en
out of breath. "What a wonderful view!" she exclaimed, as they emerged
upon the stone platform at the top of the tower. Giovanni was silent for
a moment. The two stood together and looked far out at the purple
mountains to eastward that caught the last rays of the sun high up above
the shadows of the valley; and then looking down, they saw the Prince and
the Sister a hundred feet below them upon the rampart.

Both were thinking of the same thing: three days ago, their meeting had
seemed infinitely far off, a thing dreamed of and hoped for--and now they
were standing alone upon the topmost turret of Giovanni's house, familiar
with each other by a long day's conversation, feeling as though they had
never been parted, feeling also that most certainly they would not be
parted again.

"It is very strange," said Giovanni, "how things happen in this world,
and how little we ever know of what is before us. Last week I wondered
whether I should ever see you--now I cannot imagine not seeing you. Is
it not strange?"

"Yes," answered Corona, in a low voice.

"That, yesterday, we should have seemed parted by an insurmountable
barrier, and that to-day--" he stopped. "Oh, if to-day could only last
for ever!" he exclaimed, suddenly.

Corona gazed out upon the purple hills in silence, but her face caught
some of the radiance of the distant glow, and her dark eyes had strange
lights in them. She could not have prevented him from speaking; she had
loosed the bonds that had held her life so long; the anchor was up, and
the breath of love fanned the sails, and gently bore the craft in which
she trusted out to seaward over the fair water. In seeing him she had
resigned herself to him, and she could not again get the mastery if she
would. It had come too soon, but it was sweet.

"And why not?" he said, very softly. "Why should it not remain so for
ever--till our last breath? Why will you not let it last?"

Still she was silent; but the tears gathered slowly in her eyes, and
welled over and lay upon her velvet cheek like dewdrops on the leaves of
a soft dark tulip. Giovanni saw them, and knew that they were the jewels
which crowned his life.

"You will," he said, his broad brown hand gently covering her small
fingers and taking them in his. "You will--I know that you will."

She said nothing, and though she at first made a slight movement--not of
resistance, but of timid reluctance, utterly unlike herself--she suffered
him to hol