Father Girolamo had not revisited Saracenesco since his encounter with Heinrich at the tree, but when he heard the story of the miracle-working picture, which seemed to have fallen from heaven into the hands of the people of Saracenesco, and heard also that the Wolf had stolen away, on the first Sunday after Heinrich's departure he came.

The first object the priest's eyes fell upon was the picture under the beech. He turned pale, his agitation almost impelled him to advance and tear down the painting, but he controlled himself and ascended to the hamlet, addressing first one, then another, inquiring after various members of his flock, and repaired to the poorest cottage in the place.

He found both women at home and was met by the mother with evident delight.

The father talked about the most indifferent things; nevertheless, scarcely five minutes had passed before Nubia's mother had told him that her daughter was to wed "poor Argante," and that he was to unite the couple that year. This intelligence did not appear to make the least impression upon the priest, who seemed to have expected it. He bade Nubia announce in the hamlet that in half an hour he would hold service under the tree, and selected two boys to wait for him at that place. When left alone with the mother he did not even allude to the departed guest, but listened in silence while the woman praised his good qualities and told how all liked him and what a blessing he had brought the entire hamlet in the shape of the Virgin's image.

When, half an hour later, the bell summoned the small congregation to service at the tree, the people of Saracenesco were not a little surprised to see a large fire burning in the centre of the plat near the spring. Nor was the monk standing under the cross, where the services were usually held and the sermon delivered; he had taken his place on the other side of the beech, under the Virgin's image. He had not put on his cassock, nor had he prepared for service, while his face wore an expression which caused many of the women to tremble. As soon as all had assembled, the monk began his thundering speech. "All, as you stand before me here, shall not be blessed by me today, but condemned, for your sins cry out to heaven. You have accepted a diabolical, heathenish image for a Christian

Virgin, you have worshipped the work of the devil and praised it for working miracles. Guilty as you all are, however, not one is as guilt-laden as the woman whose face that wicked man reproduced as the face of the Virgin, and who thereby yielded to the tempter body and soul. Look at her; see how she is possessed by the unclean spirit, which has gained control of her soul; look at her and see if she is prepared to defend herself. There she stands boldly; see, there she stands in silence. Shame! Shame! Have nothing to do with this sinner. I separate her from you, I expel her and curse her in the name of the Holy Virgin. May she be outcast, may she remain so until heaven receives her repentance. Outcast be any who adheres to her!»

Everyone shrank away from the unfortunate girl, who remained at her mother's side, her eyes fixed upon those of the priest. She uttered no sound, made no movement; only when her mother gave forth a wild cry of anguish and fell upon the ground did she tremble from head to foot. She speedily controlled her feelings, however, and, allowing the women to busy themselves about her mother, left the group and advanced several steps nearer the tree, her eyes still fixed on those of the priest. At this juncture the latter turned, seized the picture with both hands, tore it down, and, holding it above his head, approached the fire and flung it in the midst of the leaping flames. The women assembled sighed; Nubia's lips alone were sealed. All had gone; the weeping women had led away her mother, the monk heading the sorrowful procession. Silently the terrified girls followed at a distance.

Nubia had seen the picture fall into the fire and blaze up; she had seen the red light glow upon the Virgin's face, blacken it, and turn it to ashes. During this she was silent and rigid, yet she felt as if it were not her image being destroyed, but herself, and in the agony of this death she felt none of the disgrace cast upon her by the priest. A marvellous change was wrought within her as she stood and looked upon the flames. Suddenly she realized how matters would have been had she besought the stranger to remain; he would never have asked her mother for her hand, still she would have become his. And if this had come about, as the monk had falsely asserted, she must have stood

before all, mute, without a word of defence. Suddenly, in her loneliness, in her grief, she felt that passion dwelt within her and that she had not suspected it when her lover lay beneath the tree and breathed his love for her. She now gave way. She flung herself down, shivered, moaned, sobbed, wept, and a thousand voices within her said that had he remained she would have fallen as the monk claimed she had. But she was not grateful to him for having spared her all this, for having left her with the words: "You must become the wife of another!" What sort of love was that which denied and yielded at the same time? Had he but waited one day more, had he but looked in her eyes again, but spoken her name! But he left her, saying: "You must become the wife of another!"

