for the night. He accordingly alighted, and turning his horse to graze under a tree, himself lay down under its branches, for he was sore wearied, more indeed by wear and tear of the mind, than by the journey itself. Ere long, sleep, that gentle consoler of the unhappy, “weighed his eyelids down,” and for awhile “steep’d his senses in forgetfulness.” By-and-bye, feeling himself shaken by a hand as cold as death, he started; and on awaking from his deep slumber, saw bending over him a lean old woman, who was examining his face by the light of a lanthorn. At this sight an awful fear for a moment pervaded him, for he thought he beheld a spirit; but resuming courage, he half arose, and exclaimed: “Who art thou, woman, and why comest thou here to disturb my repose?”
The old woman replied: “I am herb-gatherer to the Signora Dottorena, of Padua, who lives hard by at her villa; she has sent me to gather certain herbs and roots, which have peculiar virtues when plucked at midnight. Finding you lying here, I supposed you were a traveller who had been assassinated by robbers, and shook you by the arm to see whether you had any life left in you.”
During this explanation the Count had entirely recovered himself. “Is the villa of thy mistress far off?” said he.
“Just down there, in the hollow,” replied the
