dden against her neck, and only his tangled auburn curls visible, now
threw back his head suddenly, and uttered a hoarse cough. A thrill
seemed to run through the mother's whole frame at that sound, and she
lifted her terrified eyes to her husband. Whatever he might feel, he
was too proud to betray anxiety in our presence; and taking the boy off
Spira's shoulders he addressed him thus: "Fear not, Nilo, little Nilo;
thou shalt live and grow up to be a man, and cut off more Turks' heads
in thy day than thy father and thy grandfather, put together." So
saying, he tapped a bright silver medal attached to his own breast--the
Prince-Bishop's reward for extraordinary valour against the infidels.
The child looked up, amused; such a lovely child, of perhaps two years
old, with almond-shaped deep-blue eyes, pearly complexion, and sweet
dimpled mouth. I noticed, however, that the eyes were heavy, and the
lip soft pink, not red, coral; his breathing came thick, and there was
something of the same appearance of distress about him that I once
witnessed in a dear little brother of my own, who died in an attack of
croup. The sight roused within me feelings and memories that had long,
long slept.

The sky, meanwhile, had clouded over, and some heavy drops began to
fall--presaging one of those deluges of autumn rain which so often rush
down at Cattaro. Mr Englefield urged me to return home, adding, "Had
you not better offer shelter to your mountain friends? that pretty child
hardly looks stout enough to bear a drenching."

I acted on the kind suggestion, and Spira was thankful to accept my
offer; as by the time she had driven her mule to our door it rained in
torrents. The Montenegrin standard of cleanliness being very low, I
gave them an unoccupied room on the ground floor, and carried some food
to them there. Spira scarcely tasted it, but crumbled some bread into a
cup of milk and water for little Nilo, and coaxed him to swallow a
mouthful or two. By degrees her shyness wore off, and I drew her out to
talk of Basil and his exploits; how Basil had won a prize at a shooting
match given by their Bishop, and how he was esteemed nearly as good a
shot as that prince--not quite: nobody could quite come up to his skill,
who could hit a lemon thrown up to a great height in the air! This
seems a singular accomplishment for a Bishop in the nineteenth century,
does it not? Then she related how Basil had last year defended a pass
all by