"What a beautiful house!" he cried, looking curiously around.

He saw such a dwelling as one may see in any part of Sicily where the

inhabitants are not sunk in the direst poverty and squalor, a modest home

consisting of two fair-sized rooms, one opening into the other. In each

room was a mighty bed, high and white, with fat pillows, and a

counterpane of many colors. At the head of each was pinned a crucifix and

a little picture of the Virgin, Maria Addolorata, with a palm branch that

had been blessed, and beneath the picture in the inner room a tiny light,

rather like an English night-light near its end, was burning. It was this

that Delarey had seen like a spark in the distance. At the foot of each

bed stood a big box of walnut wood, carved into arabesques and grotesque

faces. There were a few straw chairs and kitchen utensils. An old gun

stood in a corner with a bundle of wood. Not far off was a pan of

charcoal. There were also two or three common deal-tables, on one of

which stood the remains of a meal, a big jar containing wine, a flat loaf

of coarse brown bread, with a knife lying beside it, some green stuff in

a plate, and a slab of hard, yellow cheese.

Delarey was less interested in these things than in the display of

photographs, picture-cards, and figures of saints that adorned the

walls, carefully arranged in patterns to show to the best advantage. Here

were colored reproductions of actresses in languid attitudes, of peasants

dancing, of babies smiling, of elaborate young people with carefully

dressed hair making love with "Molti Saluti!" "Una stretta di Mano!"

"Mando un bacio!" "Amicizia eterna!" and other expressions of friendship

and affection, scribbled in awkward handwritings across and around them.

And mingled with them were representations of saints, such as are sold at

the fairs and festivals of Sicily, and are reverently treasured by the

pious and superstitious contadine; San Pancrazio, Santa Leocanda, the

protector of child-bearing women; Sant Aloe, the patron saint of the

beasts of burden; San Biagio, Santo Vito, the patron saint of dogs; and

many others, with the Bambino, the Immacolata, the Madonna di Loreto, the

Madonna della Rocca.

In the faint light cast by the flickering candle, the faces of saints and

actresses, of smiling babies, of lovers and Madonnas peered at Delarey as

if curious to know why at such an hour he ventured to intrude among them,

why he thus dared to examine them when all the world was sleeping. He

drew back from them at length and looked again at the great bed with its

fat pillows that stood in the farther room secluded from the sea-breeze.

Suddenly he felt a longing to throw himself down and rest.




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