high as the dungeon tower.
Then, at the new moon, the weather had changed, the sky grew warm again,
the little clouds hung high and motionless above the peaks, melting from
day to day to a serene, deep calm, in which, all the earth seemed to be
ripening in a great stillness while heaven held its breath, and the
mountains slept. In the rich valley the grapes grew full and dark, and
the last figs cracked with full sweetness in the sun, the pears grew
golden, and the apples red, and all the green silver of the olive groves
was dotted through and through its shade, with myriad millions of dull
green points, where the oil-fruit hung by little stems beneath the
leaves.

An autumn began, such as no one in Muro remembered--an autumn of golden
days and dewy moonlight nights, soft, breathless, sweet, and tender. It
was a year of plenty and of much good wine, which is rare in the south,
for when the wine is much it is very seldom good. But this year all
prospered, and the people said that the Blessed Mother of God loved the
young princess and would bless her, and hers also, and give her husband
back his strength, even by a miracle if need should be.

Gianluca clung to the place where he was happy, and would not be taken
away. His mother humoured him, and the old Duca, yearning for his little
fair-haired daughter, went alone at last to Avellino.

Then came long conversations at night between the Duchessa and Veronica.
The Duchessa loved her son very dearly, but since he was so much better,
she was tired of Muro. She wished to see her other children. It was
ridiculous to expect that she and her husband should relieve each other
as sentries of propriety in Veronica's castle, the one not daring to go
till the other came back. Why should Veronica not send for the syndic
and have the formalities fulfilled? Once legally, as well as
christianly, man and wife, the two could stay in Muro as long as they
pleased.

But Veronica would not. Gianluca was improving, and before long he would
walk. She had set her heart upon it, that he should be strong again. She
would not have her people think that he was a cripple. The people were
peasants, the Duchessa answered, peasants like any others. Why should
the Princess of Acireale care what such creatures thought? But
Veronica's eyes gleamed, and she said that they were her own people and
a part of her life, and she told the Duchessa all that was in her mind,
very frankly, and so innocently, yet w