am sure.'

"'Yours is the only hand in the world that I will not hurt,' said the
voice, so tenderly and softly and sadly that the gentle fingers went
out to touch the plant and see if it were real. And touching it they
clung there, for they had no harm of it. Would you know, my lady, what
happened then?"

"Yes, yes--tell me!" cried Hedwig, whose imagination was fascinated by
the tale.

"As her hands rested on the spiked branches, a gentle trembling went
through the Thorn, and in a moment there burst out such a blooming and
blossoming as the maiden had never seen. Every prick became a rose,
and they were so many that the light of the day was tinged with them,
and their sweetness was like the breath of paradise. But below her
window the Thorn was as black and forbidding as ever, for only the
maiden's presence could make its flowers bloom. But she smelled the
flowers, and pressed many of them to her cheek.

"'I thought you were only a Thorn,' she said, softly.

"'Nay, fairest maiden,' answered the glorious voice of the bursting
blossom, 'I am the Rose of the World for ever, since you have touched
me.'

"That is my story, signorina. Have I wearied you?"

Hedwig had unconsciously moved nearer to him as he was speaking, for
he never raised his voice, and she hung on his words. There was colour
in her face, and her breath came quickly through her parted lips. She
had never looked so beautiful.

"Wearied me, signore? Ah no; it is a gentle tale of yours."

"It is a true tale--in part," said he.

"In part? I do not understand--" But the colour was warmer in her
cheek, and she turned her face half away, as though looking out.

"I will tell you," he replied, coming closer, on the side from which
she turned. "Here is the window. You are the maiden. The thorn--it is
my love for you"; he dropped his voice to a whisper "You planted it
carelessly, far below you in the dark. In the dark it has grown and
sung to you, and grown again, until now it stands in your own castle
window. Will you not touch it and make its flowers bloom for you?" He
spoke fervently. She had turned her face quite from him now, and was
resting her forehead against one hand that leaned upon the heavy frame
of the casement. The other hand hung down by her side toward him, fair
as a lily against her dark gown. Nino touched it, then took it. He
could see the blush spread to her white throat, and fade again.
Between the half-falling curtain and the great wi