d and fascinated by the
original turn of mind and the bewitching personality of the strange
little creature for whom the ordinary amusements of society seemed to
have no attraction. And now, installed in her own sumptuously fitted
rooms in the Palazzo d'Oro, Morgana's Sicilian paradise, she almost
forgot there was such a thing as poverty, or the sordid business of
"making both ends meet." Walking up and down the rose-marble loggia and
looking out to the exquisite blue of the sea, she inwardly thanked God
for all His mercies, and wondered at the exceptional good luck that had
brought her so much peace, combined with comfort and luxury in the
evening of her days. She was a handsome old lady; her refined features,
soft blue eyes and white hair were a "composition" for an
eighteenth-century French miniature, and her dress combined quiet
elegance with careful taste. She was inflexibly loyal to her stated
position; she neither "questioned" nor "controlled" Morgana, or
attempted to intrude an opinion as to her actions or movements,--and
if, as was only natural, she felt a certain curiosity concerning the
aims and doings of so brilliant and witch-like a personality she showed
no sign of it. She was interested in the Marchese Rivardi, but still
more so in the priest, Don Aloysius, to whom she felt singularly
attracted, partly by his own dignified appearance and manner, and
partly by the leaning she herself had towards the Catholic Faith where
"Woman" is made sacred in the person of the Holy Virgin, and deemed
worthy of making intercession with the Divine. She knew, as we all in
our innermost souls know, that it is a symbol of the greatest truth
that can ever be taught to humanity.

The special morning on which she walked, leaning slightly on a
silver-knobbed stick, up and down the loggia and looked at the sea, was
one of rare beauty even in Sicily, the sky being of that pure ethereal
blue for which one can hardly find a comparison in colour, and the
ocean below reflecting it, tone for tone, as in a mirror. In the
terraced garden, half lost among the intertwining blossoms, Morgana
moved to and fro, gathering roses,--her little figure like a white rose
itself set in among the green leaves. Lady Kingswood watched her, with
kindly, half compassionate eyes.

"It must be a terrible responsibility for her to have so much money!"
she thought. "She can hardly know what to do with it! And somehow--I do
not think she will marry."

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