alf-an-hour earlier. The door of the
brougham was shut with a sharp snap, the footman sprang to the box
with more than an average flunkey's agility, and the nun was driven
rapidly away. Knowing that the house she was going to was one of those
little modern villas on the slope of the Janiculum which have no
arched entrance and often have no particular shelter at the front
door, she did not take the trouble to push her hood back, as she would
need it again so soon.

In about ten minutes the carriage stopped, the footman jumped down
with his open umbrella in his hand, and let her into the house. Before
she could ask whether she had better leave her cloak in the hall, the
man was leading the way upstairs; it was rather dark, but she felt
that the carpet under her feet was thick and soft. She followed
lightly, and a moment later she was admitted to a well-lighted room
that looked like a man's library; the footman disappeared and shut the
door, and the latch made a noise as if the key were being turned; as
she supposed such a thing to be out of the question, however, she was
ashamed to go and try the lock.

She thought she was in the study of the master of the house and that
some one would come for her at once, and she stood still in the middle
of the room; setting down her bag on a chair, she pushed the hood back
from her head carefully, as nuns do, in order not to discompose the
rather complicated arrangement of the veil and head-band.

She had scarcely done this when, as she expected, a door at the end of
the room was opened. But it was not a stranger that entered; to her
unspeakable amazement, it was Giovanni Severi. In a flash she
understood that by some trick she had been brought to his brother's
dwelling. She was alone with him and the door was locked on the
outside.

She laid one hand on the back of the nearest chair, to steady herself,
wondering whether she were not really lying ill in her bed and
dreaming in the delirium of a fever. But it was no dream; he was
standing before her, looking into her face, and his own was stern and
dark as an Arab's. When he spoke at last, his voice was low and
determined.

'Yes. You are in my house.'

Her tongue was loosed, with a cry of indignation.

'If you are not a madman, let me go!'

'I am not mad.'

His eyes terrified her, and she backed away from him towards the
locked door. She almost shrieked for fear.

'If you have a spark of human feeling, let me out!'

'I