The Wheat Princess

rain pulled slowly out into the Campagna. They were both occupied with their own thoughts, and as neither

d so very difficult to make up one's mind. Everything had been so care-free before, why must he bring the question to an issue? It was a question she did not wish to decide for a long, long time. Would he be willing to wait-to wait for an indefinite future that in the end might never come? Patience was not Paul's way. Suppose he refused to drift; suppose he insisted on his answer now-did she wish to give him up? No; quite frankly, she did not. She pictured

uildings set in a cluster of eucalyptus trees, planted against the fever; but for the most part the scene was barren and desolate, with scarcely a suggestion of actual, breathing human light. On the Appian Way were visible the gaunt outlines of Latin tombs, and occasionally the ruined remains of a mediaeval watch-tower. The picture was almost too perfect in its beauty; it was like the painted back drop for a spectacular play. Scarcely real, and yet one of the oldest things in the world-the rolling Ca

eyelids. One hand was plunged deep in his pocket and the other lay on the dog's head to keep him quiet. Marcia noticed in surprise that while he appeared so calm, his fingers opened and shut nervously. She glanced up into his face again. He was staring

oked up and ca

r pardon?'

t say an

to the window again and tried to centre her attention on the shifting scene outside, but she was oppressively conscious of her silent companion. His face was in the shadow and she could not tell whether

ooking horse. As Sybert helped Marcia in he asked if she would object to letting a

f night,' he added. 'He's going to Ca

turned. 'It makes no difference to

ies would object, you know. Tarquinio,' he called as the Italian with the bed-quilt

hed the outline of the Alban mountains, the moonlight catching the white walls of two twin villages which crowned the heights; and before them rose the more desolate Sabines, standing fold upon fold against the sky. It was for the most part a silent drive. Sybert at first, aware that he was more silent than politeness permitted, made a few casual attempts at conversation, and then with an apparently e

he had never seen him like this. He reminded her of a suppressed volcano that would burst out some day with a sudden explosion. She again set herself covertly to studying his face. His character seemed an anomaly; it contradicted itself. Was it good or bad, simple or complex? Marcia did not have the key. She put together all the things she knew of him, all the things she had heard-the result was largely negative; the different p

he front seat Tarquinio Paterno wh

hat surprised gaze to rest upon her.

io. It's not such a very common name; so when you said this man was going to the village, and when I heard you

amily history pretty st

in, and Marcia did not attem

way, the driver halted to let Tarquinio get out. But Marcia remonstrated, that the bundle was too

he airy leafage of spring. Above them the clustering houses of the village clung to the hillto

But the moonlight changes all. The grey stone walls stretched above them now like some grim fortress city of the middle ages. And the old round tow

as climbing down and hoisting the bundle to his shoulder, Marcia's attention was mom

h voice, followed by a succession of long-drawn screams. The morro-players stopped their game and looked at each other with startled eyes; and then, after a mome

mself free with a g

ating him. He always makes a gr

as she sprang from the ca

s mother is

ion of the sounds. People had gathered in little groups in the doorways, and were shaking their heads and talking excitedly. One woman, as

uld not see anything. The only light came from a flickering oil-lamp burning before an image of the Madonna. But as their eyes became accustomed to the darkness they made out a stoutly built peasant woman standing at one end of the

woman asked, scowling

g the child with that

,' the woman retorted. 'He is a lazy g

ined such a momentum that he could not stop, but he clung to her convulsively, realizing that a deliverer of some sort was at

man ought to be arrested

from the wall and ben

e looks as if he need

ld and never brought in a single soldo. She slaved night and day t

is he?' Syb

and I have a new one. The boy is in the way. I can't be expected to s

a low stool and d

bert. 'It won't do to leave him here. She would simpl

lice, but I don't believe it will do much good.' He was thinking that she might be

or an errand-boy. He will be very useful about the place. Tell the woman, please, that I'

im at the villa?' Sybert inquired

I insist-and I shall insis

not be at the expense of feeding the boy any longe

rt with him. Since she had cared for him when he was little, it

police, who, he added parenthetically, were his dearest friends. Without further parleying, he picked up the boy and they walk

he carriage with shrill inquiries as to what was going to be done with Gervasio. The driver leaned from his seat and stared in stupid bewilderment at this rapid change of f

mused laugh. 'I fear your aunt won't thank us, Miss Marc

t the thin little face resting on Sybert's shoulder. 'Poor little fellow! He looks hungr

chance.' He looked down at the boy, who was watching their faces with wide-open, excited eyes, half frightened at the strange language. 'You mustn't be afraid, Gervasio,' he reassured him in Ita

wider. 'Will the signorina

rvasio,' she added in her very careful Italian. 'I will give you chocolate if you always do what you are told, but not every day, becau

ed and Marci

nxiety for Gerald-do you suppose there is

smissed whatever he had on his mind; and as for Marcia-St. Paul's cloisters were behind in Ro

Sybert. 'That is where

ak. Presently he whispered, 'Sha

ino? what does he m

no with yellow hair,

h-and here is the old prince,' he added, as the carriage wheels grated on the g

ise. 'And, Marcia! I thought you had decided to stay

ervasio on his feet. 'Miss Marcia must plead guilty t

d at the lights, and Gervasio looked after him as if he were tempted to follow. Mrs. Copley, attracted by the disturbance, appeared from the salon, and a medley of qu

rands,' Sybert suggested as they finishe

He is small, but he looks intelligent. I have always intended to hav

ve him dressed in livery. I don't think it's right to t

higher one than he would ever fill if left to

at environment is everything and heredity's nothing, and I shan't have

s at Sybert and h

ty over to you, Miss Marcia, since i

We'll let Gervasio be an unofficial page and po

he other night that he had some one to play with, and Gervas

n may not be useful for drawing-r

nt difficulties, 'and prove that peasants are really as bright as princes

ert, but he examined Marcia wi

r later,' Copley suggested. 'He seems t

of breaking out into one of his old-time wails when Mrs. Copley

, 'and I shouldn't be surprised if Gervasio has missed several.

t Gervasio with as much astonishment as is compatible with the office of butler. Mrs. Copley ordered d

arcia pleaded. 'You don't mind, do you, Mr. Sybert? He

n disgust. 'How can you say such

-table, I object to an unwashed alien's taking his pla

t he didn't believe the boy had ever eaten before. Marcia's and Sybert's dinner that night was an erratic affair and quite upset the traditions of

he strange dishes that were set before him, but with an expression of settled purpose on his face was steadily eating his way through a bowl of macaroni. It was with a sigh that he had finally to acknowledge himself beaten by t

night, Sybert strolled across the h

esty,' he inquired-'at least until Ger

shook her head with an air of scepticism. 'We can try,' s

len kimono, sat down on a cushion beside the open window. She was too excited and restless to sleep. She lea

ry now and then the breeze wafted in the smell of their cigars. She grew wider and wider awake, and followed them with her eyes as they passed and repassed in their tireless tramp. At the end of the terrace their voi

ncle say sharply: 'Don't be a fool, Sybert. It will ma

ckly beating heart. What was the matter? Could they have quarrelled? Was Sybert going to the station? Surely he would not walk. She leaned out of the window and looked after him, a black speck in the moonlit wheat-field. No, he was going toward Castel Vivalanti. Why Castel Vivalanti at this time of the night? Had it anything to do with Gervasio?-or perhaps Tarquinio, the baker's son? She recalled her uncle's words: 'Don't be a fool. It

rt's words in the warm, sleepy, sunlit cloister; of the little crowd of ragamuffins chasing the dog; of her long, silent ride with Sybert; of the moonlit gateway of Castel Vivalanti, with the dar