and
try to achieve what may one day be called good. You will sometimes deign
to see what I am doing, to tell me if my efforts are on the road to
success, to give me hope when I am weak-hearted, and courage when I am
faint. I know and feel," said he, proudly, "that I am not devoid of what
accomplishes success, for I can toil and toil, and throw my whole soul
into my work; but for this I need, at least, one who shall watch me
with an eye of interest, glorying when I win, sorrowing when I am
defeated.--Where are we? What palace is this?" cried he, as they crossed
a spacious hall paved with porphyry and Sienna marble.

"This is my home," said the girl, "and this is its mistress."

Just as she spoke, she presented the youth to a lady, who, reclining on
a sofa beside a window, gazed out towards the sea. She turned suddenly,
and fixed her eyes on the stranger. With a wild start, she sprang up,
and, staring eagerly at him, cried, "Who is this? Where does he come
from?"

[Illustration: frontispiece]

The young girl told his name and what he was; but the words did not
fall on listening ears, and the lady sat like one spell-bound, with eyes
riveted on the youth's face.

"Am I like any one you have known, signora?" asked he, as he read
the effect his presence had produced on her. "Do I recall some other
features?"

"You do," said she, reddening painfully.

"And the memory is not of pleasure?" added the youth.

"Far, far from it; it is the saddest and cruelest of all my life,"
muttered she, half to herself. "What part of Italy are you from? Your
accent is Southern."

"It is the accent of Naples, signora," said he, evading her question.

"And your mother, was she Neapolitan?"

"I know little of my birth, signora. It is a theme I would not be
questioned on."

"And you are a sculptor?"

"The artist of the Faun, dearest aunt," broke in the girl, who watched
with intense anxiety the changing expressions of the youth's features.

"Your voice even more than your features brings up the past," said the
lady, as a deadly pallor spread over her own face, and her lips trembled
as she spoke. "Will you not tell me something of your history?"

"When you have told me the reason for which you ask it, perhaps I may,"
said the youth, half sternly.

"There, there!" cried she, wildly, "in every tone, in every gesture, I
trace this resemblance. Come nearer to me; let me see your hands."

"They are seamed and hardened with toil, lad