there came a warm day, full of light, and life, and color; a day over which the blue sky of italy smiled. beside an artistically arranged fruit stall a slender and handsome italian girl stood. behind the stall, on a low seat, sat an old woman; she was knitting, but her restless eyes took eager count of every passer-by.

"did you observe that old man, marcia?" she said in her rapid italian to the young girl.

the girl turned her beautiful and pitying eyes full on the old woman. "he was not my father, mother. ah! dear mother, can you not rest content that the good god has taken my father to himself?"

"fifteen years," muttered the old italian woman. "fifteen years, with the love growing stronger, and the heart emptier, and the longing[pg 274] sorer. no, i have not given him up. oh! my merciful father in heaven, what—who is that?" a little group was coming up to the fruit stall, a child who danced merrily, an old man with a bent white head, and a gentleman on whose arm he leaned.

they came up close. the child flew to the younger marcia, the old couple gazed at each other with that sudden trembling which great and wonderful heart-joy gives, they came a little nearer, and then their arms were round each other's necks.

"at last, marcia," said old antonio—"at last!"