e little man shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Good-night, then," said the priest.

"Good-night," said the little man, slipping through the door that was
held open for him with the politest alacrity.

"This is vexatious," said Father Rocco, taking a turn or two in the
study after his visitor had gone. "It was bad to have done the child an
injustice--it is worse to have been found out. There is nothing for it
now but to wait till I know where she is. I like her, and I like that
note she left behind her. It is bravely, delicately, and honestly
written--a good girl--a very good girl, indeed!"

He walked to the window, breathed the fresh air for a few moments, and
quietly dismissed the subject from his mind. When he returned to his
table he had no thoughts for any one but his sick niece.

"It seems strange," he said, "that I have had no message about her yet.
Perhaps Luca has heard something. It may be well if I go to the studio
at once to find out."

He took up his hat and went to the door. Just as he opened it, Fabio's
servant confronted him on the thresh old.

"I am sent to summon you to the palace," said the man. "The doctors have
given up all hope."

Father Rocco turned deadly pale, and drew back a step. "Have you told my
brother of this?" he asked.

"I was just on my way to the studio," answered the servant.

"I will go there instead of you, and break the bad news to him," said
the priest.

They descended the stairs in silence. Just as they were about to
separate at the street door, Father Rocco stopped the servant.

"How is the child?" he asked, with such sudden eagerness and impatience,
that the man looked quite startled as he answered that the child was
perfectly well.

"There is some consolation in that," said Father Rocco, walking away,
and speaking partly to the servant, partly to himself. "My caution has
misled me," he continued, pausing thoughtfully when he was left alone in
the roadway. "I should have risked using the mother's influence sooner
to procure the righteous restitution. All hope of compassing it
now rests on the life of the child. Infant as she is, her father's
ill-gotten wealth may yet be gathered back to the Church by her hands."

He proceeded rapidly on his way to the studio, until he reached the
river-side and drew close to the bridge which it was necessary to cross
in order to get to his brother's house. Here he stopped abruptly, as
if struck by a sudden idea. The m