idn't know how, and she laughed a
bitter sort of laugh.

There was a sound of horses' feet again. The road lay almost close to
the shore just here. A low exclamation, a vault from his horse, which
was speedily cared for by a dozen boys near at hand, and before Mae knew
it, the officer was beside her once more.

O, how beautiful it was to see some one from the world, fresh, and
clean, and fair. Mae gazed at him in delight, and sprang up warmly,
holding out both her hot hands, "How is Heaven?" asked Bero, as he
raised the white fingers to his lips.

"That is not the custom with us," said Mae, withdrawing her hand.

"But what is custom in Heaven?" he laughed. "Can't we do as we please in
our Heaven, Signorina?"

"This isn't our Heaven, and I don't please. O, how could you let me come
to this dreadful place. Did you know how awful it would be?"

"Shall I tell you why I said nothing? Let me row you away from all
this," and he began to untie the boat.

"When did you come?" asked Mae,

"I left Rome last night, reached Naples this morning, and here I am as
soon as possible, Signorina."

Mae felt herself gradually yielding to the spell of this man's soft
power. She had grown strangely quiet and passive, and she folded her
hands and looked off seawards in a not unhappy way. She seemed to be
some one else in a strange dream.

"Are you glad I came?" asked Bero, as he jumped into the boat and sat
down opposite her. Mae did not reply. She had almost lost the power of
speech. She only smiled feebly and faintly. Bero had never seen her thus
before, but he realized dimly that it was he who had changed her, and
the sense of his own power excited him the more. He bent his proud head
and flashed his beautiful eyes as he lifted the oars to the locks, and
silently pulled out toward the bay.

As he rowed he gazed fixedly at her, and the frightened, puzzled child
could not turn her eyes from his. His look grew softer and tenderer,
his head bent towards her, the oars moved slower and slower and at last
stopped imperceptibly. Still the man gazed passionately, claimingly, and
the girl breathed harder and let her eyes rest on his, as if he had been
a wondrous, charming serpent, and she a little, unresisting dove. Then
he spoke.

His words were so low, it seemed as if his eyes had found voice; his
words were so caressing, it seemed as if they changed to kisses as they
fell. "Listen," he said, softly, and drew up his dripping oars and