\"Where are you going?\" She cried. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. A world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and strawricks flanked the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry, pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain, and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations. He told her something about music, the great world outside. "She wouldn't let me go. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate.
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