was a faint, sighing breeze in the orange
groves around the bay, but scarcely a ripple upon the water. One man
alone lingered drinking in the sweetness of the night. The Englishman
sat on the last seat of the Marina, in the shadow of a cluster of orange
trees.

He had seen her again--nay, more, he had heard her sing--this
girl-nightingale, who had taken the world by storm. Chance had favored
him, insomuch that he had been able to secure almost a front seat in the
concert room, and the wonderful music of her voice rang still in his
ears. He had stolen out here to try and think it all over, and to calm
the passion which had suddenly leaped up within him. It was quite a new
experience through which he was passing; he scarcely knew himself. He
was happy and miserable, sanguine and despondent, all in a moment. One
question was always before him--one end, one aim. How was he to know
her? How could he endure to live here, seeing her day by day for a brief
while, without making her acquaintance? There was nothing to be hoped
for from the Sicilian, who would not even tell him her name. Possibly,
though, she would visit, or be visited by, some of the nobility of the
place. This was almost his only hope. He had letters to most of them,
and he made up his mind to present them all on the morrow.

He sat there dreaming, with a burned-out cigar between his teeth, and
his eyes idly wandering over the blue Mediterranean. Suddenly the
stillness was broken by the sound of a soft gliding footstep close at
hand. He had heard no one approach, yet when he looked up quickly he
found he was no longer alone. A man in the garb of a native peasant was
standing by his side.

Naturally the Englishman was a little surprised. He half rose from his
seat, and then resumed it as he recognized the dark, swarthy face and
black eyes of the waiter who had told him Adrienne Cartuccio's name.

"Hullo! What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I was in search of the Signor!" was the hasty response. "For an hour I
have sought him everywhere, and now it is by chance that I am
successful."

The Englishman looked at him with suspicion. This change of dress was
doubtless for the purpose of disguise. What was the meaning of it?

"Well, and now you've found me, what do you want?" he asked, watching
him closely.

"I will tell the Signor. Is it not that he has an admiration for
Mademoiselle Cartuccio, the singer? Well, she is in danger! It is for
the Signor to