let
the boat drift--"Listen. This is not our Heaven, but I know a villa by
the sea. There are hills and woods about it; flowers, fruits, and in
the day, sunshine, at night, moonlight and music; drives, and walks, and
vines, and arbors. Could you find there your Heaven--with me? May I take
you to my villa?"

When he ceased, his words dropped slowly into silence, and Mae still
gazed at him. She saw him come nearer to her, with his eyes fixed on
hers; she saw his hand leave the oar and move slowly toward hers,
but she was motionless, looking at the picture he had painted her of
life--the cloudless days, moonlit nights--the villa by the sea--the
glowing Piedmontese. Her eyelids trembled, her pulse beat.

Could she take that villa for her home? That man for her husband? She
had half thought till now in soft luxurious Italian, but 'my home' and
'my husband' said themselves to her in her own mother tongue. She gave
a long shiver, and pulled her eyes from his. It was like waking from
a dream. "No--oh, no; take me home," she gasped, and turned toward the
shore, where, erect, with folded arms and head bared, stood Norman Mann.

The Italian bit his lip, and said something under his breath, but he
took the oars and pulled ashore. Mae turned her eyes downward and felt
the color creep up, up into her cheeks. It seemed eternity. The boat
was Charon's, and she was drifting to her fate. Norman Mann stood like a
statue. The wind moved his hair over his forehead, and once Mae saw him
toss the unruly locks back in a familiar way he had. She did not know
why, but the tears half came to her eyes as he did it. He stood as
firm and hard and still as a New England rock, while the Italian swayed
lithely as he pulled the oars, with the curve and motion of a sliding,
slippery stream.

The boat came safely ashore. The Piedmontese helped her to land, and the
three stood silent; but Mae under all her shame felt content to be near
Norman. His voice broke the quiet, quick and clear. "Are you married?"
he asked.

"I! married! What do you--what can he mean?"

"Why is this man here, then?"

Mae stood an instant so still that the heavy breaths of the two men were
distinctly audible, the passionate boundings of Bero's pulse, the long,
deep throbs of Norman's heart. The officer stepped toward her. Norman
stood unmoved. The Italian's eye wandered restlessly, his hand fell to
his sword. Norman's arms were folded, and his face set.

Mae looked at one