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with him? Ah, she feared she could answer that last question only too easily. She sighed. Why does he love like that?" she muttered to herself. "It is very foolish; other men never do so. As for my poor dear de Chagny, I suppose he does not even know what love means.”

"She turned round, with a half smile, to look at poor dear de Chagny, who was stretched, sound asleep, at her side—and that was the last thing she remembered doing till she found herself lying down in the carriage, her maid rubbing her hands and her husband looking anxiously into her face. She jumped up immediately into a sitting posture, and rubbed her eyes. They were driving at a rapid pace down the road leading to Amalfi.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "I am quite well. Did I faint?"

"No," replied her husband, who looked a little pale and disturbed, "not exactly; but we have had an adventure. Perhaps I had better not tell you till we get in."

"No, no; tell me now. I never felt better in my life."

"Well then," said the Count, "some of your amiable countrymen have been robbing us. I woke up to find the carriage stopped, and you lying back insensible, your face covered by a handkerchief which I afterwards found to be soaked with chloroform. Half a dozen scoundrels were standing round the maid, whom they were about serving in the same manner, and the coachman was on his knees in the road, saying his prayers. I understand that such is the custom of the country." "Good Heavens!" exclaimed Annunziata, clasping her hands, "they were banditti!"

"Banditti, my dear, of the purest type. Costumes of the old stylelong cloaks, leather thongs round their legs, and steeple-crowned hats. Nothing could have been better put on the stage; but their manners left much to be desired. They gave me to understand that I was to be carried off to the mountains and kept till I was ransomed; and, ma foi ! I was preparing myself to go-being unarmed and powerless-when a great, strapping fellow of six foot three interfered on my behalf, and after a fierce wrangle with his companions, which I had some hope might end in their all stabbing one another, motioned me to get into the carriage again. They then kicked the coachman, and we resumed our journey. But they have carried off every article of luggage we possess. I stand before you the owner of not so much as a toothbrush. Admit that the position is comical!"

"My diamonds!" exclaimed Annunziata, in a voice of poignant anguish—and I am sure every lady will sympathise with her in her bereavement.

"The very first thing they took, my dear," said the Count calmly. "Annoying-but inevitable. Perhaps diamonds are not exactly the thing to travel with in your charming country. This, I suppose, is Amalfi. Well, one comfort is that we cannot well be robbed again on

our return journey! I wonder whether the landlord here can provide me with a nightshirt and a bit of soap."

Leaving her husband to make investigations on this subject, Annunziata, as soon as she arrived at the inn, went up to her room to have a good cry over the fate of her jewels; for, rich as she was, the loss was a heavy one, and she knew enough of her native land to be aware of the extreme improbability of her ever recovering her property.

After she had bewailed herself for some time, she began to undress, and as she did so, a scrap of folded paper fell out of the front of her dress. She picked it up, and found that it contained these words, hastily scrawled in pencil : "If you want your diamonds, and have the courage to come for them, be at Ravello alone to-morrow evening, just after sunset!" Evidently this note must have been thrust into her dress by one of the brigands while she was insensible.

Annunziata never hesitated about keeping the appointment, not supposing that any harm could be intended to her, and being aware that she must be tolerably safe in Ravello, a moderately sized village, before nightfall. Nevertheless she thought it might be wiser not to let her husband know of this strange communication. He would either forbid her to go, or would insist upon accompanying her; and the paper expressly said that she was to go alone.

On the following day she accordingly feigned to be too ill and upset by the events of the previous evening to undertake a fresh journey for the next twenty-four hours.

"As you will, my dear," said M. de Chagny resignedly; "I only beg you to remember that I am shirtless, brushless, razorless, and cigarless, and that the food in this enchanting spot, with the exception of the maccaroni, is of the most execrable."

"We will leave as early as you like to-morrow morning," said Annunziata; and her husband sauntered off to stretch himself full length upon the beach-to see but not to admire the lovely view-to throw stones into the sea and long for the slow hours to pass.

Towards evening Annunziata left her room, locking the door behind her and hoping the Count would imagine it to be fastened on the inside, and slipped out of the house unobserved.

Ravello stands on the heights above Amalfi, and the footpath that leads to it lies through a rocky, wooded ravine, lonely enough, but not alarming to a courageous lady in quest of her diamonds in broad daylight. Annunziata climbed the hill with her light, elastic step, determined to reach the rendezvous before sunset. She was already within a short distance of the village when she became aware of a man wrapped in a long cloak, who was sitting on a rock by the wayside with his back turned towards her. She was tripping quickly past him; but he rose, placed himself full in her path, and removed his hat.

"Luigi!" she exclaimed, starting back.

"Here are your diamonds!" said he; and he held out the morocco

case which contained those jewels, as he spoke. Annunziata grasped it involuntarily, but almost immediately let it fall to the ground.

"Oh, Luigi!" she exclaimed, "what has made you do this?"

"It is scarcely you, Signora Contessa, who should put that question to me," he replied quietly.

