Thereupon San Miniato produced from his waistcoat pocket a little limp parcel wrapped in white tissue paper and laid it in Teresina’s hand.  It was heavy, and she guessed that it contained something of gold.

“What is it?” she asked quickly.  “Am I to give it to the Signorina?”

“To the Signorina!” San Miniato laughed softly again and laid his hand very gently on the girl’s arm.  “Yes,” he whispered, bending down to her.  “To the Signorina Teresinella, who can have all she asks for if she will only care a little for me.”

“Heavens, Signor Conte!” cried Teresina.  “Was it to say this that you made me come?”

“This and a great deal more, Teresina bella.  Open your little parcel while I tell you the rest.  Who made you so pretty, carissima?  Nature knew what she was doing when she made those eyes of yours and those bright cheeks, and those little hands and this small waist—­per Dio—­if some one I know were as pretty as Teresinella, all Naples would be at her feet!”

He slipped his arm round her, there in the shade.  Still she held the package unopened in her hand.  She grew a little pale, as he touched her, and shrank away as though to avoid him, but evidently uncertain and deeply disturbed.  The poor girl’s good and evil angels were busy deciding her fate for her at that moment.

“Open your little gift and see whether you like the reason I give you for coming here,” said San Miniato, who was pleased with the turn of the phrase and thought it as well to repeat it.  “Open it, Teresinella, bella, bella—­the first of as many as you like—­and come and sit beside me on the bench there and let me talk a little.  I have so much to say to you, all pretty things which you will like, and the hour is short, you know.”

Poor girl!  He was a fine gentleman with a very great name, as Teresina knew, and he was young still and handsome, and had winning ways, and she loved gold and pretty speeches dearly.  She looked down, still shrinking away from him, till she stood with her back to a tree.  Her fresh young face was almost white now and her eyelids trembled from time to time, while her lips moved though she was not conscious of what she wanted to say.

“Ah, Teresina!” he exclaimed, with a nicely adjusted cadence of passion in the tone.  “What are you waiting for, my little angel?  It is time to love when one is young and the world is green, and your eyes are bright, carina!  When the heart beats and the blood is warm!  And you are made for love—­that mouth of yours—­like the red carnations—­one kiss Teresinella—­that is all I ask—­one kiss and no more,—­here in the shade while no one is looking—­one kiss, carina mia—­there is no sin in kissing—­”

And he tried to draw her to him.  But either Teresina was naturally a very good girl, or her good angel had demolished his evil adversary in the encounter which had taken place.  There is an odd sort of fierce loyalty very often to be found at the root of the Sicilian character.  She looked up suddenly and her eyes met his.  She held out the little package still unopened.