, resuming his careless air, "you must not imagine
I am seriously troubled because the Council have not as yet seen fit to
think of what I have done for them. I am their obedient servant, like
yourself. Some day, perhaps, I may be summoned."

"_A la bonne heure!_" said Calabressa, rising. "No, no more wine. Your
port-wine here is glorious--it is a wine for the gods; but a very little
is enough for a man. So, farewell, my good friend Lind. Be kind to the
beautiful Natalushka, if that other thing that I spoke of is
impossible. If the bounty of Heaven had only given me such a daughter!"

"Kirski will meet you at the station," said Lind. "Charing Cross, you
remember; eight sharp. The train is 8.25."

"I will be there."

They shook hands and parted; the door was shut. Then, in the street
outside, Calabressa glanced up at the drawing-room windows just for a
second.

"Ah, little daughter," he said to himself as he turned away, "you do not
know the power of the talisman I have given you. But you will not use
it. You will be happy; you will marry the Englishman; you will have
little children round your knee; and you will lead so busy and glad a
life, year after year, that you will never have a minute to sit down and
think of old Calabressa, or of the stupid little map of Naples he left
with you."

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN ALTERNATIVE.

Once again the same great city held these two. When George Brand looked
out in the morning on the broad river, and the bridges, and the hurrying
cabs and trains and steamers, he knew that this flood of dusky sunshine
was falling also on the quieter ways of Hyde Park and semi-silent
thoroughfares adjoining. They were in the same city, but they were far
apart. An invisible barrier separated them. It was not to Curzon Street
that he directed his steps when he went out into the still, close air
and the misty sunlight.

It was to Lisle Street that he walked; and all the way he was persuading
himself to follow Calabressa's advice. He would betray no impatience,
however specious Lind might be. He would shut down that distrust of
Natalie's father that was continually springing up in his mind. He would
be considerate to the difficulties of his position, ready to admit the
reasonableness of his arguments, mindful of the higher duties demanded
of himself. But then--but then--he bethought him of that evening at the
theatre; he remembered what she had said; how she had looked. He was not
going to