new-mown hay, vocal with the chirp of crickets and the dull, rhythmic
thud of the waves upon the beach. The sky was overcast and the water was
dark, save just ahead, where the gondola light cast a pale reflection,
wavering softly from side to side, with the motion of the courtesying
prow. The twin towers of San Servolo, its massive buildings and sparse
lights, had been left behind, and now the gondola was approaching San
Lazzaro, wrapped in silence and shadow, like the good monks who pace its
quiet paths.

Neither of the girls had felt inclined to talk, yet their sense of
mutual companionship was peculiarly near and intimate. Both had been
absorbed in the memory of the same stirring scene, and though Pauline
had only viewed it from the outskirts she had divined something of the
nature of her sister's experience. She felt intuitively that it had been
more to the young girl than a gratification of vanity, or even a
revelation of her own power. And yet in their overt consideration of the
great event, they had dwelt, hitherto, more particularly upon its
practical aspects,--the reticence and courtesy of the band of musicians,
the really considerable sum of money taken, the hundred-franc piece
which had appeared in the receipts, and Uncle Dan's studied innocence in
connection therewith. The fact that May had escaped recognition had also
been regarded as cause for rejoicing.

May had been glad to find that, unknown to her, her sister had been
among the audience. Her presence seemed, in retrospective wise, to
sanction and sustain her action. If Pauline was there all was well.

As they glided tranquilly along the line of the fragrant shore, the
regular dip of the oar marking the passage of the seconds, like the
soft, lisping tick of certain pleasant old clocks, the nine-o'clock gun
roared its admonition from the deck of the "guardian of the port," and
the bells of San Lazzaro jangled sweetly on the night air. And then it
was that May roused to the need of speech.

"And you knew me at once?" she asked,--not for the first time indeed,
for that was a very vital question.

"Yes, I knew your voice, and when we came a little nearer I knew the way
you held your head."

"And you didn't mind?"

"No; I think, myself, it's rather strange that I did not. But it seemed
perfectly natural and right. I believe I took it all in from the first
moment--just how you had undertaken it for the sake of the poor Signora,
and how then you had fo