etween his feet and
the ground and stars sparkling in his brain. He felt as if his head were
the sky.

This was an August night. One day in October, Matteo told his sister
that she was to go to Rome with him the next morning to pass a month
with a family they knew there, and afterward begin her noviciate in the
convent of the Sacramentarians at Monte Cavallo. He had received a
letter from the Signora Fantini, who would receive her and do everything
for her. He and Pepina had no time, now that the vintage had begun, to
attend to such affairs, even if they knew how.

Silvia grew pale. She had not expected to go before the spring, and now
all was arranged without a word being said to her, and she was to go
without saying good-bye to any one.

Matteo's sharp eyes were watching her. "You will be ready to start at
seven o'clock," he said: "I must be back to-morrow night."

"Yes, Matteo," she faltered, hesitated a moment, then ventured to add,
"I did not expect to go so soon."

"And what of that?" he demanded roughly. "You were to go at the proper
time, and the proper time is to-morrow."

She trembled, but ventured another word: "I should like to see my
confessor first."

"He will come here this evening to see you," her brother replied: "I
have already talked with him. You have nothing else to do. Pepina will
pack your trunk while you are talking with the priest."

Silvia had no more to say. She was bound hand and foot. Besides, she was
willing to go, she assured herself. It was her duty to obey her parents,
or the ones who stood in their place and had authority over her. Matteo
said she must go; therefore it was her duty to go, and she was willing.

But the willing girl looked very pale and walked about with a very
feeble step, and it was hard work to keep the tears that were every
moment rising to her eyes from falling over her cheeks. It was such a
pitiful face, indeed, that Father Teodoli, when he came just before Ave
Maria, asked if Silvia were ill.

"She has had a toothache," Matteo said quickly, and gave his sister a
glance.

"And what have you done for it, my child?" the priest asked kindly.

"Nothing," Silvia faltered out.

"I will leave you to give Silvia all the advice she needs," Matteo said
after the compliments of welcome were over. "I have to go down the
Lungara for men to work in the vineyard to-morrow.--Silvia, come and
shut the door after me: there is too much draught here."

Silvia followed