Estori was still standing and had taken up his old-fashioned valise.

"The circumstances, Signore," he said firmly, and his eyes met those of the artist in a resolute gaze,- are not the same. You were free to begin with; you had only to consider your duty to your father. I have to consider my duty to God."

It might have been the young Archangel Michael, who stood there so rigidly in all his dignity. The coarse habit was unnoticed, for the splendid juvenile form seemed invested with a majesty of its own, and Fauvel wondered if there were any look in the world so hard as that of upright youth, with its terrible unconscious directness; the look of youth that sees only in the present, too confident to doubt or fear, youth so encased in an undented coat of mail that it has no realization of either virtue or sin.

Fauvel set the bird on the arm of the chair and rose, and placing his hands on the shoulders of Estori looked him in the eyes.

Amico mio," he said, "have you ever considered the duty of God to you?"

"I do not understand."

The Being you call God sent you into the world. You are here through no will of your own. He has endowed you with rare gifts, unusual physical beauty first of all, you must know that? God is your Heavenly Father, you say; you are His child, He wishes you to be happy. The happiness of his children is the wish of every true father. Now I have thought from the moment I saw you that you were wearing that habit from no choice of your own, merely from environment and the influence of other minds working upon yours. Nor do I believe that God would be offended at your casting it off, if it would make you happier to do so."

"I must go now," Estori said, breaking from him.

*My friend.

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Stop a bit what name goes with the verses, 'Leone?'" "As you choose, Signore."

"And about the English lessons? I think I have two pupils for your friend."

"That is very kind," Estori said gratefully, and held out his hand.

"Come in the middle of the week," Fauvel continued, "and then I'll let you know definitely; I will send off a letter to the editor in Florence to-night."

"Thank you, Signore."

When he was gone, Fauvel lighted another cigarette and went into the adjoining room to dress for an engagement at the Grand Hotel, while Estori sauntered through the Piazza Barberini and down the Via Tritone, with those words in his ears, "Have you ever thought of the duty of God to you? You are His child, and He wishes you to be happy."

As he crossed the Piazza Colonna something the old Prince had said to him that first day he had been summoned to his bedside, now recurred to his mind. "I fear a great injustice has been done you, my dear young cousin," he had whispered; "God grant that what is may be for the best. You were a fatherless boy and it was my duty to have seen more after your interests. Can you forgive an old man's neglect?" And he had assured him he knew of nothing to forgive, but should there have been anything he had his forgiveness willingly.

Approaching the Palazzo Estori he heard a bell tolling, and passing through the arched entrance he was surprised to find no portiere at his post. Crossing the old moss-grown courtyard, he ascended a fligh of marble stairs to the first landing. The great door was ajar, he pushed it open and entered the antechamber emblazoned with the shield and coat of arms of the Estoris. No footman was in his customary place. He walked through room after room, all deserted, until he came to a corridor that led to the apartments of the Prince. There he found a group of servants weeping.

"Hasten, hasten, Don Felice," said the old butler, "or you will be too late. His Excellency, my dear master, became suddenly worse at noon; he has received the last sacrament; he is dying."

Estori lifted the rich velvet curtain and stepped into the room. The old man was the color of yellow ivory, and was breathing feebly and at long intervals. Daniele Estori was sobbing aloud as he knelt with his wife close beside the bed, while a great Cardinal, his father's life-long friend, was repeating the prayers for a departing soul. Fra Felice crossed to the bedside and knelt with his cousins. As he did so the breathing ceased. The Cardinal raised his hand and said,

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Go forth, Christian soul, from this world, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost."

CHAPTER VII

THE WEAVING OF THE FATES

"I never lived till now.

I have no past where thou art not,
My only life art thou."

"How good it is to see you again, cara Signorina!" Giacinta, the maid who had been kind to Margaret in her first days in Rome, was come to see the little American lady.

"It is equally good to see you, dear Giacinta," said Margaret. "Sit down in that big chair and be quite comfortable," and she gently pushed Giacinta into the only available chair and seated herself upon the bed. She had found a small room in the Pension Luella which had been recommended by the Contessa Melzi where a young woman might board alone with propriety. Margaret's trunks took up most of the space and the other chair was filled with articles of the expensive trousseau provided by Cousin Cornelia Ward. 'I came here yesterday," she continued, "and am in the act of unpacking. Little Enrichetta Melzi has gone home to her parents and the contessa has nothing further for me to do; but I have hopes of another position as companion to a friend of hers who is going to Switzerland for the summer. In the meantime I have two months to fill in. The nuns at the Trinita have found me an engagement to read aloud to a blind lady, and I think I can manage to get some pupils for English lessons." But Signorina, you are too young and pretty to go about alone."

Giacinta, you must understand that American girls are not like Italians. We are much more independent. Now tell me about Madame, and the young ladies, and yourself."

"La Kotrell and the Signorine," Giacinta answered, "left the city the first of April, and I am living with my brother

who has a book-shop outside the Porta Pia. I don't care to take a situation just yet, but I will do any work for you, Signorina. Let me take your linen; I can have it washed much cheaper than you can. I will mend it and run in the ribbons. You shall see."

Oh, that will be a delightful arrangement," said Margaret, and you will come every week and we can have nice talks." When Giacinta had departed Margaret took a note from her bureau drawer and reread it.

Dearest Signorina:

With what joy I have received the news that you are once more free. Can you meet me to-morrow morning at the house of old Assunta? If you answer at once I will receive your note this evening. Do not disappoint me. I am all impatience to see you.

Yours,

LEONE.

The resolution she had made before Christmas not to see Fra Felice again had entirely vanished. How could she be blamed for clinging to the only friend she had? The contessa had been pleasant but patronizing, had made her feel that she was not an equal, since she was in employment, Margaret supposed, and she had suffered in consequence. And when she saw how some of the titled people ran after rich Americans whom her Cousin Cornelia would not have inside her doors, that also made bitterness in her heart. Fra Felice was the only real true friend she had, and she could not, she could not under the circumstances, be expected to give him up. Besides, every one else she knew was old, and he was young young like herself.

It was almost in a defiant spirit that she found her way the next morning to old Assunta's, and felt again his strong hand-clasp, and was looking into his beautiful face.

Assunta was in a corner of her room kneading black bread, and after her first respectful greetings turned her back and paid no more attention to them.