fairly risen, and swept the colour from the face of the sky, did
she look toward the Salute. There it stood, beautiful and strong and
invulnerable, but behind it were dark rain-clouds, heaped high and
threatening.

Then Pauline moved away, with a feeling of assured strength and peace.
She could not account for it, she could not have defined it; she only
felt as if she had come face to face with a great experience, whether of
joy or sorrow she could not tell,--but whatever its countenance she felt
serenely ready to meet it.

She slept a deep, peaceful sleep after that, nor did her mind misgive
her when she awoke again, to find that those threatening clouds had
taken possession of the sky, and were drenching the world with rain.

They went to the Belle Arti that morning, Pauline and May and Uncle Dan,
their faithful squire. Vittorio took them there in the hooded gondola,
himself radiant in a new "impermeable" hat and coat, which gave him the
appearance of a gigantic wet seal, swaying genially on its supple tail.

As they looked out from the shelter of the _felze_, more impermeable
than many rubber coats, May observed that it was a terrible waste of
opportunities to go about in a _felze_ with a mere uncle and sister.

"What do you take it that a _felze_ is for?" asked Uncle Dan, enchanted
with her disparaging tone.

"I suppose it was originally invented for the accommodation of lovers,"
May replied, with her familiar air of scientific investigation, which
caused Pauline to smile contentedly.

"Other kinds of conspirators are said to have found it convenient,"
Uncle Dan observed. "Thieves and cut-throats, for instance. But it
strikes me as being a very good place for an uncle, especially in
weather like this."

"And you, Pauline,--what is your vote?"

"I should think it was a very excellent place to be in with an uncle,
or----"

"Or?"

"Or anyone else one thought particularly well of," and Pauline gave her
sister an appreciative smile.

Then May, usually rather unsusceptible to such quiet demonstrations of
affection, put her hand in her sister's and said: "Pauline, you are a
good deal of a dear!" and there was a certain bright sweetness in the
young girl's face that caused Pauline to think of the dawn, and of what
a perfect hour it was,--and that there was never any hurry about the
sunrise.

They spent an hour, catalogue in hand, among the less important
pictures, while Uncle Dan amused himself with some ol