as fond of rough weather, and
we get plenty of that here. And he was fond of work."

She paused again, watching the measured stroke of her son's oar.

"One summer we went into the Tyrol for a few weeks, and while we were
away there was a fire, and all my husband's notes and manuscripts were
burnt."

"Burnt?" Pauline repeated, with a catch of consternation in her voice.

There was not a trace of bitterness in the speaker's face; on the
contrary, its usual clear serenity seemed touched to something higher
and deeper.

"Then it was," she said, "that my husband had his great opportunity. He
began his work again from the beginning. His courage did not flag for a
single instant."

"He was a brave soldier after all," said Pauline.

"Yes; and he fell on the field. There was a terrible epidemic of fever,
and he went about among the people doing them inestimable service in
many ways. I could not go with him because of Geof, and,--I saw the end
from the beginning. As I was saying, Pietro used to row us as long ago
as that. He has carried Geof in his arms many a time. Ah! Now we feel
the swell!"

As she spoke, the long, slow roll of the sea lifted their light bark
like a piece of drift-wood upon its sweeping crest, letting it sink
again in a strange and solemn rhythm. The actual rise and fall of the
water was so slight that it was scarcely apparent to the eye; yet it had
the reach and significance of an elemental force, and the gondola rose
and sank with a certain tremor, foreign to its usual graceful motion.

"Perhaps we had better turn back, Geof," said Mrs. Daymond.

"Very well; but not until Miss Beverly has seen the sails outside."

Pauline went forward and stood upon the upper step, steadying herself by
the oarsman's proffered shoulder. The motion seemed stronger, now that
she was on her feet.

"Hold harder," said Geof; "you won't enjoy it if you don't feel safe.
There! That's right."

Over the line of the jetty was the deep blue Adriatic, sweeping to the
horizon, its nearer reaches dotted with brilliant sails, shining in
every shade of red and yellow and ruddy brown. The long, outer shore of
the Lido, stretching far away to the tower of Malamocco, was edged with
white, as the gentle curve of the waves broke with a toss of spray upon
the sand.

"You like it?" Geof inquired, looking up into her face.

"It's as pretty as a tune," she said. "A tune with a lot of harmony to
make it really sing. Do you know what