After about an hour's ride, Rico's friend said: "We are coming into Bergamo, where I shall have to leave you, Rico. All that you have to do is to sit still until the conductor comes to help you off, and then you will know that you are in Peschiera. He has promised me that he will tell you." Rico very earnestly thanked his benefactor, and then he and the good man parted, each being sorry to leave the other. Sitting in the corner of the car, Rico meditated upon all that had come to pass in the last few days of his life. No one in the compartment paid any attention to him, and he was glad to spend his time looking out of the window, thinking of whatever he wished. Three hours had passed before the conductor came to him and took his hand to help him down the steps. Then pointing toward the station he said, "Peschiera." The train started on, and Rico watched it move away until it was lost to view in the distance. CHAPTER XIII LAKE GARDA Rico walked a few paces away from the station and looked about him. This large white building, the open space in front of it, the winding street in the distance, were all strange to him. He was positive that he had never seen them before. He had to confess to himself, "I have not come to the right place, after all." He sadly followed along the path between the trees until he came to a turn in the road which brought him to a sudden standstill, for before him lay the sky-blue lake, the water shimmering in the sunshine. Yonder were the towering hills in the distance, with the faint outlines of the white dwellings in the valleys. How familiar it seemed! Many a time he had stood just where he was at present. He recognized the trees, but where was the house? Oh, there should be a little white house near by, but it was gone! There was the street that led to it. How well he remembered it! There were the red flowers in the abundance he had been used to seeing. There ought to be a bridge a little farther down. In his eagerness to see it he ran toward it, and sure enough, it was there, just as memory had pictured it. A flood of recollections overpowered him. It was here that a lovely, loving woman had held him by the hand,--his mother. In fancy he saw her face distinctly and heard the sweet words of her lips, and understood anew the love revealed in her youthful eyes. Throwing himself upon the grass, Rico wept bitterly. The sun was setting before he dried his eyes and began to think of what he should do. The golden evening glow that his memory had cherished was on the water, the hills had taken the violet tints, and the fragrance of the roses perfumed the air. The beauty of the place comforted him, and he thought, "How I wish Stineli could see this!"