Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 7, No. 44, June, 1861 | Page 6

no other man should,--that she should be the bride of Heaven
alone?
Certainly, if there were, it lurked far out of sight; and the priest had a
case that might have satisfied a conscience even more fastidious;--and
he felt a sort of triumph in the results of his mental scrutiny.
Yes, she should ascend from glory to glory,--but his should be the hand
that should lead her upward. He would lead her within the consecrated
grate,--he would pronounce the awful words that should make it
sacrilege for all other men to approach her; and yet through life he
should be the guardian and director of her soul, the one being to whom
she should render an obedience as unlimited as that which belongs to
Christ alone.
Such were the thoughts of this victorious hour,--which, alas! were
destined to fade as those purple skies and golden fires gradually went
out, leaving, in place of their light and glory, only the lurid glow of
Vesuvius.

CHAPTER VI
.
THE WALK TO THE CONVENT.
Elsie returned from the confessional a little after sunrise, much relieved
and satisfied. Padre Francesco had shown such a deep interest in her
narrative that she was highly gratified. Then he had given her advice
which exactly accorded with her own views; and such advice is always
regarded as an eminent proof of sagacity in the giver.
On the point of the marriage he had recommended delay,--a course
quite in accordance with Elsie's desire, who, curiously enough, ever

since her treaty of marriage with Antonio had been commenced, had
cherished the most whimsical, jealous dislike of him, as if he were
about to get away her grandchild from her; and this rose at times so
high that she could scarcely speak peaceably to him,--a course of things
which caused Antonio to open wide his great soft ox-eyes, and wonder
at the ways of woman-kind; but he waited the event in philosophic
tranquillity.
The morning sunbeams were shooting many a golden shaft among the
orange-trees when Elsie returned and found Agnes yet kneeling at her
prayers.
"Now, my little heart," said the old woman, when their morning meal
was done, "I am going to give you a holiday to-day. I will go with you
to the Convent, and you shall spend the day with the sisters, and so
carry Saint Agnes her ring."
"Oh, thank you, grandmamma! how good you are! May I stop a little
on the way, and pick some cyclamen and myrtles and daisies for her
shrine?"
"Just as you like, child; but if you are going to do that, we must be off
soon, for I must be at my stand betimes to sell oranges: I had them all
picked this morning while my little darling was asleep."
"You always do everything, grandmamma, and leave me nothing to do:
it is not fair. But, grandmamma, if we are going to get flowers by the
way, let us follow down the stream, through the gorge, out upon the
sea-beach, and so walk along the sands, and go by the back path up the
rocks to the Convent: that walk is so shady and lovely at this time in
the morning, and it is so fresh along by the sea-side!"
"As you please, dearie; but first fill a little basket with our best oranges
for the sisters."
"Trust me for that!" And the girl ran eagerly to the house, and drew
from her treasures a little white wicker basket, which she proceeded to
line curiously with orange-leaves, sticking sprays of blossoms in a
wreath round the border.
"Now for some of our best blood-oranges!" she said;--"old Jocunda
says they put her in mind of pomegranates. And here are some of these
little ones,--see here, grandmamma!" she exclaimed, as she turned and
held up a branch just broken, where five small golden balls grew
together with a pearly spray of white buds just beyond them.

The exercise of springing up for the branch had sent a vivid glow into
her clear brown cheek, and her eyes were dilated with excitement and
pleasure; and as she stood joyously holding the branch, while the
flickering shadows fell on her beautiful face, she seemed more like a
painter's dream than a reality.
Her grandmother stood a moment admiring her.
"She's too good and too pretty for Antonio or any other man: she ought
to be kept to look at," she said to herself. "If I could keep her always,
no man should have her; but death will come, and youth and beauty go,
and so somebody must care for her."
When the basket was filled and trimmed, Agnes took it on her arm.
Elsie raised and poised on her head the great square basket that
contained her merchandise, and began walking erect and