The Vigil of Count Amadeo

THE VIGIL OF COUNT AMADEO.

the days when Vittorio was Prince of Mantivoglia there resided at the court a young gentleman of high birth and great fortune, by name Count Amadeo of Castivano. So well favoured was he, so accomplished, courteous, and brave, that there was no lady in all Mantivoglia who would not willingly have had him for her husband, and all his companions in arms envied Amadeo greatly for the indications of ready favour which were bestowed on him.

But to Amadeo these things were as the beauty of sky and sea to a man that is blind. Love was a stranger to his heart; he spent the hours wherein the rest danced and courted in high and abstruse meditation, and the ladies of the Princess's train, although very handsome, amiable, and kind, yet could not lure him from his retreat, nor persuade him to exchange his gloomy musings for the brightness of their smiles. And at last he betook him to his spiritual director, and prayed the reverend father that he might be suffered to bid farewell to a world wherein was no delight, and sanctify himself to the service of Heaven by taking the vows in the monastery of St. Joseph of Mantivoglia. But Father Eusebius, knowing the instability of human determination, and how the heart of a young man may he turned by this and that, bade him wait. And, having waited three months, Amadeo returned to Eusebius, and Eusebius bade him wait again for three months. And when he came again Eusebius would not receive him for yet six months.

But when a year had thus gone by and Amadeo was still steadfast, Eusebius, fearing lest he might be fighting against God, withstood him no more, but bade him keep vigil for three nights in the chapel of the palace and after that take the vows as he purposed. And it was spread through all the court that Count Amadeo of Castivano would keep vigil for three nights in the chapel, and, having performed this obligation, would forthwith assume the habit in the Monastery of St. Joseph.

Now no sooner were these tidings proclaimed than the Lady Lucrezia, chief of the ladies in attendance on the Princess, summoned all her fellows to her; and there came Jessica, Constantia, and Cecilia, Margherita, Zarata, and Theodora, Eugenia, Euphemia, and Beatrice, all very fair ladies, among whom there was great indignation that none of them should have power to wean Amadeo from a religious life, and that a slight should be put on one and all of them by the determination to which he had come.

"Although, in truth," said Eugenia bitterly, "the blame is not ours, for he has not so much as looked on our faces, and knows not whether they be proper or uncomely."

Therefore they agreed that, before Count Amadeo took any vow, it was right and just that he should look on their faces. And they took counsel together how this thing might be contrived, saying nothing of what they did to the Princess nor to any other.

Behind the altar in the chapel was a window, and behind the window there was a narrow gallery giving access from the Princess's apartments on one side to those of her ladies on the other; and on the window was painted a representation of Our Blessed Lord in Glory.

Amadeo, having fasted since noon, came into the chapel a little before midnight, and steadfastly fixing his eyes on this window fell into a mystical reverie. Thus he abode for two hours, and then hid his face in his hands and prayed. But as he prayed he heard a sound from the direction of the window; yet for a while he did not look up. But the sound came again, and he looked up; and the window was no more in its place, but its frame was empty.

And while Amadeo watched what should follow, there came the form of a damsel, clad in celestial blue, and with a very fair face; and she looked down on Amadeo, smiling. Strange she looked, unsubstantial and unearthly in the moonlight that shot across the ancient chapel; yet her features bore a resemblance to the features of Lucrezia, and Amadeo, dimly remembering the fashion of Lucrezia's face, perceived the likeness, and fell into great trembling and agitation, making no question but that Satan tempted him in the form of this lady. And he cried out loudly, bidding the unholy vision leave him. Whereupon the face that was Lucrezia's passed, and there came another that was like to Eugenia's; but still Amadeo railed on Satan, and bade him leave him; and the semblance of Eugenia passed, and there came forms like to each of the Princess's ladies; but Amadeo railed on them all, and, when the last was passed, hid his face again and prayed in terror and with fervour; and when he looked up the window was in its place again, and the first light of day was breaking through it. Whereupon he arose, gave thanks, and went his way; but he told no man of the temptation which had been sent from Hell to assail him.

The second night of the vigil of Count Amadeo came, and behold, all fell out as on the first. Again the window seemed to be removed, again the visions came in rich garments and with alluring smiles; but Amadeo again railed on them all with more passion than before, bidding them begone to their own place and trouble him no longer. And his tongue used them so fiercely and with such lack of measure that they passed more quickly.

"We are lost," said Zarata mournfully, as the ladies sat at their embroidery on the next day. "For to-night is the last night of the vigil, and although his Highness's masons will again shift the window for us, what profit is it, since he is steadily persuaded that we are demons from Hell."

And all the ladies were very melancholy and greatly affronted at the conviction in regard to them that possessed the mind of Count Amadeo. Nevertheless, in order that no chance should be lost, and they have nothing wherewith to blame themselves, they resolved that once more the temptation should come to Count Amadeo in the chapel. For they were not yet persuaded that he could withstand the beauty of their faces, provided that he could be induced fairly to look upon them.

But when the evening came, it chanced that the lady Beatrice was seized with a sudden sickness, and lay on her bed, moaning and almost beside herself, and her maid Jacinta bathed her brow and chafed her hands and sang to her soothingly, until at length the afflicted lady fell asleep. And the hour when they should all be in the gallery behind the window was at hand.

