The blood was pouring from the wound in his head. She knew the meaning of that yellow pallor, she had seen it on her own child's face.

Signora," he whispered again, this time so low she was obliged to bend over to hear him. "The jewels are all yours, but the star, you understand, that is for Our Lady. I promised it to her. She will not mind your wearing it during your lifetime. You are her sweet young daughter, and she blesses you for your kindness to a poor, ugly old man —”

"Don't say that, Ferruccio, I have done nothing — nothing -"

He closed his eyes and Margaret thought he was gone, but after a moment he opened them again, Signora, are you there?"

Margaret took his cold hand in both of her warm ones and held it tight. Oh, what could she do; this honest faithful, simple soul should have a priest, and the last rites of the Church.

He tried to raise himself. "That's it," he gasped, "I see it, the star shining-like silver, there over there," and he fell back dead.

Down upon the furrowed countenance Margaret's tears fell. She knelt on for some moments praying for his soul, then she folded his hands and closed his eyes, as she had seen Giacinta close the baby's eyes.

She rose and pulled up some shrubs, though the thorns tore her hands, and covered him as best she could with green branches; then she picked up the dirty pigskin pouch that held the treasure, all hers now, and taking the two lanterns she left him. No one would know that the jettatura who had been the terror of the castle lay there, for stones and boughs concealed his body.

Who drinks if deep the draught shall be,
Knows all the rapture of the hill,

Blent with the heart-break of the sea.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

Slowly and soberly Margaret walked around all the turnings and towers, up the terrace, into the house and straight to her own room.

She poured water into the basin and bathed her face and hands, then she sat down upon the couch, wearied out, to think. The lunch Lisa had brought was lying upon a table and a flask of Chianti. She did not want food but she believed a glass of wine would do her good. She went over to the table and drank a few swallows, when she remembered her sister's letter, which poor Ferruccio had found and given her. It would draw her thoughts from the fearful thing that had just happened and of which she dared not speak to the superstitious

servants.

She brought the Chianti over to the couch and making herself comfortable with pillows, took the letter from her blouse where she had hastily thrust it a few hours earlier and broke the seal.

Instead of a newsy home epistle there were only a few lines, with another letter enclosed. What in the world was Josephine sending her? A business envelope addressed to herself! Filled with curiosity she opened it and something fell out a check! What did it mean?

A draft on a bank in Perugia for five hundred dollars, made payable to Margaret L. Randolph and signed "Hartman and Withers." What, what does this mean; then she read:

Margaret L. Randolph.

NEW YORK, April —, 19—

DEAR MISS RANDOLPH: We beg to inform you that by the will of the late Cornelia Randolph Ward you are named as sole heiress, with the exception of a few legacies and personal bequests which are left to friends

What, what was this?

Cousin Cornelia dead, and she her heiress?

Margaret could scarcely hold the paper; her hand was shaking so the characters danced before her eyes.

The rest of her wine served to steady her nerves, and she read on:

We trust that you may find it convenient to return to the United States promptly, as it is most necessary that you should be here for the settling up of the estate which consists of railroad securities, mining stock, bonds, mortgages, personal and real estate, both in the city of New York and in the state of California.

Mr. Henry Gill Withers of the undersigned and Mr. Wallace J. Grant of this city are the Executors for the deceased. We enclose you our check for your return and should you need more you will kindly advise us.

We remain very truly yours,

Cable address:

"Withart"

New York

HARTMAN AND WITHERS,

Attorneys at Law.

Western Union code.

Twice she read the letter but she could not take it in. She believed she was dreaming; but how skeptical she had been about the jewels and here they were beside her!

Oh, no, no, there was no mistake. Cousin Cornelia had forgiven her and left her her money! Oh, for some one to rejoice with; for some one to whom she might tell the good forShould she cry or laugh or dance?

tune.

She arose and poured out more wine. She felt as if she could drink the contents of the entire flask; she needed it in her intense excitement.

Now what did Josephine say?

Dearest Margaret:

some of the heavy old necklace which I always

I have asked Mr. Withers to let me enclose his letter with mine, as I want to be the first to congratulate you. My dear, you will have a stunning income, only think of it! Was it not lovely of poor dear Cousin Cornelia? She has left me Randolph silver and her diamond and pearl envied, and Wallace Grant has the oil paintings, but her Fifth Avenue house and almost everything else goes to you. Mother and I have lately had an idea she meant to leave you something, but we never dreamed of all this.

Now dearest Peggie, you must come home at once, by the very next steamer, as we are wild to see you and it's most important that you should be here. I am arranging a room especially for you, as we think it would be lonely for you at first to go to your own house.

Cable us what steamer you will sail by and Phil and I will meet

you.

With dearest love from mother and all of us,
Your devoted sister,

JOSEPHINE.

P.S. I think you owe your good fortune to Wallace Grant. He has talked to Cousin Cornelia, I know, and told her she was rather hard upon you, you were so young at that time. Phil is sending you papers with the account of her death and funeral.

J. D.

This letter was the last drop. When she was poor and had nowhere to go there was no room for her in Mrs. Dacre's home, but now we think it will be too lonely for you to

Margaret threw herself on the couch and sobbed aloud from a mixture of the extreme emotions of the day.

When she had had her cry out she felt better and calmer and then came a rush of happiness as she began to realize it all. She could go home at last. See her mother, her sister, her old friends, her native land. Home! Home! Home!!

Her lunch made her ready for action.

But Leone - what about him? Would he let her go, would he insist upon going also? She thought he would not do the latter, but he might upbraid her for leaving him and make it very hard. She must go at once, during his absence, then there would be no wrench of parting and no scene. Yes, she

must go now, that was obvious and she would come back in two months.

She went into his room and found a Perugia newspaper which advertised the ocean steamers with dates of sailing. One left the day after to-morrow from Genoa at 10 A. M. If she could get to Fossato in time she could catch the train for Perugia to-night, go to the bank in the morning and on to Genoa, buy her ticket and some necessary things for the voyage, send her cablegram and get away. Ah, but she was unknown in Perugia and the bank would not honor her draft without identification.

What could she do? The jewels! She would pawn something and raise money enough for the journey, and when she returned in June could redeem it. She would be here to welcome Fauvel and oh, how much she would do for them all, what presents she would bring!

Surely no one could blame her for leaving when her family and her lawyers had sent for her. Her lawyers, her property, how important she felt. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the wardrobe mirror; what a shabby "dud" Miss Randolph was! Her sister's maids would scorn the clothes she had on. She laughed as she thought of it. Never mind; she would make it up to herself when she once got back to the shops.

Five hundred dollars just to go home with, and she was to let Hartman and Withers know if she needed more; the draft though waste paper in her present circumstances was after all the confirmation of this wonderful thing, and she laughed as she had sobbed a few minutes before, while the tragic death of poor Ferruccio also added to the tension of her nerves.

She pulled the worn bell cord so violently it almost snapped and when she heard the old servant woman's shuffling steps approaching, she tucked the pig-skin pouch under a pillow. Ferruccio's warning and her own common sense told her neither to speak of the jewels nor to show them.