was bringing her second bottle of pure unadulterated Capri, they
heard the crisp sand crunch, and Laurella was seen approaching from
the left-hand road to Anacapri. She nodded slightly in salutation;
then stopped, and hesitated.

Antonio sprang from his seat. "I must go," he said. "It is a young
Sorrento girl, who came over with the signor curato in the morning.
She has to get back to her sick mother before night."

"Well, well, time enough yet before night," observed the fisherman;
"time enough to take a glass of wine. Wife, I say, another glass!"

"I thank you; I had rather not;" and Laurella kept her distance.

"Fill the glasses, wife; fill them both, I say; she only wants a
little pressing."

"Don't," interposed the lad. "It is a wilful head of her own she
has; a saint could not persuade her to do what she does not choose."
And, taking a hasty leave, he ran down to the boat, loosened the
rope, and stood waiting for Laurella. Again she bent her head to the
hostess, and slowly approached the water, with lingering steps. She
looked around on every side, as if in hopes of seeing some other
passenger. But the marina was deserted. The fishermen were asleep,
or rowing about the coast with rods or nets; a few women and
children sat before their doors, spinning or sleeping: such
strangers as had come over in the morning were waiting for the cool
of the evening to return. She had not time to look about her long;
before she could prevent him, Antonio had seized her in his arms and
carried her to the boat, as if she had been an infant. He leaped in