mother were troubled, for they knew he was a god, not one of our
faith, Signorina, but one of the older gods who lived here before
the coming of our Lord. One day as he stood there by the tree
and was kissing the maiden on her mouth, her father came, very
angry, and scolded her, and defied the god, telling him to go
away and never show his face there again. And then, he never
knew how it happened, for the stranger did not touch him, but he
fell stunned to the ground, with a queer flash of light in his
eyes. When he woke, the stars were shining over him, and he
crawled home. But the maiden was gone, and they never saw her
any more, Signorina. Whether it was for good or for ill, she had
been carried away by the god. People think that they disappeared
inside the tree, for it closed up that night, and it never opened
again. Sometimes they thought they heard voices coming from it,
and once or twice, cries and sobs of a woman. Maybe she is
imprisoned there and cannot get out: it would be a terrible
fate, would it not, Signorina? Me, I think it is better to fight
shy of the heathen gods."

Bertuccio's white teeth showed in a broad smile, but no scrutiny
on Daphne's part could tell her whether he had told his story for
pleasure merely, or for warning. She rode on in silence,
realizing, as she had not realized before, how far this peasant
stock reached back into the elder days of the ancient world.

"Do you think that your story is true, Bertuccio?" she asked, as
they came in sight of the grass-grown mounds of the buried
watering-place toward which their steps were bent.

"Ma che!" answered Bertuccio, shrugging his shoulders, and