son burden (he had not waited
for a parcel to be made) hugged closely to the shabby black cutaway. The
danger signal smote Miriam in the eyes as she rose to be kissed. Standing
away from her, he placed the shrouded cross on the table and tried for
the confession that would not say itself.

"Why, it's our cross," she cried wonderingly. "Mr. Novelli has lent it to
us for a last look before we go where the lovely thing was made. But,
John, what's the matter? How you do look! Has something awful happened?"

"Yes," and the pale nondescript head sunk into his hands. "I have bought
it. I don't know how. I had the money, I was there, and I bought it."

She repressed the word that was on her lips, and the harder thought that
was in her mind, looked long at his humiliation until the pity of a
mother came over her tired face. She had mercifully escaped scorning him.
Then she spoke.

"It was a bad time to buy it, wasn't it, Dear, but it is a beautiful
thing, almost worth a real trip to Italy." She added with a curious air
of a suppliant, "And then perhaps we can sell it."

"Yes, that's so, perhaps we can sell it," echoed John listlessly,
wrapping the cross closely in its crimson cover and laying it in his most
treasured lacquer box. "Yes, perhaps we can sell it," he repeated, and
there was a long silence between them.

THE MISSING ST. MICHAEL

Dennis, our Epicurean sage, addressed us all as we lolled on his terrace,
drank his tea, and divided our attention between his fluent wisdom and
his spacious view of the Valdarno.

"The question is," he repeated, "what will Emma do? Will she be brave,
or, rather ordinary enough, to act for herself and him, or will she
refuse him because of what she thinks we shall think of them both? As we
calmly sit here she may be deciding. That is if you are sure, Harwood,
that Crocker was really bound for Emma's when you saw him."

"How could anybody mistake his beaming Emma face?" growled Harwood. "He
was marching like a squad of Bersaglieri." "And she knows that Crocker
wants it terribly?" added the Sage's wife.

"She does, indeed," sighed Frau Stern repentantly, "for that demon
(pointing to Harwood) did tell me and I haf, babylike, told her."

"Here is the case, then," resumed Dennis: "She knows we know Crocker
wants her and it, but she doesn't know he doesn't know she has it."

"Precisely, most clearly and gracefully put, my dear," laughed
Mrs. Dennis.

"And she knows, too," he