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some one, and not merely replying to given questions. It thus came to light that Archangelo was the unhappy sufferer from temporary attacks of insanity, but that his wife succeeded in hiding it from the neighbors; and on the day of his assault of Don Agostino he had drank, and drank, and drank! She did not know where he bought the wine, nor where he got the money for it, no more than he could recollect it now; but she persistently declared that he drank, out of despair, and that no one but herself knew it . . . She had told all.

She was questioned no further, and was allowed to retire to the witnesses' room. As she passed the benches where the jury sat, a low voice coming from that direction said: "That woman testified falsely."

Phenicia felt as if she had been struck. She looked up. All eyes were fixed upon her, and in every face she could read the words, "testified falsely!"

But at the same time she saw deep sympathy there. They had guessed her extremity, her great sacrifice.

They pitied her! But would God pity her?

Her strength failed her. She fell into a swoon so deep that it lasted an hour. In the meantime, Archangelo's fate had been decided, and he was now a free man. Both the jury and the people were roused to indignation against Don Agostino on account of his heartless treatment of the poor family: and the state's attorney called forth a general feeling of resentment, by daring to apply the epithet of villain to the poor, heart-broken, and repentant Archangelo. His attorney, an eloquent young lawyer, scored a signal victory, as in burning words he depicted the sufferings of the stricken family, forsaken both by God and man, and hiding their misfortune within the shadows of the ruined old palace of Corvejo. . . . He pictured the condition of the poor little orphans dying of hunger, whom Archangelo so magnanimously had taken as his own: the agony of the old mother, half crazed with want and despair: the energy of the young wife pursued by so dark a fate! . . . The vision of pale Phenicia with those large eyes, that calm voice,

with her unbounded self denial, that did not hesitate to offer even her soul as a sacrifice to duty and love—that vision was before their eyes. That blessed lie of hers, so evident and yet so touching, saved Archangelo. He was pronounced "Not guilty!" and the whole hall broke forth in shouts and acclamations of joy.

Good times now came to the palace of Corvejo. All Taormin rejoiced to see Archangelo return well and freed from all prosecution; all Taormin applauded, like the people of Messina; and good old Nunziata, under her fig tree, danced with joy as well as her stiff old legs would allow.

Don Agostino resigned his office. He had the whole community against him, and did not wish to see the day, now so near at hand, when he would be obliged to pay Archangelo the money in dispute, those accursed 350 liras.

It now seemed to Archangelo that the whole of that wide expanse of country that any one, standing at the Catania gate and facing Ætna, could see was his own.

Don Agostino went to Riporta, where he had a brother; and, having an opportunity to buy a vineyard there, he never returned to Taormin. Marie and her husband, the lame tailor, also soon disappeared from the town; but Marie first laid away her infant to sleep under the cypress in that quiet graveyard that dreams above the sea, and into whose bosom white Mola gazes from her rocky height. Marie's tears flowed like the water from the cistern on the piazza of the cathedral; and old Nunziata, sitting upon the judgment seat, under the fig tree, like Deborah of old, sitting under the palm tree arid judging Israel, nodded her head; and in her simple, hard vengeance-invoking sense of justice, said: "Still lives that old God who punishes unto the third and fourth generation!" And she waved her distaff as a queen her royal scepter.

Nevertheless, there was not so much happiness in the palace of Corvejo as had at first appeared. True, Venera held her head higher than ever before, and prosperity smiled upon them to such an extent that