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Updated: May 13, 2025
This was more than the lambkin could understand or bear, and he fled, hiding from her in the tall fern of a thicket in a corner of the field. The days were drifting by too fast. Already the Contessa Accolanti had been away three weeks, and her letters held out no hope of an immediate return.
"There are stories I have heard the Signorina sees these ilex trees? Over yonder was a great one in my father's day, and the old Count Accolanti would have it cut. He came to watch it as it fell, and the tree tumbled the wrong way and struck him so that he half lost his wits. There are who say that the tree god was angry.
The stranger rose, with no sign of being startled, and removed his hat. Then Daphne sighed a great sigh of relief, feeling that she was safe. "Rome," he answered, in a voice both strong and sweet, "Rome has perished, and Athens too." "Oh" said the girl. "You speak English. If you are not a stranger here, perhaps you can tell me where the Villa Accolanti is."
"I wonder if the Madonna threw my roses away," she thought, coming back with slow feet to the arbor, and realizing for the first time since she had reached the Villa Accolanti that she was alone, and very far away from home. San Pietro and Bertuccio were waiting at the doorway, both blinking sleepily in the morning air.
Below the yellow walls of the Villa Accolanti, standing in a wide garden with encompassing poplars and cypresses, sketched great grassy slopes and gray-green olive orchards. The water from the stream, gathered in a stone basin at the foot of the hill, flowed in a marble conduit through the open hall. As she looked she was aware of two old brown faces anxiously gazing after her.
"I have reason to think that the Countess Accolanti will not be displeased," he answered. There was a queer little look about his mouth, but Daphne asked for no explanation. "There is your father," he suggested. "Oh!" said Daphne. "He will love you at once. His tastes and mine are very much alike." The lover-god smiled, quite satisfied.
You never saw such beauty of sky and grass and trees. These cypresses and poplars seem to have been standing against the blue sky from all eternity; time is annihilated, and the gods of Greece and Rome are wandering about the hills. Anna has gone away. Her father-in-law is very ill, and naturally Count Accolanti is gone too. Even the cook has departed, because of a family crisis of his own.
The rapid Italian of excited moments Daphne never pretended to understand, consequently she gathered from Assunta's incoherent words neither names nor impressions, only the bare fact that a caller for the Countess Accolanti had rung the bell. "He inquired, too, for the Signorina," remarked the peasant woman finally, when her breath had nearly given out. "Do you know him?" asked Daphne.
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