"Take me to the mountains!" I cried, suddenly aware that I was tired to exhaustion, that I had had no sleep and no breakfast. "Take me to the mountains; I have longed, longed for them all these days!" I staggered a little, and closed my eyes. When I opened them he was holding me in his arms, looking down anxiously at my face. "Yes, we will go to the mountains; but first I shall take you home, and give you something to eat and drink, Elsie." CHAPTER XII. THE BREAKING OF THE STORM. "You are not afraid?" said Andrea, as we turned on to the Lung' Arno and came in sight of the house. "No," I answered in all good faith, a little resenting the question. After all, what was there to fear? This was the nineteenth century, when people's marriages were looked upon as their own affairs, and the paternal blessing--since it had ceased to be a _sine qua non_--was never long withheld. If Andrea's family were disappointed in his choice, and I supposed that at first such would be the case, it lay with me to turn that disappointment into satisfaction. I had but a modest opinion of myself, yet I knew that in making me his wife Andrea was doing nothing to disgrace himself; his good taste, perhaps, was at fault, but that was all. You see, I had been educated in a very primitive and unworldly school of manners, and must ask you to forgive my ignorance. Yet I confess my heart did beat rather fast as we made our way up the steps into the empty hall, and I wished the next few hours well over. I reminded myself that I was under Andrea's wing, safe from harm, but looking up at Andrea I was not quite sure of his own unruffled self-possession. A distant hum of voices greeted us as we entered, growing louder with every stair we mounted, and when we reached the landing leading to the gallery, there stood the whole family assembled like the people in a comedy. To judge from the sounds we heard, they had been engaged in excited discussion, every one speaking at once, but at our appearance a dead and awful silence fell upon the group. Slowly we advanced, the mark of every eye, then came to a stop well in front of the group. It seemed an age, but I believe it was less than a minute, before the Marchesa stepped forward, looking straight at me and away from her son, so as not in the least to include him in her condemnation, and said: "I am truly sorry, Miss Meredith, for I was given to understand that your mother was a very respectable woman." "Mother!" cried Andrea, with a pale face and flashing eyes; "be careful of your words." Then taking my hand, he turned to the old Marchese, who stood helpless and speechless in the background, and said loudly and deliberately: "This lady has promised to be my wife." For an instant no one spoke, but there was no mistaking the meaning of their silence; then Romeo called out in a voice of suppressed fury: "It is impossible!"