of riotous, volatile, multitudinous life, which can
be equaled by no other city. There the crowd swept along on
horseback, on wheels, on foot; gentlemen riding for pleasure, or
dragoons on duty; parties driving into the country; tourists on their
way to the environs; market farmers with their rude carts;
wine-sellers; fig-dealers; peddlers of oranges, of dates, of
anisette, of water; of macaroni. Through the throng innumerable
calashes dashed to and fro, crowded down, in true Neapolitan fashion,
with inconceivable numbers; for in Naples the calash is not full
unless a score or so are in some way clinging to it--above, below,
before, behind. There, too, most marked of all, were the lazaroni,
whose very existence in Naples is a sign of the ease with which life
is sustained in so fair a spot, who are born no one knows where, who
live no one knows how, but who secure as much of the joy of life as
any other human beings; the strange result of that endless
combination of races which have come together in Naples--the Greek,
the Italian, the Norman, the Saracen, and Heaven only knows what
else.

Such scenes as these, such crowds, such life, such universal
movement, for a long time attracted Zillah's attention; and she
watched them with childish eagerness. At last, however, the novelty
was over, and she began to wonder why Obed Chute had not returned.
Looking at her watch, she found, to her amazement, that two hours had
passed since his departure. He had left at ten; it was then mid-day.
What was keeping him? She had expected him back before half an hour,
but he had not yet returned. She had thought that it needed but a
journey to the Hotel de l'Europe to find Hilda, and bring her here.
Anxiety now began to arise in her mind, and the scenes outside lost
all charm for her. Her impatience increased till it became
intolerable. Miss Chute saw her agitation, and made some attempt to
soothe her, but in vain. In fact, by one o'clock, Zillah had given
herself up to all sorts of fears. Sometimes she thought that Hilda
had grown tired of waiting, and had gone back to England, and was now
searching through France and Italy for her; again she thought that
perhaps she had experienced a relapse and had died here in Naples,
far away from all friends, while she herself was loitering in
Marseilles; at another time her fears took a more awful turn--her
thoughts turned on Gualtier--and she imagined that he had, perhaps,
come on to Naples to dea