The Spell

"Now, Jack, here is a chance to put your knowledge of the classics to some practical use." Helen Armstrong paused for a moment before a Latin inscription cut in the upper stones of the boundary wall, and leaned gratefully upon her companion's arm after the steep ascent. "What does it mean?" Her husband smiled. "That is an easy test. The ancient legend conveys the cheering intelligence that 'from this spot Florence and Fiesole, mother and daughter, are equi-distant.'" The girl released her hold upon the man's arm and, pushing back a few stray locks which the wind had loosened, turned to regard the panorama behind her. It was a charmingly picturesque and characteristic Italian roadway which they had chosen for their day's excursion. On either side stood plastered stone walls, which bore curious marks and circles, made-who shall say when or by whom?-remaining there as an atavistic suggestion of Etruscan symbolism. The whiteness of the walls was relieved by tall cypresses and ilexes which rose high above them, while below the branches, and reclining upon the stone top, a profusion of wild roses shed their petals and their fragrance for the benefit of the passers-by.