And then the glow of the sun faded softly and twilight took its place.

Far down the winding road could be seen the train of carriages returning from the station, the vetturini singing their native songs as the horses slowly ascended the slope.

An unseen organ somewhere in the distance ground out a Neapolitan folk song, and fresh and youthful voices sang a clear, high toned accompaniment.
Even practical Uncle John stood absorbed and admiring until the soft voice of the facchino called to ask if he wanted hot water in which to bathe before dinner.
"It's no use," said Patsy, smiling at him from the next balcony with tears in her eyes; "There's not another Taormina on earth.

Here we are, and here we stay until we have to go home again." "But, my dear, think of Paris, of Venice, of--" "I'll think of nothing but this, Uncle John.

Unless you settle down with us here I'll turn milkmaid and live all my days in Sicily!" Beth laughed, and drew her into their room.
"Don't be silly, Patsy dear," she said, calmly, although almost as greatly affected as her cousin.