ily Angioletto
(who did not study character for nothing) had allowed for in his
calculations.

It is by no means certain that the Countess was as wise as her guide.
The facts which induced the letter were these. Guarini had chanced upon
an early mass at San Cristoforo and Bellaroba kneeling at her prayers.
She, all unconscious of any presence but her own and her Saviour's, was
looking up to the Mother who had made Him so, dim-eyed, and smiling
rather tenderly. Her lips framed petitions for the coming home of
Angioletto. She had hooded her head as he commanded, and it became her
as he had foreseen. With her added cares of wifely duty this gave a
sober look to her untameable childish bloom; she was almost a
business-like beauty now. To Guarino the pathetic appealed more nearly;
to him she seemed a pretty nun, a wood-bird caged. He never took his
eyes off her--she caught him in a soft mood and ravished him. A little
saint in bud, he swore; a wholesome, domestic little household goddess,
meek and very pure, who would carry home her beauties unaware and oil
the tousled heads of half a dozen brothers and sisters. Homeliness is
neither Italian word nor virtue; but just as it describes Bellaroba, so
an inkling of its charm thrilled the young lord who saw her. Could one
cage such a gossamer thing? Fate had done it, why not he? At least he
could not lose sight of her. He tracked her to the house under the wall,
saw the door scrupulously shut upon her, wandered up and down the street
for half an hour, returned a laggard to his palace--and yet had her full
in vision. She possessed him until mass-time following: the same things
happened. Guarino was hit hard; he took certain steps and got
information which tallied with his better instincts. It guided also his
subsequent efforts, for obviously the more direct remedies would not
meet his case. Therefore, he wrote to the Countess, as you have seen.
Her reply delighted him, and the rest was very easy. Borso signed the
order of appointment, boggling only at her name. "Buonaroba I know,"
said he. "What am I to think of Bellaroba, Guarino?"

"Your Grace shall be pleased to think that his daughter has chosen her
for her own person," said the Count.

"Hum," said Borso, and signed the parchment.

Then came another scrawl for "my love Angilotto," in which the
miraculous news was told.

"Olimpia took it very ill," she wrote, "but the Signor Capitano
talked her happier--at leas