Being unable to forget this, the hot blood of her savage people rebelled against the insult put upon her by this beloved man. As naught was the disgrace heaped upon her in comparison with this.

She was still struggling with love and hatred, she was still writhing in unutterable agony, when she heard the monk's voice close to her side. As if stung by a serpent she rose and retreated; she tried to escape, but he barred the way. paused and glanced at him with eyes which forced the priest to avert his.

She

"I found you prostrate upon the ground. It was the Lord's hand which felled you. Do you acknowledge your sin ?»

"Yes!"

"Do you repent it ?» "No!"

"Miserable woman!"

"Step out of the way, I wish to go to my mother!" He allowed her to pass.

Without turning her head to see if he followed her, Nubia ascended the steep path, entered the hamlet where young and old were standing in the street talking of the incident and gesticulating angrily, for all believed the priest. Upon Nubia's appearance their tongues were silenced, some hurriedly entered their houses, others drew close to the wall, none addressed her, even the children shrank from her. Nubia, however, continued calmly on her way, looking directly before her, with head erect. The women gathered into groups behind her, whispering, sighing, and lamenting.

Nubia reached home. Her mother was crouching by the hearth in the company of several neighbors, who left the room;

mother and daughter were alone. The former rose, with tottering steps approached the girl and looked keenly in her face. Suddenly she uttered a piercing shriek, raised her clenched fist, prepared to strike a blow. "Mother!"

The woman's hand fell, as she said:

"Were your father living or your brother but a youth, this disgrace would be avenged."

Nubia replied: "My father would kill me. Perhaps another will do it. If he be the right kind of man, he will!»

TH

CHAPTER IX

The

HE October rains had set in. summit on which gray Saracenesco perched was crowned with a strip of spring-like verdure. The floods washed away the dust, trees and shrubbery were brightened up, new branches came forth, the flowers bloomed again, and the birds sang. Morning after morning the rocks could be clearly seen. Mountain-tops which for months had been enveloped in mist, lofty crags with hamlets which had seemed to disappear, valleys and ravines forgotten during the summer, were again visible.

Distinctly could be seen the Albanian Mountains, with their gleaming coronet of towns, the sea-coasts with their dark wildernesses and the shimmering strand, the spot where Rome lay, and the brown fields in which strange laborers were working.

Toward noon, to be sure, a misty veil enshrouded the perspective; but at night the mountain-chains gleamed and over the sea the sun set in a bed of purple and gold.

As yet Nubia had not spoken the word which could have vindicated her. It would probably have been too late for this, for no one would have believed her, not even her own mother. The proud girl, however, did not think of vindication; she thought only that if Heinrich had stayed another day it would have been

So.

She remained an outcast; all avoided her; not a soul addressed her. Every third day the monk came to Saracenesco.

Since the destruction of the picture and the condemnation of the sinner he had wielded a great influence over the minds of the people, Nubia's mother yielding entirely to his will, while her daughter did not deign to cast a glance or say a word to the father.

She had changed greatly. There was not a drop of blood in her face, an unsteady light glowed in her dusky eyes, her features were rigid. Occasionally her face lighted up into a wild expression. The disgrace heaped upon her did not depress her; on the contrary, her head was held erect under the general contempt, while her beauty daily unfolded into magnificent maturity.

To all appearance her life was the same; at home, at the spring, and in the woods, she performed her duties as usual, with the exception that they were done in silence. She scarcely ever spoke a word to her mother, for she could not forget that, like all the rest, she had believed the priest.

Twice a day she went to the well to fetch water, going when the others went, but giving them an opportunity to avoid her.

She would then stand alone at the spring, forgetting to raise her jug to her head; lost in thought, she leaned on the edge of the basin, looking with dreamy eyes at the beech-tree, where her picture had hung. It was said to have been idolatrous; it had wrought a miracle upon her.

