the grapevines.

I was in my own garden at the Britannia leaning
over the marble balcony, wondering what kept
Luigi--it was past ten o'clock--when the news
reached me. I had caught sight of his white shirt
and straw hat as he swung out behind the Salute
and headed straight toward me, and saw from
the way he gripped his oar and stretched his long
body flat with the force of each thrust, that he
had a message of importance, even before I saw his
face.

"A Dio, Signore!" he cried. "What do you think?
Vittorio has cursed Loretta, torn her wedding ring
from her finger, and thrown it in her face!"

"Vittorio!"

"Yes,--he will listen to nothing! He is a crazy
fool and I have done all I could. He believes every
one of the lies that crab-catching brute of a Francesco
is telling. It would be over by to-night, but Loretta
does not take it like the others: she says nothing.
You know her eyes--they are not like our Giudecca
girls. They are burning now like two coals of fire,
and her cheeks are like chalk."

I had stepped into the gondola by this time, my
first thought being how best to straighten out the