walls,--so that in the dusk
the room seemed lined with curious bas-reliefs in steel. Piles of books
were heaped on the table with surgical instruments, medicine-bottles,
and bags of dried seeds.

After this inspection in the twilight, they went back to the padre
vicar's _salon_ to rest, when their host took leave of them to give
orders to Beppo about the rooms and to send a light. Then they sank into
what seats they could find, and tried to collect themselves.

Presently a low knock was heard, the door was pushed open, and a tall,
dark youth in sandals and white apron came in, with "_Buona sera,
signore_," and left a lucerna--the graceful brass Tuscan lamp, with
three branches for oil and wick--on the table. A large room with two
windows now became visible, with a sofa, chairs, a table, and
white-tiled stove, and many engravings on the white walls.

At nine o'clock the prospect of supper was almost too faint to be
entertained, and the signora was just opening her mouth to say, "Of
course the padre has forgotten all about us," when they heard in the
distance a faint footstep approaching, and the padre appeared with a
taper in one hand and a magnificent red silk coverlet in the other. "For
the signora's bed," he explained, and went to leave it in the bedroom.
Then he came and sat down, apologizing for having left them so long, and
commenced what would have been for his listeners a most interesting
conversation if it had been after supper. He told how he had been there
thirty years,--first as student, then as frate, and finally as abbot.
Since 1866 he had been alone with two monks. To-morrow he would show
them the cell just above their heads, which he had occupied seventeen
years in silence, except when he had permission to speak. Suddenly,
looking at his watch, he said, "It is half-past nine o'clock, and no
doubt you are now hungry." And, no one gainsaying the supposition, he
relighted his taper and led the way to the refectory. The shadows all
about were black and mysterious enough, but they were too tired to be
troubled about them, and were already half-way down a staircase, when
the signora looked back, and, if she had not seized the balustrade,
would have fallen; for standing at the head of the staircase was a white
figure, holding a taper above a cowled head, out of which a pair of dark
eyes was looking at her steadfastly. The padre's voice, calling out,
"Signora, you are left in the dark," reassured her and gave h