alace. His name is loudly execrated by the
citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed,
there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not
interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca.
He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed; but Count Nobili's
lawyer has had a conference with Maestro Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta
insisted upon being present. This was against my will. Cavaliere
Trenta always says too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's
lawyer three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore
Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the
utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good
the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing
therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will
say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive
at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her.
Farewell.

Your friend and well-wisher,

"MARCHESA GUINIGI."

The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at Corellia. Much
rain had fallen during the night, and a damp mist streamed up from the
valleys, shutting out the mighty range of mountains. In the plains of
Pisa and Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on the
lush grass and flowery meadows--on the sluggish streams and the rich
blossoms. There, the trees still rustled in green luxuriance, to
soft breezes perfumed with orange-trees and roses. But in the
mountain-fastnesses of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such
faded leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping
under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal flowers that
still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on the earth. Each tiny
stream and brawling water-course--even mere little humble rills
that dried up in summer--now rushed downward over rocks and stones
blackened with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In the
forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, carried hither and
thither by the winds. The stems and branches of the chestnuts ranged
themselves, tier above tier, like silver pillars, against the red
sandstone of the rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all
Nature was dying out likewise.

Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, with wine and
such simple refreshments as the brief notice allowed. As the morning
advanced, clouds g