Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 8, no. 45, July, 1861 | Page 9

he
asks her to go to the world's end. Pray, how far is it to your dreadful old
den?"
"Only two days' journey, Giulietta."
"Two days!"
"Yes, my life; and you shall ride."
"Thank you, Sir,--I wasn't thinking of walking. But seriously, Pietro, I
am afraid it's no place for an honest girl to be in."
"There are lots of honest women there,--all our men have wives; and
our captain has put his eye on one, too, or I'm mistaken."
"What! little Agnes?" said Giulietta. "He will be bright that gets her.
That old dragon of a grandmother is as tight to her as her skin."
"Our captain is used to helping himself," said Pietro. "We might carry
them both off some night, and no one the wiser; but he seems to want
to win the girl to come to him of her own accord. At any rate, we are to
be sent back to the mountains while he lingers a day or two more round
here."
"I declare, Pietro, I think you all little better than Turks or heathens, to
talk in that way about carrying off women; and what if one should be
sick and die among you? What is to become of one's soul, I wonder?"
"Pshaw! don't we have priests? Why, Giulietta, we are all very pious,
and never think of going out without saying our prayers. The Madonna

is a kind Mother, and will wink very hard on the sins of such good sons
as we are. There isn't a place in all Italy where she is kept better in
candles, and in rings and bracelets, and everything a woman could want.
We never come home without bringing her something; and then we
have lots left to dress all our women like princesses; and they have
nothing to do from morning till night but play the lady. Come now?"
At the moment this conversation was going on in the balmy, seductive
evening air at the bridge, another was transpiring in the Albergo della
Torre, one of those dark, musty dens of which we have been speaking.
In a damp, dirty chamber, whose brick floor seemed to have been
unsuspicious of even the existence of brooms for centuries, was sitting
the cavalier whom we have so often named in connection with Agnes.
His easy, high-bred air, his graceful, flexible form and handsome face
formed a singular contrast to the dark and mouldy apartment, at whose
single unglazed window he was sitting. The sight of this splendid man
gave an impression of strangeness, in the general bareness, much as if
some marvellous jewel had been unaccountably found lying on that
dusty brick floor.
He sat deep in thought, with his elbow resting on a rickety table, his
large, piercing, dark eyes seeming intently to study the pavement.
The door opened, and a gray-headed old man entered, who approached
him respectfully.
"Well, Paolo?" said the cavalier, suddenly starting.
"My Lord, the men are all going back to-night."
"Let them go, then," said the cavalier, with an impatient movement. "I
can follow in a day or two."
"Ah, my Lord, if I might make so bold, why should you expose your
person by staying longer? You may be recognized and"----
"No danger," said the other, hastily.
"My Lord, you must forgive me, but I promised my dear lady, your
mother, on her death-bed"----
"To be a constant plague to me," said the cavalier, with a vexed smile
and an impatient movement; "but speak on, Paolo,--for when you once
get anything on your mind, one may as well hear it first as last."
"Well, then, my Lord, this girl,--I have made inquiries, and every one
reports her most modest and pious,--the only grandchild of a poor old
woman. Is it worthy of a great lord of an ancient house to bring her to

shame?"
"Who thinks of bringing her to shame? 'Lord of an ancient house'!"
added the cavalier, laughing bitterly,--"a landless beggar, cast out of
everything,--titles, estates, all! Am I, then, fallen so low that my
wooing would disgrace a peasant-girl?"
"My Lord, you cannot mean to woo a peasant-girl in any other way
than one that would disgrace her,--one of the House of Sarelli, that goes
back to the days of the old Roman Empire!"
"And what of the 'House of Sarelli that goes back to the days of the old
Roman Empire'? It is lying like weeds' roots uppermost in the burning
sun. What is left to me but the mountains and my sword? No, I tell you,
Paolo, Agostino Sarelli, cavalier of fortune, is not thinking of bringing
disgrace on a pious and modest maiden, unless it would disgrace her to
be his wife."
"Now may the saints above help us! Why, my Lord, our house in days