too sure that duty and unhappiness are one."

She left him, standing by the little wayside shrine with a
strange look on his face. A tortured Christ hung there, casting
the shadow of pain upon the passers-by. The expression in the
brown eyes of the heathen god haunted her all the way down the
hill, and throughout the day: they seemed to understand, and yet
be glad.


CHAPTER X

It was nine o'clock as the Signorina descended the stairs.
Through the open doorway morning met her, crisp and cool, with
sunshine touching grass and green branch, still wet with dew.
The very footfalls of the girl on the shallow marble steps were
eager and expectant, and her face was gayer than those of the
nymphs in the frescoes on the wall. At the bottom of the stairs,
Giacomo met her, his face wreathed in smiles.

"Bertuccio has returned," he announced.

"Si, si, Signorina," came the voice of Assunta, who was pushing
her way through the dining-room door behind Giacomo. She had on
her magenta Sunday shawl, and the color of her wrinkled cheeks
almost matched it.

"What is Bertuccio?" asked the girl. "A kitten?"

"A kitten!" gasped Assunta.