e pass, and was not seen.
The wooden face of the old nobleman almost betrayed something akin to
emotion. He was returning from the funeral, and it had pained him;
for he had liked the wild baroness in a fatherly, reproving way. But
the sight of him sent a home thrust to Nino's heart.

"Her death is on my soul for ever," he muttered between his set teeth.
Poor innocent boy, it was not his fault if she had loved him so much.
Women have done things for great singers that they have not done for
martyrs or heroes. It seems so certain that the voice that sings so
tenderly is speaking to them individually. Music is such a fleeting,
passionate thing that a woman takes it all to herself; how could he
sing like that for anyone else? And yet there is always someone for
whom he does really pour out his heart, and all the rest are the dolls
of life, to be looked at and admired for their dress and complexion,
and to laugh at when the fancy takes him to laugh; but not to love.

At midnight Nino was at his post, but he waited long and patiently for
a sign. It was past two, and he was thinking it hopeless to wait
longer, when his quick ear caught the sound of a window moving on its
hinges, and a moment later something fell at his feet with a sharp,
metallic click. The night was dark and cloudy, so that the waning moon
gave little light. He picked up the thing and found a small pocket
handkerchief wrapped about a minute pair of scissors, apparently to
give it weight. He expected a letter, and groped on the damp pavement
with his hands. Then he struck a match, shaded it from the breeze with
his hand, and saw that the handkerchief was stained with ink, and that
the stains were letters, roughly printed to make them distinct. He
hurried away to the light of a street lamp to read the strange
missive.

CHAPTER X

He went to the light and spread out the handkerchief. It was a small
thing, of almost transparent stuff, with a plain "H.L." and a crown in
the corner. The steel pen had torn the delicate fibres here and there.

"They know you have been here. I am watched. Keep away from the house
till you hear."

That was all the message, but it told worlds. He knew from it that the
count was informed of his visit, and he tortured himself by trying to
imagine what the angry old man would do. His heart sank like a stone
in his breast when he thought of Hedwig, so imprisoned, guarded, made
a martyr of, for his folly. He groaned aloud whe