he same moment Mick pricked up his ears
and slowly wagged his tail, while the Italian servant bent his body in
a fresh salutation.

Milbanke--for his was the second step that had disturbed the
silence--came forward without haste. Reaching the table, he took
Clodagh's left hand and pressed it; then he stooped methodically and
patted the dog's head.

"Good-morning!" he said gravely. "Are there any letters?"

"Yes, four; and all for you--as usual."

He smiled, unobservant of the slightly tired irritability of Clodagh's
tone.

"Ah, indeed!" he said. "That is pleasant. Is there one from Sicily?
Scarpio promised to let me have the latest details of the great work."

He took up the four letters and carefully studied the envelopes. As he
came to the last, his thin face became animated.

"Ah, this is satisfactory!" he exclaimed. "I knew he would not fail me.
What wonderful--what fascinating work it must be!"

He tore the envelope open and began to peruse the letter.

While he scanned the opening lines, Clodagh watched him absently; but
as the first page fluttered between his fingers, she gave a slight,
involuntary shrug of the shoulders and, moving round the table, sank
into the seat that the servant drew forward for her. Then, with an
uninterested gesture, she poured out two cups of coffee.

For a while there was silence save for the turning of the letter in its
recipient's hand; the occasional snap of Mick's teeth as he attempted
to catch a fly; and the thousand, impersonal sounds of lazy, outdoor
life that rose about them. At last Milbanke looked up, his face tinged
with mild excitement.

"This discovery is very remarkable," he said. "Sicily will obtain a new
importance."

Clodagh smiled faintly.

"In the antiquarian's eyes," she said with unconscious irony. There was
no bitterness and no impatience in her voice. She spoke as if stating a
fact that long familiarity had rendered absolutely barren.

Looking back over the four years of her marriage, it seemed to her that
her life had been one round of archaeological discoveries--all timed to
take place at the wrong season. She vividly remembered the first of
these events; the discovery of some subterranean passages in the
neighbourhood of Carrara, which had taken place two months after her
arrival in Italy, while life yet retained something of the dark, vague
semblance usually associated with a nightmare. Still desperately
home-sick and unreasonably miserable i