simply made up his mind that their tastes and
temperaments were too dissimilar, and that they would both be happier
if they parted company. They would see each other frequently and
remain on friendly terms. No one was blamable for the separation,
except Nature, who had made them so different. With these, and many
similar assurances Cranbrook shook Vincent's hand and repaired to his
new abode among the palms and cypresses. And yet his ears burned
uncomfortably as he drove away in the _fiacre_. It was the first time
he had been insincere to Harry, even by implication; but after what
had happened, it was impossible to mention Annunciata's name.

III.

It was the afternoon of Christmas-day, six weeks after Cranbrook's
arrival at the villa. The air was soft and balmy and the blooming
rose-bushes under the windows sent up from time to time delicious
whiffs of fragrance. The sky was strangely clear, and long, cool
vistas opened to the sight among the cloud-banks that hung over the
tops of the Alban Mountains. Cranbrook was sitting out on the _loggia_
reading the scene in the Odyssey where the shipwrecked Ulysses steps
out from the copse where he has been sleeping and interrupts the
ball-play of Nausicaa and her maidens. How pure and sweet the air that
breathed from these pages! What a noble and dignified maiden was this
Nausicaa! At this moment the merry voice of Annunciata was heard in
the garden below. The young man let his book drop and leaned out over
the wall. There she stood, tall and stately, receiving, with the
manner of a good-natured empress, a white-haired priest who came
waddling briskly toward her.

"_Bona festa_, Padre Gregorio," she cried, seizing the old man's hand.
"Mother is going to have macaroni for supper and she was just going to
send Pietro after you. For you know you promised to be with us this
blessed day."

"_Bona festa_, child," responded the priest, smiling all over his
large, benevolent face. "Padre Gregorio never forgets his promises,
and least of all on a holy Christmas-day."

"No, I knew you would not forget us, padre; but you are all out of
breath. You have been mounting the stairs to the terrace again instead
of going round by the vineyard. Come and sit down here in the sun, for
I wish to speak to you about something important."

And she led the priest by the hand to a stone bench by the door and
seated herself at his side.

"Padre," she began, with a great earnestness in her man