is not dead, is he?" Margharita asked.

"Not he. I shouldn't say that he was very badly hurt either," the
Englishman declared, bending down and listening to his breathing. "More
frightened than anything. He'll get up and be off directly we leave. You
will let me see you home?" he continued, speaking to Adrienne.

She looked up at him with a gleam of humor in her wet eyes.

"You don't imagine that we should let you go and leave us here?" she
said. "Come, Margharita."

The Englishman looked at the other girl, almost for the first time, as
she came up and joined them. Her dark eyes were full of tears and her
face was troubled. There was very little relief or thankfulness for her
escape in her expression. The Englishman was no physiognomist, but he
was a little puzzled.

"There is no danger now, Signorina," he said reassuringly. "To-morrow I
will go to the police, and I dare say that we shall get to the bottom of
the whole affair."

She shuddered, but made no reply, walking on by their side, but a little
distance apart. As for the Englishman, he was in paradise. To all
intents and purposes, he was alone with Adrienne Cartuccio, listening to
her low voice, and every now and then stealing a glance downward into
those wonderful eyes, just then very soft and sweet. That walk through
the scented darkness, with the far-off murmur of the sea always in their
ears, was like the dawning of a new era in his life.

It was she who talked most, and he who listened. Yet he was very happy;
and when they reached her villa, and he left them at the door, she gave
him a white flower which he had found courage to beg for.

"May I call on you to-morrow?" he asked, trembling for the answer.

"If you would like to, yes," she answered readily. "Come early if you
have nothing to do, and we will give you afternoon tea _a l'Anglaise_.
By the bye," she added, a little shyly, "is there not something which
you have forgotten?"

He divined her meaning at once.

"Of course, I ought to have told you my name!" he exclaimed hastily.
"How stupid of me. It is St. Maurice--Lord St Maurice."

"Lord St Maurice! Then are you not the fortunate possessor of that
delightful little yacht in the harbor?"

"Yes, if you mean the _Pandora_, she's mine. Do you like sailing? Will
you come for a sail?" he asked eagerly.

"We'll talk about it to-morrow," she laughed, holding out her hand.
"Good-night."

He let her hand go. If he held it a moment longer, and a