one of the litheness and grace
of movement which is so common among that class, and his sallow skin
had nothing in common with the rich olive complexion of the Tuscan
face. But it is just possible that Gualtier may have had some little
personal vanity which blinded him to his shortcomings in this
respect. The pallor of his face was, however, to some extent
corrected by a red kerchief which he bound around his head, and the
effect of this was increased by a dark wig and mustache. Trusting to
this disguise, he prepared for his undertaking.

[Illustration: "He Followed Watchfully And Stealthily."]

The next day after his interview with Hilda he obtained a horse, and
waited at a spot near Lord Chetwynde's lodgings, wearing a voluminous
cloak, one corner of which was flung over his left shoulder in the
Italian fashion. A horse was brought up to the door of the hotel;
Lord Chetwynde came out, mounted him, and rode off. Gualtier followed
at a respectful distance, and kept up his watch for about ten miles.
He was not noticed at all. At length he saw Lord Chetwynde ride into
the gateway of a villa and disappear. He did not care about following
any further, and was very well satisfied with having found out this
much so easily.

Leaving his horse in a safe place, Gualtier then posted himself
amidst a clump of trees, and kept up his watch for hours. He had to
wait almost until midnight; then, at last, his patience was rewarded.
It was about half past eleven when he saw Lord Chetwynde come out and
pass down the road. He himself followed, but did not go back to town.
He found an inn on the road, and put up here for the night.

On the following day he passed the morning in strolling along the
road, and had sufficient acquaintance with Italian to inquire from
the people about the villa where Lord Chetwynde had gone. He learned
that it belonged to a rich Milor Inglese, whose name no one knew, but
who was quite popular with the neighboring peasantry. They spoke of
ladies in the villa; one old one, and another who was young and very
beautiful. There were also children. All this was very gratifying to
Gualtier, who, in his own mind, at once settled the relationship of
all these. The old woman was the mother, he thought, or perhaps the
sister of the Milor Inglese; the young lady was his wife, and they
had children. He learned that the Milor Inglese was over fifty years
old, and the children were ten and twelve; a circumstance which