m it. So he drags on the burden with which he
has loaded himself, as a resolute old soldier bears hunger and thirst
though he should dwindle to a shadow. Well, well, these are old stories
now, and cannot be altered."

During this conversation we had ascended the stair, and were
approaching the room from which the singing proceeded. The voice had a
crude inflexible sound; it was a high youthful even boyish soprano. It
seemed as if she sang only to give utterance to her thoughts perfectly
careless of the sound.

"What is the Signorina's name?" I asked, when we had reached the top of
the stairs.

"Beatrice. We call her 'Bicetta.' Oh what a priceless heart is hers! My
Nina often says to me, 'Father,' she says, 'if the Signorina is to wait
for a husband worthy of her she will remain unmarried.' See here, Sir;
this is her sitting-room. There are her books. She often sits up half
the night, Nina says, and reads them in many languages. Adjoining is
the little bedroom where the two girls sleep. That picture there, above
her bed, represents my poor master in his General's uniform as he used
to lead us into action. That small figure in the background who
brandishes his musket is me, says the Signorina, and she has lately
added the grey moustachioes to give it more resemblance. But come away
Sir, there is noting remarkable in here, the furniture is old. The
General once wanted to furnish it anew, but the child would not hear of
it because everything had been left just as it was when her deceased
mother passed the first summer of her married life in this house. There
on the balcony she used of an evening to sit rocking her child's
cradle, and waiting for the return of her husband when he had gone to
town on business."

I stept out strangely moved and stooped to caress the little dog who
wagged his tail and licked my hand. Every word which the faithful old
man spoke added fuel to the fire which burnt in my breast, and the
voice in the adjoining room fanned the flame with its breath.

Fearing to betray myself, I talked of the way in which the grounds were
laid out, about the inlaid table of mosaic work, which stood in the
middle of the room; of the faded fresco painting on the ceiling. I
could not tear myself away though my guide grew impatient.

Suddenly the singing ceased; the door was thrown open, and she appeared
on the threshold, holding a sheet of music in her hand. She had never
been so near me, yet I did not discern her