Now Jacinta had been in the service of Beatrice but one day, and few in the Palace knew her face, for she came from a country village, being the daughter of an impoverished gentleman who had dwelt on a small estate, but was now dead, leaving his daughter without means of subsistence, since his land had been sold for the payment of his debts. And Jacinta, who was very beautiful and surpassed all the ladies of the Court in loveliness, having robed her mistress the evening before, and thus became privy to the irreverent and light jest which was afoot, stood looking on the rich gown of white, cunningly broidered with gold, that Beatrice should have worn. And Beatrice slept peacefully. Then Jacinta stood before the mirror and looked on her own face; and she remembered also the face of Count Amadeo, having seen him as he walked that afternoon in the gardens.

"I will see how the robe would become me," whispered Jacinta, and, having taken off her own gown, with many a fearful glance at her sleeping mistress (for sore would have been her lot had Beatrice awaked), she slipped into the white robe broidered with gold, and, thus arrayed, again took counsel of the mirror.

"It would be sinful," said she, sighing heavily. "Yet, alas, that so fine a gentleman should turn monk!" And, going to Beatrice's couch, she laid her hand lightly on her brow; but Beatrice slept.

"Now, Our Lady deliver me from this temptation!" cried Jacinta softly.

Count Amadeo kept vigil in the chapel; and to-night there was exultation in his eyes and a smile of rapt ecstasy on his lips, for he was assured that no temptation could conquer him, and that Satan, having done his worst, was foiled. Thus, in peace and elevation of spirit, he abode, till the time came whereat the vision was wont to appear.

Again it came, the line of fair faces rich in varied beauty, and of forms each diversely and most sumptuously arrayed; the first passed, and the second, and so to the ninth; and the ninth, perceiving a tenth behind her, and knowing nothing of Beatrice's sickness, gave place to the tenth; and all who had passed stood in the gallery, sore with the railing Amadeo had poured out on them, but hoping to find some recompense of merriment in his cursing of the tenth. And the tenth appeared at the window, and her face was visible to Count Amadeo as he knelt before the altar. But the nine that listened in the gallery heard no sound from him; his voice was not raised in railing, as always before, but an absolute silence fell and endured for many minutes. And fear suddenly possessed the nine, and their terrified eyes asked one another what the meaning of this stillness might be.

Then there came a great cry from Count Amadeo. For springing to his feet and stretching out his arms towards the vision he cried loudly:

"The rest were of Hell, but surely this is an angel from Heaven!" and he leapt forward, as though he would have sprung on the altar itself, since thus only he could reach the vision. But Jacinta in alarm drew away, and hid herself from him, and he, beholding her no more, fell prone on the floor of the chapel, and lay there as though he had swooned.

Alas that envy should find a place beside youth and beauty! Yet it is hard for proud ladies to endure that a waiting maid should be hailed as an angel from Heaven, and they declared to be demons from Hell. Great and hot was the wrath of the Princess of Mantivoglia's ladies when they found in Jacinta, the maid of Beatrice, her who had borne off from them the victory, and thus marvellously overcome the constancy of Count Amadeo.

"Surely," they cried, "all men are fools, and this Count a fool above all men. We see this girl for ourselves, and where is her beauty?" But though they could not find beauty, they found presumption and insolence, and, laying hold of poor Jacinta, they hurried her to where Beatrice lay, and, having roused Beatrice, shewed her Jacinta, clad in her mistress's robe and now for fear weeping bitterly.

On the sight, all sickness seemed to leave Beatrice. She sprang up, full of anger, and with her own hands tore off her robe from Jacinta's shoulders, and took the silken cord that had girdled Jacinta's waist and beat her with it, the rest standing by and saying that Jacinta came cheaply off. And when Beatrice had beaten her, she compelled her to put on again her own worn and scanty raiment, and, having given her a few pence, bade her begone from the palace and show her face there no more. And the rest also bade her begone quickly, for, said they, it was not fitting that such a bold and insolent wench should remain among them.

Thus they drove her forth, and she went out from the palace before day dawned, weeping very sadly, and bemoaning herself greatly because she had not withstood the temptation that came upon her. Sore was her heart, and her shoulders also, and her tears fell fast. Yet still she remembered that Count Amadeo had hailed her as an angel from Heaven. Thus she went her ways, and the Princess's ladies returned to their apartments.

But Count Amadeo lay till dawn on the floor of the chapel; then he rose in sore disarray, and in great trouble of mind, for he could not tell the meaning of the vision and fell into much perplexity. Now it seemed to him that the vision was of a saint, and purported that he should the more steadfastly devote his life to the service of Heaven. Now he feared that, notwithstanding his cry, the face that he had seen was a last and most potent temptation of Satan. But whether the face were angel's or devil's, it abode with him, and would not be thrust away. It filled his thoughts, and he seemed still to see it, as it had looked down on him from the window of the chapel, in rare and matchless beauty.

And as he pondered, it seemed to him an impossible thing that he should take the vows before he were resolved of these doubts, for now there was nothing in this world—no, nor in the next—so near to his heart as to learn certainly and without error what the meaning of this vision should be. Yet he did not tell Father Eusebius of the vision, but sent him word that certain affairs of moment called him from Mantivoglia, and, having eaten and drunk, and thus gained strength, he bade them saddle his horse, and at noon of the next day rode forth alone from the city.

