d he
will be."

"_Do-men-id-dio_!" said the Commendatore, in a whisper.

And then a servant came to announce that luncheon was ready.

XXIV

That morning Anthony had received a letter from Miss Sandus. It was
dated and postmarked Craford, where, indeed, (although Miss Sandus was
now at Isola Nobile), it had been written. It had been written at
Susanna's request, almost under her dictation. Then she had given it
to a confidential servant, with orders that it should be committed to
the post three days after her departure.

"I sometimes forget, my dear," Miss Sandus had improved the occasion to
remark, "that you are not English; but the Italian in you comes out in
your unconquerable passion for intrigue."

The initial and principal paragraph of the letter ran as follows:--

"Do you remember once upon a time complaining to me of your lady-love
that she was rich? and setting up her wealth as an obstacle to your
happy wooing?--and how I pooh-poohed the notion? Well, now, it would
appear, that obstacle is by way of being removed. You will have
learned in your copy-book days that Fortune is a mighty uncertain
goddess. And I am writing by Susanna's desire to let you know that
circumstances have quite suddenly arisen which make it seem likely that
she may be in some danger, if not actually on the point, of losing
nearly everything that she possesses. I don't altogether clearly
understand the matter, but it springs from some complication in her
family, and a question whether a rather distant relative has n't a
better claim than her own upon the properties she has been enjoying.
She wishes me to tell you this, because, as she says, 'It may make some
difference in his plans.' I am well aware, of course, as I have
assured her, that it will make none--unless, indeed, it may intensify
your impatience for an early wedding-day. But she insists upon my
writing; and when she insists, I notice that no one ever for very long
resists. What is that mysterious virtue, which some people have in
abundance, (but most of us so abundantly lack), by which one is
compelled, if they say _go_, to go, if they say _come_, to come? There
is a question for you to meditate, as you walk by the shores of the
Adriatic, under 'the golden leaves of the olives.' I wonder whether
you will recollect from what poet that is quoted--'the golden leaves of
the olives.' Well, they _are_ golden in certain lights."

I dare say Anthony was still