CHAPTER III.
"MONSIGNORE."
In one of the fairest nooks of the Bay of Naple stood a palace in the perfection of taste, from the frescoes on its walls within to the delicate harebell-like campanile, that threw its slim shaft aloft, looking towards Amalfi. Fronting the sea, a small oval-shaped pier ran out into the water, with a broad flight of steps terminating it; above this, the natural growth of the country had hung a self-woven screen of orange and myrtle boughs; a place of embarkation, or disembarkation, lonely, secure, and unlooked on by anything save lofty Anacapri far above, hanging like an eagle's nest among the clouds. In the shadow of the evening a boat stopped there, a man alighted, dismissed the rowers, and went on along the length of the little quay to an arched door of curious cinque-cento work; it was the private entrance of the palazetto, which, despite the humility of the diminutive it was given, stretched up and around in wing
