ad-looking man,
dressed in black, but, to my surprise, I noticed that his collar was
that of an English clergyman!

This struck me as most remarkable. Clergymen are not usually persons
to be feared.

I smiled to myself, for, after all, was it not quite possible that the
reverend gentleman had found himself within earshot of us, and had
been too embarrassed to show himself at once? What sinister motive
could such a man possess?

I looked around the great lounge, with its many tables and great
palms, but it was empty. He had passed through and ascended in the
lift to his room.

Inquiry of the night-porter revealed that the man's name was the
Reverend Edmund Shuttleworth, and that he came from Andover, in
England. He had arrived at six o'clock that evening, and was only
remaining the night, having expressed his intention of going on to
Riva on the morrow.

So, laughing at my fears--fears which had been aroused by that strange
warning of Sylvia's--I ascended to my room.

I did not leave next morning, as my fair-faced little friend had
suggested, neither did Pennington return.

About eleven o'clock I strolled forth into the warm sunshine on the
terrace, and there, to my surprise, saw Sylvia sitting upon one of the
seats, with a cream sunshade over her head, a book in her lap, while
by her side lounged the mysterious watcher of the night before--the
English clergyman, Mr. Shuttleworth of Andover.

Neither noticed me. He was speaking to her slowly and earnestly, she
listening attentively to his words. I saw that she sighed deeply, her
fine eyes cast upon the ground.

It all seemed as though he were reproaching her with something, for
she was silent, in an attitude almost of penitence.

Now that I obtained a full view of the reverend gentleman's features
in full daylight they seemed less mysterious, less sinister than in
the half-light of midnight. He looked a grave, earnest, sober-living
man, with that slight affectation of the Church which one finds more
in the rural districts than in cities, for the black clerical straw
hat and the clerical drawl seem always to go together. It is strange
that the village curate is always more affected in his speech than the
popular preacher of the West End, and the country vicar's wife is even
more exclusive in her tea-and-tennis acquaintances than the wife of
the lord bishop himself.

For a few moments I watched unseen. I rather liked the appearance of
the Reverend Edmund Sh