But none knew why he went, and none saving the Princess's ladies and the stonemasons (to whom Lucrezia gave a fee for silence) were aware of what had passed in the chapel; for had the Princess learnt what her ladies had done, they would have been in danger of suffering things hardly less cruel than those that they had inflicted on Jacinta. Therefore they held their peace, and when they were asked of Amadeo, shrugged their shoulders, saying, "We know naught of him."

When Jacinta went forth from the city, not knowing whither to turn for shelter nor what lay before her save to perish miserably so soon as her small store was spent, she walked all the day through lanes and by-paths, for she feared to take the highways. That night she lay under the stars and all next day walked again, until in the evening she found herself in a lonely country, where a narrow swift river ran down from the hills through a desolate ravine. Her pence were gone in bread and the bread was eaten; she drank of the running river and sat long on its bank.

Then, rising, she followed the course of it, and night found her still beside it, weary and footsore, like to throw herself into the water and so make an end of her trouble. Yet she would not die, believing that it was not for nothing Amadeo had hailed her as an angel from heaven; and she was thinking on his cry when, in utter fatigue, she sank down on the stony track by the river and, gathering her poor raiment round her, fell asleep.

The moon was high in heaven when she awoke with a loud scream of wonder and dismay; for she lay no longer on the bank, but was being carried swiftly along, flung like a sack across the saddle of a cantering horse; and the man in the saddle, a big fellow and of a rustic comeliness, looked down on her with a triumphant leer. She would have cried out again but he pressed a great hand across her mouth and with an oath bade her be still, lest she should bring a worse thing on her; and with this he dug in his spurs, and the horse bounded forward at a gallop.

Thus they went for hard on an hour, keeping the river close on the right hand: then the horse was suddenly reined in, and Jacinta perceived that they were in front of a low hovel, roughly built from the stones that lined the river's edge. Standing in the doorway was an old woman, gaunt, and of great stature, and by the side of the old woman a black he-goat.

Then Jacinta, being timid and full of such superstitions as are rife among country folk, was even more terrified than before: for if the man were a brigand or worse, surely the old woman was a witch or worse, and the black he-goat was that than which nothing could be worse, aye, the very Evil One himself; and she wept piteously. But the old woman plucked her down from the saddle, and cuffed her on the ears, telling her to cease her tumult, while the man said,

"Here's a girl for you, grandam, though in truth she is too handsome to be your drudge." And with a laugh he went off to water and feed his horse, while the old woman, having looked very curiously at Jacinta, led her into the hovel, gave her bread to eat and milk to drink, and bade her stretch herself on a heap of straw in a closet that opened off the kitchen.

This Jacinta did, but slept little by reason of the old woman and her grandson who talked through the greater part of the night; and even when the man lay down to rest the woman, to Jacinta's terror, continued to talk to the he-goat, asking it questions and seeming to unravel strange answers from its bleatings. And Jacinta crossed herself in the extremity of dismay, saying, "Because of the sin I committed in the chapel, I am delivered to perdition." And then she sighed most sorrowfully, "Oh, that my lord the Count were here!"

Early in the morning the old crone dragged her from her heap of straw and set her to work to make a fire and to bring water from the river, and all day long she laboured, suffering curses and many blows, while the man and the woman lay idle in the shade. But towards evening there came another man, at a gallop, who, leaping down, ran to the first, calling him brother and telling him that a gentleman rode that way, and, not knowing where he was, must be benighted by the time he came to the village; his horse was good, the equipment of it most handsome, and doubtless there was money in the rider's purse.

To all this Jacinta listened, but then the two knaves leant their heads so close together that she could hear no more, and when the old woman came and heard what her grandsons whispered to her, she cast a wary glance at Jacinta, and bade the girl take a hunch of bread and a pitcher of water, and be off to her straw, for she had no more need of her that night; so Jacinta went to her closet and barred the door of it for fear, and lay quaking, while the three talked low in the room without, and the black he-goat bleated incessantly.

Then a storm broke with thunder, lightning, and a flood of rain, and in the midst of the turmoil there came the sound of horse's hoofs that stopped before the door of the hovel.

Jacinta raised her head to listen, and presently she heard the voice of a gentleman asking for shelter, and the old crone's voice answering with such smoothness as its cracked tones could achieve; and there was a stir in the room without as though preparations were made for the stranger's entertainment. An hour went by, Jacinta heard heavy steps pass over the threshold; then voices said: "We bid you good-night, my lord. We lie by the horses, if you have need of us." And then all was still.

Now the crone had charged Jacinta on no account to betray her presence by any noise or to come forth from the closet, promising her a sound beating in case she should disobey; yet a very great desire came on her to see who the stranger might be, and to warn him that he would sleep in more safety did he not sleep too soundly, for, having heard what the young men said of his horse and his purse, she conceived that they meant no good by their hospitality. But for fear of being beaten she lay still, and presently, from weariness, fell into a restless slumber.

And a dream came to her, wherein she seemed to be in the outer room and no longer in the closet, but bound hand and foot and with a handkerchief tied across her mouth, so that she could utter no sound; while before her stood the crone with a hatchet in her hand and the young men each with a knife, and on the pallet in the corner lay the stranger; and in her dream the stranger had the face of Count Amadeo. Then the black he-goat began to bleat loud and strangely, and when he bleated the two young men with the knives stole nearer and nearer to the pallet where Amadeo lay, with looks of greed and stealthy hate and with their cruel knives uplifted in their hands. The crone chuckled low and the he-goat bleated loud; still Amadeo slept, and the two were on him with a spring; the one held him, while the arm of the other was raised and the knife poised over his heart.

