they returned to Vallanza with armfuls of
roses, lilies, oleanders, and jessamine.

Later that afternoon, Adrian having gone alone for his donkey-ride in
the country (more power to the back of the donkey!), Anthony was seated
by the open window of his bedroom, in a state of deep depression. All
at once, between the two promontories that form the entrance to the
bay, the Capo del Papa and the Capo del Turco, appeared, heading for
Vallanza, a white steamer, clearly, from its size and lines, a yacht--a
very bright and gay object to look upon, as it gleamed in the sun and
crisped the blue waters. And all at once, his eye automatically
following it, Anthony experienced a perfectly inexplicable lightening
of the heart,--as if, indeed, the white yacht were bringing something
good to him. It was absurd, but he could not help it. Somehow, his
depression left him, and a feeling almost of joyousness took its place.

"She said she loved me--she said she loved me," he remembered. "And at
the farthest," he reflected, "at the farthest I shall be with her again
in nine little days."

He got out the fan that he had stolen, and pressed it to his face. He
got out his writing-materials, and wrote her a long, cheerful,
impassioned letter.

His change of mood was all the more noteworthy, perhaps, because the
yacht chanced to be the _Fiorimondo_, bearing the Countess of Sampaolo
and her suite from Venice, whither it had proceeded two days before,
upon orders telegraphed from Paris.

XXI

Adrian, coming in, saw Anthony's letter, superscribed and stamped,
lying on the table.

"I 'm posting a lot of stuff of my own," he said. "Shall I post this
with it?"

Had Susanna admitted him to her confidence? How otherwise could it
have befallen, as it did, that she received Anthony's letter, which was
of course addressed to Craford, at Isola Nobile no later than that very
evening?

She read it, smiling.

"Which of the many villas that overlook the bay and are visible from my
window, with their white walls and dark-green gardens,--which is
yours?" he questioned. "All day I have been wondering. That is the
single thing that really stirs me here, that really gives me a
_feeling_--its association with you. All day I have been hearing a
sonnet of Ronsard's--do you remember it?--_Voicy le bois_. But I wish
I knew which villa is your villa, which garden is your garden. Why did
n't I find out before I was driven from Paradise?