re, old boy;
but, at any rate, I'm glad to be able to state that your trouble will
soon be over."

"How's that?"

"She's going away."

"Going away!"

"Yes."

"She! going away! where?"

"Back to England."

"Back to England! why, she's just come here. What's that for?"

"I don't know. I only know they're all going home. Well, you know,
holy week's over, and there is no object for them to stay longer."

"Going away! going away!" replied Dacres, slowly. "Who told you?"

"Miss Fay."

"Oh, I don't believe it."

"There's no doubt about it, my dear boy. Miss Fay told me explicitly.
She said they were going in a carriage by the way of Civita
Castellana."

"What are they going that way for? What nonsense! I don't believe it."

"Oh, it's a fact. Besides, they evidently don't want it to be known."

"What's that?" asked Dacres, eagerly.

"I say they don't seem to want it to be known. Miss Fay told me in her
childish way, and I saw that Mrs. Willoughby looked vexed, and tried
to stop her."

"Tried to stop her! Ah! Who were there? Were you calling?"

"Oh no--it was yesterday morning. I was riding, and, to my surprise,
met them. They were driving--Mrs. Willoughby and Miss Fay, you
know--so I chatted with them a few moments, or rather with Miss Fay,
and hoped I would see them again soon, at some _fete_ or other, when
she told me this."

"And my wife tried to stop her?"

"Yes."

"And looked vexed?"

"Yes."

"Then it was some secret of _hers_. _She_ has some reason for keeping
dark. The other has none. Aha! don't I understand her? She wants to
keep it from _me_. She knows you're my friend, and was vexed that you
should know. Aha! she dreads my presence. She knows I'm on her track.
She wants to get away with her Italian--away from my sight. Aha! the
tables are turned at last. Aha! my lady. Now we'll see. Now take your
Italian and fly, and see how far you can get away from me. Take him,
and see if you can hold him. Aha! my angel face, my mild, soft eyes of
love, but devil's heart--can not I understand it all? I see through
it. I've watched, you. Wait till you see Scone Dacres on your track!"

"What's that? You don't really mean it?" cried Hawbury.

"Yes, I do."

"Will you follow her?"

"Yes, I will."

"What for? For a vague fancy of your jealous mind?"

"It isn't a fancy; it's a certainty. I've seen the Italian dogging
her, dodging about her house, and riding with her. I've seen her
looking very mu