ly a moaning sound, and wild snatches of song, which affected
him strangely, for this voice, broken and weak as it was, had in it
something familiar, and he tried in vain to recall where he had heard it
before and under what circumstances. Once he thought he heard his own
name, as if the sick girl (he felt intuitively that it was a girl) were
calling for him, and, starting up, he listened intently, but caught only
the tones of the tearful, sobbing voice which said:

"Hush, darling, hush! We are all here; try to be quiet and sleep."

At last, worn out with wakefulness and the fatigue of his long journey
from Naples, Grey fell into a deep sleep, from which he did not waken
until nearly ten the next morning. Dressing himself hastily he went at
once to the office and asked who occupied the room adjoining his own.

"An English lady and her daughter," was the reply; and the clerk, who
was not noted for suavity of manner, turned to a little bright-eyed,
black haired girl, who came up, evidently with the intention of
preferring some request.

There was something in the toss of the curly head, and the saucy look in
the eyes, and the slightly upward turn of the nose, which always
commanded attention from the rudest of porters and clerks: and this one
at the Quirinal bowed respectfully to her, and was about to ask what he
could do for her, when Grey interrupted him with another question, or
rather assertion and question both:

"The young lady is sick. What is the matter with her?"

A flush of annoyance passed over the clerk's face, as he replied:

"A severe cold, taken in Naples. What can I do for you, Miss Meredith?"

And he loftily bowed Grey aside to make room for the young girl, whose
black eyes flashed upon Grey with a half-comical expression, and whose
shoulders shrugged involuntarily as she heard the clerk's explanation.

"I will ask the names of the English lady and her daughter another
time," Grey thought, as he moved away to make room for the young lady.

He had finished his breakfast, an hour later, and was making his way
from the winter garden into the parlor, when he again encountered the
young girl with the bright, laughing black eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, flashing upon him a bright, bewildering smile. "I
looked on the register, and found that you are Mr. Grey Jerrold, of whom
I have heard Sir Jack Trevellian speak. Sir Hal, from whom Sir Jack
inherited Trevellian Castle, was my cousin, and I used to liv