In Castellamare every year little shrines are erected for the feast
of St. Cecelia as far as the Hotel di Stabia, which is close to the
beautiful bay of Naples, known to the tourists of all nations. In these
shrines, decorated with silken draperies of different colors, immense
wax tapers are burning, amid which roughly painted images of the
wonder-working saint are seen shining out mercifully in the brilliant
afternoon sun.
She looked down with mild eyes, upon the devout multitude, that hung
up their votive offerings of waxen hands, feet and hearts with tearful
eyes. Then deep in prayer they besought through her the blessed
Virgin's help for their various ills and woes; kissing devoutly the
silken drapery.
Concetta in her new Sunday dress stood there among the praying throng.
After praying for a while she moved towards the Holy shrine; her eyes
moistened when she fastened with trembling hands a little waxen heart
to the drapery looking up imploringly.
She saw her benignant gaze, and knelt down, confessing all to the
wonder-working saint, and besought her to heal her sick heart. She
hardly knew what oppressed her so, and what made her so immensely
happy, at the same time. To her, woods and fields were indeed vocal,
every flitting bird and gurgling brook, every passing cloud and
whispering breeze brought messages of love from him. To the mercy of
God and the love of Christ she now committed her love. Today in the
boundless reverence and religious enthusiasm she felt the need of his
presence so much more.
She looked right and left. "Something must have happened," she murmured
to herself, greatly disappointed, as it was almost twilight, and
nowhere was to be seen the tall imposing figure of the fascinating man
so dear to her. The sun had gone down and the shadows of the summer
evening commenced to gather in the near forest, and climbed, like
trooping spirits, up the rocky mountain side.
"He was always so punctual," her voice faltered suddenly, and it grew
dark before her eyes; she trembled so that she was obliged to grasp
one of the large candle-holders near her in order to keep her from
falling to the ground.
An elegant carriage with four horses had just dashed by, in which
she fancied she saw her lover with a richly dressed lady; her heart
contracted painfully. Sadly, with downcast eyes praying continually,
she took her way back to the village.
Although with her pure and simple views of life, there was no room for
doubt in her loving heart, still the disquieting thoughts that he must
be rich and of high position, she could not keep altogether away. How
else could he be driving about with a signora apparently of nobility?
Involuntarily, hot tears trickled down her red cheeks out of the great
blue eyes, like drops of rain from a patch of blue sky.
When Luigi came to the village on the following day he found Concetta's
eyes swollen with weeping. She scarcely dared to raise them, still
heavy with tears, to his face, for fear he should read in them her
great love for him.
Luigi Pavichino, the young _roue_, who had succeeded quickly enough
with his flattering words in making her forget the cause of her secret
grief, now laughed lightly with a merriment that had none too pleasant
a sound, as if he were well used to such scenes of jealousy. He called
her his dear little bride, whom he loved and would always love, and
therewith he kissed her rosy lips passionately, assuring her on his
honor that he had been driving in no carriage, but had been at the
monastery with the Padre, and then at five o'clock had come to Saint
Cecelia's shrine, without seeing her.
The nearer the wedding day approached, the oftener Luigi came to the
village, assuring her always of the unchangeableness of his love.