''Tis a fountain of fresh water, signor, that rises in our gulf,' said the old fisherman, 'to the height of twenty feet.'
'And is it constant?' inquired Herbert.
''Tis the same in sunshine and in storm, in summer and in winter, in calm or in breeze,' said the old fisherman.
'And has it always been so?'
'It came before my time.'
'A philosophic answer,' said Herbert, 'and deserves a paul. Mine was a crude question. Adio, good friend.'
'I should like to drink of that fountain of fresh water, Annabel,' said Herbert. 'There seems to me something wondrous fanciful in it. Some day we will row there. It shall be a calm like this.'
'We want a fountain in our valley,' said Lady Annabel.
'We do,' said Herbert; 'and I think we must make one; we must inquire at Genoa. I am curious in fountains. Our fountain should, I think, be classical; simple, compact, with a choice inscription, the altar of a Naiad.'
'And mamma shall make the design, and you shall write the inscription,' said Venetia.