serving our time as volunteers. He was unlike the rest of us, even then.
That was why we became friends--because he was unlike me, I suppose."

"Unlike--in what way?" asked Veronica, still looking at the sea.

"It is hard to explain. He is a man of ideals, a religious man, a good
man." Taquisara smiled gravely. "That was enough to make him quite
different from us all, was it not?"

"I do not know," said the young girl. "Are all men bad, as a rule?"

"Perhaps," answered the Sicilian, shortly. "At all events, Gianluca was
not. One saw that all the little that was bad in his life was only a
jest, while all the much that was good was real and true."

"You are indeed his friend," said Veronica, softly.

She was struck by the beauty of what the man had said so plainly and
unaffectedly.

"Yes, I am his friend," replied Taquisara. "One of his friends,
say,--for he has many. I am his friend as you are the friend of Donna
Bianca. You understand that, do you not? And you understand that there
is nothing you would not do for a friend? Not out of mere obligation,
because your friend has done much for you, but just for
friendship--love, if you choose to call it so. I have heard people speak
eloquently of friendship--so have you perhaps. And we both understand
what it means, though many do not. That is why I speak as I do, and if I
do not speak well, you must forgive me, and feel the meaning I cannot
express to your ears. Gianluca loves you, Donna Veronica, as men very