re at her in surprise and sigh as she passed
through the various little hamlets and villages so regularly, the black
collie bounding before her.

Quickly she had become known as "Miss Heyburn's niece," and the report
having spread that she was "a bit eccentric, poor thing," people soon
ceased to wonder, and began to regard that pale, sad face with sympathy.
The whole country-side was wondering why such a pretty young lady had
gone to live in the deadly dullness of Woodnewton, and what was the
cause of that great sorrow written upon her countenance.

Her daily burden of bitter reflection was, indeed, hard to bear. Her one
thought, as she walked those miles of lonely rural byways, so bare and
cheerless, was of Walter--her Walter--the man who, she knew, would have
willingly given his very life for hers. She had met her just punishment,
and was now endeavouring to bear it bravely. She had renounced his love
for ever.

One afternoon, dark and rainy, in the gloom of early March, she was
sitting at the old-fashioned and rather tuneless piano in the damp,
unused "best room," which was devoid of fire for economic reasons. Her
aunt was seated in the window busily crocheting, while she, with her
white fingers running across the keys, raised her sweet contralto voice
in that old-world Florentine song that for centuries has been sung by
the populace in the streets of the city by the Arno:

In questa notte in sogno l'ho veduto
Era vestito tutto di braccato,
Le piume sul berretto di velluto
Ed una spada d'oro aveva allato.

E poi m'ha detto con un bel sorriso;
Io no, non posso star da te diviso,
Da te diviso non ci posso stare
E torno per mai pin non ti lasciare.

Miss Heyburn sighed, and looked up from her work. "Can't you sing
something in English, Gabrielle? It would be much better," she remarked
in a snappy tone.

The girl's mouth hardened slightly at the corners, and she closed the
piano without replying.

"I don't mean you to stop," exclaimed the ascetic old lady. "I only
think that girls, instead of learning foreign songs, should be able to
sing English ones properly. Won't you sing another?"

"No," replied the girl, rising. "The rain has ceased, so I shall go for
my walk;" and she left the room to put on her hat and mackintosh,
passing along before the window a few minutes later in the direction of
King's Cliffe.

It was always the same. If she indulged herself in singing one or other