FALCO FALCONE. Passafiero, my sister’s son, has written this letter. Donna Micaela flung the dirty letter away. It seemed to her as if it were the death sentence of the railway, but to-day she would not think of it. Now she had her bazaar. The moment after, her road-builders, Giovanni and Carmelo, appeared. They wished to counsel her to get an engineer. She probably did not know what kind of ground there was on Etna. There was, first, lava; then there was ashes; and then lava again. Should the road be laid on the top layer of lava, or on the bed of ashes, or should they dig down still deeper? About how firm a foundation did a railway need? They could not go ahead without a man who understood that. Donna Micaela dismissed them. To-morrow, to-morrow; she had no time to think of it to-day. Immediately after, Donna Elisa came with a still worse piece of news. There was a quarter in Diamante where a poverty-stricken and wild people lived. Those poor souls had been frightened when they heard of the railway. “There will be an eruption of Etna and an earthquake,” they had said. Great Etna will endure no fetters. It will shake off the whole railway. And people said now that they ought to go out and tear up the track as soon as a rail was laid on it. A day of misfortune, a day of misfortune! Donna Micaela felt farther from her object than ever. “What is the good of our collecting money at our bazaar?” she said despondingly. The day promised ill for her bazaar. In the afternoon it began to rain. It had not rained so in Diamante since the day when the clocks rang. The clouds sank to the very house-roofs, and the water poured down from them. People were wet to the skin before they had been two minutes in the street. Towards six o’clock, when Donna Micaela’s bazaar was to open, it was raining its very hardest. When she came out to the monastery, there was no one there but those who were to help in serving and selling. She felt ready to cry. Such an unlucky day! What had dragged down all these adversities upon her? Donna Micaela’s glance fell on a strange man who was leaning against a pillar, watching her. Now all at once she recognized him. He was the _jettatore_--the _jettatore_ from Catania, whom people had taught her to fear as a child. Donna Micaela went quickly over to him. “Come with me, signor,” she said, and went before him. She wished to go so far away that no one should hear them, and then she wished to beg of him never to come before her eyes again. She could do no less. He must not ruin her whole life. She did not think in what direction she went. Suddenly she was at the door of the monastery church and turned in there. Within, it was almost dark. Only by the Christ-image a little oil lamp was burning. When Donna Micaela saw the Christ-image she was startled. Just then she had not wished to see him.