ina Randolph, had nothing to
do. Her name might be Tullia or Claudia!

And then once again the memory of Giovanni's high-bred charm, no less
than of his great estate, which she was now asked to share, seemed to
hold a spell of enchantment. His words, "_Carissima_, I love you," swept
through her memory with a thrill that the spoken words themselves had
failed to carry. She laid her cheek down on the dog's great head, her
mouth close to a pointed ear. "We _do_ love him, thou and I," she
whispered in Italian, "and we will stay here always--always."

She unclasped her arms from about the dog's neck and sat up straight,
determined to hurry back through the rooms, before the queer fear should
seize her anew. She would not wait to analyze her feelings again; she
would go straight to the sofa and say to Giovanni's ardent, appealing
eyes--his beautiful Italian eyes--"Yes."

But even as the resolve was shaped, there followed swift upon it an
overwhelming wave of doubt that made her clasp her hands to still the
turmoil within her breast. It was as if an inner voice repeated, clearly
and insistently, "You don't love him! You don't love him!"

The dog lifted one huge paw and put it on her knee, his head went up, he
pushed his cold nose against her cheek, and as she lifted her chin, to
escape his over-affectionate caress, her glance fell by chance on a
picture of Ruth and Naomi. On the day when she had first come into the
gallery Giovanni had repeated, in French, the words of Ruth; and now, as
she gazed absently at the picture, she found that she was saying to
herself, not in French but in English, "Thy people shall be my
people----" Gradually an indescribable, comforted, soothed feeling crept
over her, as she looked into the true, steadfast eyes of the pictured
Ruth--hers were indeed the eyes of one who could follow faithfully to
the ends of the earth.

"'Whither thou goest, I will go,'" repeated Nina--yes, that was the
test. Giovanni away from his surroundings, and apart from his name--she
could not picture him. And should she put her hand in his, whither would
he lead her? Where did his path of life end? She could not with any
certainty guess. "Thy people shall be my people"--how could they ever
be? They were so widely different--so utterly different--she had never
realized it before--and then without warning, as a final move in a
puzzle snaps into place and makes the whole complete, with a little cry
she started up. For she