ulty. But for the arrival of the party on the
previous afternoon she would have gone down to an outlying farm in the
valley, where the farmhouse needed repairs and there was a question of
cutting down a number of olive trees so old that they hardly bore any
fruit. She had ordered her mare at half-past seven in the morning, and
she rode down the long, winding road, saw, judged, and gave orders,
galloped most of the way up, and exchanged her riding-habit for her
morning frock before the clock struck ten.

One after another, her guests appeared, and everything happened as she
had foreseen. The old couple said that they were accustomed to take a
little walk before the midday meal, for the sake of their appetite;
Taquisara disappeared when he had helped Gianluca to a big chair in a
balcony, in the shade, outside the drawing-room, and Gianluca was left
alone with her, as she had expected. She established herself opposite to
him, for the balcony was so narrow that two chairs could not be placed
upon it side by side.

It was a magnificent summer's day, one of those days in which the whole
glory of the south fills heaven and earth and air, and the stupendous
tide of universal life pours into every sense, to very overflowing, as
the ocean fills its world-wide bed. And the world was ripe and ripening,
the corn and wheat, and olive and vine, and fruit and flower and tree,
from the rich valley below, up the rough hills, as far as sun and soil
and rain could draw the dress of beauty over the mountains' grand bare
strength. Down there, in the vast garden, the hot air quivered with
sheer living; above, the solemn peaks faced God in the still sun. The
breath of the high breeze, between earth and heaven, blew upon
Veronica's cheek.

They looked at each other and sat silent, and looked again and smiled,
both happy in those ever-written, never-spoken thoughts which were
theirs together, both fearing speech as a common thing which must jar
and shake them rudely back to their other selves, which were formal, and
constrained, and not at all intimate.

Gianluca lay quite still in his deep chair, his white hands motionless
upon the edge of the grey shawl which was thrown over his knees.
Suddenly, Veronica, sitting close and opposite to him, bent far forward
and gently laid her hand upon one of his. She smiled.

"I am glad that you are here," she said simply, looking into his face.

His own brightened, and the blue eyes grew dark and tende