east--and there hasn't
been a sign of human habitation; not a person, not a house, except the
little ruined tower we passed a few minutes ago, and that old chateau
almost at the top of the hill. Look! the last rays of the sun are
touching its windows before saying good-bye to the valley. Aren't they
like the fiery eyes of some fierce animal glaring watchfully down at us
out of the dusk?"

Pointing upward, she turned to him for approval of her fancy, and to her
surprise saw him pale, as if he had been attacked with sudden illness.

"What is the matter?" she asked quickly.

"Nothing at all," he replied. "A slight chill, perhaps."

"No, there is more than that," Virginia said slowly. "I'm sure of it.
I've been sure ever since we stood on the bridge looking up this valley.
You wanted to go on. You could hardly bear to stop, and when I proposed
riding in you made excuses."

"Only for your sake, fearing you might catch cold."

"Yet you suggested going on to another valley. Would it have been warmer
than this? Oh, Marchese, I don't like you when you are subtle and
secretive. It reminds me that we are of different countries--as different
as the north can be from the south. Do tell me what is really in your
mind. Why do you hate this valley? Why has coming into it tied your
tongue, and made you look as if you had seen a ghost?"

"You exaggerate, Miss Beverly," said Loria. "But if you care to know the
precise truth you shall, on one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you turn your horse's head and consent to go out into the sunshine
again. When we are there I will tell you."

"No. If I hear your story, and think it worth turning back for, I will. I
mean to have a nearer glimpse of that chateau. It must have a lovely
view over the tops of the olive trees."

She touched the mare, who changed from a trot into a gallop. In five
minutes more they would be under the castle; but almost instantly Loria,
obliged to follow, had caught up with her again.

"One of the greatest sorrows of my life is connected with this valley,"
he answered desperately. "Now will you take pity upon me and turn round?"

Virginia hesitated. The man's voice shook. She did not know whether to
yield or to feel contempt because he showed emotion so much more readily
than her English and American friends. But while she hesitated they were
joined by her cousin, Sir Roger Broom, who had been riding behind with
her half-brother, George Trent, and Lady Gard