ndow he bent his knee
and pressed her fingers to his lips. She made as though she would
withdraw her hand, and then left it in his. Her glance stole to him as
he kneeled there, and he felt it on him, so that he looked up. She
seemed to raise him with her fingers, and her eyes held his and drew
them; he stood up, and, still holding her hand, his face was near to
hers. Closer and closer yet, as by a spell, each gazing searchingly
into the other's glance, till their eyes could see no more for
closeness, and their lips met in life's first virgin kiss,--in the
glory and strength of a two-fold purity, each to each.

Far off at the other end of the room De Pretis struck a chord on the
piano. They started at the sound.

"When?" whispered Nino, hurriedly.

"At midnight, under my window," she answered, quickly, not thinking of
anything better in her haste. "I will tell you then. You must go; my
father will soon be here. No, not again," she protested. But he drew
her to him, and said good-bye in his own manner. She lingered an
instant, and tore herself away. De Pretis was playing loudly. Nino had
to pass near him to go out, and the maestro nodded carelessly as he
went by.

"Excuse me, maestro," said Hedwig, as Nino bowed himself out; "it was
a question of arranging certain lessons."

"Do not mention it," said he, indifferently; "my time is yours,
signorina. Shall we go through with this solfeggio once more?"

The good maestro did not seem greatly disturbed by the interruption.
Hedwig wondered, dreamily, whether he had understood. It all seemed
like a dream. The notes were upside down in her sight, and her voice
sought strange minor keys unconsciously, as she vainly tried to
concentrate her attention upon what she was doing.

"Signorina," said Ercole at last, "what you sing is very pretty, but
it is not exactly what is written here. I fear you are tired."

"Perhaps so," said she. "Let us not sing any more to-day." Ercole shut
up the music and rose. She gave him her hand, a thing she had never
done before; and it was unconscious now, as everything she did seemed
to be. There is a point when dreaming gets the mastery and appears
infinitely more real than the things we touch.

Nino, meanwhile, had descended the steps, expecting every moment to
meet the count. As he went down the street a closed carriage drove by
with the Lira liveries. The old count was in it, but Nino stepped into
the shadow of a doorway to let the equipag