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The jovial priest laughed, nodding sagely with his head.

“Gentinetta hath his sacraments on Tuesday, and his addresses to his folk have been full of pleasant warnings. It will be a good time with us.”

“And when comes your turn?” cried Henry, who was much interested by this recital.

“There cometh at the end of the barley harvest, by the grace of God, a fat time of sickness, when many dues are paid; and when the addresses from the altar of this Church of Sant Philip are worth the hearing.”

The old priest moved the glass of good wine at his elbow, the fellow of the Montepulciano he had set at ours.

“A bad town this Spellino,” he muttered; “but I, Father Philip, thank the saints–and Gentinetta, he thanks his mother, for the wit which makes it possible for poor servants of God to live.”

The old servant thrust her head within.

“Tonino Scala is very sick,” she said, “and calleth for thee!”

The priest nodded, rose from his seat, and took down a thick leather-bound book.

“Lire thirty-six,” he said–“it is well. It begins to be my time. This week Gentinetta and his younglings shall have chicken-broth.”

So with heartiest goodwill we bade our kind Father Philip adieu, and fared forth upon our way.

CHAPTER V

THE COUNTESS CASTEL DEL MONTE

After leaving Spellino we went downhill. There was a plain beneath, but up on the hillside only the sheep were feeding contentedly, all with their broad-tailed sterns turned to us. The sun was shining on the white diamond-shaped causeway stones which led across a marshy place. We came again to the foot of the hill. It had indeed been no more than a dividing ridge, which we had crossed over by Spellino.

We saw the riband of the road unwind before us. One turn swerved out of sight, and one alone. But round this curve, out of the unseen, there came toward us the trampling of horses. A carriage dashed forward, the coachman’s box empty, the reins flying wide among the horses’ feet. There was but little time for thought; yet as they passed I caught at their heads, for I was used to horses. Then I hung well back, allowing myself to be jerked forward in great leaps, yet never quite loosing my hold. It was but a chance, yet a better one than it looked.

At the turn of the road towards Spellino I managed to set their heads to the hill, and the steep ascent soon brought the stretching gallop of the horses to a stand-still.

It seemed a necessary thing that there should be a lady inside. I should have been content with any kind of lady, but this one was both fair and young, though neither discomposed nor terrified, as in such cases is the custom.

“I trust Madame is not disarranged,” I said in my poor French, as I went from the horses’ heads to the carriage and assisted the lady to alight.

“It serves me right for bringing English horses here without a coachman to match,” she said in excellent English. “Such international misalliances do not succeed. Italian horses would not have startled at an old beggar in a red coat, and an English coachman would not have thrown down the reins and jumped into the ditch. Ah, here we have our Beppo”–she turned to a flying figure, which came labouring up hill. To him the lady gave the charge of the panting horses, to me her hand.

“I must trouble you for your safe-conduct to the hotel,” she said. Now, though her words were English, her manner of speech was not.

By this time Henry had come up, and him I had to present, which was like to prove a difficulty to me, who did not yet know the name of the lady. But she, seeing my embarrassment, took pity on me, saying–

“I am the Countess Castel del Monte,” looking at me out of eyes so broadly dark, that they seemed in certain lights violet, like the deeps of the wine-hearted Greek sea.