of yesterday standing near the tool-house with something in his
hand. The peasant woman's face showed neither awe nor fear; only
lively curiosity gleamed in the blinking brown eyes.

"Buon' giorno," said Apollo, exactly as mortals do.

"Buon' giorno, Altezza," returned Assunta.

"Is the Signorina at home?" asked the intruder.

"But no!" cried Assunta. "She has started to climb the very sky
to-day, Monte Altiera, and for what I can't make out. It only
wears out Bertuccio's shoes and the asinetto's legs."

"Grazia," said Apollo, moving away.

"Does his Highness think that the Signorina resembles her sister,
the Contessa?" asked the peasant woman for the sake of a
detaining word.

"Not at all," answered the visitor, and he passed into the open
road.

Then he turned over in his hand the letter which he had taken
from the laurel. Though he had read it thee times he hardly
understood as yet, and his face was the face of one who sees that
the incredible has come to pass. The letter was made up of
fifteen closely written pages, and it told the story of a young
clergyman, who, convinced at last that celibacy and the shelter
of the Roman priesthood were his true vocation, had, after long