Said the doctor. “No one need go far, for she, Norina’s here.” “What--what--what--what--what!” Here Norina made a full curtsey. “THEN WHERE’S SOPHRONIA!” “I’d not be sure, dear don, she should be in her convent.” “And the marriage, doctor.” “A glimpse, dear don, of what your future _might_ have been.” “Dear--dear--dear--dear--dear! Thank heaven. Still--” “Come don, be generous.” Need it be said where the two “young people” were at this particular moment--of course, at the don’s stout feet. The don blessed them in the usual manner, and the young people rose, happy. THE MORAL OF THIS IS MOST EASILY GUESSED, IN AGE TO SHUN WIVES, IS OF WISDOM THE BEST. LA SOMNAMBULA. (BELLINI.) THE SLEEP WALKER. CHAPTER I. In a beautiful valley in Switzerland there lived a maiden whose name was Amina, a poor village foundling, who was as fondly loved by the woman who had adopted her as her own mother might have loved. There also lived in the valley a rich farmer whose name was Elvino. Not much wealth truly had he, but enough to make him the richest person in the parish, except the absent lord. Count Rudolpho. At the village inn (as all villages are supposed to possess that appendage) lived Liza, its mistress, but alas! scandal said many cruel things of her; in fact, there were two or three _very_ ugly tales about her, but they were all so dim that when any of her female acquaintances quarrelled with her, which thing frequently happened, the other one could only vaguely hint, but could never positively assert anything. But whether or no, certain it is that young Elvino, who fell in love with Liza when he was young, but as he grew older, he shook that love off, and Liza herself declared with much warmth, that it was all owing to that chit of a child Amina; scandal _did_ say that it was all owing to Liza herself. Be that however, as it may, it is very certain that having abandoned Liza, Elvino soon grew madly in love with Amina, whom all the women declared to be very plain, an evident proof of the young creature’s pretty face. Amina worked hard and well for a living, and she laughed at Liza, as well she might, having certainly the best of the position. The village was a very happy one throughout the day but when night came, it was quite the reverse. “The phantom” weighed the village down. It was clothed all in white, was very tall, and every villager trembled as he spoke or even thought of it. It had been the ruin of Liza’s best bed room, into which this phantom would glide in the dead of the night through the unfastened window, which opened down to the ground, and upon the flower garden; beyond which, and across a rickety, unused bridge, stood the little cot of Amina’s adopted mother, Teresa. Sooner than sleep in Liza’s best bed room, any peasant would have slept out upon one of the mountain tops. Yes, the village was a happy village, if you took away the phantom.