eigned fatigue. She took his travesty seriously, and pointed to the
house, inviting him by gesture to go in and rest there. Evidently she
believed that, being a stranger, he could not speak or understand much of
her language. He did not even try to undeceive her. It amused him to
watch her dumb show, for her face spoke eloquently and her pretty, brown
hands knew a language that was delicious. He had no longer any thought of
sleep, but he felt curious to see the interior of the cottage, and he
nodded his head in response to her invitation. At once she became the
hospitable peasant hostess. Her eyes sparkled with eagerness and
pleasure, and she went quickly by him to the door, which stood half open,
pushed it back, and beckoned to him to enter.

He obeyed her, went in, and found himself almost in darkness, for the big
windows on either side of the door were shuttered, and only a tiny flame,
like a spark, burned somewhere among the dense shadows of the interior at
some distance from him. Pretending to be alarmed at the obscurity, he put
out his hand gropingly, and let it light on her arm, then slip down to
her warm, strong young hand.

"I am afraid!" he exclaimed.

He heard her merry laugh and felt her trying to pull her hand away, but
he held it fast, prolonging a joke that he found a pleasant one. In that
moment he was almost as simple as she was, obeying his impulses
carelessly, gayly, without a thought of wrong--indeed, almost without
thought at all. His body was still tingling and damp with the sea-water.
Her face was fresh with the sea-wind. He had never felt more wholesome or
as if life were a saner thing.

She dragged her hand out of his at last; he heard a grating noise, and a
faint light sputtered up, then grew steady as she moved away and set a
match to a candle, shielding it from the breeze that entered through the
open door with her body.

"What a beautiful house!" he cried, looking curiously around.

He saw such a dwelling as one may see in any part of Sicily where the
inhabitants are not sunk in the direst poverty and squalor, a modest home
consisting of two fair-sized rooms, one opening into the other. In each
room was a mighty bed, high and white, with fat pillows, and a
counterpane of many colors. At the head of each was pinned a crucifix and
a little picture of the Virgin, Maria Addolorata, with a palm branch that
had been blessed, and beneath the picture in the inner room a tiny light,
rather like