falls on the stormy waters of passion, and like
a chidden babe the strong man stands, dwarfed to an infinite littleness
in his own sight, before those majestic monarchs of the landscape whose
large brows are crowned with the blue circlet of heaven.

I took up my abode in a quiet, almost humble lodging, living simply,
and attended only by Vincenzo. I was tired of the ostentation I had
been forced to practice in Naples in order to attain my ends--and it
was a relief to me to be for a time as though I were a poor man. The
house in which I found rooms that suited me was a ramblingly built,
picturesque little place, situated on the outskirts of the town, and
the woman who owned it, was, in her way, a character. She was a Roman,
she told me, with pride flashing in her black eyes--I could guess that
at once by her strongly marked features, her magnificently molded
figure, and her free, firm tread--that step which is swift without
being hasty, which is the manner born of Rome. She told me her history
in a few words, with such eloquent gestures that she seemed to live
through it again as she spoke: her husband had been a worker in a
marble quarry--one of his fellows had let a huge piece of the rock fall
on him, and he was crushed to death.

"And well do I know," she said, "that he killed my Toni purposely, for
he would have loved me had he dared. But I am a common woman, see
you--and it seems to me one cannot lie. And when my love's poor body
was scarce covered in the earth, that miserable one--the murderer--came
to me--he offered marriage. I accused him of his crime--he denied
it--he said the rock slipped from his hands, he knew not how. I struck
him on the mouth, and bade him leave my sight and take my curse with
him! He is dead now--and surely if the saints have heard me, his soul
is not in heaven!"

Thus she spoke with flashing eyes and purposeful energy, while with her
strong brown arms she threw open the wide casement of the sitting-room
I had taken, and bade me view her orchard. It was a fresh green strip
of verdure and foliage--about eight acres of good land, planted
entirely with apple-trees.

"Yes, truly!" she said, showing her white teeth in a pleased smile as I
made the admiring remark she expected. "Avellino has long had a name
for its apples--but, thanks to the Holy Mother, I think in the season
there is no fruit in all the neighborhood finer than mine. The produce
of it brings me almost enough to live upon--th