ed Tessa's mind that there was any change in
Tito's appearance since the morning he begged the milk from her, and
that he looked now like a personage for whom she must summon her little
stock of reverent words and signs. He had impressed her too differently
from any human being who had ever come near her before, for her to make
any comparison of details; she took no note of his dress; he was simply
a voice and a face to her, something come from Paradise into a world
where most things seemed hard and angry; and she prattled with as little
restraint as if he had been an imaginary companion born of her own
lovingness and the sunshine.

They had now reached the Prato, which at that time was a large open
space within the walls, where the Florentine youth played at their
favourite _Calcio_--a peculiar kind of football--and otherwise exercised
themselves. At this mid-day time it was forsaken and quiet to the very
gates, where a tent had been erected in preparation for the race. On
the border of this wide meadow, Tito paused and said--

"Now, Tessa, you will not be frightened if I leave you to walk the rest
of the way by yourself. Addio! Shall I come and buy a cup of milk from
you in the Mercato to-morrow morning, to see that you are quite safe?"

He added this question in a soothing tone, as he saw her eyes widening
sorrowfully, and the corners of her mouth falling. She said nothing at
first; she only opened her apron and looked down at her apricots and
sweetmeats. Then she looked up at him again and said complainingly--

"I thought you would have some, and we could sit down under a tree
outside the gate, and eat them together."

"Tessa, Tessa, you little siren, you would ruin me," said Tito,
laughing, and kissing both her cheeks. "I ought to have been in the Via
de' Bardi long ago. No! I must go back now; you are in no danger.
There--I'll take an apricot. Addio!"

He had already stepped two yards from her when he said the last word.
Tessa could not have spoken; she was pale, and a great sob was rising;
but she turned round as if she felt there was no hope for her, and
stepped on, holding her apron so forgetfully that the apricots began to
roll out on the grass.

Tito could not help looking after her, and seeing her shoulders rise to
the bursting sob, and the apricots fall--could not help going after her
and picking them up. It was very hard upon him: he was a long way off
the Via de' Bardi, and very near to