ng above
his with his words, gave a meaning and an emphasis which must be
unmistakable to her. It was hard to go on, for with each sentence he
would surely stumble deeper into difficulty. Yet the silence was
electrical. Unsaid things seemed rustling in ambush. He dared not look
again at Mary, and he felt that she dared not look at him. But it was
necessary to go on, and he took up the narrative clumsily, fearing to
tangle the thread.

"The Italian asked the girl to marry him--here, where we stand. And they
were engaged. But in a few weeks or months something happened. My friend
is not sure whether she died, or whether some one came between them. He
is sure only that they parted. And afterward the man had this tablet put
up to mark the spot where he had lived his happiest hour."

"It is a sad story," Mary said.

"Yes. It is sad. But it is beautiful, too. He was faithful. 'Remember
eternal at my heart.'"

"Perhaps those were the very words he spoke to her here, when--they
loved each other and he was trying to talk in her language."

"I thought of that, too. It's almost certain he said these words, to
assure her that he could never forget this place."

"No one else can forget, who knows the story. It makes the tablet seem
haunted."

"Would you be afraid to see the ghosts of those lovers?" Vanno asked.

"No," Mary answered. "For if he too is dead--and 1881 is quite a long
time ago!--they must be happy together now. Happy ghosts would try to
give happiness to others."

Instantly the sentiment was uttered Mary regretted it. She feared that
the man might think she associated herself with him in some vague hope
of happiness. "I trust at least," she hurried on, "that the story of the
lovers is true."

"It was the cure of Roquebrune who told it to me. He thinks it more
probable than two or three other tales," Vanno said, speaking slowly, to
impress the name of his informant upon the girl. "The cure is a most
interesting man. Perhaps you've met him?" He asked this question
doubtfully, lest Mary should guess that it was to him she owed the
cure's visits; but she was unsuspicious.

"No. He called on me when I was out. I don't know why he came," she
said. She looked a little guilty, because she would have gone up to the
church of Roquebrune after the second call if she had not been afraid
that the cure had been sent to see her by some one at home who had found
out that she was on the Riviera. Vanno, misunderstanding her