He drew back, surprised and utterly shocked.
Signorina, you forget yourself," he said.

"I do not, nor you either

have you no wish for love?" "I love only the Signora Margherita, my precious wife," he said soberly.

"What do you mean?" he asked harshly.

"I told you I could not help seeing many things, and I think you are blind or stupid not to see them yourself. Do you not hear her say so often how dull it is without Signor Fauvel?" "And I say so, too. No one is better company than he."

"So she thinks, and is it not strange when they are together they speak almost always in French, which neither you nor I understand?"

"It is his native language -"

"Ah! - but it is not hers."

"Whatever the Signora says in any language is sure to be right," Leone said coldly.

"You think so; that is well. Have you ever noticed when Signor Fauvel is at home how he makes pencil sketches of her all the time? He would paint you and me for the public eye, but the sketches of the Signora he keeps for himself."

"Nonsense!" Leone exclaimed, rising as if tired of the conversation; "if my uncle wants to sketch my wife because she is pretty and graceful, he is welcome to; and it is very bad form in you to eat his bread and sleep under his roof and yet talk against him and a lady who is gracious enough to receive you as a friend."

Stop, stop, Signore Leone!" for he was walking away; she rose also. She had one more thrust: "Perhaps you do not know that when the baby died after you had been drugged to make you sleep, he spent the night in her room."

Leone turned on her furiously: "How dare you speak such lies! The Signora is above reproach, also Fauvel. I would

trust them together to the ends of the earth. But I have heard tales of you, Carlotta Santoni. It is said in the village that sometimes when the hunting parties of fine gentlemen stop at her father's home the handsome daughter entertains them if the consideration is high enough, and hoodwinks her respected father, who thinks her a good girl. I told this to the Signora Margherita, but she would not believe it. And yet you would defame her how dare you!" And he seized her by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth chattered. "How dare you," he repeated, "you common peasant, you jackdaw in peacock's plumes, you meddling minx! Be off from here and never come back!" With that he loosed his hold and sent her starting forward.

"How dare

"Ough!" she screamed, in a passion of rage. you touch me! Also I hear things said of you. You are not really the nephew of Fauvel; nobody knows who you are his bastard, perhaps. Oh, but you shall smart for this, Leone Belmonte! May you die of apoplexy, may your little dead come back to torture you! I'll be revenged, wait and see, you virtuous fool, you handsome simpleton, you" but the last epithet was lost upon him, for he had gone and Carlotta took herself off, her blood boiling with anger, a desperate look in her blue eyes and vengeance in her heart.

When Leone entered the house he was stopped by Beppo, who had been to the village for the mail. There was one letter for Margaret and one for himself from Fauvel which said "urgente in the corner, so he sat down and opened it immediately. Presently Margaret came in and took up hers.

"I ought to have heard from home by this mail, but here's next best, from dear Giacinta."

It was a short letter, which she quickly finished, but Leone was still poring over his.

"What is it," she asked; "anything wrong with Meurice?" "No," he answered slowly, without looking up, "only he wants me to go away for two or three days. He is preparing

for his lectures on 'Archaic Art in Ancient Towns,' and wants me to go to these places and look up matters he has listed down here and write him information - mostly dates. - mostly dates. For some of them I will have to get permissi* from the authorities. Ah! Dio mio, I do not want to go. It means leaving thee, Margherita, for three days, three whole days and nights. I have never left thee alone before, tesoro mio."

Here was the opportunity Margaret had been waiting for to make the great search.

"When does he want you to go?" she asked.

At once. I will start early to-morrow.

horses to be shod to-day."

I must send the

Early the next morning Leone stood impatiently waiting for Beppo to bring round the horses and summon him. He was always ready ahead of time, for his monastic training had made him very prompt.

He and Margaret were in the cedar room together; she held an ancient-style storm coat that she insisted upon his taking, as the weather was still cold towards nightfall, and was telling him not to worry about her.

"But I shall worry, carissima; if there were only railroads and comforts for women, I might take thee. I hate to leave thee with no one to speak to but servants

"Nonsense, nonsense, Leonino! Here's Beppo," as the boy appeared in the doorway.

"

Amore mio," Leone whispered, taking her in his arms, I feel that I do wrong to leave thee here alone. For no one else in the world but Fauvel would I do so."

"Dearest, I am not one bit afraid, and I will have Lisa sleep in my room. I will find plenty to do," she said, and she followed him to the gates.

"A rivederci, Amore," he called out, as he turned in his saddle to throw her one last kiss, and she waved to him, smiling. How splendidly he rode, she thought, and how handsome

* Permits.

he looked in his tan corduroy and high riding boots! Then she turned and went indoors, and the old house seemed strangely desolate.

She ran to the tower, up and up until she reached the top and saw him cantering away in the spring sunshine with Beppo at a respectful distance behind, and watched him until he was out of sight, as Donna Lorina had watched her lover fifty years before.

CHAPTER XXIV

"WHERE CUPID GUARDS AND DOLPHINS SWIM"

All is dead here

Joy has fled here

Let us hence, 'tis the end of all

The gray arch crumbles

And totters, and tumbles,

And silence sits in the banquet hall.

T B. ALDRICH.

"It had better be to-day, Signora. The young Signore might return unexpectedly, eh? And then our search would be postponed again," so said Ferruccio a little later when Margaret had gone to the chapel to report that the coast was clear "at last and that she was free to leave her apartments as long as she chose without fear of being watched or questioned.

"We must have a lantern apiece," Ferruccio continued, “and it would be best for the Signora to wear something old that she does not fear to spoil."

"I do not think I could do much damage to any of my clothes," Margaret answered a little plaintively, thinking of her now scanty wardrobe, "but I have a short skirt I could put on. I will be back here in half an hour," and she hastened away. She felt herself almost lifted off her feet with the nervous excitement of exhilaration and covered the space quickly between the chapel and her rooms where she found Lisa putting things to rights.

"You may bring my luncheon up here," she said to the woman, "it is too lonely to eat by myself downstairs." The truth was, she was under too tense a sense of something impending to want to be alone.

"Signora," said Ferruccio, when she was again in the chapel, "while you were gone I went out to get the sun through me and see what I found," handing her an unopened letter.