put off for any whim of hers.

"If thou hast discovered my secret--which I would fain know--most
worshipful Dama Margherita,--I would that thou shouldst proclaim it
wherever thy tongue listeth. '_Quel che Iblin e, non si puo trovar!_'"

He knew that the old Cyprian proverb, "Such another as Iblin is, may not
be found," was the pride of her house, and would reach the tenderest
spot in her loyal heart.

She turned to him gravely: "Dear Signor Bernardini, let it not be
spoken between us," she said. "For the Queen hath sore need of us--of
our every thought and care."

"Might we not serve her better so?" he pleaded.

But she shook her head. "Thou who hast been all faith and service,
counting thy life naught--thou knowest. She in her trouble should see
that we think but of her."

"Is this thy answer--most worshipful Margherita?"

Again she turned her eyes to his--serene and deep--no hint of trouble in
them.

"There hath been no question," she said; "there can be no answer, where
there hath been no question."

And although he would fain have spoken further, he could not: for that
brief moment in which her eyes held his--half-commanding--wholly
trusting--was like the sealing of a vow to do her bidding.

Then as she turned away, the echo of a name floated towards
him--"Aluisi!" so spoken as no one had ever uttered it before.--Or had
he surprised it, written on her soul, in that deep gaze, which she had
permitted?

* * * * *

But now the sudden sunset glory of that Eastern clime flamed in the
skies, touching the domes and pinnacles of this city of delights with
flecks of crimson and purple and molten gold, illuminating the lovely
Cyprian landscape with a never-to-be-forgotten light--and Nikosia stood
forth radiant against the background of dark environing hills, clothed
to their summits with kingly cedars--while in the far distance the sea
flashed its silver setting, melting into the opal of the clouds which
seemed to rise from its breast.

Was it this fleeting radiance of color that always stirred the birds to
sudden, joyous song at the charmed hour of sunset?--that outpoured upon
the heavenly breeze, for which the long day often panted, this flood of
perfume of a thousand odors? Or was it only because it was Cyprus and
for her magic beauty she had indeed been named of all the isles of
Greece, "L'Isola Fortunata," beloved of the gods?

But now from the splendid city came sounds o