hs, Nanina. It is not a long exile."

"Fabio! Fabio!" cried the girl, sinking again on the seat, and hiding
her face.

"It is for his good," said Father Rocco, calmly: "for Fabio's good,
remember."

"What would he think of me if I went away? Oh, if I had but learned to
write! If I could only write Fabio a letter!"

"Am I not to be depended on to explain to him all that he ought to
know?"

"How can I go away from him! Oh! Father Rocco, how can you ask me to go
away from him?"

"I will ask you to do nothing hastily. I will leave you till to-morrow
morning to decide. At nine o'clock I shall be in the street; and I will
not even so much as enter this house, unless I know beforehand that you
have resolved to follow my advice. Give me a sign from your window. If
I see you wave your white mantilla out of it, I shall know that you have
taken the noble resolution to save Fabio and to save yourself. I will
say no more, my child; for, unless I am grievously mistaken in you, I
have already said enough."

He went out, leaving her still weeping bitterly. Not far from the house,
he met La Biondella and the dog on their way back. The little girl
stopped to report to him the safe delivery of her dinner-mats; but he
passed on quickly with a nod and a smile. His interview with Nanina
had left some influence behind it, which unfitted him just then for the
occupation of talking to a child.

Nearly half an hour before nine o'clock on the following morning, Father
Rocco set forth for the street in which Nanina lived. On his way thither
he overtook a dog walking lazily a few paces ahead in the roadway; and
saw, at the same time, an elegantly-dressed lady advancing toward him.
The dog stopped suspiciously as she approached, and growled and showed
his teeth when she passed him. The lady, on her side, uttered an
exclamation of disgust, but did not seem to be either astonished or
frightened by the animal's threatening attitude. Father Rocco looked
after her with some curiosity as she walked by him. She was a handsome
woman, and he admired her courage. "I know that growling brute well
enough," he said to himself, "but who can the lady be?"

The dog was Scarammuccia, returning from one of his marauding
expeditions The lady was Brigida, on her way to Luca Lomi's studio.

Some minutes before nine o'clock the priest took his post in the street,
opposite Nanina's window. It was open; but neither she nor her little
sister appeared at it. H