As for him, his mind was clearer, his hand was firmer, his spirit seemed to dominate every subject of its contemplation, when she was by. Oftentimes he paused in his labors to watch the delicate outline of her sweet face, and, when their eyes met and they exchanged a loving smile, he felt that there was a communion of hearts that beggared language, and would have no interpreter but a glance.
They were sitting together on the perron of their villa, which looked out upon the shores of the Mediterranean. The door leading to the drawing-room was open, exposing to view a harp from which Laura had just risen. Before them lay the boundless expanse of the ocean, blue with reflected azure from heaven; and, like some soft, weird melody to their ears, was the murmuring of the waves, that kissed the smooth, white beach before them. Elsewhere all was silent, for Nature seemed to listen—unwilling, by a sound of stirring leaf, to break the delicious stillness.
On a sudden, a wild scream was heard in the air above, and a vulture, cleaving the clouds, flew over their heads. Laura's smiling face was upturned to reply to some loving expression of Eugene's; but when the vulture's scream was heard, she rose to her feet, and with a slight shudder followed its flight until it lessened to a dim speck on the horizon.
"What has disturbed you, dearest?" asked Eugene.
"Nothing," whispered she. "And yet I am a miserable coward. Even this vulture's scream has startled me. It seems like an ill omen."
"Why, my darling, why should a vulture's scream be ominous?"
"Do not laugh at me, Eugene; but my old nurse used always to cross herself when a vulture was in sight, and if it screamed, she wept, for she said it betokened the approach of misfortune."
"Why should you share the superstition of your nurse, dearest?"
"Because I myself once heard the scream," said Laura, growing very pale. "I was standing with my nurse on a balcony of Bonaletta Castle, and she was making wreaths of pomegranate and orange from the blossoms I plucked. Meanwhile she was telling me a tale about some enchanted princess, to which I was listening with my whole heart. Suddenly I heard the cry of a vulture, the old woman dropped her flowers, clasped her hands, and cried out: 'Oh, my God! there is woe at hand! Come, child, come to the chapel, and pray the Lord to avert it,'"
"And it was averted by your dear prayers, was it not?" asked Eugene, kissing her.