and
experience.

"I wonder you don't write a book, Signor Ricordo," said Briarfield
presently.

"And why, Mr. Briarfield?"

"You must have a wonderful story to tell."

"Yes, a wonderful story, perhaps; but would you have me lay open my soul
to the gaze of the vulgar crowd?"

"Other men have."

"Why?"

"Perhaps to make money, perhaps to obtain renown or to do good. Dante
gave the world his vision of hell, and of heaven; why not you?"

"Because I am not a poet, and because--well, every man has his own way
of telling his story. Besides, if ever I were to tell the story of my
life I should choose my audience."

They had by this time reached the gate which opened the way into the
grounds of The Homestead, and as if by one consent the trio stopped.

"Are you staying here long, signore?" asked Olive.

"I do not know. I am given to understand that there is an unwritten rule
that no visitor shall stay at your beautiful home for the poor, and the
tired, for more than a month, Miss Castlemaine," he said. "The rule is
just and wise. Your desire is to give the greatest happiness to the
greatest number, and therefore it is not right that I should stay more
than a month. Still, because the place seems to grow more beautiful, and
more interesting every day, I may take rooms in some farmhouse. On the
other hand, I may leave at the end of next week."

He looked up at her as he spoke, and watched her attentively out of his
half-closed eyes.

"I hope I may have the privilege of seeing you again before I go,
whether my stay be long or short," he added presently.

She knew not why, and she wondered afterwards whether she had done
right. She had seen him that day for the first time. All she knew of him
was that he was an Eastern stranger, who from his own confession had a
strange past, and held opinions which to say the least of them seemed
dangerous, yet yielding on the impulse of the moment she expressed the
hope that she should see him at Vale Linden.

"Ah, signorina," said Ricordo, "I am not worthy of so great an honour;
nevertheless, I accept it before you have time to repent, and withdraw
your invitation." At this moment he stopped at the gates of The
Homestead.

Again she half held out her hand, but again he did not notice it. He
lifted his fez slightly, and then, with a somewhat exaggerated bow, he
passed into the garden. But he did not stay to notice those who were
sitting in the warm spring sunshine: he seemed