Literary Love-Letters and Other Stories

g between the tapering point of the Lido and the misty outline of Tre Porti. Inside the white lighthouse tower a burnished man-of-war lay at anchor, a slugg

ò da Lido, and caught up the fragrance of the June blossom

om the green mass of the Giardino Pubblico, the prow swung softly about, flapping the l

is Castelfranco-Giorgione's Castelfranco-and higher up where the blue begins to break into the first steps of the Alps is perched Asolo-Browning's Asolo. Oh! It is so sweet! a little hill town! And beyond are Bassano

th the felza remarked, as if to prolong the theme. "To the gates of Paradise," he continued, while his com

ce became young in spite of the bald-looking temples and forehead

er man put in, "and they have b

," persisted his compa

they were

to a black pool at the feet of the Church of San Niccolò. The marble bishop propped up over the pediment of the door lay sil

mountains. She seemed to carry a suggestion of abundance, of opulence; of

ld have carried you away by force. But their greedy arms sna

luster of locust bloss

an al

his pipe and strode ashore. "I am off for an hour with the A

shade was dark and cool. Beyond were the empty acres of a great fort grown up in a tangle of long grass like an abandoned pasture. Across

d, thoughtfully, her face bending, as if

, a bit of detritus that has

dged and crysta

he were compelled to use a medium

then in the East, and lastly merely a consul at Mil

, I

ot bébé at the convent." She confided this as lazily interesting, like the clouds, or th

stry demanded this reproach. Then he rolled his body half over and straightened himself to look at her rigidly. "How did

ow," she sa

ey say that the marble over there comes from that

t until the sunlight came in pa

"It's too late to get back to the Britannia for

the stablimento and has gone off. Ask Bastian-there

ion. But Miss Barton questioned the gondolier. "The Buon Pesche-that will b

e care of the rest," she said, gleefully, walking on ahead through the long grass of the abandoned for

it should be sinful to dine there out-doors in an evening light of luminous gold, with the scent of locusts eddying about, and the mirage-like show of Venice sleeping softly over beyond-was not quite clear. Perhaps b

y eating, or quarrelling in staccato phrases.

and leaning forward. To her companion she gleamed, as if a wood-thing, a hamad

n yellow wine and placed it between them. L

e said, qu

lemn, imperial mountains, that were preparin

by glass partitions, and typewriters and the bundles of documents

an fl

the squalor, of taking a deposition in a cell with the filthy

t again," sh

for six weeks, y

irl in Lowell,"-she re

nded, with an

our fish and spaghetti. To

the Adriatic started in toward the city. A few sailors who had come for a glass were sitting under the arbor of the Buon Pesche smoking, with an occasional stinging word dropped nonchalantly into the dusk.

gondolier to the bank. Miss Barton lingered by on

fore they took sail. And sometimes a man never went farther

he locusts and took a hand

man sh

only brough

y. The evening puffs were cool. They slid on past a ghostly full-rigged ship from the north, abandoned at the point of Sant' Elena, until the black mass of trees in th

om

nion; she was holding her hat idl

id again, addi

ocious, we shall g

t; the good current was doing his work. They drifted silently on near Venice. The halo of li

the band in San Marco came at intervals; the water slipped noiselessly around the channels,

s sensuously absorbing the gurgle of the currents. A big market boat from Palestrina winge

candles placed behind. Her face gleamed, and one a

nezia," h

astering him, taking him as a

ever go bac

side filled o

a stage, and the dusky lights from

cau

use I

lightly on his forehead. "T

stere fa?ade went out into the black night. One cold