er, and, among the many places we visited, one seemed to me
a very vision of romance made real. A vast and stately castle, in a
garden, in a valley, with splendid halls and chambers, and countless
beautiful pictures of women. All my life I remembered it, dreamed of it,
longed to see it again. But I hadn't a notion where it was, save vaguely
that it was somewhere in Italy; and, my poor father being dead, there
was no one I could ask. Then, wandering in these parts a month ago, I
stumbled upon it, and recognized it. Though shrunken a good deal in
size, to be sure, it was still recognizable, and as romantic as ever."

Maria Dolores listened pensively. When he had reached his period, her
eyes lighted up. "What a charming adventure!" she said. "And so, for
you, besides its general romance, the place has a personal one, all your
own. I, too, have known it for long years, but only from photographs. I
suppose I should never have seen the real thing, except for a friend of
mine coming to live here."

"I wonder," said John, "that the people who own it never live here."

"The Prince of Zelt-Neuminster?" said she. "No,--he doesn't like the
Italian Government. Since Lombardy passed from Austria to Italy, the
family have entirely given up staying at Sant' Alessina."

"In those circumstances," said John, "practical-minded people, I should
think, would get rid of the place."

"Oh," said she, laughing, "the Prince, in some ways, is practical-minded
enough. He has this great collection of Italian paintings, which, by
Italian law, he mayn't remove from Italian soil; and if he were to get
rid of Sant' Alessina, where could he house them? In other ways, though,
he is perhaps not so practical. He is one of those Utopians who believe
that the present Kingdom of Italy must perforce before long make
shipwreck; and I think he holds on to Sant' Alessina in the dream of
coming here in triumph, and grandly celebrating that event."

"I see," said John, nodding. "That is a beautiful ideal."

"Good-bye," said she, flashing a last quick smile into his eyes; and she
moved away, down a garden path, towards the pavilion beyond the clock.

III

And now, I should have imagined, for a single session, (and that an
initial one), he had had enough. I should have expected him to spend the
remainder of his day, a full man, in thankful tranquillity, in agreeable
retrospective rumination. But no. Indulgence, it soon appeared, had but
whetted his ap