I am, my brother, now in a far country?' 'Maiden, tell me,
where thy brother is, and my wings shall bear me to him.'"

"A well-bred turtle-dove, indeed!" exclaimed Orso, and the emotion with
which he kissed his sister contrasted strongly with the jesting tone in
which he spoke.

"Your song is delightful," said Miss Lydia. "You must write it in my
album; I'll translate it into English, and have it set to music."

The worthy colonel, who had not understood a single word, added his
compliments to his daughter's and added: "Is this dove you speak of the
bird we ate broiled at dinner to-day?"

Miss Nevil fetched her album, and was not a little surprised to see the
_improvisatrice_ write down her song, with so much care in the matter of
economizing space.

The lines, instead of being separate, were all run together, as far as
the breadth of the paper would permit, so that they did not agree with
the accepted definition of poetic composition--"short lines of unequal
length, with a margin on each side of them." Mademoiselle Colomba's
somewhat fanciful spelling might also have excited comment. More than
once Miss Nevil was seen to smile, and Orso's fraternal vanity suffered
tortures.

Bedtime came, and the two young girls retired to their room. There,
while Miss Lydia unclasped her necklace, ear-rings, and bracelets, she
watched her companion draw something out of her gown--something as
long as a stay-busk, but very different in shape. Carefully, almost
stealthily, Colomba slipped this object under her _mezzaro_, which she
laid on the table. Then she knelt down, and said her prayers devoutly.
Two minutes afterward she was in her bed. Miss Lydia, naturally very
inquisitive, and as slow as every Englishwoman is about undressing
herself, moved over to the table, pretended she was looking for a pin,
lifted up the _mezzaro_, and saw a long stiletto--curiously mounted in
silver and mother-of-pearl. The workmanship was remarkably fine. It was
an ancient weapon, and just the sort of one an amateur would have prized
very highly.

"Is it the custom here," inquired Miss Nevil, with a smile, "for young
ladies to wear such little instruments as these in their bodices?"

"It is," answered Colomba, with a sigh. "There are so many wicked people
about!"

"And would you really have the courage to strike with it, like this?"
And Miss Nevil, dagger in hand, made a gesture of stabbing from above,
as actors do on the stage.

"Yes," s