But when Jacinta saw this she awoke with a low cry and sat up, raising herself from her heap of straw; and she moaned in terror. "Am I awake, or do I dream still?" For from the room without she heard the bleating of the black he-goat. Then, hardly knowing whether she slept or were awake, but full of fear, she sprang up, and, drawing back the bolt of the door, flung it open wide, and cried in a loud voice, "Awake, Count Amadeo, awake!"

And the thing was as she had seen in her dream; for as she cried the two young men were springing on the stranger, while the old woman stood by, holding the hatchet which she was accustomed to use for chopping wood. But at Jacinta's cry the stranger leapt up and seized his sword that he had laid on the bed beside him. Then Jacinta saw that in very deed he was Count Amadeo, and for an instant Count Amadeo saw her as her face shone on him in pale and terrified beauty, and, knowing it for the face that he had beheld from the window of the chapel, he cried, "My Saint is with me," and flung himself on the robbers, seeking to break through them and come to where Jacinta was.

But they, being stout rogues, withstood him stubbornly, one catching up a club and seeking to brain him, while the other watched warily how to stab him. And the old woman, uttering loud curses, turned on Jacinta and rushed at her, swinging the axe in her hand, and Jacinta, in new terror, dared not await the issue of the contest between Amadeo and his assailants, but eluded the old woman and made her way past her, narrowly escaping the deadly stroke of the axe; and she rushed to the door and ran out; so that all Count Amadeo saw of her was the momentary vision of her face; and he had heard only her cry, "Awake, Count Amadeo!"

But the old woman, fearing lest Jacinta should escape and carry tidings of what had been done, gave chase, and pursued her out into the night and along the rough track by the river's edge; and behind the old woman came the black he-goat, bleating most furiously. With desperate haste Jacinta ran, for she was persuaded that she could look for no mercy if she were caught; yet she knew not whither she ran; her feet were sorely cut with the stones, and now her breath came in gasps and pants; she heard the old crone behind, and it seemed as though she drew nearer and nearer; so that Jacinta gave herself up for lost and had no longer any hope of escape.

Yet even at that moment she rejoiced that she had saved Count Amadeo, and would have been content to die had she but known that he had overcome the robbers. And with her last breath she prayed for him, and was about to sink down on the river's brink and there await her doom with hidden face.

But on a sudden a new hope rose in her, for a few yards ahead she perceived a plank laid across the river from side to side. Rousing herself with a great and last effort, she came to the plank and darted over it; then, throwing herself on her knees, she sought to pull it over so that the crone should be unable to cross. Alas, her strength did not serve, and with a moan of despair she beheld the crone running up, brandishing the hatchet and laughing hoarsely in a cruel exultation. And the crone was at one end of the plank and Jacinta now lay in helpless terror at the other end.

But at the same instant the black he-goat also came to the other end of the plank and, seeking to cross before his mistress, he butted at her; whereupon she, being already in a mad fury, struck at him with the hatchet. Then the goat gave a great bleat of rage and fury; his eyes gleamed like fire (or so it seemed to Jacinta), and he made straight at the old woman.

She uttered a cry of mingled anger and fear. "Thou devil!" she cried. "Thou devil!" And she struck at him again with her axe; but in the wildness of her rage she missed the goat's head, and the axe imbedded itself deep in the wood of the plank on which she now stood; and before she could draw out the axe the goat made at her again, bleating loudly and butting furiously, and then and there he knocked her off the plank and she fell backwards in the stream.

And by now the rain brought by the thunderstorm had run down from the hills, and the river was full and swollen, so that she was rapidly carried away, and Jacinta heard her curses and cries grow fainter, till at last they were smothered by the rushing waters. But the goat, having stood awhile on the plank, seeming to watch the drowning crone, bleated once more long, loud, and (as to Jacinta's frightened fancy it appeared) in an unholy and malicious triumph, and then turned and bounded away into the night—nor was he ever seen again. But Jacinta lay on the bank with her face hidden in her hands, and prayed for the kindly light of day.

Thus marvellously was Jacinta delivered, and Count Amadeo ran no less narrow a peril of his life; for the first ruffian contrived to deal him a sore blow with his club on the left shoulder, so that he could use that arm no more, and the second drove his knife through the muscles of his right leg, so that he could scarcely stand.

But his soul was strong and stout within him, and he fought as a man who is inspired and comforted from heaven; so that he rose on his pallet, and, steadying himself against the wall, drove the point of his sword through the eye of the first, and the fellow fell back and sank to the ground; but at the moment the second was on Amadeo, springing on the pallet and seizing the Count so tightly that he could no longer use his sword, but dropped it; and the two fell together on the bed and rolled over and over, the robber seeking to stab Amadeo, and Amadeo endeavouring to get the knife into his own hand.

Thus they struggled for many minutes. But Amadeo felt his strength ebbing from him and because his left arm was numbed he could not maintain his grip. Yet he could not believe that a gentleman of his rank should die thus at the hands of a knave, nor that heaven, having preserved him by the vision of his saint, should now withdraw its favour.

