and clung tightly to him,

"O, Mr. Norman Mann," she said, "do you really want me as much--as I do
you?"

And Norman, still holding her tightly, bent his hand, with hers clasped
in it, to the sand, and after the Mae Madden, he wrote another name, so
that it read:

MAE MADDEN MANN.

Then he said a great many, many things, all beginning with that
electric, wonderful little possessive pronoun "my," of which he had
discoursed formerly, and he held her close all the while, and they
missed the next train for Naples.

The gay peasant costume fell about the girl's round lithe form like the
luxuriant skin of some richly marked animal; but out of her eyes looked
a woman's tender, loving, earnest soul. Norman Mann had saved her.

CHAPTER XIV.

Edith was quietly married to Albert at Easter time, in the English
Chapel at Florence. The event was hastened by the sudden appearance of
Mae's parents, who set sail soon after hearing of the Sorrento escapade
and the embryonic engagement, which awaited their sanction before being
announced. Everything was beautifully smooth at last. Edith and Albert
left the day of their marriage for Munich, and later, Mrs. Jerrold was
to settle down with them at Tuebingen. The rest of the party were to
summer in Switzerland; then came fall, and then--what?

Norman thought he knew, and Mae said she thought he didn't, but this
young woman was losing half her character for willfulness, and Norman
was growing into a perfect tyrant, so far as his rights were concerned.
Easter is a season of marriages. Mae read in a Roman paper the betrothal
announcement of the Signor Bero and Signorina Lillia Taria. "I would
like to send them a real beautiful present," said she, and Norman did
not say no. So these two hunted all over Florence, and at length, in
the studio of a certain not unknown Florentine, they discovered the very
gift Mae desired--a picture of a young Italian soldier, bringing home
his bride to his own people. There was the aged mother, proud and happy,
waiting to bid the dark-eyed girl welcome. "She has a real 'old Nokomis'
air," laughed Mae. "I know she would have told her son not to seek 'a
stranger whom he knew not.'" The distant olive-colored hillsides, the
splashing fountain near at hand, each face, and even the thick strong
sunshine seemed to bear a tiny stamp with Italy graven on it. "The name
of the picture is exactly right," said Mae. Under the painting were
these words: "Itali