"Oh, what a miserable woman I am!" she burst out, throwing herself down on the bank and beginning to cry bitterly. "I meant to do what was best-I did indeed! How could I know you would take things so to heart? I told you I could promise nothing-you must remember that. Oh, why should you have cared for me so much! There are so many others whom you might have married, and who would have made you far happier than I could. I meant to do what was kindest and this is how it has ended!" And the tears poured down

her cheeks.

Luigi looked at her sadly and calmly, and with just a faint touch of contempt, she thought.

"I have thought over that, and over many things lately," he said; "and I do not blame you. You intended to be kind-only you did not understand. I suppose you could not understand. I was in a hell of despair for a long time; but that is all over now, and I see that you are right, and that we never could have been happy together. Our robbing you was an accident. I had no notion that you were in these parts, or I might have prevented it. As it is, I have been able to restore you your diamonds under pretence of going down to Naples to dispose of them; but the rest of your property I am afraid you will have to lose. And now, Signora, I must bid you good-bye."

“Oh, no, Luigi—not like this! Can I do nothing for you? Can I not save you from this dreadful life? See-here are my diamonds; take them they are worth a great deal of money-enough to enable you to begin again in some other part of the country, and live honestly and happily."

Luigi shook his head with a smile. "I am greatly obliged to you, Signora," he said, "but I am in no need of money; and as for 'this dreadful life,' I mean to abandon it to-morrow. Do you love your hus

band?"

"Of course," replied she, a little confused by this abrupt change of topic.

"I thought he looked a little old for you; but he seemed a goodnatured fellow. Now you must go; it is getting too dark for you to be out alone. Good-bye, Annunziata-God bless you! Don't think of me

any more."

"But Luigi," she pleaded through her tears, "you will let me hear from you?"

"No, Signora; it will be better not. You understand that I must conceal myself for some time to come."

He turned to go, but suddenly faced about again, took her in his

arms, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then without another word, he walked quickly away up the hill.

Annunziata watched his tall figure striding away in the twilight till he was out of sight; and then she picked up her diamonds, and ran back to Amalfi. Luigi had not told her that escape from the mountains for so well-known a criminal as he had become was almost an impossibility, nor had he mentioned that his comrades, on his return to them without diamonds or money, would most assuredly put him to death as a traitor. But he was himself well aware of both facts, and was glad that it should be so-the world having now no attraction left in it strong enough to make him wish for life. His body was found, stabbed to the heart, in a wood near Ravello, a few days later; by which time the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny had, fortunately, left that part of the country.

The discovery of a murdered man more or less is not, or was not at any rate in those days, so unusual an incident in the neighbourhood of Amalfi as to create much stir beyond the immediate vicinity; and it was long before Annunziata became aware that when she had parted from her former lover on the hill-side, he had left her only to go to his death. M. de Chagny still relates the story of his adventure with the brigands of Amalfi, and the romantic generosity with which one of these rascals, dazzled by the beauty of the celebrated Vannini, made an appointment with her for the purpose of restoring her her diamonds. "It was a veritable Claude Duval affair," says the Count, "and is one of the most amusing reminiscences of our delightful Italian journey; but we have not been back there since; and as for my wife, she seems to have taken the country in horror."

208

Shakspeare's Greek Names.

THE critics of the last century found a curious pleasure in proving that Shakspeare was a dunce. It could not be denied that there was something in him; but there was a general reluctance to allow that he knew anything of books. That he could write was demonstrable, and that he could read was beyond doubting; but not much more was allowed him in the way of accomplishments. Persons who were not themselves acquainted with Italian, as was amply proved by the blunders they committed in discussing the matter, easily convinced themselves and their disciples that Shakspeare was quite innocent of that language. And so with regard to French, it was thought absurd to believe that he had any knowledge of French; though to be sure there is in several of his plays an appearance of some knowledge of it. Of all symptoms of such a knowledge it was not difficult to dispose by the theory that he had a friend who had enjoyed superior advantages, and could readily inform him what was the equiva lent for "finger" and "hand" and so forth. As to Latin, the University men rather resented the notion that he could read his Ovid in the original. Shakspeare might have studied and interpreted nature with remarkable success; but art and the great works of art were out of his line. Certainly there were endless signs in his writings that their author was possessed of some Latinity: but what arguments are considerable when the case is prejudged To entertain for a moment the idea that he was in the slightest possible degree a Greek scholar would have been held the mere wildness of phantasy. It was even maintained that his knowledge of his native tongue was unsound and blundering. In all these respects the views of Shakspearian criticism have materially changed. An unbiassed inspection of the facts has produced a tendency to believe that Shakspeare was not after all such an utter ignoramus. Scholars of note have found reasons for concluding that he had some acquaintance with both Italian and French, and that Ben Jonson's famous line

And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek

is entirely decisive evidence that his attainments in what are specially called the classical tongues were of an appreciable amount, considering how high was the learned Ben's standard, and what therefore his "small" would represent. As to English, it has been made now fairly clear that if Shakspeare knew nothing of that tongue, the whole Elizabethan age was in a like condition; as what were noted as the signs of his ignorance are found to be not peculiarities of Shakspeare's style, but common characteristics of our language in the Tudor times.

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