lent and unmoved, steering the boat to her
destination, and thinking of her.

It was not dusk when the boat was alongside of the low jagged rocks
which lie between the landward needle and the cliffs, making a sort of
rough platform in which there are here and there smooth flat places worn
by the waves and often full of dry salt for a day or two after a storm.
There, to the Marchesa's inexpressible relief, the numberless objects
inscribed in the catalogue of her comforts were already arranged, and
she suffered herself to be lifted from the boat and carried ashore by
Ruggiero and his brother, without once murmuring or complaining of
fatigue--a truly wonderful triumph for San Miniato's generalship.

There was the table, the screen, and the lamp, the chairs and the
carpet--all the necessary furniture for the Marchesa's dining-room. And
there at her place stood an immaculate individual in an evening coat and
a white tie, ready and anxious to do her bidding. She surveyed the
preparations with more satisfaction than she generally showed at
anything. Then all at once her face fell.

"Good heavens, San Miniato carissimo," she cried, "you have forgotten
the red pepper! It is all over! I shall eat nothing! I shall die in this
place!"

"Pardon me, dearest Marchesa, I know your tastes. There is red pepper
and also Tabasco on the table. Observe--here and here."

The Marchesa's brow cleared.

"Forgive me, dear friend," she said. "I am so dependent on these little
things! You are an angel, a general and a man of heart."

"The man of your heart, I hope you mean to say," answered San Miniato,
looking at Beatrice.

"Of course--anything you like--you are delightful. But I am dropping
with fatigue. Let me sit down."

"You have forgotten nothing--not even the moon you promised me," said
Beatrice, gazing with clasped hands at the great yellow shield as it
slowly rose above the far south-eastern hills.

"I will never forget anything you ask me, Donna Beatrice," replied San
Miniato in a low voice. Something told him that in the face of all
nature's beauty, he must speak very simply, and he was right.

There is but one moment in the revolution of day and night which is more
beautiful than the rising of the full moon at sunset, and that is the
dawn on the water when the full moon is going down. To see the gathering
dusk drink down the purple wine that dyes the air, the sea and the light
clouds, until it is almost dark, and then to fe