on horseback. She was sitting in a most
precarious position on the horse's shoulder, but was held securely by
Giovanni's arm around her waist. Behind them she heard the pounding of
many horses in pursuit. The whole dream had the underlying terror of a
nightmare, and just as the distance diminished, and they were nearly
caught, the ground gave way and they pitched over a precipice. As they
were falling and about to be dashed on the rocks at the bottom of the
ravine, she heard a woman's laugh, and recognized it as that of the
Contessa Maria Potensi.

She awoke, trembling, and lit her lamp. It was nearly four o'clock, and
she had slept but half an hour. Near her bed was an American magazine;
she read the advertisements, to fill her mind with thoughts commonplace
and practical enough to banish dreams. The sun was rising when at last
she fell asleep, and she did not awake until nearly noon.

The morning's mail brought her a letter from John Derby--a good letter,
simple and frank, like himself, full of enthusiasm and of plans for
making the "Little Devil" a model settlement. He would arrive in Rome,
he told her, within a week. But even John's letter gave her only a few
moments' relief from her distressing memories.

Knowing that she had to pay visits with her aunt again that afternoon,
she put on her hat before lunch, in the hope of securing an opportunity
to speak with Giovanni while waiting for Eleanor, who always dressed
after luncheon. When she was nearly ready to go down, Celeste answered a
knock at the door, but, instead of delivering a package or message,
disappeared. After at least five minutes she returned, and, with a
noticeable air of mystery, locked the door, and then gave Nina a letter.
"I was told to give this into Mademoiselle's hands, without letting any
one know," she said.

Nina felt an undefined misgiving as she tore open the envelope. Though
she had never seen Giovanni's handwriting, she had no doubt that it was
his. It looked as though it might not be very legible at best; but on
the sheet before her the shaking, uneven letters trailed off into such
filiform indistinctness that she had to go through it several times
before she could decipher the following, written in French:

"Mademoiselle, I understand you well enough to be
sure that you will ask for the truth at all costs,
but in giving it to you, I also depend upon your
honor to divulge to no one, not even Elean