"It's no use," said Patsy, smiling at him from the next balcony with
tears in her eyes; "There's not another Taormina on earth. Here we are,
and here we stay until we have to go home again."
"But, my dear, think of Paris, of Venice, of--"
"I'll think of nothing but this, Uncle John. Unless you settle down with
us here I'll turn milkmaid and live all my days in Sicily!"
Beth laughed, and drew her into their room.
"Don't be silly, Patsy dear," she said, calmly, although almost as
greatly affected as her cousin. "There are no cows here, so you can't be
a milkmaid."
"Can't I milk the goats, then?"
"Why, the men seem to do that, dear. But cheer up. We've only seen the
romance of Taormina yet; doubtless it will be commonplace enough
to-morrow."
CHAPTER XIII
IL DUCA
Beth's prediction, however, did not come true. The morning discovered
nothing commonplace about Taormina. Their hotel was outside the walls,
but a brief walk took them to the Messina Gate, a quaint archway through
which they passed into the narrow streets of one of the oldest towns in
Sicily. Doorways and windows of Saracen or Norman construction faced
them on every side, and every inch of the ancient buildings was
picturesque and charming.
Some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale of
curios.
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