“Our lads are not ruffians; they may be a little wild, but there are some good fellows among them.” “I don’t know a single one, then, and I won’t marry a soul here. If ever I am married, it shall not be to a man who will beat me and make me work just as if I were a mule; and you know very well that is what all the men do here in the Abruzzi, so why do you go on complaining and fault-finding? I tell you what will be the end of it, if you go on scolding and worrying, you will drive me away, and I shall go to Rome and open some sort of little shop—” “And leave your mother here in poverty and misery!” “You are not poor, mother, for you can stay here as long as you live, and there is quite enough to keep you well, without your having to work hard. Besides, I don’t want to leave you at all, as long as you don’t want to force me into a marriage I hate!” “Very well, I won’t, then,”said the old woman. “Stay as you are, since you will have your own way.” By this time the sun was almost setting, and a flood of red-gold light was pouring in through the open door; the mountains were all bathed in purple vapor, and the still warm evening air was fragrant with the scent of roses, geraniums, and lavender. The mother and daughter had eaten their supper in silence, and Lucia had just risen to take away the things, when a shadow fell across the threshold, and on Lucia’s looking up, a bold voice said, “Good evening, signorina.” The speaker was a fine young man wearing a blue velvet jacket, high-crowned hat, and a large woollen scarf, which was knotted round his waist, and he was looking passionately at Lucia with his piercing, coal-black eyes. “Do you want to see my mother?” asked Lucia, in anything but an encouraging manner. “No; I want to see you, signorina,” answered the young man, with much polite suavity, taking off his hat as he spoke. “If you are come to say the same as before, Pietro Antonio, you may spare yourself the trouble,” said Lucia, clearly and firmly. “Then you won’t let me come into your house, Lucia Ceprano?” asked the young man, with a sudden contraction of his thin-lipped mouth, and a look in his eyes not unlike that of an enraged tiger. “The door is open, you can come in,” said Lucia, calmly, “and you can talk to my mother if you like;” and with that she left the room by the back-door, and went out into the little garden which was fenced round with aloe bushes. Meantime Pietro stepped into the cottage, and throwing his hat upon the table, sat down opposite the old woman, saying, “You don’t seem to have made much progress, Mother Ceprano.” “You can see for yourself,”said she, in a low voice. “Then she will soon be off to Rome, and you will have to work like the rest,” said the young man, without any apparent malice, “for everything here belongs to her. It was her father’s property, I know, and settled on her.” “She will let me have it,”said the old woman, dejectedly.