_trattoria_, then lighted a cigar, and
walked out into the garden. He sat for a while on the balustrade of
the terrace, looking out over the green campagna, over which the moon
now rose large and red, while the towers and domes of the city stood,
dark and solemn, in the foreground. The bells of Santa Maria Maggiore
were tolling slowly and pensively, and the sound lingered with long
vibrations in the still air. A mighty, shapeless longing, remotely
aroused or intensified by the sound of the bells, shook his soul; and
the glorious sight before him seemed to weigh upon him like an
oppressive burden. "Annunciata," came in heavy, rhythmic pulses
through the air; it was impossible not to hear it. The bells were
tolling her name: "Annun-ciata, Annun-ciata." Even the water that was
blown from the Triton's mouth whispered softly, as it fell,
"Annunciata, Annunciata."

Cranbrook was awakened from his reverie by the sound of approaching
footsteps. He turned his head and recognized, by the conspicuous
shovel-hat, the old priest who had prophesied such a cheerful future
for him in the hereafter. And was that not Annunciata who was walking
at his side? Surely, that was her voice; for what voice was there in
all the world with such a rich, alluring cadence? And that firm and
splendidly unconscious walk--who, with less than five generations'
practice could even remotely imitate it? Beloved Annunciata! Wondrous
and glorious Annunciata! In thy humble disguise thou art nevertheless
a goddess, and thy majestic simplicity shames the shrill and
artificial graces of thy sisters of the so-called good society. But
surely, child, thou art agitated. Do not waste those magnificent
gestures on the aged and callous priest!

"Thou art hard-hearted and cruel, Padre Gregorio!" were the words that
reached Cranbrook's ears. "The Holy Virgin would not allow any one to
suffer forever who is good and kind. How could he help that his father
and his mother were not of the right faith?"

The padre's answer he could not distinguish; he heard only an eager
murmur and some detached words, from which he concluded that the
priest was expostulating earnestly with her. They passed down the long
staircase into the lower garden, and, though their forms remained
visible, their voices were soon lost among the whispering leaves and
the plashing waters. Cranbrook followed them steadily with his eyes,
and a thrill of ineffable joy rippled through his frame. He had at
l