be. His silence was more than silent;
it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllable
of Alessandro's, nay, a look, told what other men took long sentences to
say, and said less eloquently.

After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, "You speak as the trees
speak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without saying
anything!"

This delighted Alessandro's very heart. "And you, Majella," he
exclaimed; "when you say that, you speak in the language of our people;
you are as we are."

And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words,--happier than she
would have been made by any other praise or fondness.

Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength as if by a miracle.
The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour was
already fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy who
wooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, herself invisible to
all but the Prince, hovered in the air, sang loving songs to draw him
away from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice and
summoned magicians to rout her by all spells and enchantments at their
command. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off;
but as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw him an apple,--a
magic golden apple. Once having tasted of this, he refused all other
food. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple;
and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay the
golden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had not fed upon it;
and when the Fairy came the next time, the Prince leaped into her magic
boat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in his kingdom again. It
was only an allegory, this legend,--a beautiful allegory, and true,--of
love and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, now
growing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, and
just as strength-giving.

"My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so soon?" said Ramona,
studying his countenance with loving care. "I thought that night you
would die. Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes shine, and your
hand is not hot! It is the blessed air; it has cured you, as it cured
Felipe of the fever."

"If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Majella," replied
Alessandro. "I had been under no roof except the tule-shed, till I saw
you. It is not the air;" and he looked at her with a gaze that said the