n spite
of years spent under an Eastern sun; his voice quivered, his hands
trembled.

"I cannot answer you to-night," she replied. "I must have time to--to
think."

"But when, when?" he asked.

"To-morrow--yes, to-morrow at this time."

"To-morrow night then--at this time I will be here. Good-night,
signorina."

He walked away without another word. When he reached the park, instead
of going down the drive, he turned away towards the golf links. Crossing
the River Linden by a little wooden bridge, he climbed the hill, and
presently he reached the broad expanse of moors. Then, and not until
then, did he manifest any feeling whatever.

No one was near, the great moors were desolated by the night. Birds, and
beasts, and flowers were asleep. The night winds swept gently across the
spaces, making a kind of sad music. The man laughed aloud--a wild, harsh
laugh. There was a kind of joy in the laugh, but it was unholy joy. It
was the laugh of a man who believed he had succeeded in an evil
thing--such a laugh as Mephistopheles uttered when he watched the ruin
of Faust and Marguerite.

For hours he tramped the heathery moors; he seemed to rejoice in the
silence of the night, in the loneliness of the region.

"To-morrow night," he said at length. "My answer is to come to-morrow.
After six years I will hold her in my arms again. Six years! Great God,
what I have been through in that time! Six years ago she drove me away
from her, and she destroyed everything that was good in me, but now my
time is come!"

For the first time for years he was unable to sleep that night. Hour
after hour he tossed in his bed, and then presently, when the first dawn
of morning appeared, he rose and went to the window.

How quiet and peaceful everything was! Save the faint twitter of the
birds, who had not yet begun their glad thanksgiving chorus, and the
gentle ripple of the river, no sound was to be heard. The valley lay in
a light, thin haze, the dew hung on millions of blades of grass, the air
was sweet with the purity of the morning. It seemed impossible for any
one to cherish dreams of vengeance amidst such a scene, but there was
no softening in Ricordo's eyes.

He dressed quickly and went out. The sun had now risen, and all nature
had burst into new life. Everywhere the birds poured forth their song of
praise, the lambs sported in the meadows, the cattle eagerly ate the
dewy grass; everywhere life was a joy. He looked across the vall