painfully and making poor progress. Carefully dressed in black
broadcloth, he wore a soft felt hat of a shape seldom seen in England.

"I believe," said Hilda, as they approached him, "that is Signor Bruno.
Yes, it is. Please pull up, Christian. We must give him a lift!"

Christian obeyed her. He thought he detected a shade of annoyance in
Hilda's voice, with which he fully sympathised.

On hearing the sound of the wheels, the old man looked up in surprise,
as a deaf person might have been expected to do. This movement showed a
most charming old face, surrounded by a halo of white hair and beard.
The features were almost perfect, and might in former days have been a
trifle cold, by reason of their perfection. Now, however, they were
softened by the touch of years, and Signor Bruno was the living
semblance of guilelessness and benevolence.

"How do you do, Signor Bruno?" said Hilda, speaking rather loudly and
very distinctly. "You are back from London sooner than you expected, are
you not?"

"Ah! my dear young lady," he replied, courteously removing his hat and
standing bareheaded.

"Ah! now indeed the sun shines upon me. Yes, I am back from London--a
most terrible place--terrible--terrible--terrible! As I walked along
just now I said to myself: 'The sun is warm, the skies are blue; yonder
is the laughing sea, and yet, Bruno, you sigh for Italy.' This is Italy,
Miss Hilda--Italy with a northern fairy walking in it!"