"One is stifled in this horrible den!" exclaimed Horace, stalking up to the window, and throwing it open. Very little air was admitted on that sultry afternoon, but there came the sound of voices from without.
"What are the people doing outside, Horace?" faintly inquired Mrs. Cleveland.
"Like Italians—doing nothing," was the reply. "They are merely gathering round that young man whom we saw at the door, apparently to listen to his singing, for he has a guitar in his hand."
"That Italian whom you struck?" inquired Mrs. Cleveland.
"I did not strike him—I only pushed him back. These fellows must be taught to know their own place," Horace haughtily replied.
"My dear boy," said Mrs. Cleveland, leaning forward on the chair on which she had wearily sunk, "you must acquire, indeed you must, a more gentle and conciliatory manner. In a wild, strange place like this, altogether out of the bounds of civilization, a thoughtless act might bring serious trouble—a wanton insult might cost a life!"
Horace did not answer, and as he remained looking out the window, his mother could not see on his face the effect of her gentle reproof; she saw, however, that he was impatiently moving his foot up and down, which was his trick when he had to listen to anything which it did not please him to hear.
A few chords on a guitar, touched by a skillful hand, were now heard, and immediately the hum of voices without was silenced.
"I hate to see a man play a guitar!" exclaimed Horace. As he spoke, the tones of a voice singularly melodious and rich mingled with those of the instrument, and Mrs. Cleveland, weary as she felt, was lured to the window to listen.
Surrounded by a group of Calabrese stood the musician. He was simply but picturesquely attired, after the fashion of his country; the red jacket, not worn, but carried across the shoulder ready to be put on in season of rain, left exposed to view the white shirt. A felt hat, of a somewhat oval shape, shaded a countenance which, with its classical outlines and thoughtful expression, could have formed a study for an artist. The song of the young Italian, translated into English, might run thus:—