The Villa Politi stood so near the edge of a monstrous quarry that it seemed as if it might topple into the abyss at any moment.  Our friends were on historic ground, indeed, for these quarries—­or latomia, as they are called—­supplied all the stone of which the five cities of ancient Syracuse were built—­cities which in our age have nearly, if not quite, passed out of existence.  The walls of the quarry are a hundred feet in depth, and at the bottom are now acres upon acres of the most delightful gardens, whose luxuriance is attributable to the fact that they are shielded from the winds while the sun reaches them nearly all the day.  There are gardens on the level above, and beautiful ones, too; but these in the deep latomia are the most fascinating.

The girls could scarcely wait to finish breakfast before rushing out to descend the flights of iron steps that lead to the bottom of the vast excavation.  And presently they were standing on the ground below and looking up at the vine covered cliffs that shut out all of the upper world.

It was peaceful here, and soothing to tired nerves.  Through blooming shrubbery and along quiet paths they might wander for hours, and at every step find something new to marvel at and to delight the senses.

Here were ancient tombs cut from the solid rock—­one of them that of an American midshipman who died in Syracuse and selected this impressive and lovely vault for his burial place.  And there stood the famous statue of Archimedes, who used in life to wander in this very latomia.

“Once,” said Mr. Watson, musingly, “there were seven thousand Athenian prisoners confined in this very place, and allowed to perish through starvation and disease.  The citizens of Syracuse—­even the fine ladies and the little children—­used to stand on the heights above and mock at the victims of their king’s cruelty.”

“Couldn’t they climb out?” asked Patsy, shuddering at the thought that some of the poor prisoners might have died on the very spot her feet now trod.

“No, dear.  And it is said the guards constantly patrolled the edge to slay any who might venture to make the attempt.”

“Wasn’t it dreadful!” she exclaimed.  “But I’m glad they have made a flower garden of it now.  Somehow, it reminds me of a cemetery.”

But there were other interesting sights to be seen at Syracuse, and they laid out a systematic programme of the places they would visit each morning while they remained there.  The afternoons were supposed to be reserved for rest, but the girls were so eager to supply Tato with a fitting wardrobe that they at once began to devote the afternoons to shopping and dress-making.

The child had placed in Uncle John’s keeping a liberally supplied purse, which the Duke wished to be applied to the purchase of whatever his daughter might need or desire.

“He wants me to dress as you do,” said Tato, simply; “and because you will know what is fitting my station and will be required in my future life, he has burdened you with my society.  It was selfish in my father, was it not?  But but—­I wanted so much to be with you—­because you are good to me!”