she would plead to have it relit, and there was sure to be some
tender-hearted, kindly knight at hand to help her.

She ran on quickly, fearlessly, gliding and creeping and sliding through
the crowd, her hair flying, her eyes dancing. Even in the dense throng
many turned to look at her, and one tall man started suddenly from the
shadow of a side street, where he had been standing motionless, and
threw himself before the girl. He put out his arm, grasped her tightly,
and drew her a few feet into the shadow. "Signorina!" he said. "Hush,
hush," she whispered then in colder tones. "Let me go, Signor; you are
mistaken. You, do not know me." He smiled quietly, holding her hands
clasped in his. "I do not know you, Signorina? You do not know me. Your
face is the picture always before my eyes."

"Yes, yes, forgive me," she fluttered, "I was startled, and indeed I
am no Signorina now, but one of your own country peasants. I am with
Lisetta. Why, where is Lisetta?"

Where, indeed, was she? There were hundreds of contadine in the great
crowd surging by, but no Lisetta. The little peasant wrung her hands
quite free from the man's grasp. "I must go home," she said. "I don't
want any more Carnival."

"No, no," said the officer, quietly, reassuringly. "Get cool. Tell me
how Lisetta looks and is dressed, and if we can not find her here, I
will take you up to your friend's balcony."

"O, no, not there. Anywhere else, but not there."

"Why not?" asked Bero.

"Because, because,--yes, I will tell you," said Mae, remembering her
wrongs, and suddenly moved by the sympathy and softness of the great
eyes above her,--"because they think I am home ill, and here I am, you
see," and she laughed a little hurriedly,--"besides, I go away with
Lisetta to-morrow morning,--hush, let no one hear,--to Sorrento. You
must never, never tell. How do I look? Will I make a good peasant, when
once the dear sun has browned my hands and forehead, and I have grown
Italianized?" And she lifted her face, into which the saucy gaiety had
returned, up to him temptingly.

His warm blood was kindled. "You are a little child of the sun-god now,"
he exclaimed, passionately. "May I share some of your days in heaven? I
am ordered to Naples tomorrow night; shall be only twelve hours behind
you. May I come on the day after to see you in your new home?"

"O, how delightful! But, perhaps, my lord, our little cottage by the sea
isn't grand enough for your spurs and button