“There, she was seated in a place of glory, a chaplet of rubies was given to her, and she is singing her rosary with the Virgin.

“Thanks, good neighbours.  I will go and be with her.”

As he finished the last words of his melancholy refrain, he flung himself from the top of his rock into the sea, as though he really desired to engulf himself.  Nisida and the other women gave a cry of terror, for during some minutes the diver failed to reappear upon the surface.

“Are you out of your senses?” cried a young man who had suddenly appeared, unobserved among the women.  “Why, what are you afraid of?  You know very well that Bastiano is always doing things of this sort.  But do not be alarmed:  all the fishes in the Mediterranean will be drowned before any harm comes to him.  Water is his natural element.  Good-day, sister; good-day, father.”

The young fisherman kissed Nisida on the forehead, drew near to his father, and, bowing his handsome head before him, took off his red cap and respectfully kissed the old man’s hand.  He came thus to ask his blessing every evening before putting out to sea, where he often spent the night fishing from his boat.

“May God bless thee, my Gabriel!” said the old man in a tone of emotion, as he slowly passed his hand over his son’s black curls, and a tear came into his eye.  Then, rising solemnly and addressing the groups around him, he added in a voice full of dignity and of gentleness.  “Come, my children, it is time to separate.  The young to work, the old to rest.  There is the angelus ringing.”

Everybody knelt, and after a short prayer each went on his way.  Nisida, after having given her father the last daily attentions, went up to her room, replenished the oil in the lamp that burned day and night before the Virgin, and, leaning her elbow on the window ledge, divided the branches of jasmine which hung like perfumed curtains, began to gaze out at the sea, and seemed lost in a deep, sweet reverie.

At this very time, a little boat, rowed silently by two oarsmen, touched shore on the other side of the island.  It had become quite dark.  A little man first landed cautiously, and respectfully offered his hand to another individual, who, scorning that feeble support, leapt easily ashore.

“Well, knave,” he cried, “are my looks to your taste?”

“Your lordship is perfect.”

“I flatter myself I am.  It is true that, in order to make the transformation complete, I chose the very oldest coat that displayed its rags in a Jew’s shop.”

“Your lordship looks like a heathen god engaged in a love affair.  Jupiter has sheathed his thunderbolts and Apollo has pocketed his rays.”

“A truce to your mythology.  And, to begin with, I forbid you to call me ‘your lordship.’”

“Yes, your lordship.”

“If my information that I have procured during the day is correct, the house must be on the other side of the island, in a most remote and lonely spot.  Walk at a certain distance, and do not trouble yourself about me, for I know my part by heart.”