ica! She gave Cecilia a little tap with her fan, and floated
away, a lovely vision of glistening satin and jewels, enveloped in an
opera cloak, to be presented to the Princess Margherita.

The self-elected ghost was free to roam through the whole apartment,
to shed a few tears, and finally return to the small chamber
containing San Donato. She had intended to tell her mother about the
image, but the confidence had remained frozen on her lips. She did not
go to bed. She was lonely, miserable, and disquieted. What would her
mother have said if she knew of the hiding behind the sofa in the
salon? Cecilia now rested her arms on the table, and gazed at the
little wooden figure. Never had any toy possessed equal interest to
her.

Suddenly a great light filled the room, and San Donato vanished. She
searched for the lost treasure in dismay, and beheld him enter the
door. O, great and glorious San Donato! O, serene and holy San
Donato! spurning the guise of the old shop, a thing of wood, and
appearing to a lonely, neglected child as a swift, strong angel, with
unfolded wings, in all thy wondrous celestial beauty! Cecilia fell on
her knees, not daring to lift her eyes to the golden pinions, the head
crowned with its aureole of martyrdom; but the glorious shape raised
her, the door and walls of her chamber vanished, and with a giddy rush
through the dark night, which deprived her of breath, she found
herself standing on a globe, a world, upheld by her guardian, as the
soul stands in Guido Reni's picture of the Capitol. Her raiment was
also white and glistening; great pearls clasped her throat and wrists.
She was gravely chidden for touching these in wonder, and then she saw
other shapes, resembling San Donato, passing rank behind rank in the
clouds.

"These through great affliction came, but they never swerved from
duty. Are you afraid?" His voice was like the chimes up in St.
Cecilia's campanile ringing for vespers.

"Duty? What does it mean?" cried Cecilia, opening her eyes.

The image stood on the table, and the candle was flaring low in the
socket. Her arms were stiff, her body cold--hours must have elapsed.
She shivered, a sob burst from her throat, and she sought her bed.
Mrs. Denvil returned from her ball at that moment. The dressing-room
had been restored to order by the sleepy maid. The lady drew a slip
of perfumed note-paper from her glove. Her eyes were very bright, her
lips parched. The note implored her, in the