hould discover them
and read them? Why did some of the lines keep running in his mind to
the exclusion of others, as if they expressed his actual sentiments at
that moment, his aspirations, the new dream he carried in his heart?

'I lay at thine untroubled feet my fate!'

It was true! It was true! He loved her, he laid his whole life at her
feet--was conscious of but one desire--humble and absorbing--to be the
earth between her footsteps.

'How beautiful it is here!' exclaimed Donna Maria, as she entered the
demesne of the four-fronted Hermes, into the paradise of the acanthus.
'But what a strange scent!'

The whole air was full of the odour of musk, as from the unseen presence
of some musk-breathing insect or animal. The shadows were deep and
mysterious, the rays of light which pierced the foliage, already touched
by the finger of autumn, seemed like shafts of moonlight shining through
the storied windows of a cathedral. A mixed sentiment, partly Pagan,
partly Christian, seemed to emanate from this sylvan retreat, as from a
mythological picture painted by an early Christian artist.

'Oh look, look, Delfina!' her mother exclaimed in the excited tones of
one who suddenly comes upon a thing of beauty.

Delfina had skilfully woven little sprays of orange blossom into a
garland, and now, with the fancifulness of childhood, she was eager that
it should encircle the head of the marble deity. She could not reach it,
but did her best to accomplish her object by standing on tip-toe and
stretching her arm to its utmost extent; her slender, elegant and
vivacious little figure offering a striking contrast to the rigid,
square and solemn form of the statue, like a lily-stem against an oak.
All her efforts were, however, fruitless.

Smilingly, her mother came to her aid. Taking the wreath from the
child's hand, she placed it on the pensive brows of the god. As she did
so, her eyes fell involuntarily upon the inscriptions.

'Who has been writing verses here.--You?' she asked, turning to Andrea
in surprise and pleasure. 'Yes--I recognise your hand.'

Forthwith, she knelt upon the grass to read with eager curiosity. While
Donna Maria read the words in a low voice, Delfina leaned upon her
mother's shoulder, one arm about her neck, cheek pressed to cheek. The
two figures thus bending over the pedestal of the tall flower-wreathed
statue, in the uncertain light, surrounded by the emblematical acanthus,
formed a group so harmonious