Suddenly he loosed hold on his enemy and sprang nimbly away from him; but as he sprang he felt the dagger in his side. Yet he stayed not, but leaping from the pallet, snatched the club from the dead man's hand, and turning, dealt a mighty blow at the head of the other as he rushed on, knife in hand. Even as be struck that blow, Count Amadeo's eyes grew dim, his head swam, and his feet gave way under him; for the blood was flowing from his side. But the blow had done its work, and he sank fainting between the two that he had slain.

And thus, lying unconscious between his dead enemies, he was found by a shepherd in the early morning, and was by him carried to the nearest village, and lay there many days on the edge between life and death. And when he came to himself, he told all that had passed, save that he said naught of the vision that had been vouchsafed to him, nor told how its coming had saved his life. But when at length he was healed, he mounted his horse and set out for his own house at Castivano, saying to himself:

"Now of a surety this vision that has twice come to me is the vision of Saint Emilia, who has ever been the protector of our house. Therefore I will raise to her at Castivano a fair and magnificent shrine, so that all men may speak in her praise and exalt her glory. And her I will serve all my life long, with fasting, charity, and prayer."

And the news that Count Amadeo was gone to Castivano to build a great shrine to Saint Emilia was spread throughout all the principality of Mantivoglia.

So soon as day dawned, Jacinta was on her feet flying from a spot full of terrors; and although she longed greatly to know how Count Amadeo had sped, yet for fear of the dead crone's grandsons, and of the dead crone herself, and more than all of the black he-goat (for what that goat was God alone knew) she dared not return to the hovel, but set forward at her best speed straight away from the river; and having walked the greater part of the day, she came to a little grey town that nestled in the lap of great blue- grey hills. There was a wood on the outskirts and a little brook running through. She sat by the brook and drank, and bathed her sore feet, looking at her face in the running water; and as she sat a voice came suddenly from behind her, saying:

"Sweet mistress, for the love of heaven, do not move."

Jacinta looked round in great confusion, gathering her feet up out of the brook and under the grudging shelter of her scanty skirts, but to her comfort she saw only an old man of a pleasant mild countenance, who leant against the trunk of a tree a few yards away and was drawing on a pad that he rested in the curve of his arm. Jacinta blushed red, but the stranger drew near and told her softly that he was a painter and prayed leave to draw her as she had been sitting, and since he was an old man and gentle, Jacinta dipped her feet again in the cool water and suffered him to draw her thus. When he had finished his work, he sighed, saying: "Yet your face should make an altar-piece," and he prayed her to tell him whence she came.

On this, unused to kindness, she burst into weeping, and the old man seemed near weeping also when he heard how she had narrowly escaped death through seeking to rescue a gentleman from the attack of murderous robbers; but she feigned not to know who the gentleman was, for she feared a betrayal by her blushes if she pronounced Amadeo's name.

Then the old painter set his arm about her, and led her to his house on the outskirts of the little grey town, and gave her over to his sister who kept his house for him, and his sister, being old and gentle like himself, wept and laughed over her, praying her to abide there. But Jacinta said, "Then I must work for you;" but they would not let her work, the painter crying, with a face that seemed transfigured by some strong and exalted emotion, "I have waited long for you, child! For now, behold, neither your face nor my name shall ever die!" But the old sister bade her not heed his words, but be kind to him and let him paint her when he would; thus easily should she requite them for her lodging and the food she ate.

Therefore every day, and most readily, Jacinta suffered the old man (who was called Giacomo) to paint her; and many pictures he began and many he destroyed, but at length he made one that seemed to please him, and set himself to work on it, now with rapture, now in sore distress, yet always with resolution, and, as it were, a great purpose. But why he painted, or for what patron, Jacinta did not know; for there were few people in the little town, and those ignorant of such matters, and she herself seldom went abroad, save to the pleasant wood and the cool water of the running brook.

Thus many weeks passed by, most happily for her, save that still she wondered what had befallen Amadeo; yet she did not fear greatly for him, believing that none could overcome him. Therefore she abode patiently where she was, trusting that Amadeo would come again, and not knowing that he was no more than two days' journey distant, across the passes of the great hills that circled the little town.

For Amadeo was come to Castivano, and there busied himself in preparing and setting in hand the great and fair shrine, which he was minded to build to the glory of Saint Emilia. But he lived in his castle of Castivano as a hermit lives, and did not mingle with men, seeing none save those that came to him concerning the building of the shrine, architects, stonemasons, workers in marble, in iron, in bronze, in silver and in gold, painters also, and those who laid mosaic, all of whom he gathered round him and encouraged to put forth their best and highest skill.

Thus the reputation and fame of the shrine grew great, even before it was built, and all artists and artificers desired an opportunity to display their skill in its erection or ornamentation. Moreover, when the Prince of Mantivoglia heard what Amadeo was purposing, he sent him word by one of his gentlemen that so soon as the shrine should be built, he would come with the Princess and all his Court and behold its beauty. Amadeo, although he desired no such visit, could not avoid accepting the honour with all appearance of gratitude, and appointed the Prince a day on which he should come, and pressed on the work that all might be ready.

But concerning one thing he was sore distressed; for none of his painters could paint for him such a picture of Saint Emilia as he desired to place over the altar in his shrine; nay, although he described most minutely what the face and form should be, depicting in words with all accuracy and animation the vision that he had twice beheld, yet none of the pictures were like to what he described. In truth, small wonder need there be that it was so, since none of the painters had seen Jacinta, and the spoken word, howsoever eloquent, is powerless to render the glowing colour and the grace of form that make beautiful the living countenance and shape.

