The Lady Paramount

of miniature cascades, over brown rocks, between mossy banks shadowed by ferns and eglantine, through the sun-shot dimness of a grove of pine-trees, to fling itself with a final leap

rds exit of the park, approached the brook, to cros

pine-needles, there, white-robed, sat Susanna: white-robed, hatless, gloveless. She was wavin

ted,-his heart, I t

breath, eagerly. "The rarest bird that ever

e was vigorously enjoying his bath-ducking, fluttering, preening his plumage, ducking agai

bated breath. "The birds for miles about come here to drink and bath

ies, I hope, were singing a Te Deum. But-with that high nose of his, that cool grey eye, with that high collar

ction," said Susanna. "D

urself in hand," his wi

nd immensely serviceable to the agriculturist. But one cares for other things as well. And I had always fancied

uestioned she, surpris

ce, he turns this torrent on or off, with a tap. For all its air of naturalness and frank impetuosi

Ecco," she cried, "Signor Cinciallegra has completed his ablutions-and ecco, he flies away. Won't you-won't you sit dow

er. "I 'm not sure," he added, "whether in honesty I ough

est smile and bow. "I am so so

n. "I wanted to consult you about a trif

she wondered; and her f

the hours immaculate? I happened by the merest chance to be abroad in them myself this morning. I examined

eyes wer

as the habit of the people in my part of Italy. But, anyhow, one sometimes var

te one's responsibilities," sugges

d its odour of warm pines, its deep cool shadows, its patines of bright gold where the sun penetrates, and then, plashing through it, this curling, dimpling, artificial torrent? It is not the hour's fault if it happens to arrive some

to hint a criticism. And yet-and yet-how shall I express it? Eppur' si muove. It moves, it hastes away;-while I could wish it to remain forever, fi

sical and thrifty land like Germany. We are not in the least metaphysical or thrifty in my part of Italy. We allow the sparkling min

ther you would take it very much a

es lighted,

aid, on a key of

"I am moved to remark upon the astonishing facili

na sm

English is as natural to me as my mother-tongue. I always had English go

w; and they are genera

ved a great deal in

set him right, "this

thought the true Oxford accent co

ccent?" Susanna brightly

aven, kneeling, that you have n't the true Oxford

as it might, perhaps, if I had n't read so many English novels. English novels are

er the briefest pause, "Mere idle and impertinent curiosity," he postulated, "is one thing: honest neighbourly in

te frock, in the mellow penumbra of the p

ians, if to have had a house in Venice for some four hundred years is sufficient to constitute folk Venetians. But the part of Italy where I most often live, the part I like best, is a part you will never have heard of-a little castaway island in the Adriatic, about fifty miles north from Ancona: a little mountainous island, all fragrant of rosemary and basil, all grey

of Sampaolo. Her eyes gazed dreamily far away, as if they could behold an air-vision

l events, we need not question, he was aware of a sudden throb of excitement,-on the spur of which, without

"You have been there? It is rarely visit

whose-a man who had," he concluded lamely. For, when he did stop to reflect, "If you care for an amusing

light touching that connec

n ignorance of all that he does n't tell," she re

ad' reported favourabl

n give no better account of their travels than just a catalogue of names. He chanced to let fall that he had visited Sampaolo, and I thus learned that

sanna complained, her eyes rebukeful

unperturbed. "I meant that I knew of its existence-which, after all

trian-Lloyd coasting steamers from Venice call there once a week, and there is a boat every Monday and Thursday from Ancona. Sampaolo is an extremely interesting spot,-i

n of the voice, with a solicitude of eye

if any mere chance outsider would care a fig to

aguna di Vallanza, a land-locked bay, tranquil as a lake. And there, floating on the water as it seems, there is a palace like a palace in Fairyland, a palace of white marble, all stately colonnades and terraces, yet looking, somehow, as light as if it were built of the sea's foam. This is one of the palaces-the summer palace-of the Counts of Sampaolo. It seems to float on the water, but it really occupies a tiny mite of an islet, called Isola Nobile; and connected with Isola Nobile by marble bridges are two other tiny Islets, laid out in gardens, Isola Fratello and Isola Sorella. The Counts of Sampaolo are one of the most ancient and illustrious families in Europe, the Valdeschi della Spina, descendants of San Guido Valdeschi, a famous soldier-saint of the Twelfth Century. They have another palace in the town of Vallanza, their winter palace, the Palazzo Rosso; and a splendid old mediaeval castle, Castel San Guido, on the hill behind the town; and two or three delightful villas in different parts of the island. A highly enviable family, are th

en diversified by the varying modulations of Susanna's voice, the varying expressions of her fa

eme. As she spoke, I think Anthony beheld his own air-vision of Sampaolo; I fancy the familiar park of Craford, the smooth, well-groomed, well-fed E

eet, the tall pines whispering above, the warm pine-incense, the tesserae of sun and shadow d

e said. "You paint a v

sse

's eyes

swered sadly. "But now no more. Since its union with what they call the K

on a tone, with a mien, t

tle laugh,-what seemed a slightly annoyed, half-apologetic little laugh

ink how I have allowed myself to become so

spontaneous protest. "I can't te

of poor dissemblers

"But how can the condition of our par

aback, "I expect my interest d

y, he sought

ecause it is an Italian parish pump, and somehow everything connected with Italy interests one. Then, because it is the parish pump of Sampaolo, and I have always been c

tion," thought Susanna. "But perhaps we have had enough Sampaol

nger, while her face became in

exquisitely sweet, liquid song, it was jocund, joyous, and it was sustained for an astonishing length of time. It went on and on and on, never faltering, never pausing, in soft trills and gay roulades, shrill skirls or flute-like warblings, a continuous outpour, for I don't know ho

said Anthony, looking skywards.

rean. Now his voice seemed to come from the west, now from the north,

nthony cried, of a

ked Susanna, anxious as if life

said Anthony,

ck against the blue of the sky. They sat with their necks craned back as far as they would

mere pin-point in that immensity, yet

gger, the hosannas louder

coming down upon us f

ll lose it," said Anthony. "It is music too ether

sure enough, the very instant he touched the earth, his

drink and bath

dently he did n't dream that he was not alone. The trees had no doubt hidden his watchers. But now Susanna's voice startled him. With one wil

Susanna sighed. "Does

alf so frightened if he thought we wer

ly questioned sh

human beings," A

but it was rath

sty-and who knows from what a distance he may have flown, just for this disappointment? Don

as to discover, walking together from the opposite direction, Adrian and Miss Sandus,-Adrian bending

of tongues," Anthony murmure

, Adrian halted, an

ng to the ground. "But oh, to think of that dark, secret villain! He 's gone and made your acquaintance without waiting for me to introduce him, which I was so counting upon

if you 'll be so good a

" said

o that lady as he possibly could. In the first place, he liked her appearance, he liked

were alone, Miss Sandus succinctly rema