delicate and exquisite creation which had so
struck Clorinda on the canvas, and in the
garret of Venice. The eye of the artist was
delighted, the heart of the man was filled with
emotion. He spoke to her: she answered
timidly but sweetly. He forgot his intended
question; he alluded to the beautiful country,
to the delight of dwelling in such a land, to
the pleasures of her calm and placid existence;
he asked if he could obtain a room in that
neighbourhood in which to reside while he
took a series of sketches. The girl listened
with attention and interest for nearly half an
hour, during which time he was using his
pencil. She then replied that her father
would gladly offer him a shelter in their
small house, if he could be satisfied with very
humble lodging and very humble fare. The
young man accepted with many thanks, and
then showed her his sketch-book.

"Holy Virgin!" she cried, as she recognised
herself.

"You are pleased," said the artist, smiling.

"Oh! it's beautiful; how can you do that
with a pencil? Come quick, and show it to
father!"

The young man followed her, as she slowly
drove her sheep along, and soon found
himself within sight of a small house with a
garden, which she announced as her father's.
She had the drawing in her hand, looking at
it with delight. Unable to restrain her feelings,
she ran forward, and entering the house,
disappeared. Zustana—of course it was he—
laughed as he picked up the crook of the
impetuous young shepherdess, and, aided by
the faithful dog, began driving home the
patient animals. In ten minutes Eleanora
reappeared, accompanied by her father, her
brother and sister: regular Sicilian peasants,
without one atom of resemblance to this
extraordinary pearl concealed from human eye
in the beautiful valley of Arnola. They were
all, however, struck by the portrait, and
received the artist with rude hospitality.

He took up his residence with them; he
sought to please, and he succeeded. After a
very few days he became the constant
companion of Eleanora. They went out together,
he to paint, she to look after her sheep, both
to talk. Paolo found her totally uneducated,
ignorant of everything, unable to read or
write, and narrow-minded, as all such natures
must be. But, there was a foundation of
sweetness, and a quickness of intellect, which
demonstrated that circumstances alone had
made her what she was, and Paolo loved her.

He had been a fortnight at Arnola, and
he had made up his mind. One beautiful
morning, soon after they had taken up their
usual position, he spoke.

"Eleanora, I love you, with a love that is of
my life. I adore, I worship you; you are the
artist's ideal of loveliness; your soul only
wants culture to be as lovely as your body.
Will you be my wife? Will you make my
home your home, my country your country,
my life your life? I am an artist; I battle
for my bread, but I am already gaining riches.
Speak! Will you be mine?"

"I will," replied the young girl, who had
no conception of hiding her feelings of pride
and joy.

"But you do not know me. I am jealous and
suspicious, I am proud and sensitive. You
are beautiful, you are lovely; others will
dispute you with me. I would slay the
Pope if he sought you; I would kill the
Emperor if he offered you a gift. You are a
simple peasant girl; those around me might
smile at your want of town knowledge; might
jeer at you for not having the accomplishments
and vices of the town ladies: I should challenge
the first who smiled or jeered. You must
then, if you can be mine, and will make me
happy, live apart from men, for me alone; you
must know of no existence but mine; you must
abandon all society, all converse with your
fellow creatures. I must be your world, your
life, your whole being."

"I will be what pleases you best," said the
young girl gently.

"The picture does not alarm you?"

"Will you always love me?" she asked
timidly.

"While I live, my art, my idol, my goddess!
Eleanora, while I breathe."

"Do with me as you will," replied the
young girl.

A month later they were married, her
parents being proud indeed of the elevated
position to which their daughter attained.
They went in the autumn to Rome, where
Paolo had prepared for his mysterious existence
by means of his faithful and attached nurse.
He devoted to her, every moment not directed
to his art, and at once began her education
systematically. He found an apt and earnest
scholar, and at the time of which I speak,
Eleanora was possessed of all the mental
advantages to be derived from constant
intercourse with a man of genius.

But Paolo Zustana, out of his home, was a
changed and unhappy man; he lived in
constant dread of his treasure being discovered;
he saw with secret impatience, the many
defects which still existed in his beloved idol;
he felt the restraint of confining her always
within a suite of rooms; he longed to give her
air and space; but he dreaded her being
seen by powerful and unscrupulous men;
he dreaded ridicule for her peasant origin
and imperfect education. Hence the defects
in his character.

It was on the afternoon of the next day, and
Zustana, who had been giving some finishing
touches to the Psyche, was absorbed in its
contemplation. He held the brush in his
hand, and stood back a little way, examining
it with attention.

"It is beautiful! The Countess Clorinda
was right," he exclaimed.