But at last Amadeo made proclamation that a great sum should be paid to the painter who would paint him the fairest picture of Saint Emilia for his altar-piece, and, the news of this proclamation having come to Giacomo through the mouth of a wandering friar, he went into his house and, having prayed long on his knees, took his brushes and painted.

Great and gay was the cavalcade that set forth from Mantivoglia to go to Castivano; there rode the Prince, his nobles and gentlemen, there the Princess and her ladies. All were full of jests and merriment, and they went along at a round pace, the mounted servants clearing the way before them.

On the road they passed a covered waggon driven by a grey-haired old man, and a young gallant, catching sight of a girl's red cloak in the waggon, would have had out the hidden beauty, but the Prince checked his freedom and the cavalcade rode by. But Jacinta looked out and saw Beatrice as she passed, and she shook her head with a laugh; for Jacinta had persuaded Giacomo to bring her with him when he came to offer his picture of Saint Emilia to Count Amadeo, and he had agreed, binding her by a promise to abide in their lodging and not wander alone through Castivano, nor let herself be seen by the gentlemen of the Court.

Count Amadeo received their Highnesses and the company with splendid pomp and graceful courtesy; yet there was a cloud on his brow, and in his demeanour a sadness, which neither the admiration paid to his shrine nor the gay smiles of the Princess's ladies could dismiss. And, so soon as he had bestowed his guests suitably to their respective rank and pretensions, he returned again into the shrine and sat down opposite to the altar, his eyes travelling round the shrine that he had built. And he sighed deeply as his glance returned to the space above the altar, where there hung a curtain of black velvet. But gently his steward preached him, saying:

"My lord, there is yet another painter come, bringing a picture which he desires to offer to you."

"I'll have no more of them," cried Amadeo, impatiently. "The place of the picture shall be empty, for my eyes can fill it better far than any painting that has been brought to me. Give this painter also what suffices for his charges and his labour, and let him go."

But the steward pleaded with Amadeo, saying that the man was old, and that bis eyes had filled with tears when he was told that Amadeo had declared that he would look at no more pictures.

"Let him come, then," said Amadeo wearily.

"My lord," said the steward, humbly and with some fear, "he prevailed on me to allow him to set the picture in its place that you might judge of it the better.

"Neither he nor you had right to do the thing," said Amadeo, "but since it is done, pull aside the curtain."

Then old Giacomo, who had been standing concealed behind an arch, slipped forward and bowed low to Amadeo, who flung him a careless nod; and he laid his hand on the string, and, drawing back the black velvet curtain, displayed the picture of Saint Emilia that he had made.

At once Amadeo sprang to his feet with a loud cry, and stood with clasped hands and his eyes set greedily on the picture. Presently, although his gaze could not leave the picture, he beckoned with his hand to Giacomo, who came near to him timidly. And Amadeo said in a hushed voice, his tones being full of awe:

"How came the vision to you? How for you also was the veil of Heaven drawn back and the face revealed?"

Giacomo, bewildered by the strange manner of Amadeo, and remembering how men said that the Count was subject to delusions and sometimes was carried out of his right mind by religious fervour, and especially by his unmeasured devotion to Saint Emilia, stammered in his answer, saying lamely that he had painted with his best skill and trusted that the result was pleasing to his Excellency

"But from whom did you get the features?" cried Amadeo fiercely.

"The model is something, my lord," answered Giacomo; "but the hand and the pallet are more." For fair as he held the girl to be, it seemed to Giacomo that his picture was much fairer, But Amadeo's mind was different.

"It is very like her," he whispered with a sigh, "although less beautiful." And he added to Giacomo, "Come, sir, the picture shall stay in its place, at what price you will, and, I pray you, come with me to the Prince."

And he carried Giacomo to the Prince of Mantivoglia, who sat in the gardens with his Princess and all the Court, and there he presented Giacomo to His Highness, commending his skill and genius and praying the Prince to show him some mark of favour.

"Right willingly," cried Prince Vittorio. "But come, let me see for myself." And he rose, and, followed by the Princess and all the Court, took his way to the shrine where the picture hung. And the Princess's ladies were curious above all the rest to see the picture that Giacomo had painted, for they perceived a new and strange excitement in the eyes of Count Amadeo.

Then, they all being come to the shrine, Amadeo asked his Highness if he would command that the curtain should be drawn back, and his Highness gave command accordingly. And at once a murmur of admiration rose from all, and the Prince, turning to Giacomo, who stood by, embraced him and hailed him for a great painter and a glory to Mantivoglia; while the Princess gave him a gold chain from about her neck, and, turning to her ladies, bade them see the marvellous beauty of the picture. The ladies answered nothing to the Princess, although they curtseyed in respectful obedience; but Beatrice nudged Lucrezia, Euphemia whispered to Eugenia, "It is she!" Constantia murmured softly, "God save us!" Jessica, Margherita, Cecilia, Zarata, and Theodora laid fingers on lips, saying, "For your life, not a word of it!"

