so terrified her to think about----? All these anxious
thoughts were rising higher and higher, threatening to become dominant,
to place themselves in bold opposition to that image of the cemetery of
Oria, which from time to time would return with impetuous violence, as
if to snatch back its own. At the station of Cannero, Luisa heard the
noise of many steps and of loud talking above her head, and went
upstairs to look after her uncle. A party of soldiers, recalled to
service, had come out to the steamer in two large barges. Other small
boats bore women, children, and old men, who were crying and waving
good-bye. The soldiers, most of whom were _Bersaglieri_, fine jolly
young fellows, answered the greeting with shouts of "Hurrah for Italy!"
and made promises of presents from Milan. One old woman, all
dishevelled, but tearless, had three sons among those soldiers, and was
calling out to them to remember our Lord and the Madonna. "Yes, yes,"
grumbled an old sergeant who was escorting them, "Remember our Lord, and
the Madonna, and the Bishop, and don't forget the _prevosto_, the
parish priest!" The soldiers, who were well acquainted with the
_prevosto_, or military prison, laughed loudly at the joke, as the
steamer started forward. There were cries, and waving