y isolated. The
coming of her teachers even became a matter of deep interest to
Caroline.

One morning, when her language-master was expected, she went out early
and stood upon the lower terrace, looking down the little stream which
led to the Arno, as I have told you, impatient for his coming; impatient
to know what sort of a person he would prove, and if his society might
not break the monotonous stillness of that beautiful place. It was early
yet. She had no reason to believe that her new teacher would be there
for hours. She felt it very tiresome, walking up and down those terraces
and watching the ripe olives drop one by one into the long grass from
the branches overhead. The restlessness of youth was upon her, and she
longed for some means of leaping over the next three hours, when the new
teacher would come, perhaps with a disappointment.

He might be some poor old soul, whose very presence would prove an
annoyance. No matter; a disappointment or an annoyance was better than
utter stagnation. She wished the new man would come, she wished there
was something for her to work at till he did come.

A flight of stone steps fell down to the water from the lower terrace.
Fastened to an iron staple sunk deep into the granite, was a little boat
swinging by a cable. Caroline's heart gave a leap at the sight.

She ran down the steps, untied the cable, and in a moment was sweeping
down the little stream, pulling her oars like an Indian girl.

It was a lovely flow of water, clear as crystal. The sky was mirrored in
it softly blue; the sun struck it with arrows of silver, the flowering
shrubs trailed down from its banks, and rippled the waters like the lost
plumage of a peacock; fruit-laden vines broke away from the olive
branches, and dipped their purple clusters in the stream, where they
shone out richly--amethysts gleaming through crystal. Everything was
beautiful around her. Full of youth and health she gloried in the
exercise of rowing; gloried in the sunshine and quivering shadows
through which her pretty boat ploughed its way, breaking up pictured
trees and clouds, and turning them to foam.

The current was with her, the wind swept softly down stream, bringing a
scent of wall-flowers and jessamines with it. The boat shot downward
like the shuttle through a web. The water deepened, the stream grew
wider; she could hear the broad, free rush of the Arno, a little way
off. Still she went on.

It would be glorious, f