And they all turned red and appeared very uneasy, for, notwithstanding the delusions of Count Amadeo, and for all old Giacomo's vain talk about his skill and his pallet, to them at least it was plain that this wonderful picture of Saint Emilia was nothing else than a portrait of Jacinta, Beatrice's maid, whom they had beaten and driven with contumely from the Palace at Mantivoglia.

"God send that she be not here," whispered Beatrice, with a glance of great apprehension at Count Amadeo. For although it was vexatious enough that the Count should waste his life in adoring a saint, and spend on a shrine what might have been laid out in revelry, feasting, and jewels, it would be worse by a thousand times that Jacinta the maid should appear before him in flesh and blood, since most certainly in that event he would think very little more of Saint Emilia.

When all the rest had praised the picture to their heart's content, and almost to the satisfaction of Giacomo himself, Amadeo, still very gloomy, bade them come to dinner, for he had spread a magnificent banquet in the hall of his house.

Here they feasted very finely and in great merriment throughout the afternoon, even the Princess's ladies forgetting their uneasiness, and receiving with great complaisance the gallantries of the gentlemen who sat by them. And when the tables were cleared, the Prince called for wine, and drank to Giacomo, and the ladies, rising, took partners and danced with them for the pleasure and entertainment of their Highnesses.

Thus evening came, and found them still at their revels; but presently Amadeo, having prayed leave of the Princess, rose and went out from the hall, for he was minded to seek the shrine, and there remain on his knees before the altar and look again on the face of Saint Emilia, for there was a moon that night even as when he had kept his vigil in the chapel of the Palace at Mantivoglia.

When evening began to fall, the door of the lodging that Giacomo had taken was opened softly and a slim figure stole forth with cautious tread. Was it just that, while her picture was seen and praised, she should sit and mope alone? Nay, at least she must see the picture in its place; aye, and, perchance, from afar off she might see Amadeo himself.

Come what might, the picture she would see; and if that came for which she prayed, Amadeo also she might see. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks red beneath the shawl; in truth, she had not wholly that rapt expression of heavenly contemplation which the art of Giacomo had imparted to his picture.

Safe and unperceived she stole from the village up the hill, even to the summit, where stood Amadeo's house, and by it now the shrine, whose marbles, streaked in white and black, showed cold and stately in the rays of the risen moon. The windows of the banqueting-hall were full of light, and loud merry voices, mingled with sounds of music, echoed from within. Thither Jacinta looked wistfully, but dared not go. She turned to the shrine; there all was gloom save for the dim light of candles, out-shone and quenched by the moonlight's radiance.

Softly she stole up and passed through the open door. She seemed still alone, save for the picture, and that she saw but faintly, for the moonbeams did not shine full on it; nay, she found them full on her face as she stood just beyond the arch on the left side of the altar. Half in fright at her solitude, half in admiration of the shrine's beauty, she cast her eyes round it, and suddenly became aware of the figure of a man, who knelt before the altar, his face buried in his hands.

A tremor ran through her, and she leant against the pillar of the arch; for she knew that the man was Count Amadeo, and that she was alone with him. It came into her head to fly, but she could not leave him, for she longed to be near him, and his presence was very sweet to her. But as she stood there, she heard him sigh deeply and moan pitifully, for he was in great distress of soul, and struggled sore with himself, calling himself a wretched sinner and all unworthy to have been chosen to build this shrine to the honour of St. Emilia. And at last he cried softly:

"Behold, I am in as great peril as in the robbers' hovel! Sweet Saint, grant me another vision, that I may be strengthened and confirmed in grace!" And he let his hands fall from before his face, and raised his eyes to the picture above the altar.

But, alas, the picture was lifeless, dull, and cold, and Amadeo turned away from it, and gazed where the moonlight fell. Full in the path of the pale light, white in its white radiance, he saw a face that smiled on him and eyes that gleamed brightly, and a form in white that the light made whiter stood with a hand outstretched towards him. It seemed to him that he saw again the vision that had come to him at Mantivoglia and in the hovel by the river. And, kneeling still on his knees, in an awe-struck voice and with fear he said,

"What is thy will?" And again he hid his face. But no answer came, for Jacinta, although she blushed rosy red, found no words in which to respond.

But soon Count Amadeo, letting his hands fall, looked again, in fear that the vision would have passed: but, seeing it still there, he gazed on it, and it seemed to him ten thousand times more fair than Giacomo's picture. Therefore he continued to gaze very intently on it, and the eyes of the vision fell towards the floor, and its lids drooped, and, because Amadeo's gaze was very ardent, presently, to his great wonder, the vision raised its hands and hid its face.

"Show me thy face," cried Amadeo, and now he rose to his feet.

There was silence for a moment; then a low, ashamed, merry laugh came, and a whisper that said, "My lord, I dare not."

"Now surely this is a strange vision," said Amadeo, and he took a step towards where it stood, but cautiously, lest it should fly from him. And he paused, asking himself what many others had asked concerning him, whether he were mad, and took for real the figments of his own distempered imagination. He dashed his hands across his eyes and looked again, but still the vision was there, and again the merry ashamed laugh struck faintly on his ear. And he had never yet heard nor read, nor had any told him, of a vision from heaven that laughed and hid its face, like a maiden who was coy and yet would not willingly escape.

Then he sprang suddenly across the space between them, crying, "Who art thou?" and came to a stand before her; and she answered him from between the fingers that were in front of her face.

"I am the girl from whom Giacomo painted."

"But I saw you in the robbers' hovel," he cried.

