_Ecco il sole_!" I beheld no sun, either then or at any moment during the rest of the day, but the voice was so reassuring that I gladly gave ear to it.

On we drove, down the lovely vale of the Corace, through orange-groves and pine-woods, laurels and myrtles, carobs and olive trees, with the rain beating fiercely upon us, the wind swaying all the leafage like billows on a stormy sea.

At the Marina of Catanzaro we turned southward on the coast road, pursued it for two or three miles, then branched upon our inland way.

The storm showed no sign of coming to an end.

Several times the carriage stopped, and the lad got down to examine his horses--perhaps to sympathize with them; he was such a drenched, battered, pitiable object that I reproached myself for allowing him to pursue the journey.
"_Brutto tempo_!" he screamed above the uproar, when I again spoke to him; but in such a cheery tone that I did not think it worth while to make any further remark.
Through the driving rain, I studied as well as I could the features of the country.