One day my mother (by permission) had a tuck taken up in Virginia’s dress, and, directing me to take her for a walk, she privately commissioned me to purchase for her such attire as was suitable to a child of her years.  I began with her head, and secured the jauntiest little hat with feathers that I could find, not without a misgiving that it would ultimately be consigned to the flames.  Amongst other articles that I procured was a wax doll, at the sight of which Virginia screamed with delight.  It was her first doll.  Even Signora Lucretia’s face was lit by a smile of undisguised admiration at the improvement in the child’s toilette, but it soon gave place to a sigh at her own “vanity of spirit,” and she held the little hat as Eve might have held the apple offered to her by the serpent.

Signora Lucretia and her children spent some hours every morning before breakfast in reciting litanies and other prayers, and on retiring to rest the same forms were repeated.  During the day, whenever the clock struck the hour, the whole family, leaving whatever might be the occupation of the moment, knelt on their chairs and made a short prayer or meditation on the flight of time.

At the time of their arrival my cousin Oswald was staying with us, and on the first evening he retired early to give them an opportunity of conversing more freely on the melancholy topics that filled their minds.  After bidding good-night to my mother and kissing her, he paid me the same tokens of regard.  This incident had not escaped the notice of the young Eugenio, for when directed by his mother to retire to rest also, he advanced toward me, shook hands, and (although, seeing his intention, I drew back) succeeded in imprinting a kiss on my cheek.  Signora Lucretia turned as pale as death.  My mother, to avoid a scene, turned with a playful laugh to Eugenio, who by this time was scarlet with shame, and said, “My dear boy, in this country such salutations are only permitted from near relations or very intimate friends, but I am not surprised that Mr. Oswald’s thoughtlessness before you should have misled you into doing the same.  So I am sure that your good mother will not be displeased with you.”

“Oh, madama,” exclaimed Signora Lucretia, bursting into tears as soon as the door had closed upon him, “to think that my son should have been tempted by the Evil One so far as to forget what is due to the holy vocation for which he is to fit himself!  In Italy never had he even been in the same room with any woman but myself and the priest’s old housekeeper.  This is the first time that his lips have been so desecrated.” (Here my mother and I interchanged smiles.) “Unhappy mother that I am! by what sufferings can I atone for his sin?  What shall I impose upon him to mortify the spirit that has arisen within him?”

The next morning Eugenio came down looking pale and sad, and I felt sure that he had been reprimanded in no measured terms.  I gave him a pitying glance, which fell like dew on the thirsting earth.