tory.

At the foot of one of the mountains which skirt the Gulf of Genoa just a
few miles east of the line which separate France and Italy, there stood
at that time the dwelling of a well-to-do Italian peasant.

That the man was above the majority of his class, his neat homestead,
his thrifty fields and vineyards, and the general air of comfort which
pervaded his dwelling plainly betokened.

But he was a stern, harsh man, bestowing little affection upon his
family, yet exacting unquestioning obedience and diligent toil from
every member, to help him maintain the thrift for which he was noted and
to fill his pockets with money.

On a dark and starless night, long after Tasso Simone and most of his
family were wrapped in slumber, the door of his dwelling was softly
opened, whereupon a slight, girlish figure stole forth and sped
noiselessly across the vineyard of olive trees, toward the highway which
skirted the gulf.

Upon reaching the road, the flying fugitive moderated her pace, but
walked on with a firm, elastic step toward Mentone, which was the
nearest town over the French line.

For an hour she walked steadily on, appearing to be perfectly familiar
with the way, even in that intense darkness, until finally she paused
before a low, rude building, or shed, which had been constructed out of
rough boards to protect fishermen from the hot rays of the sun, while
cleaning their fish for market.

She sat down to rest just outside upon a rude bench, which she seemed to
know was there, and opening a parcel which she carried in her hands, she
began to eat of its contents.

Suddenly she paused and listened, for a slight movement behind her,
within the shed, had attracted her attention.

A sigh that was almost a moan had greeted her ears.

She did not move for several moments, but waited for the sound to be
repeated.

Soon she heard it again; a long-drawn, sobbing sigh like some one deeply
grieved or in distress.

The girl arose, and, without a trace of fear in her manner, made her way
within the shed, showing by her quick, decisive movements that she was
as familiar with the ground as with her own home.

Here she struck a match and lighted a piece of candle, which she took
from her pocket, when she saw, with evident amazement, a beautiful girl
lying asleep upon a shawl which had been spread over a pile of seaweed
in one corner of the place.

The light also revealed the fugitive, whom we have followed thus far,