shipwreck; and I think he holds on to Sant' Alessina in the dream of
coming here in triumph, and grandly celebrating that event."

"I see," said John, nodding. "That is a beautiful ideal."

"Good-bye," said she, flashing a last quick smile into his eyes; and she
moved away, down a garden path, towards the pavilion beyond the clock.




III


And now, I should have imagined, for a single session, (and that an
initial one), he had had enough. I should have expected him to spend the
remainder of his day, a full man, in thankful tranquillity, in agreeable
retrospective rumination. But no. Indulgence, it soon appeared, had but
whetted his appetite. After a quarter-hour of walking about the garden,
during which his jumble of sensations and impressions,--her soft-glowing
eyes, her soft-drooping hair, under her wine-red hat; her slender
figure, in its fluttering summery muslin, and the faint, faint perfume
(like a far-away memory of rose-leaves) that hovered near her; her
smile, and the curves, when she smiled, of her rose-red lips, and the
gleam of her snow-white teeth; her laugh, her voice, her ivory voice;
her pretty crisp-cut English; her appreciation of Annunziata, her
disquieting presentiments concerning her; and his deep satisfaction in
her propinquity, her "companionship;" and the long shaded fragrant
avenue, and the bird-songs, and the gentle weather,--after a
quarter-hour of anything but thankful tranquillity, a quarter-hour of