ised his hand a little--a deprecatory gesture.

"Perhaps even now," he said, "it was scarcely courteous of me to say
them, only I know that they come to you as no new thing. There are many
of your countrymen who are speaking to you now in the Press as I, a
stranger, have spoken. Sometimes it is harder to believe one of your own
family. That is why I have dared to say so much,--I, a foreigner, eager
and anxious only to observe and to learn. I think, perhaps, that it is
to such that the truth comes easiest."

Of a purpose, the three men who were there said nothing. The Prince
offered Penelope his arm.

"I will not be disappointed," he said. "You promised that you would show
me the palm garden. I have talked too much."

CHAPTER XXIX. A RACE

The Prince, on his way back from his usual before-breakfast stroll,
lingered for a short time amongst the beds of hyacinths and yellow
crocuses. Somehow or other, these spring flowers, stiffly set out and
with shrivelled edges--a little reminiscent of the last east wind--still
seemed to him, in their perfume at any rate, to being him memories of
his own country. Pink and blue and yellow, in all manner of sizes and
shapes, the beds spread away along the great front below the terrace
of the castle. This morning the wind was coming from the west. The sun,
indeed, seemed already to have gained some strength. The Prince sat for
a moment or two upon the gray stone balustrade, looking to where the
level country took a sudden ascent and ended in a thick belt of pine
trees. Beyond lay the sea. As he sat there with folded arms, he was
surely a fatalist. The question as to whether or not he should ever
reach it, should ever find himself really bound for home, was one which
seemed to trouble him slightly enough. He thought with a faint, wistful
interest of the various ports of call, of the days which might pass,
each one bringing him nearer the end. He suffered himself, even, to
think of that faint blur upon the horizon, the breath of the spicy
winds, the strange home perfumes of the bay, as he drew nearer and
nearer to the outstretched arms of his country. Well, if not he,
another! It was something to have done one's best.

The rustle of a woman's garment disturbed him, and he turned his head.
Penelope stood there in her trim riding habit,--a garb in which he had
never seen her. She held her skirts in her hand and looked at him with a
curious little smile.

"It is too early in the mor