e the salon Gore took her cloak from the servant,
and himself wrapped it about her as they descended the stairs; then,
passing to the flight of worn steps that led to the water, he signalled
to a waiting gondolier.

"Mrs. Milbanke," he said, as he offered her his hand, "I am going to
make a strange request. I want to talk to you for half an hour before
taking you home. Will you give me leave to make a tour of the canals?"
He spoke very quietly and in a tone difficult to construe.

At his curious appeal, her heart gave another quick, excited throb,
though instinctively she realised that neither Deerehurst, Serracauld,
nor Barnard would have proposed a midnight excursion in quite his voice
or manner. But the very mode of the request enhanced its charm. She
looked up into his face as she laid her hand in his.

"I give you leave!" she said gently.

He met her glance, but almost immediately averted his eyes. And as he
handed her to the seat, he turned swiftly to the gondolier, addressing
him in Italian.

The colloquy lasted but a few seconds, and at its conclusion the boat
shot silently out into the canal.

"This man does not understand a word of English," he said, as he
dropped into his place by Clodagh's side.

Again his words were peculiarly suggestive, and again his tone was
curiously frank. Why should he suggest that their conversation was
unintelligible? And suggest it in so impersonal a tone? She leant back
in her cushioned seat and let her eyelids droop. Her mind was full of
puzzling and delightful thoughts. Never had she tasted the mystery of
Venice as she tasted it to-night. Every passing breath of wind, every
scent blown from the dark and silent gardens, every distant laugh or
broken word, was alive with unguessed meanings. The feverish excitement
of the past week seemed to fall away. This was romance! This drifting
with an inscrutable companion through an unfathomable night!

Her eyes closed; she lay almost motionless, filled with an aimless,
vague delight. All creation--with all creation's limitless
possibilities--lay in the warm darkness that enveloped her. Then, with
the instinct of senses newly and sharply astir, she became conscious
that Gore was watching her. With a thrill of expectancy and
anticipation, she opened her eyes.

There is something very curious--something subtle and almost
intimate--in the opening of one's eyes upon the steady scrutiny of
another. As Clodagh raised her lids, her glan