“Shall I send for the Countess Macomer?” asked Veronica, with a smile.

“Heaven preserve us from her!” exclaimed Elettra, and she crossed herself hastily, and then made the sign of the horns with her fingers, against the evil eye, and with her other hand touched a coral charm which she had in her pocket.

Veronica had long been in correspondence with Don Teodoro about the arrangements for her coming.  He had expected that she would bring a staff of servants from Naples with all the paraphernalia of a great establishment.  She had replied that she intended to employ only her own people, and meant to live very simply.  He suggested that she should send a quantity of new furniture, as the apartments in the castle had not been inhabited for nearly twenty years, but Veronica answered that she needed no luxuries, and repeated that she meant to live very simply indeed.  She sent her saddle horse and two pairs of strong cobs with two country carriages and a coachman—­a very young man, who had served in Gianluca’s regiment and had been his man.  He was to find a man in Muro to help him in the stables, and he was the only servant, not a native, whom she meant to employ.  Don Teodoro had kept ten people at work for a month in cleaning the vast old place.  Veronica had sent also a box of books, some linen and silver, and her fencing things—­for she still hoped that Bianca would pay her a visit.

The journey by rail occupied between four and five hours, but it did not seem so long to her.  She was surprised at the excitement she felt, as she passed station after station and watched the changing sights and the mountains that loomed up in the foreground, while those behind her dwindled in the distance.  She had travelled very little in her life, since she had come back from Rome.

On the platform of the little station at Eboli, Don Teodoro was waiting for her.  His tall bent figure and enormous nose made him conspicuous at a distance, and she could see the big silver spectacles anxiously searching for her along the row of carriage windows.  As the door was opened for her she waved her handkerchief to the old priest, with a little gesture of happy enthusiasm, high above her head, and he saw her immediately and came forward, three-cornered hat in hand.  She suddenly loved the smile with which he greeted her.

“You, at least, do not think that I am mad to come to Muro, do you?” she asked, standing beside him on the platform while Elettra was handing out her smaller belongings.

“Not at all,” answered the old man.  “You are coming to take care of your own people, and it is a good deed.  Good deeds generally seem eccentric to society—­and considering their rarity, that is not extraordinary.”

He smiled again, and Veronica laughed.

“Your carriage is here,” said Don Teodoro.  “May I take you to it?  Will you give me the tickets, Elettra?  They take them at the gate.”

Veronica felt a new thrill of joyous freedom and independence, as for the first time in her life she set her little foot upon the step of her own carriage, and glanced at the simple, well-appointed turnout.  The coachman sat alone in the middle of the box, a broad-shouldered, clean-shaven young fellow of six-and-twenty, in a dull green livery with white facings—­the colours of the Serra.