d her enthusiastic imagination saw in this an omen of
success.

Old Elsie was moody and silent this evening,--vexed at the thwarting
of her schemes. It was the first time that the idea had ever gained a
foothold in her mind, that her docile and tractable grandchild could
really have for any serious length of time a will opposed to her own,
and she found it even now difficult to believe it. Hitherto she had
shaped her life as easily as she could mould a biscuit, and it was all
plain sailing before her. The force and decision of this young will rose
as suddenly upon her as the one rock in the middle of the ocean which a
voyager unexpectedly discovered by striking on it.

But Elsie by no means regarded the game as lost. She mentally went over
the field, considering here and there what was yet to be done.

The subject had fairly been broached. Agnes had listened to it, and
parted in friendship from Antonio. Now his old mother must be soothed
and pacified; and Antonio must be made to persevere.

"What is a girl worth that can be won at the first asking?" quoth Elsie.
"Depend upon it, she will fall to thinking of him, and the next time she
sees him she will give him a good look. The girl never knew what it was
to have a lover. No wonder she doesn't take to it at first; there's
where her bringing up comes in, so different from other girls'. Courage,
Elsie! Nature will speak in its own time."

Thus soliloquizing, she prepared to go a few steps from their dwelling,
to the cottage of Meta and Antonio, which was situated at no great
distance.

"Nobody will think of coming here this time o' night," she said, "and
the girl is in for a good hour at least with her prayers, and so I think
I may venture. I don't really like to leave her, but it's not a great
way, and I shall be back in a few moments. I want just to put a word
into old Meta's ear, that she may teach Antonio how to demean himself."

And so the old soul took her spinning and away she went, leaving Agnes
absorbed in her devotions.

The solemn starry night looked down steadfastly on the little garden.
The evening wind creeping with gentle stir among the orange-leaves, and
the falling waters of the fountain dripping their distant, solitary way
down from rock to rock through the lonely gorge, were the only sounds
that broke the stillness.

The monk was the first of the two to return; for those accustomed to
the habits of elderly cronies on a gossiping expedition of a