omanly fear of a strange
man.

"No, thank you!" she exclaimed in answer.

"But yes!" said the man. "It rains. You are getting an illness,
Signora."

The faint light showed her that she would be safe enough in accepting
the offer. The man was evidently a peasant from the mountains, and he
was certainly not young. His vast black cloak was turned back a little
by his arm and showed the lining of green flannel and the blue clothes
with broad silver buttons which he wore.

"Thank you," she said, for she was glad of the shelter, and she stood
still under the enormous blue cotton umbrella, with its battered brass
knob and its coloured stripes.

"But I will accompany you," said the man. "It is certainly not beginning
to finish. Apoplexy! It rains in pieces!"

"Thank you. I am not going far," said Gloria. "You are very kind."

"It seems to be the act of a Christian," observed the peasant.

She began to move, and he walked beside her. He would have thought it
bad manners to ask whither she was going. Through the torrents of rain
they went on in silence. In less than five minutes she had found the
door of Griggs's house. To her intense relief it was still open, and
there was the glimmer of a tiny oil lamp from a lantern in the stairway.
Gloria felt for the money in her pocket. The man did not wait, nor
speak, and was already going away. She called him.

[Illustration: Stefanone and Gloria.--Vol. II., p. 100.]

"I wish to give you something," said Gloria.

"To me?" exclaimed the man, in surprise. "No, Signora. It seems that you
make a mistake."

"Excuse me," Gloria answered. "In the dark, I did not see. I am very
grateful to you. You are from the country?"

She wished to repair the mistake she had made, by some little civility.
The man stood on the doorstep, with his umbrella hanging backward over
his shoulder, and she could see his face distinctly,--a typical Roman
face with small aquiline features, keen dark eyes, a square jaw, and
iron-grey hair.

"Yes, Signora. Stefanone of Subiaco, wine merchant, to serve you. If you
wish wine of Subiaco, ask for me at Piazza Montanara. Signora, it rains
columns. With permission, I go."

"Thank you again," she answered.

He disappeared into the torrent, and she was left alone at the foot of
the gloomy stairs, under the feeble light of the little oil lamp. She
had thrown back her veil, for it was soaked with water and stuck to her
face. Little rivulets ran down upon the sto