“Well, good-bye, then,” said Antonio, offering his hand.

“Good-bye,” said Agnes, cheerfully giving hers.

Elsie, beholding the cordiality of this parting, comforted herself that all was right, and ruffled all her feathers with the satisfied pride of a matron whose family plans are succeeding.

“After all,” she said to herself, “brother was right,—­best let young folks settle these matters themselves.  Now see the advantage of such an education as I have given Agnes!  Instead of being betrothed to a good, honest, forehanded fellow, she might have been losing her poor silly heart to some of these lords or gallants who throw away a girl as one does an orange when they have sucked it.  Who knows what mischief this cavalier might have done, if I had not been so watchful?  Now let him come prying and spying about, she will have a husband to defend her.  A smith’s hammer is better than an old woman’s spindle, any day.”

Agnes took her seat with her usual air of thoughtful gravity, her mind seeming to be intensely preoccupied, and her grandmother, though secretly exulting in the supposed cause, resolved not to open the subject with her till they were at home or alone at night.

“I have my defence to make to Father Francesco, too,” she said to herself, “for hurrying on this betrothal against his advice; but one must manage a little with these priests,—­the saints forgive me!  I really think sometimes, because they can’t marry themselves, they would rather see every pretty girl in a convent than with a husband.  It’s natural enough, too.  Father Francesco will be like the rest of the world:  when he can’t help a thing, he will see the will of the Lord in it.”

Thus prosperously the world seemed to go with old Elsie.  Meantime, when her back was turned, as she was kneeling over her basket, sorting out lemons, Agnes happened to look up, and there, just under the arch of the gateway, where she had seen him the first time, sat the cavalier on a splendid horse, with a white feather streaming backward from his black riding-hat and dark curls.

He bowed low and kissed his hand to her, and before she knew it her eyes met his, which seemed to flash light and sunshine all through her; and then he turned his horse and was gone through the gate, while she, filled with self-reproach, was taking her little heart to task for the instantaneous throb of happiness which had passed through her whole being at that sight.  She had not turned away her head, nor said a prayer, as Father Francesco told her to do, because the whole thing had been sudden as a flash; but now it was gone, she prayed, “My God, help me not to love him!—­let me love Thee alone!” But many times in the course of the day, as she twisted her flax, she found herself wondering whither he could be going.  Had he really gone to that enchanted cloud-land, in the old purple Apennines, whither he wanted to carry her,—­gone, perhaps, never to return?  That was best.  But was he reconciled with the Church?  Was that great, splendid soul that looked out of those eyes to be forever lost, or would the pious exhortations of her uncle avail?  And then she thought he had said to her, that, if she would go with him, he would confess and take the sacrament, and be reconciled with the Church, and so his soul be saved.