ing the next day or two. It was
not impossible that he might try to make her mother's acquaintance and
her own. The idea was intensely disagreeable to her. In the first place,
she hated him beforehand for what he had done, and, secondly, she had
once heard his secret. It was one thing, so long as he was a total
stranger. It would be quite another, if she should come to know him. She
had a vague thought of pretending to be ill, and staying in her room as
long as he remained in the place. But in that case she should have to
explain matters to her mother. She should not like to do that. The
thought of the difficulty disturbed her a little while longer. Then, at
last, she fell asleep, tired with what she had felt, and seen, and
heard.

The yacht sailed before daybreak, and in the morning the little hotel
had returned to its normal state of peace. The early sun blazed upon the
white walls above, and upon the half-moon, beach below, and shot
straight into the recess in the rocks where Clare had sat by the old
black cross in the dark. The level beams ran through her room, too, for
it faced south-east, looking across the gulf; and when she went to the
window and stood in the sunshine, her flaxen hair looked almost white,
and the good southern warmth brought soft colour to the northern girl's
cheeks. She was like a thin, fair angel, standing there on the high
balcony, looking to seaward in the calm air. That, at least, was what a
fisherman from Praiano thought, as he turned his hawk-eyes upwards,
standing to his oars and paddling slowly along, top-heavy in his tiny
boat. But no native of Amalfi ever mistook a foreigner for an angel.

Everything was quiet and peaceful again, and there seemed to be neither
trace nor memory of the preceding day's invasion. The English old maids
were early at their window, and saw with disappointment that the yacht
was gone. They were never to know whether the big man with the gold
cigarette case had been the Duke of Orkney or not. But order was
restored, and they got their tea and toast without difficulty. The
Russian invalid was slicing a lemon into his cup on the vine-sheltered
terrace, and the German family, having slept on the question of the Pope
and Bismarck, were ruddy with morning energy, and were making an early
start for a place in the hills where the Professor had heard that there
was an inscription of the ninth century.

The young girl stood still on her balcony, happily dazed for a f