Near the foot of the mountain we came upon a beautiful pool, its waters being supplied by a slender streamlet that wound down the mountain-side almost in the line of our walk. Rude stonework bordered with moss ran all round the fountain, imparting to it a circular shape. On one side arose a steep rock containing a tall rectangular niche, which had been hewn for the reception of an image, though at present it was apparently devoid of any such ornament. "Please, Mr. Willard," said Daphne, dropping a mock courtesy, "have I your permission to ask Mr. Vasari what place this is?" "Mr. Vasari," I called out, "Miss Leslie would like to know the name of this spring." "This," replied the artist, coming to at once, "is the haunted well of Rivoli." "Why do they call it haunted?" said Daphne. "From certain mysterious things that have happened." Daphne became interested at once, while my uncle, a disbeliever in the supernatural, shrugged his shoulders. "What things?" said Daphne. "Mr. Leslie will smile at what he deems a superstitious story," said Angelo, by way of prefatory apology, "but it is a story that no one in Rivoli doubts." "I hope you do not class yourself among the believers in humbug," my uncle remarked. "From time immemorial," said Angelo, ignoring the protest, "this place is said to have been haunted, though I never could discover by what. Was it a pagan god, demon, or _fata_--the spirit of a murdered man or of some wicked mediæval baron--that lurked within the shades of this fountain? No one could tell me. 'It was haunted,' was the only answer to my questionings. Such a belief might well have been dismissed as superstition, were it not for certain events that have taken place within my own knowledge. The bishop of the diocese, with a view of removing the ghostly fears of the people around here, resolved to exorcise the spirit. A procession of priests came to the well, the forms of exorcism were gone through, and a crucifix--a life-size image of the Saviour--was consecrated by the bishop, and placed in that niche which you see before you. The place was thus to become holy ground. Next morning the crucifix was found hurled from its position. Who had done it? None of the peasants; they would not be guilty of such impiety. And besides, none of them would have had the courage to venture to the haunted well in the night-time. The crucifix was restored to its place. Next day it was again found hurled from the recess, and this time it was blackened as if by fire. I leave you to imagine the excitement in Rivoli at this. A bold priest--I knew him well--resolved to spend a night here, for the purpose of exorcising the dark power so antagonistic to the Church's sacred emblem. He came alone, equipped for the task in full canonicals, with bell, book, and candle to boot. Next morning, when we came to look for him--I say we, for I was one of the search-party--we found him, apparently exhausted, lying asleep by the fountain. We woke him, and--"