r to be,
"Faithfully yours,
"Vergilio Mannetti."

To this communication, albeit he felt little hope, Sir Walter made
speedy response. He declared his intention of returning to England
during the following week, after which he hoped that Signor Mannetti
would visit Chadlands at any time convenient to himself. He thanked him
gratefully, but feared that, since the Italian based his theory on a
crime, he could not feel particularly sanguine, for the possibility of
such a thing had proved non-existent.

Mary, however, looked deeper into the letter. She even suspected that
the writer himself entertained a greater belief in his powers than he
declared.

"One has always felt the Grey Room is somehow associated with Italy,"
she said. "The ceiling we know was moulded by Italians in Elizabeth's
day."

"It was; but so are all the other moulded ceilings in the house as
well."

"He may understand Italian workmanship, and know some similar roof that
hid a secret."

"The roof cannot conceal an assassin, and he clearly believes himself on
the track of a crime." Nevertheless, Sir Walter's interest increased as
the hour approached for their return home. Only when that was decided
did he discover how much he longed to be there. For the horror and
suffering of the past were a little dimmed already; he thirsted to see
his woods and meadows in their vernal dress, to hear the murmur of his
river, and move again among familiar voices and familiar paths.

Chadlands welcomed them on a rare evening of May, and the very genuine
joy of his people moved Sir Walter not a little. Henry Lennox was
already arrived, and deeply interested to read the Italian's letter. He
and Mary walked presently in the gardens and he found her changed. She
spoke more slowly, laughed not at all. But she had welcomed him with
affection, and been interested to learn all that he had to tell her of
himself.

"I felt that it would disappoint you to be stopped at the last moment,"
she said, "but I knew the reason would satisfy you well enough. I feel
hopeful somehow; father does not. Yet it is hope mixed with fear, for
Signor Mannetti speaks of a great crime."

"A vain theory, I'm afraid. Tell me about yourself. You are well?"

"Yes, very well. You must come to Italy some day, Henry, and let me show
you the wonderful things I have seen."

"I should dearly love it. I'm such a Goth. But it's only