t, for the second time that
evening, Anna Goddard noticed the peculiar shading in her words, and a
chill that was like a breath from an iceberg went shivering over her.

She, however, replied courteously, and then Mrs. Stewart swept from
the room upon the arm of her attendant.

Many earnest and curious glances followed the stately couple, for the
lady was reported to be immensely rich, while it had also been
whispered that the gentleman attending her--a distinguished
artist--had long been a suitor for her hand; but, for some reason best
known to herself, the lady had thus far turned a deaf ear to his
entreaties, although it was evident that she regarded him with the
greatest esteem, if not with sentiments of a tenderer nature.

After passing through the covered walk leading to the house, the two
separated--the gentleman to attend to having their carriage called,
the lady to go upstairs for her wraps.

As she was about to enter the dressing-room to get them, a picture
hanging between two windows at the end of the hall attracted her eye.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, catching her breath sharply, and moving swiftly
toward it, she seemed to forget everything, and stood, with clasped
hands and heaving bosom, spell-bound before it.

It represented a portion of an old Roman wall--a marvelously
picturesque bit of scenery, with climbing vines that seemed to cling
to the gray stones lovingly, as if to conceal their irregular lines
and other ravages which time and the elements had made upon them;
while here and there, growing out from its crevices, were clusters of
delicate maiden-hair fern, the bright green of which contrasted
beautifully with the weather-beaten wall and the darker, richer
coloring of the vines.

Just underneath, partly in the shadow of the wall, there sat, upon a
rustic bench, a beautiful Italian girl, dressed in the costume of her
country, while at her feet reclined her lover, his hat lying on the
grass beside him, his handsome face upturned to the maiden, whom it
was evident he adored.

It was a charming picture, very artistic, and finely executed, while
the subject was one that appealed strongly to the tenderest sentiments
of the human heart.

But the face of the woman who was gazing upon it was deathly white.
She was motionless as a statue, and seemed to have forgotten time,
place, and her surroundings, as she drank in with her wonderful eyes
the scene before her.

"It is the wall upon the Appian Way in