teps, and
saw them come--his wife and this shrunken little old man. But close at
hand though they were, nothing could help him now. He saw the steel
flashing in the sunlight, and he closed his eyes.

The knife descended, but Lord St. Maurice remained unhurt. With a
swiftness which seemed almost incredible, the Sicilian had sprung
between them, and the knife was quivering in his side. Behind, the
lunatic was struggling helplessly in the grasp of three keepers.

There was a wild cry of horror from Lady St. Maurice, a choking gasp of
relief from her husband, and a horrid chuckle of triumph from the madman
as he gazed upon his handiwork. But after that there was silence--a
deep, awe-stricken silence--the silence of those who stand in the
presence of death.

Count Marioni lay on the turf where he had sunk, very white and very
still, with the blood dropping slowly from his wound upon the grass, and
his eyes closed. At first they thought that he was already dead; but, as
though aroused by Lady St. Maurice's broken sobs, he opened his eyes and
looked up. His lips moved, and she stooped low down to catch the sound.

"Will you tell Margharita that this was best?" he faltered. "I have
heard a whisper from over the sea, and--and the White Hyacinth forgives.
I forgive. She will understand."

"Leonardo," she sobbed, "your vengeance----"

He interrupted her.

"This is my vengeance!" he said. "I have kept my oath!"

Then he closed his eyes, and a gray shade stole into his pallid face. A
breeze sprung up from the sea, and the tall, blood-red poppies, which
stood up all around him like a regiment of soldiers, bent their
quivering heads till one or two of them actually touched his cheek. He
did not move; he was dead.

* * * * *

Lord and Lady Lumley had lingered long in Rome, and now, on the eve of
their departure, they had spent nearly the whole of a bright November
afternoon buying curios of a wizened old dealer, whose shop they had
found in one of the dark narrow streets at the back of the Piazza
Angelo. Lady Lumley had taken up a curious old ring, and was examining
it with a vague sense of familiarity.

"Ten pounds for that ring, my lady," the curio dealer remarked, "and it
has a history. You will see that it bears the arms and motto of the
Marionis, once the most powerful family in Sicily. I had it from the
late Count himself."

Lady Lumley sank into the little chair by the counter, holdi