littering light on the bosom of the lake. The sky was without a
cloud, save a few thin fleecy vapours that hovered over the azure brow
of a distant mountain. The shores of the lake were suffused with the
serene effulgence, and every object was so distinct, that the eye was
pained by the lights of the villages, that every instant became more
numerous and vivid. The bell of a small chapel on the opposite shore,
and the distant chant of some fishermen still working at their nets,
were the only sounds that broke the silence which they did not
disturb. Reclined in his boat, George Cadurcis watched the vanishing
villa of the Herberts, until the light in the principal chamber was
the only sign that assured him of its site. That chamber held Venetia,
the unhappy Venetia! He covered his face with his hand when even
the light of her chamber vanished, and, full of thoughts tender and
disconsolate, he at length arrived at Arona.

CHAPTER III.

Pursuant to their plans, the Herberts left the Lago Maggiore towards
the end of October, and proceeded by gentle journeys to the Apennines.
Before they crossed this barrier, they were to rest awhile in one of
the Lombard cities; and now they were on the point of reaching Arqua,
which Venetia had expressed a strong desire to visit.

At the latter part of the last century, the race of tourists, the
offspring of a long peace, and the rapid fortunes made during the war,
did not exist. Travelling was then confined to the aristocracy,
and though the English, when opportunity offered, have ever been a
restless people, the gentle bosom of the Euganean Hills was then
rarely disturbed amid its green and sequestered valleys.

There is not perhaps in all the Italian region, fertile as it is in
interesting associations and picturesque beauty, a spot that tradition
and nature have so completely combined to hallow, as the last
residence of Petrarch. It seems, indeed, to have been formed for the
retirement of a pensive and poetic spirit. It recedes from the world
by a succession of delicate acclivities clothed with vineyards and
orchards, until, winding within these hills, the mountain hamlet is
at length discovered, enclosed by two ridges that slope towards each
other, and seem to shut out all the passions of a troubled race. The
houses are scattered at intervals on the steep sides of these summits,
and on a little knoll is the mansion of the poet, built by himself,
and commanding a rich and ext