dimly seen in the veiled and brooding light, he
felt that the time was past for idle musings, that it behooved him to
bestir himself, to get out into the daylight and begin to live.

He walked down the nave, and out into the gay Piazza, where he was not
surprised to find that the aspect of things had changed. The flags were
still rising and falling on the breeze, unfolding their radiant colours
to the declining sun; the deep-throated bell of the _campanile_, which
has sounded so many a summons to great deeds, was solemnly tolling the
hour; a Franciscan brother stepped across the pavement, bent doubtless
upon an errand of mercy. The young man read a new suggestion in each of
these familiar sights and sounds. He turned and looked back at San
Marco, at the outline of its clustering domes, at its carvings and
mosaics, gleaming in full sunshine. In his exalted frame of mind, all
these things seemed translated into large and significant meanings;
patriotism, philanthropy, art,--his own art, architecture. He wondered
what fine thing it would be vouchsafed him to do, to win the girl he
loved.

Geoffry Daymond was by nature modest; the accident of worldly
prosperity, of personal success, had not changed that; but he was
equally by nature determined. Though he felt that something very
tremendous would be required of him before he could enter into his
kingdom, he never for an instant doubted that he should win. And so it
happened, that, as he walked away across the Piazza, his step rang
firmer and sharper than ever, and he held his head with the air of a man
not easily daunted.

The wind did not go down with the sun, and, when evening came, Geof felt
pretty sure that he should find Pauline in the Piazza. Accordingly, he
went there in search of her; yet when he came upon her, sitting with May
and the Colonel at a little round table in front of Florian's, he found
very little to say for himself, in response to her friendly greeting. He
joined them at their after-dinner coffee, but he said he had had his
smoke, and when, presently, May expressed a laudable desire to go and
see what the moon was about, he could do no less than offer to escort
her.

"Won't you come, Miss Beverly?" he asked, but there was a constraint in
his tone, which to Pauline's mind could have but one interpretation.

"Thank you, no," she said. "I will keep Uncle Dan company. We have not
finished our coffee yet."

As they walked away, Uncle Dan looked after