"I was servant to the old crone," murmured Jacinta.

"And in the chapel at Mantivoglia?"

"I was waiting-maid to the Lady Beatrice," Jacinta whispered.

Then silence fell again between them for awhile, until Amadeo said, in a voice that trembled,

"I pray you take your hands from your face, that I may see whether it be in very truth the face that came to me in Mantivoglia and in the hovel. I do not understand how these things can be; for how came you to Mantivoglia, and to the hovel, and here?"

And he put out his hand and gently grasped her hands and drew them away from her face; but she was greatly confused, and did not know whether she would laugh or weep, nor what she had best say to Count Amadeo. And when at last she spoke, her voice was so low that Amadeo was constrained to draw nearer to her, that he might hear her words; but she in timidity shrank back, and, since he pursued, they passed thus together into the shadow of the arch.

"Now, on my faith," cried Vittorio of Mantivoglia, "piety is good, and devotion is good, but it is not good that a man should forsake his guests, fair ladies and honest gentlemen, and spend alone on his knees the time that he should give to their society and entertainment. This is not well in my lord Amadeo."

"His heart is in Heaven and not with us, sir," said the Princess.

"His heart may be where it please God," swore Vittorio who was merry with feasting, "but he shall pledge me in a cup of wine before I rest to-night. Come, let us after him." And he rose and ran towards the shrine, all following, lords and ladies, gentlemen, squires, grooms, pantlers, and maids; for all had feasted and were apt for any sport; and the Princess came also, because her husband would not be denied her company; and they came with a merry din to the door of the shrine. But there they paused, so pure and solemn seemed the shrine in the moonlight. And their mirth died away, and they stood listening there.

"For," said the Princess, "of a surety we shall hear him at his prayers. For he prays all the night through and is untired in devotion."

And even as she spoke there came through the stillness a low passionate voice that said:

"For all my life, and in all my life, and with all my life, I am yours; for you only do I see with my eyes, and hear with my ears, and move with my members. And you are life and death and the world to me." "It is even as I said," remarked the Princess of Mantivoglia. And she added with a sigh: "Yet Count Amadeo is a comely gentleman."

But then, to the great astonishment of all, there came another voice from the shrine;, and although they had not heard the voice of Saint Emilia, and could not tell how she would speak, yet it did not seem to them that this could be the voice or these the words of the Blessed Saint.

"My dear lord," said the voice, "you are my life and my love and my all. For since I saw you in Mantivoglia I loved you, and more I loved you in the robber's hovel, and more than all now do I love you. Yet I am not worthy of your favour."

"Now these be fine devotions!" said the Prince of Mantivoglia. And his eyes twinkled, and he gave a twist to his moustaches. And he opened his mouth to speak again, when suddenly Giacomo, who had been en the outskirts of the throng, sprang forward, crying in great apparent anger:

"Jacinta, what do you there?"

His voice brought a little fearful cry from the shrine; then came Amadeo's voice, saying,

"Fear not; for now neither ladies nor robbers, no, nor this painter, can touch you, for my arm is about you."

And, as he said this, Amadeo came forth from the chapel with his arm about Jacinta's waist. And he beheld with astonishment the throng that stood there; but the Prince ran forward and caught him by the arm, asking merrily,

"Are these your devotions, Amadeo? Of a truth, I perceive why you would not share them with us." But Amadeo took Jacinta by the hand and drew her forward in a very courtly manner, and, bowing low, said to the Prince

"Sir, with your leave, I would make this lady my wife. And if you desire to know who she is, ask the Lady Beatrice, who is of her Highness' train."

Then the Prince turned to Beatrice and bade her speak, and in sore fear and terror she told all that she knew of Jacinta, save that she did not tell how she and her fellows had beaten her. And Amadeo told how Jacinta had preserved him from peril in the robbers' hovel, and how he had conceived that her face was the face of a Saint from Heaven.

"Of a truth, I do not marvel at your error," said the Prince, and he bent and kissed Jacinta's hand, and led her to the Princess, who received her very graciously and said to her:

"Ask what favour you will of me, and it is yours." Jacinta looked round on Beatrice and the others of the Princess's ladies, and said:

"Madame, I pray you to forgive your ladies the trick they played on my Lord Amadeo in the chapel of Mantivoglia, for from it has come to me joy greater than any suffering I had at their hands." And when Beatrice and the rest heard her they ran to her and embraced her, for they had been very sore afraid what would befall them when the truth became known to the Princess.

"And what of the shrine, Amadeo?" asked the Prince, laughing.

"It will be the richer, Sir," the Count answered, "by a jewel more precious than any I had before,"

And all applauded him, and they returned to the banqueting hall there to spend the night in revel; and the next day Amadeo was wedded to Jacinta in the shrine that he had built to Saint Emilia, "For," said he, "since I have had this trouble to find her, I will take good heed not to lose her again."

Now this story was told by the Princess of Mantivoglia, son's wife to that Prince Vittorio in whose time the thing fell out, as she sat with her ladies in the gardens after dinner that they might know the history of the Shrine of Saint Emilia at Castivano, and of the famous picture of Giacomo's that hangs there to this day. And if there be anything else that may be learnt from the story, it would seem to be that, so a face be pretty enough, it hath much the same power, whencesoever it may come and whether it belong to a Saint in Heaven, or to a waiting-maid.