Jack knew nothing of the road along which he was plodding; indeed, it was not always a road, he went here and there where it seemed shady and out of the dust, along the tall canes by the side of the Arno, sometimes through a vineyard, where the contadini were gathering the beautiful fruit with their sickles. At last he found himself climbing a hill, where the road was white, steep, and stony, and to his left was one of those walls which you may yet see built round the old villas, sloping inwards, as if originally set up for defence. Presently he came, of course, to the little niche high up in the wall, where, behind a grating, were rudely coloured figures of the Madonna and Child, and an earthenware pot in which some scarlet lilies were flaming. Somehow such little tributes are more touching than the most elaborate decorations; Ibbetson found himself wondering who had placed them there, as he went toiling up his hill. The next moment he reached the entrance of the villa; iron gates standing open led into a rather untidy looking drive, arched over by tall trees of paradise and paulownias; and the shade of their broad leaves was so attractive a contrast to the dusty road, that he stood and looked in for a few minutes. There was an unreasonable attraction to him about the place. He smiled at himself when it struck him, and whistling to Cartouche, who had plunged among the trees, prepared to continue his tramp up the stony hill. But Cartouche was not forthcoming. On the contrary, certain sounds were to be heard implying that he had met with a very congenial amusement within--a rustling among bushes, short sharp yelps, terrified gobblings, flutterings, then a girl's cry. Jack whistled and called in vain, finally ran along the drive and found himself in a broad space before the villa, where two men armed with sticks were pursuing Cartouche, three or four young turkeys were flying helplessly about, and a girl stood holding another, apparently dead, in her hands. The instant she saw Ibbetson she stamped her foot, and cried out passionately in Italian-- "Take away that wicked, villainous dog, do you hear!" Jack was struck dumb, not at the command, but at the face which was turned towards him. He had never in his life seen so beautiful a creature. The large brown eyes flashed reproachfully through their tears, the rounded and glowing cheek might have belonged to a Hebe, the indignant curl of the short upper lip only showed more strongly the beauty of its curves. She stood facing him, one hand holding the dead bird, the other pointing inexorably at Cartouche, who, aware of his misdeeds, skilfully avoided a blow aimed by one of the gardeners, and fled behind his master. Then her face changed slightly, and she looked down at the bird.