"They will miss her, and search for her," the neighbours said, "and then you will get a reward, Giulia. She is like an angel with the light round her head in the window in the church."

"She is like a sorrowful little lost kid bleating for its mother," said Giulia.

So the hours went on, and the sunset gleamed from behind the old church, and brightened the grey walls of the houses in the square, and made the windows glitter and shine like stars.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "DOROTHY FELL FAST ASLEEP."]

But Dorothy did not wake, and still Giulia sat patiently with her in her strong brown arms, and crooned over her the words of a hush-a-bye with which the dark-eyed boy, who stood notching a stick by the open fireplace, had been lulled to sleep in his turn--

"Ninni, ninni, nanna, Allegrezza di la mamma!

Addormentati, addormentati, Oh, mia bella!"

This answered to the "Hush-a-bye, baby," which we all know, and really meant--

"Joy of thy mother, sleep, sleep!

My pretty one, sleep."

The sunset faded from the sky, and the smouldering wood ashes and embers on the hearth now shone with only a dim red eye in the middle; and still Dorothy slept, and still Giulia swayed her body to and fro, and sang on in a low, soft voice.

It was really very kind of Giulia, for a heap of brown net and a ball of stout twine, into which a huge bone netting-needle was thrust, lay by the rough wooden bench near the small window. And Giulia did very much want to finish that net, and send her boy down to the quay with it to the master fisherman who had given her the order to make it.

But Giulia could not find it in her kind, motherly heart to risk waking the child by laying her down on the bed again, and she dreaded to hear the cries in the English tongue, which she could not understand, and so could not heed.

It was nearly dark when at last Dorothy opened her eyes and sat up, with a prolonged yawn. The sleep had refreshed her, and she had been so quieted by it, that she did not resist or cry when Giulia put her down on a low wooden stool; and throwing another bit of wood on the fire, a flame leaped up, which was pleasant and cheerful, and made the red petticoat which the old crone by the fire wore look bright and warm.

Then Giulia lighted a small lamp, which was hung to a hook on the ceiling, and putting a big iron pipkin on the fire, began to prepare some broth for the little signorina.

Dorothy watched her as if she were still dreaming, and saw how the big gold earrings bobbed up and down, and wondered why Giulia had such a very wide waist, and why any one who had such a shabby petticoat should wear earrings, and have shining gold pins in the handkerchief which was bound round her head.

Dorothy did not like the smell of the soup at all, and when Giulia crumbled into it some dark bread, and finally offered it to her, with a large wooden spoon, she turned away in disgust.

But Giulia persisted, and Dorothy, having tasted nothing since breakfast, was really hungry, and swallowed a few spoonfuls.

An orange which a neighbour brought in hanging on the bough, with its dark green leaves, was much more tempting, and when she took it from the woman who offered it to her, she said, "Grazia"--she knew that meant "Thank you"--for Francesco always said "Grazia" when he took the little copper pieces of money, which seemed so many, and were worth so little, from her hand or Irene's when they had dismounted from the donkeys.

Presently a familiar voice at the door made Dorothy stop eating the orange, and she turned her eye anxiously towards the new-comer.

It was Francesco himself, who began to tell what grief there was in Villa Firenze, and how a little signorina was lost, and he held up a crumpled wisp of paper, and said he had picked it up in the market square.

"Oh! it is mine, it is mine, Francesco. Don't you know me, Francesco?

It is my letter to Uncle Crannie. Francesco! Francesco!"

The boy began a series of jumps of joy and springs of delight, and clapped his hands.

"Trovata! trovata!-- la piccola signorina" ("Found! found! the little lady is found"), he said.

"Let me go with him! he knows where I live. Oh, tell them--tell them to let me go with you!"

A voluble stream of Italian was poured forth by every one, which Dorothy could not understand; but Giulia got Dorothy's hat, and the white scarf, and the pretty velvet jacket, and then she was dressed--not without many expressions of profound admiration for the soft white feather and the velvet--and made ready to start with Francesco. Not alone. No; Giulia was not going to trust her to the donkey-boy without her, and Francesco made a funny face and showed his white teeth between his bright red lips, and whispered in Dorothy's ear the one English word he perfectly understood--

"Money! money! she get money for the signorina--ah! ah! ah!"

I will not say that there was no thought in Giulia's mind that the mother whom Francesco had described as crying bitterly for her lost treasure might not add some silver coins to her stock kept in the old stone pipkin in the cupboard--a store which Giulia liked to see grow, because, when her Anton was big and strong, she would pay it to the good master fisherman who employed her to make and mend his nets, and had often said her dark-eyed Anton was born to be a sailor.

Dorothy felt strangely dizzy and bewildered when she began to walk, and though she held fast to Giulia's strong hand on one side, and to Francesco's on the other, she tottered and tumbled about from side to side, and was not sorry when Giulia took her up in her arms and carried her with swift, firm steps down into the wide street of San Remo.

It would have been quite dark now if it had not been for the light of a crescent moon, which hung like a silver bow over the sea. Just as they reached the upper road the doctor who attended Mrs. Acheson pa.s.sed them quickly. He turned as he pa.s.sed the group, and recognised Francesco, who was a little in advance of Giulia and her burden.

"Hi! Francesco," he said; "has anything been heard of the little lady?"

"Oh, Dr. Forman! Oh, Dr. Forman!" exclaimed Dorothy.

"Why, here is the lost lamb," said the doctor. He had a little girl of his own, and he was as delighted as possible that Dorothy was safe.

"Why, Dorothy," he said, "your poor mamma has been made quite ill with fright; and your nurse, and w.i.l.l.y Montague, and that nice little friend of yours, have been hunting for you high and low. Where have you been?"

But Dorothy was sobbing too much to speak, and Giulia told Dr. Forman, who understood Italian as well as his own language, the story of Dorothy's fall, the cut on her forehead, and how she had taken her into her house and done all she could for her.

"Well, bring her home," the doctor said; "and, Francesco, run off and try to find the searching party; they must be worn out."

"Please, Dr. Forman," Dorothy gasped, "this woman has been very, very kind to me." Then she lifted her little hand, and stroking Giulia's face, said,--

"Grazia, grazia."

"The little angel!" Giulia said. "She is just an angel, and I am glad I found her; that I am."

In another five minutes the doctor and Giulia, carrying her burden, arrived at the gate of the Villa Firenze. A group was collected there, for, as we all know, when we are waiting for anyone about whose coming we are anxious, we always go out to watch, and hope that every minute they will arrive. They don't come any the quicker for this, but it is a comfort in some unexplained way.

"Let me take her to her mother," Giulia said to Dr. Forman; and he could not refuse. So he led the way to the drawing-room, opening the door gently, and standing for a moment behind the screen which protected the room from the draught of the door.

Lady Burnside, who had been with Mrs. Acheson all the afternoon, rose to see who was coming.

Oh! what a relief it was to hear Dr. Forman saying,--

"The child is safe; here she is;" and then Giulia strode in, and kneeling down by the sofa where poor Mrs. Acheson lay, she put Dorothy into her arms.

You may be very sure that Giulia's store of coins in the pipkin was increased, and that the delicate English lady put her arm round the Italian one's neck and kissed her, saying the pretty word by which Dorothy had won her heart--

"Grazia, grazia."

CHAPTER XI.

WHAT FOLLOWED.