ent
her eyes upon Wogan. The name, however, conveyed no meaning whatever to
him, and his blank face told her so clearly. She nodded in a sort of
approval. "No," she said, relenting, "you did not know."

She mounted the steps, and knocking upon the door was admitted by an old
broken serving-man, who told her that the Princess Caprara was away. It
was permitted him, however, to show the many curiosities and treasures
of the palace to such visitors as desired it. Clementina did desire it.
The old man led her and her companion to the armoury, where he was for
spending much time and breath over the trophies which the distinguished
General Caprara had of old rapt from the infidels. But Clementina
quickly broke in upon his garrulity.

"I have a great wish to see the picture gallery," said she, and the old
man tottered onwards through many shrouded and darkened rooms. In the
picture gallery he drew up the blinds and then took a wand in his hand.

"Will you show me first the portrait of Mlle. de Caprara?" said
Clementina.

It was a full-length portrait painted with remarkable skill. Maria
Vittoria de Caprara was represented in a black dress, and the warm
Italian colouring of her face made a sort of glow in the dark picture.
Her eyes watched you from the canvas with so life-like a glance you had
a thought when you turned that they turned after you. Clementina gazed
at the picture for a long while, and the blood slowly mounted on her
neck and transfused her cheeks.

"There is a face, Mr. Wogan,--a passionate, beautiful face,--which might
well set a seal upon a man's heart. I do not wonder. I can well believe
that though to-day that face gladdens the streets of Rome, a lover in
Spain might see it through all the thick earth of the Pyrenees. There,
sir, I promised to acquaint you why the King lingered in Spain. I have
fulfilled that promise;" and making a present to the custodian, she
walked back through the rooms and down the steps to the street. Wogan
followed her, and pacing with much dignity they walked back to the
little house among the trees, and so came again into the garden of
blossoms.

The anger had now gone from her face, but it was replaced by a great
weariness.

"It is strange, is it not," she said with a faltering smile, "that on a
spring morning, beneath this sky, amongst these flowers, I should think
with envy of the snows of Innspruck and my prison there? But I owe you a
reparation," she added. "You said th