The Italian | Page 3

lady, who leaned upon her arm, and who appeared to be her
mother.
Vivaldi immediately followed their steps, determined to obtain, if
possible, a view of Ellena's face, and to discover the home to which she

should retire. They walked quickly, looking neither to the right or left,
and as they turned into the Strada di Toledo he had nearly lost them;
but quickening his pace, and relinquishing the cautious distance he had
hitherto kept, he overtook them as they entered on the Terrazzo Nuovo,
which runs along the bay of Naples, and leads towards the Gran Corso.
He overtook them; but the fair unknown still held her veil close, and he
knew not how to introduce himself to her notice, or to obtain a view of
the features, which excited his curiosity. He was embarrassed by a
respectful timidity, that mingled with his admiration, and which kept
him silent, notwithstanding his wish to speak.
In descending the last steps of the Terrazzo, however, the foot of the
elder lady faltered, and, while Vivaldi hastened to assist her, the breeze
from the water caught the veil, which Ellena had no longer a hand
sufficiently disengaged to confine, and, wafting it partially aside,
disclosed to him a countenance more touchingly beautiful than he had
dared to image. Her features were of the Grecian outline, and, though
they expressed the tranquillity of an elegant mind, her dark blue eyes
sparkled with intelligence. She was assisting her companion so
anxiously, that she did not immediately observe the admiration she had
inspired; but the moment her eyes met those of Vivaldi, she became
conscious of their effect, and she hastily drew her veil.
The old lady was not materially hurt by her fall, but, as she walked
difficultly, Vivaldi seized the opportunity thus offered, and insisted that
she should accept his arm. She refused this with many
acknowledgments; but he pressed the offer so repeatedly and
respectfully, that, at length, she accepted it, and they walked towards
her residence together.
On the way thither, he attempted to converse with Ellena, but her
replies were concise, and he arrived at the end of the walk while he was
yet considering what he could say, that might interest and withdraw her
from this severe reserve. From the style of their residence, he imagined
that they were persons of honourable, but moderate independence. The
house was small, but exhibited an air of comfort, and even of taste. It
stood on an eminence, surrounded by a garden and vineyards, which

commanded the city and bay of Naples, an ever-moving picture, and
was canopied by a thick grove of pines and majestic date-trees; and,
though the little portico and collonade in front were of common marble,
the style of architecture was elegant. While they afforded a shelter from
the sun, they admitted the cooling breezes that rose from the bay below,
and a prospect of the whole scope of its enchanting shores.
Vivaldi stopped at the little gate, which led into the garden, where the
elder lady repeated her acknowledgments for his care, but did not invite
him to enter; and he, trembling with anxiety and sinking with
disappointment, remained for a moment gazing upon Ellena, unable to
take leave, yet irresolute what to say that might prolong the interview,
till the old lady again bade him good-day. He then summoned courage
enough to request he might be allowed to enquire after her health, and,
having obtained her permission, his eyes bade adieu to Ellena, who, as
they were parting, ventured to thank him for the care he had taken of
her aunt. The sound of her voice, and this acknowledgment of
obligation, made him less willing to go than before, but at length he
tore himself away. The beauty of her countenance haunting his
imagination, and the touching accents of her voice still vibrating on his
heart, he descended to the shore below her residence, pleasing himself
with the consciousness of being near her, though he could no longer
behold her; and sometimes hoping that he might again see her, however
distantly, in a balcony of the house, where the silk awning seemed to
invite the breeze from the sea. He lingered hour after hour, stretched
beneath the umbrageous pines that waved over the shore, or traversing,
regardless of the heat, the base of the cliffs that crowned it; recalling to
his fancy the enchantment of her smile, and seeming still to listen to the
sweetness of her accents.
In the evening he returned to his father's palace at Naples, thoughtful
yet pleased, anxious yet happy; dwelling with delightful hope on the
remembrance of the thanks he had received from Ellena, yet not daring
to form any plan as to his future conduct. He returned time enough to
attend his