s he was starting, a white pigeon flew down and circled round John
Derringham's head--and he was conscious that at the same moment the sun
must have risen above the horizon, for it suddenly gilded the highest
towers. And he passed out of the dark gate into its glory, and took the
Siena road, a mighty purpose of strength in his heart.

After a few days of wandering, during which he strove not to let grief
or depression master him again, he sent a telegram to Venice to Cecilia
Cricklander. And on that Saturday evening, he walked into her
sitting-room with a pale and composed face.

She was seated upon the sofa and arranged with every care, and was
looking triumphantly beautiful as she smoked a cigarette. Her fine eyes
had in them all the mocking of the fiend as she greeted him lazily.

"How are you, John?" she said casually--and puffed rings of smoke,
curling up her red lips to do so in a manner that, John Derringham was
unpleasantly aware, he would once have found attractive, but that now
only filled him with disgust.

"I am well," he said, "thank you,--better for the change and the sight
of some most interesting things."

"And I, also," she responded with provoking glances from under her lids,
"am better--for the change! I have seen--a man, since which I seem to be
able the better to value your love!"

And she leaned back and laughed with rasping mockery, which galled his
ears--although for some strange reason she could no longer gall his
soul. He felt calm and blandly indifferent to her, like someone acting
in a dream.

"I am glad you were, and are, amused," he said. He had not made the
slightest attempt to kiss her in greeting--and she had not even held out
her hand.

"You are quite rich now, John, aren't you?" after a short silence she
presently asked nonchalantly--"that is, as you English count riches--ten
or twelve thousand a year. I suppose it will keep you in comfort."

He leaned back and smiled one of his old cynical smiles.

"Yes," he said, "it is extremely rich for me; my personal wants are not
great."

"That is splendid, then," she went on, "because I shall not feel I am
really depriving you of anything by doing what I intend to do in
throwing you over--otherwise I should have been glad to settle something
upon you for life!"

As he listened, John Derringham's eyes flashed forth steel, but the pith
of her speech had in it such divine portent, as it fell upon his ears,
that the insult of its wor