imed the American girl. "But I see the whole thing,
and you needn't even try to repeat the story. I know it without your
telling. It happened to another girl with a name almost exactly like
Mary's. That's how the mistake must have come about. The girl who ran
away disappeared about four years ago. _My_ Mary was at the convent till
last fall. I can prove everything I say."

"Will you see my brother and his wife now, and tell them what you know?"

"With the greatest pleasure."

"Thank God you came! In another minute I should have been gone. And I
don't know where to look for Mary."

"You don't know? Didn't she write? Or did she expect you to believe
things against her?"

"I could hardly have blamed her if she had expected it, for--I failed
her once. But that was before I knew her. Nothing could make me doubt
her now. She did write to me. I found a letter waiting at the villa this
morning--a letter postmarked Monte Carlo, to say I mustn't look for
her--that all is over for ever and ever."

"But you're going to look for her all the same?"

"And to find her. I won't rest till I've got her back."

"You're the right sort of man, though you aren't an American."

"My mother was one."

"So much the better. Let's go into the house, and I'll soon make your
people swallow any words they've said against Mary."

Americo was still at the door, or had returned there. "Highness," he
said, "the Princess wishes me to make you come in. She has to talk. She
send me in woods, but I not go, because of young lady with you. I wait
here. Princess in yellow saloon, by her lone."

"Come," Vanno said to Peter. "We'll speak to her, and find out what she
wants. Then my brother shall come and hear your story."

"Go first and explain me, please," Peter said.

Vanno would have obeyed, but Princess Della Robbia gave him no time. She
was wandering restlessly about the room, too impatient to sit down. When
she saw Vanno at the door, she went to him swiftly. "I'm so glad Americo
found you," she cried. "I need to have a word with you alone. Angelo is
so hard! He wouldn't let me see Mary before she went, or even write her
a line of love and sympathy. I've hardly eaten or slept since that awful
afternoon. If you could know how ill I am, you wouldn't blame me so
much! I love Mary. My heart's breaking for her trouble. But I can do
nothing, except send a letter for you to give, in case you find her.
Please take it--I've written it already, in case-