99

The Last Day of Carnival.

BY MRS. COMYNS CARR.

Ir was fine. Even so early as the first streak of dawn when Rosina, remembering that it was a holiday, rose and dressed herself quickly that she might milk the cow betimes, the sky was clear and it was evident that the sun would shine. That was a comfort, for a holiday with a Tramontana wind blowing petticoats against the heels and dust in the face, or with a drizzling rain that robbed the white veil of its crispness, was but poor fun; and so Rosina was pleased.

She was a native of the Mediterranean Riviera, and, when she was dressed in her best, she wore the white scarf of the country about head and shoulders. The thatched cottage that was her home stood, not more than eight miles from the town, along the eastern coast. It stood back from the dusty carriage road and the aloes that fringe its wall, and away from the shore a bit; but when Rosina's father went to gather in the olive harvest, he went round to the front of the promontory again where stone pines stood along the cliff's edge. So it was not far back, within sight of the sea. Chestnut woods stretched away inland behind the cottage, with mossy banks beneath them. A little fountain trickled beside it, a vine shaded its porch, a large fig-tree stood alongside, and on the deep window-ledges carnations and sweet marjoram grew side by side in boxes. Rosina was a lace-weaver. Her mother had been so before her, and still used the pillow for coarser patterns. The family had quite a name at the town shops for their good work. Rosina made a nice penny by it. When she had milked the cow in the early morning she sat at her pillow till dusk, for the mother saw to the house and dished up the dinner.

Rosina was betrothed. Her lover had been taken for the conscription, and was serving his time. It was rather hard, for he had been thus forced to neglect his work, and had not been able to lay by any money against his marriage. But Rosina was a thrifty girl, she had put aside a creditable sum every year, and was working very busily at the lace to make it even a larger one this season. Her parents were poor folk and could not afford to give her a dowry, and she was anxious to save enough to furnish a cottage with when she and Carlo should be wed. She would not have liked to come to her husband portionless; and besides, if he

were to wait until he had made money enough after he came home, the wedding would be a long way off! His time was nearly up, and if she could but make up the sum this year they could be married when the cherries were ripe. So Rosina was sparing of her earnings, and bought little gold and few new dresses. She was a pretty girl, but she was of a quiet nature. To-day, however, she was going to give herself a holiday, and Giovanni, the farmer from Ruta, was coming to take her to town to see the Carnival.

Even before his appointed time, at five minutes to ten by the Campanile clock, Giovanni came, true to his word. He was not a handsome man, though a sturdy. He was short of stature, and his face was dark and seamed; one could see he must be nearer forty than thirty years; he was somewhat taciturn, too, and was not a favourite with the girls of the neighbourhood, even though he was possessed of a profitable amount of land on the bend of the hill, and though his olives stood well facing the sea and ripened satisfactorily. Nevertheless he was a kind man and he had a kind face. When he looked at Rosina it was a very kind face, for he was fond of Rosina. She was a sensible girl; he had noticed with admiration that she could lay by her money, and that she was above following French fashions that are not made for workaday folk-as the foolish damsels of the village did. He would dearly have loved to marry the little lace-maker, but, alas, she was betrothed! And even the whispered suggestions made to him by old Nicoletta, who thought him a better match for her daughter than the conscript, could not induce him to tempt the girl's constancy, for Giovanni was an honourable man and Carlo Forte was his friend.

But, even though she knew this, old Nicoletta could not sometimes refrain from singing the praises of the more prosperous swain as if in hopes of a turn of the tide. She sang them now as she sat watching Rosina put the last gold filigree pins into her brown plaits and adjust the last folds of her clean muslin veil, before the fragment of mirror in her attic chamber. From the little casement window the old woman could see Giovanni d'Urla elimbing the stony path towards the cottage. He came up beneath the olive-trees and between the early springing asparagus crops in his holiday clothes; the sea lay away dimly behind him at the hill's foot.

And thou mayest be proud to go to town with such a man,' exclaimed the mother, watching him. How well he wears his clothes! And how he carries the assurance of his possessions upon him!'

'A man must not needs be best because he is rich,' murmured