the tumbled mountains of Sicily.

Suddenly a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and descended to
earth like a golden ladder. It was the signal for a transformation
scene. The white mists coiling round us, disappeared; the clouds
floated away before a breath of balmy wind, and the landscape lay bright
and clear at our feet. Then "Oh! What is that?" exclaimed Miss Randolph.
I followed the glance of her eyes, and far away there was a great white
floating cone of pearl soaring up into the sky. Yes, it was Etna!

At Castrogiovanni there is no inn where a lady can stay, so when we had
seen the view there was nothing more to keep us. I had stopped the motor
when we left the car, and everyone crowded eagerly round us as the
ladies mounted to their places. Their amazement when they saw me start
the motor with one turn of the handle was immense. A kind of awed murmur
went up from the crowd; and when, with a warning blast on the horn, I
drove slowly through their parting ranks, circled round in the
market-place, just avoiding a procession of masked Misericordia, and
putting on speed, passed swiftly through the streets, with a great shout
everyone started to run after the car. We distanced them easily (Miss
Randolph imprudently showering pennies), and ran at a fair pace down the
winding road that led to the valley. Looking up, we could see the
terraces and every window of the houses alive with wondering heads.
Castrogiovanni will remember for many a day the visit of the first
motor-car to its historic heights.

Catania is, I think, memorable to Miss Randolph merely because she
bought there at a tiny but famous shop incredible quantities of curious
Sicilian amber, streaked green with sulphur, absolutely unique, and
valued as a luck-bringer. She says that she has a "pocket-piece" for
each one of her most intimate friends in New York. Judging by the
provision made, the name of these intimates must be legion. Apart from
her opinion, however, I humbly venture to think that Catania has its
points, if only people stopped long enough to see them, which they
don't, Catania being the Basle of Sicily--the place of departure for
somewhere else. In our case the somewhere else was Syracuse.

Now the Goddess had been looking forward to Siracusa; I'm not sure that
she was not by way of regarding her whole past as working slowly up to a
sight of that place, since she had come to think of it. She had made up
her royal mind to stop there