Bocca d'Oro,' she thought; not that she had much affinity with holy men and legends, but their histories had been all the teaching she had received.
All the while, as she pondered thus, and wondered if she should find S. John Chrysostom here, with the glory round his head, she continued her efforts to unclose the door, above the lintel of which there was painted on the sandstone a strange winged shape with angry countenance and wreathing curls.
She pushed with all her young strength against that mysterious barrier.
A strange excitement and anxiety, such as she had never felt, possessed her. She longed to penetrate the secret of these strange dwellings. She said to herself, 'Joconda found me in the hills; may be these people that dwell in stone lower than the surface of the earth are my own people.'
It was an odd fancy that had come into her head, but she thought it so likely that she had been born in some such place as this, hidden away under the leaves and the furze, where men could not reach, nor the scream of their voices intrude.
She had torn and hacked the shrubs
