e budding
lover. "That is an absolute secret, for Grau carefully hides away
his coming stars. Somewhere on Long Island an old Hungarian noble
family have had a retreat since the days of Kossuth.

"The Fraeulein is their guest, and, for other reasons than complete
faith with Grau, she receives no one. She is as proud and haughty as
she is beautiful, and rumor has it that the pursuit of an Austrian
Archduke drove her to the safety of our shores. All this I have
gathered from my old friend, Signore Raffoni."

Clayton mutely followed Lilienthal to the door of a private room
in the "Bavaria" and, with a wildly beating heart, was bowing low
before the woman whose shining eyes had brought to his bosom such
strange unrest.

"It is like a page from a novel," the flute-like voice murmured,
"that this lucky picture should have brought us together again, as
it strangely did once face to face."

Randall Clayton's ears drank in that soft, wooing accent, and all
the ardor of his eyes betrayed the instant recognition which lay
behind the diva's merry words.

When he had murmured his thanks, the presence of Lilienthal seemed
to be a bar to any rapprochement. Clayton was fain to accept Fraeulein
Gluyas' courtesy in allowing him a choice as to the handling of
the picture or its replica.

"If Mademoiselle will allow me," said Clayton, "I will give Mr.
Lilienthal my cheque for the coming proof, and retain in my possession
the one framed in our American manner."

This was soon settled, and then, with a glance at his watch, the
dealer, bowing low, hurried away.

"We artists have to be unconventional," frankly said the Magyar
beauty.

"I await Madame Raffoni here for a little tour of the wonderful
New York shops."

It was a natural passage from the picture to the memories of the
Danube, and then, under the kindling glances of the diva, Randall
Clayton talked, with spirit, of his happy summer ramblings through
Austria and Hungary.

Irma Gluyas' magnetic eyes burned into his soul as she followed
the young stranger in his itinerary. It was only when the maitre
d'hotel entered, announcing Madame Raffoni as in waiting in her
carriage, that Randall Clayton's castle in Spain came crashing down
around him.

The Magyar witch dropped her eyes when Clayton took her hands in
adieu. "You have made me forget time, and my workaday world," he
said. "I have now something to live for--to hear you sing! It seems
so hard to meet only to pa