immediately extinguished the light I concluded that his quest was
completed for the night, and made my way back to my bedroom.

In the morning I was surprised to find my uncle already in the parlour
where usually I breakfasted by myself, for he was used to take his _cafe
au lait_ in his own room.

Bidding him good morning I had scarcely taken my seat when he produced a
miniature from his pocket, and earnestly gazing upon me inquired what I
thought of the character of the individual depicted in it.

I looked upon the medallion with great intentness, for I felt convinced
the mystery of the night was connected inseparably with it.

What I saw was a portrait--artistically executed in pastel--of a
delicate lady in eighteenth-century costume, with a strangely pathetic
expression in her dark brown eyes as of one perpetually striving to
understand and to be understood by others. Her mouth also showed the
same fragile tenderness of feeling, and altogether she seemed intended
to be--if not herself a musician or a poetess--at least the wife of a
musician or poet or sculptor.

'Not a strong character,' I replied musingly, 'but a most sweet and
delicate lady--one who should pass her time in playing upon the
clavichord or the viol d'amore. In sympathy of temperament I think she
would be more Italian than English.'

'You are right,' said my companion eagerly, 'she was Italian on her
mother's side. But what of her moral character?--that is what I want to
know from you--what think you of her constancy?'

I looked again into the deep brown eyes and pondered before I replied.
'I think,' I said slowly, 'I think that where she had once loved she
would love ever.'

My uncle's intensity became instantly relaxed, and a joyous look
overspread his face.

'I am sure of it,' he said with conviction, 'but I rejoice, nephew, that
your sound judgment bears out my intuition; but though you make me
happy the thought of the outrageous cruelty of her death makes me
miserable, for there is but one poor thing we now can do for her, that
is, to find her bones, and lay them to rest in the graveyard.

'As for the jealous and inhuman pride of the husband that could thus
immure in the walls of his house the tender, loving, fragile bride I can
find no adequate words.

'I cannot rest till I know this for a certainty, or till I have given
the poor bones their proper service and burial. I have sent for the
village mason--a discreet man enough--and shou