At noon she took her spindle and left the house. She descended the hill, crossed the thicket, and repaired to the cross, placed on the outskirts of the woods. Leaning her back against the boards, she stood and spun, looking, as she did so, upon the narrow, winding path up which the home-returning men would come. As yet it was much too soon to look for them. Nevertheless Nubia sought this spot every day, remaining until late at night. When she could no longer see, she stood with head inclined, listening with bated breath for the hurried step of a belated traveller, but the depths below her were silent.

When the mountains began to turn green, the boy, Mastorre, came up from the ravine with his flock. For the first time Nubia displayed violent emotion, for she loved her brother tenderly, and her love was passionately returned. On learning what had occurred, he grew melancholy, would not see Nubia, and never came home. Finally his sister went out to him.

"Were you now a man, you could avenge the honor of our family, my poor Mastorre."

Blushing deeply and turning away, the

boy said with quivering lips, "It will not be very long before I am a man, and then-»

Suppressed tears stifled his voice.

"I cannot wait so long," replied Nubia. She tried to comfort her brother, she tried to tell him something; but Mastorre ran away, leaving the dog to guard his flock. Nubia called him several times, but received no answer. Thereupon she seated herself on a stone and wept bitterly.

Before the first snow fell on the mountain the rainy period came. Again nothing could be seen of the earth and sky; dark clouds hovered over the summits; sank lower and lower, filled valleys and ravines, covered the entire Roman plain. Occasionally the west wind pierced the heavy mist, so that the dark landscape loomed up like a vision, to vanish immediately in showers. Uninterruptedly the showers fell. The streets in the mountain-towns were converted into streamlets, the streams and rivers swelled and overflowed, the country in the plains was covered with brown mud.

It was still raining when the women of Saracenesco awaited their husbands' return; but neither wind nor weather prevented the good people from repairing to the cross and there awaiting for hours the home-coming of those who had been so long away. During the early weeks of the rainy season Nubia had paid her accustomed visits to the spot on the outskirts of the forest; as soon, however, as the other women and girls appeared, she remained at home, leaving the water-carrying to her mother, whom she saw only at meal-times. She now occupied the room formerly tenanted by the stranger, who had left several sketches on the walls, among these a sketch of his painting "Mary Magdalen before her Fall." Nubia now sat for hours, gazing at her face on the wall and thinking over what the man bending over her was whispering. She knew.

Apathetic as the daughter was in these days, so much the more agitated was her mother. Nubia heard her sigh and moan, mutter to herself, and call upon the Virgin. In the afternoon she would leave the house, follow the women, and stand in the rain and storm, waiting with the rest. Fra Girolamo likewise came every day that week, he also seemed to be expecting

someone.

A

TA time when there is being planned

a trust or combination of seven tenths of all our Western range-cattle owners and shippers, to operate in unison with several great railway systems,

a combination that may redound to our good and give us cheaper meat, as cheaper oil was a result of the oil-trust; but that, nevertheless, will be so huge, so powerful as to be capable of making almost any disposition it wishes of the meat question, and of absolutely dictating its own terms to us common consumers,-it may be of some interest to glance at the industry and the stock that this power is seeking to control.*

While we may now and then mention horses, sheep, and even swine in what follows, it will be merely for the sake of comparison or to show gross results; for it is intended to adhere, in the main, to the more limited acceptance of the word "cattle" as meaning only the members of the bovine family.

The origin of the species is obscure. The earliest records of Egypt show us that cattle were used as draft animals and that beef was the favorite meat there æons of time before the founding of the kingdom of Menes.

That our vaunted progress after all is but comparative is forced upon our attention in observing that these ancient records depict a butcher cutting up an ox exactly as is done to-day outside of the great slaughtering establishments, with a knife that he sharpened upon a steel that

hung at his side, and that the cuts of meat were precisely like ours. They used leather, and they did better tanning than we do; the blood, instead of being processed into fertilizing, was used for cooking purposes; and our Spanish newly-made friends never see a better bullfight than was daily purveyed for the delectation of those ancient "sports."

