you will see a flat gray
rock, covered with blue gentians. No one knows how they grow--they are
always there, blooming in summer and winter. But it said that one of
God's own great angels comes once in every month at midnight to bless
the Monte Vergine, and that he stands on that rock. And of course
wherever the angels tread there are flowers, and no storm can destroy
them--not even an avalanche. That is why the people call it the Punto
d'Angelo. It will please you to see it, eccellenza--it is but a walk of
a little ten minutes."

And with a smile, and a courtesy as pretty and as light as a flower
might make to the wind, she left me, half running, half dancing down
the hill, and singing aloud for sheer happiness and innocence of heart.
Her pure lark-like notes floated upward toward me where I stood,
wistfully watching her as she disappeared. The warm afternoon sunshine
caught lovingly at her chestnut hair, turning it to a golden bronze,
and touched up the whiteness of her throat and arms, and brightened the
scarlet of her bodice, as she descended the grassy slope, and was at
last lost to my view amid the foliage of the surrounding trees.

CHAPTER XXIX.

I sighed heavily as I resumed my walk. I realized all that I had lost.
This lovely child with her simple fresh nature, why had I not met such
a one and wedded HER instead of the vile creature who had been my
soul's undoing? The answer came swiftly. Even if I HAD seen her when I
was free, I doubt if I should have known her value. We men of the world
who have social positions to support, we see little or nothing in the
peasant type of womanhood; we must marry "ladies," so-called--educated
girls who are as well versed in the world's ways as ourselves, if not
more so. And so we get the Cleopatras, the Du Barrys, the Pompadours,
while unspoiled maidens such as Lilla too often become the household
drudges of common mechanics or day-laborers, living and dying in the
one routine of hard work, and often knowing and caring for nothing
better than the mountain-hut, the farm-kitchen, or the covered stall in
the market-place. Surely it is an ill-balanced world--so many mistakes
are made; Fate plays us so many apparently unnecessary tricks, and we
are all of us such blind madmen, knowing not whither we are going from
one day to another! I am told that it is no longer fashionable to
believe in a devil--but I care nothing for fashion! A devil there is I
am sure, who for some