with the arms of Italy brightly painted in green and red and
white.

Nino and Hedwig entered arm in arm, and I slunk guiltily in after
them. Hedwig had drawn her veil, which was the only head-dress she
had, close about her face.

In a quarter of an hour the little ceremony was over, and the
registers were signed by us all. Nino also got a stamped certificate,
which he put very carefully in his pocket-book. I never knew what it
cost Nino to overcome the scruples of the sindaco about marrying a
strange couple from Rome in that outlandish place, where the peasants
stared at us as though we had been the most unnatural curiosities, and
even the pigs in the street jogged sullenly out of our way as though
not recognising that we were human.

At all events, the thing was done, and Hedwig von Lira became for the
rest of her life Edvigia Cardegna. And I felt very guilty. The pair
went down the steps of the house together in front of me, and stopped
as they reached the street; forgetting my presence, I presume. They
had not forgotten me so long as I was needed to be of use to them;
but I must not complain.

"We can face the world together now, my dear lady," said Nino, as he
drew her little hand through his arm. She looked up at him, and I
could see her side face. I shall never forget the expression. There
was in it something I really never saw before, which made me feel as
though I were in church; and I knew then that there was no wrong in
helping such love as that to its fulfilment.

By the activity of the man from Subiaco a curious conveyance was ready
for us, being something between a gig and a cart, and a couple of
strong horses were hired for the long drive. The countryman, who had
grown rich in the last three days, offered to buy the thin little ass
which had carried me so far and so well. He observed that he was blind
of one eye, which I had never found out, and I do not believe it was
true. The way he showed it was by snapping his fingers close to the
eye in question. The donkey winked, and the countryman said that if
the eye were good the beast would see that the noise was made by the
fingers, and would not be frightened, and would therefore not wink.

"You see," said he, "he thinks it is a whip cracking, and so he is
afraid."

"Do donkeys always wink when they are frightened?" I inquired. "It is
very interesting."

"Yes," said the countryman, "they mostly do." At all events, I was
obliged to take the man's ow