A little later in the world's history we find records of tricks being played in the cattle trade; for do not some historians aver that Jacob exercised undue influence upon the cows of Laban's herds as well as upon the ewes of his flocks? And others tell us that Zaph-u-to- otherwise known as "Joseph the wise," stockbrokerin-chief for the pharaoh Apophies, who, of course, was not known in the dealcornered the cattle as well as the grain of all the country about.

There were Chicagos too in those days. Damascus was an old city in the time of Abraham, and the greatest cattle-market of the world. Perhaps some day it will be discovered that they refrigerated their beef and canned it, although there have been no charges, as yet, that they embalmed anything other than their relatives.

The domestic cattle, like all highly cultivated animals, are of a wide range of colors, sizes, and characteristics. Columbus brought over the first bull and cows, of the Estremadura breed, that ever set hoof upon our continent. Their longlegged, long-horned descendants range the

plains of Spanish America to-day, - poor milkers but good meat,-and some of our Texas steers can vaunt of a pretty direct line, on the paternal side, back to those aristocratic and historical discoverers of our pampa grass.

The Portuguese brought cattle to New

AN IMPORTED JERSEY BULL

foundland in 1553, but they were not fitted for so vigorous a clime and soon became extinct. Some Norman cattle were introduced into Canada in 1600, some of that fine old Norman stock that gave character and tone to all the cattle of the north of France, and whose close kin,- though a smaller variety, -the Jerseys, are a standard breed with us to-day. A few light tan-colored Devonshires were brought over in 1611, and more were placed upon Massachusetts farms in 1624.

We have gone to the Channel Islands for most of our milk stock, and to the British Isles for a goodly portion of our meat stock. The latter country has long been famed for its cattle. Even in the time of Cæsar there ranged great herds through the Caledonian forest: remnants of the original black-horned species have been seen there in comparatively recent years, that species which, in prehistoric times, some would have us believe, wore horse-like manes.

We imported some roan and piebald Ayrshires in 1838,- good all-around stock for milk, yoke, and meat; and we have the red and yellow Alderneys,-poor beef, but rich milkers. The red, white, and

roan Durhams, now called "shorthorns," are fair milkers and perhaps the first fully developed beef for meat purposes. Subsequent to the development of the Durhams as meat-producers we brought over the "Hornless Scot" and the Hereford breeds, famed, both of them, for the

quality of their meat, though not great milkers.

We have imported but little of what might be called alien stock, and a glance at some of them will suffice. The Polish cattle are large and strong, poor in milk, but rich in meat. In Jutland, Holstein, and Schleswig there is a fine breed closely allied to the Friesland and Holderness stocks. Hungary has a remarkable darkblue-colored breed; there are the mildeyed, gentle, languorous, mouse-colored cattle of Italy; the hump-backed zebu; the yak of Thibet; the indolent, smoothcoated, large-eared Brahmin, as large almost as the American bison; and in Calabria we find the great snow-white, direct, and untainted descendants of the sacrificial cattle of classic times.

According to the Department of Agriculture we have in this country to-day 43,984, 340 head of cattle, of all species, colors, and previous conditions of servitude; of which total 15,990, 115 are COWS. In 1884 we had 42,547,307 head of cattle. Incidentally, and as a comparison, the same authority tells us there are to-day 13,665.307 horses, 2,134,212 mules, 39,114,455 sheep, and 38,651,631 swine. A year ago there were 13,960,911 horses, 2, 190, 282 mules, 37,656,960 sheep, 39,759,993 swine, and, getting back to our cattle, we had 45, 105,080 head. Our total live-stock-cattle, horses, etc.— last year was valued at $1,888,654,925, or $50,000,000 more than we had in circulation in paper and coin! But in 1884 our total live-stock was worth $2,467,868,924.

Our horned cattle to-day constitute an asset of about $1,050,000,000. Texas leads in the list of States with 5,234,699 head;