actual proof, I fear we have but little chance
of restoring him. So far as I am concerned,
I confess myself at the end of my resources."

"I hope we are not quite conquered yet,"
returned the doctor. " The proofs we want
may turn up when we least expect them. It
is certainly a miserable case," he continued,
mechanically laying his fingers on the sleeping
man's pulse. "There he lies, wanting
nothing now but to recover the natural
elasticity of his mind; and here we stand at his
bedside, unable to relieve him of the weight
that is pressing his faculties down. I repeat
it, Signer Andrea, nothing will rouse him
from his delusion that he is the victim of a
supernatural interposition, but the production
of some startling, practical proof of his error.
At present, he is in the position of a man
who has been imprisoned from his birth in a
dark room, and who denies the existence of
daylight. If we cannot open the shutters,
and show him the sky outside, we shall never
convert him to a knowledge of the truth."

Saying these words, the doctor turned to
lead the way out of the room, and observed
Nanina, who had moved from the bedside on
his entrance, standing near the door. He
stopped to look at her, shook his head good-
humouredly, and called to Marta, who
happened to be occupied in an adjoining room.

"Signora Marta," said the doctor, " I think
you told me, some time ago, that your pretty
and careful little assistant lives in your house.
Pray does she take much walking exercise ? "

"Very little, Signor Dottore. She goes
home to her sister when she leaves the palace.
Very little walking exercise indeed."

"I thought so! Her pale cheeks and
heavy eyes told me as much. Now, my dear,"
said the doctor, addressing Nanina, " you are
a very good girl, and I am sure you will
attend to what I tell you. Go out every
morning before you come here, and take a
walk in the fresh air. You are too young
not to suffer by being shut up in close rooms
every day, unless you get some regular exercise.
Take a good long walk in the morning,
or you will fall into my hands as a patient,
and be quite unfit to continue your attendance
here. — Now, Signor Andrea, I am ready
for you. — Mind, my child, a walk every day
in the open air, outside the town, or you will
fall ill, take my word for it!"

Nanina promised compliance; but she spoke
rather absently, and seemed scarcely conscious
of the kind familiarity which marked the
doctor's manner. The truth was, that all her
thoughts were occupied with what he had
been saying by Fabio's bedside. She had
not lost one word of the conversation while
the doctor was talking of his patient, and
of the conditions on which his recovery
depended. "Oh, if that proof which would
cure him, could only be found! " she thought
to herself, as she stole back anxiously to the
bedside when the room was empty.

On getting home that day, she found a
letter waiting for her, and was greatly
surprised to see that it was written by no less a
person than the master-sculptor, Luca Lomi.
It was very short; simply informing her that
he had just returned to Pisa; and that he
was anxious to know when she could sit to
him for a new bust, — a commission from a
rich foreigner at Naples.

Nanina debated with herself for a moment
whether she should answer the letter in the
hardest way, to her, by writing, or, in the
easiest way, in person; and decided on going
to the studio and telling the master-sculptor
that it would be impossible for her to serve
him as a model, at least for some time to
come. It would have taken her a long hour
to say this with due propriety on paper; it
would only take her a few minutes to say it
with her own lips — so she put on her
mantilla again, and departed for the studio.

On arriving at the gate and ringing the
bell, a thought suddenly occurred to her,
which she wondered had not struck her
before. Was it not possible that she might
meet Father Rocco in his brother's
workroom? It was too late to retreat now, but
not too late to ask, before she entered, if the
priest was in the studio. Accordingly, when
one of the workmen opened the door to her,
she enquired first, very confusedly and
anxiously, for Father Rocco. Hearing that
he was not with his brother then, she went
tranquilly enough to make her apologies to
the master-sculptor.

She did not think it necessary to tell
him more than that she was now occupied
every day by nursing duties in a sick-room,
and that it was consequently out of her power
to attend at the studio. Luca Lomi expressed,
and evidently felt, great disappointment at
her failing him, as a model, and tried hard to
persuade her that she might find time enough,
if she chose, to sit to him, as well as to nurse
the sick person. The more she resisted his
arguments and entreaties, the more
obstinately he reiterated them. He was dusting
his favourite busts and statues after his long
absence, with a feather-brush when she came
in; and he continued this occupation all the
while he was talking — urging a fresh plea to
induce Nanina to reconsider her refusal to sit,
at every fresh piece of sculpture he came to;
and always receiving the same resolute
apology from her, as she slowly followed him
down the studio towards the door.

Arriving thus at the lower end of the
room, Luca stopped with a fresh argument
on his lips before his statue of Minerva. He
had dusted it already, but he lovingly
returned to dust it again. It was his favourite
work — the only good likeness (although it
did assume to represent a classical subject) of
his dead daughter that he possessed. He
had refused to part with it for Maddalena's
sake; and, as he now approached it with
his brush for the second time, he absently
ceased speaking, and mounted on a stool to