In front a terrace, and then nothing but the sea, 700 feet below, the surf-rimmed coast line melting on and off indefinitely to the right in great soft curves of up-springing mountains, a deep ravine, then the San Domenico point with the old convent and church rising out of its gardens. On the left the ruins of the Greek theatre hanging over their heads; and on the very edge of the terrace an old almond-tree with chairs and a table under it, all waiting for tea. Fortunately the villa’s interior showed comfortable rooms, clean, airy, and spacious. But the terrace settled it. They would have slept anywhere to belong to that. No longer outcast tramps but semi-proprietors of a villa, a terrace, a garden, and a balcony, they returned beaming to the friendly Concierge. 65And all Taormina looked different now. The brocades and laces waved enticingly at the “antichita’s” doors, old jewels and enamels gleamed temptingly; mountains rose more majestic, the sea seemed less disappointingly lacking in Calabrian colour.... And as for the tourists, so disgustingly superior in the morning with their clean faces and unrumpled clothes, assured beds and table d’hôtes; now, how the balance had changed! They were mere tourists. What a superior thing to be an inhabitant, with a terrace all one’s own! Life at the Villa Schuler was inaugurated in a pouring rain. But even that did not dim its charm; though to descend the Scesa Morgana—as the gutter-alley called itself—was like shooting a polluted Niagara, and the stone floors of the villa itself were damply chill, and American bones ached for once despised steam heat. Yet smiling little Sicilian maids, serving with an ardour of willingness that never American maid knew, with radiant smiles staggered through the rain bearing big pieces of luggage, carried in huge pitchers of that acqua calda the forestieri had such a strange passion for, and then, as if it were the merriest play in the world, pulled about heavy pieces of furniture to rearrange the rooms according to American ideas, which demanded that dressing-tables should have light on their mirrors, and sofas not be barriered behind the immemorial German tables. Maria of the beaming smile, and Carola of the gentle eyes, what genius was yours? Two dumb forestieri, who had never learned your beautiful tongue, found that they had no more need of words to express their wants than a baby has to tell his to knowing mother 66and nurses. Did they have a wish, all they had to do was to call “Maria!”—smile and stutter, look into her sympathetic face, and somehow from the depths of their eyes she drew out their desire.... “Si, si, Signora!” She was off and back again with a smile still more beaming. “Questo?” Yes, “questo” was always the desired article!