Of a sudden--we were near the little station down in the valley--
there arose a mighty roaring, and all the trees of the wayside bent
as if they would break. The sky blackened, the wind howled, and
presently, as I peered through the window for some hope that this
would only be a passing storm, rain beat violently upon my face.
Then the carriage stopped, and my driver, a lad of about seventeen,
jumped down to put something right in the horses' harness.
"Is this going to last?" I shouted to him.
"No, no, signore" he answered gaily. "It will be over in a minute or
two. _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.
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