and exclamations behind him. The windows stood open, the hour, the
season invited. I saw the long, velvety vista of the cypress avenue, the
slender feathers of trees in young leaf, the pleasantness of the grass,
heard the invitation of a calling thrush, thought poignantly of
Virginia, and went out, hoping to see her spirit there.

I paced the well-remembered long avenue to where it opened into a circle
to meet two others. A sun-dial stood here in the midst and marked a
point from which you could look three ways--behind you to the house, to
the right and to the left. I chose for the right, and sauntered slowly
towards the statue of the Dancing Faun, which closed that particular
alley.

Strange, indeed, it was to be within the personal circle of Donna
Aurelia, and undisturbed! But I did not realise then how near her I was.

The sound of voices in debate broke in upon my meditations--a woman's
clear "No, no. At this hour, no!" and a man's, which urged, "Signora, if
my devotion--" I knew both voices--the woman's was not to be mistaken.
Aurelia was there--the divine Aurelia--close at hand. Without thinking
what I did, I took a strong breath and stepped forward to my task. I
reached the statue of the faun, which leered and writhed its leathery
tongue at me; and in the bay which opened out beyond it I found Aurelia
and the count together.

The fair Aurelia was flushed and disarrayed. Her hair was half uncoiled,
her bodice undone. She lay, or rather reclined, upon a garden seat; one
hand was clapped to her side, one hand guarded her bosom. The count, who
had his back to me, was upon one knee before her. He was, or had been,
eloquent. At the moment of my appearance he had finished his period, and