ning
of the 'Inferno.' Such a beginning, indeed, as surprised Eleanor, who
was not yet made aware that Miriam worked at the book in private with
feverish energy--drank at the fountain like one perishing of thirst.
Andersen's exquisite story was not so readily accepted, yet this too
before long showed a book-marker. And Miriam's countenance brightened;
she could not conceal this effect. Her step was a little lighter, and
her speech became more natural.

A relapse was to be expected; it came at the bidding of sirocco. One
morning the heavens lowered, grey, rolling; it might have been England.
Vesuvius, heavily laden at first with a cloud like that on Olympus when
the gods are wrathful, by degrees passed from vision, withdrew its form
into recesses of dun mists. The angry blue of Capri faded upon a
troubled blending of sea and sky; everywhere the horizon contracted and
grew mournful; rain began to fall.

Miriam sank as the heavens darkened. The strength of which she had
lately been conscious forsook her; all her body was oppressed with
languor, her mind miserably void. No book made appeal to her, and the
sight of those which she had bought from home was intolerable. She lay
upon a couch, her limbs torpid, burdensome. Eleanor's company was worse
than useless.

"Please leave me alone," she said at length. "The sound of your voice
irritates inc."

An hour went by, and no one disturbed her mood. Her languor was on the
confines of sleep, when a knock at the door caused her to stir
impatiently and half raise herself. It was her maid who entered,
holding a note.

"A gentleman has called, ma'am. He wished me to give you this."

Miriam glanced at the address, and at once stood up, only her pale face
witnessing the lack of energy of a moment ago.

"Is he waiting?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The note was of two or three lines:--"Will you let me see you? Of
course I mean alone. It's a long time since we saw each other.--R. E."

"I will see him in this room."

The footstep of the maid as she came back along the tiled corridor was
accompanied by one much heavier. Miriam kept her eyes turned to the
door; her look was of pained expectancy and of sternness. She stood
close by the window, as if purposely drawing as far away as possible.
The visitor was introduced, and the door closed behind him.

He too, stood still, as far from Miriam as might be. His age seemed to
be seven- or eight-and-twenty, and the cast of his features so strongl