left so hardy and so
healthful. Facing the south, a colonnade, or covered gallery, of rustic
woodwork had been formed, and creeping plants, lately set, were already
beginning to clothe its columns. Opposite to this colonnade there was a
fountain which reminded Riccabocca of his own at the deserted Casino. It
was indeed singularly like it; the same circular shape, the same girdle
of flowers around it. But the jet from it varied every day, fantastic
and multiform, like the sports of a Naiad,--sometimes shooting up like
a tree, sometimes shaped as a convolvulus, sometimes tossing from its
silver spray a flower of vermilion, or a fruit of gold,--as if at play
with its toy like a happy child. And near the fountain was a large
aviary, large enough to enclose a tree. The Italian could just catch a
gleam of rich colour from the wings of the birds, as they glanced to
and fro within the network, and could hear their songs, contrasting the
silence of the freer populace of air, whom the coming winter had already
stilled.

Riccabocca's eye, so alive to all aspects of beauty, luxuriated in the
view of this garden. Its pleasantness had a charm that stole him from
his anxious fear and melancholy memories.

He never saw but two forms within the demesnes, and he could not
distinguish their features. One was a woman, who seemed to him of staid
manner and homely appearance: she was seen but rarely. The other a man,
often pacing to and fro the colonnade, with frequent pauses before the
playful fountain, or the birds that sang louder as he approached. This
latter form would then disappear within a room, the glass door of which
was at the extreme end of the colonnade; and if the door were left open,
Riccabocca could catch a glimpse of the figure bending over a table
covered with books.

Always, however, before the sun set, the man would step forth more
briskly, and occupy himself with the garden, often working at it with
good heart, as if at a task of delight; and then, too, the woman would
come out, and stand by as if talking to her companion. Riccabocca's
curiosity grew aroused. He bade Jemima inquire of the old maid-servant
who lived at the cottage, and heard that its owner was a Mr. Oran,--a
quiet gentleman, and fond of his book.

While Riccabocca thus amused himself, Randal had not been prevented,
either by his official cares or his schemes on Violante's heart and
fortune, from furthering the project that was to unite Frank Hazeldean