st the note seemed to have
been written in irony, if not in anger, but that would have been very
unlike Guido; the second reading convinced Lamberti that his friend was
in earnest, whatever his meaning might be, and at the third perusal,
Lamberti saw the true state of the case. Guido supposed that he and
Cecilia were violently repelled by each other.

He did not smile at the absurdity of the idea, for he felt at once that
the results of such a misunderstanding must before long place Cecilia
and himself in a false position, from which it would be hard to escape.
Yet he was well aware that Guido would not believe the truth--that the
coincidences were too extraordinary to be readily admitted, while no
other rational theory could be found to explain what had happened. If
Lamberti saw Cecilia often, Guido would soon perceive that instead of
mutual dislike and repulsion the strongest sympathy existed between
them, and that they would always understand each other without words. It
would be impossible to conceal that very long.

Besides, they would love each other, if they met frequently; about that
Lamberti had not the smallest doubt. His instincts were direct and
unhesitating, and he knew that he had never felt for any living woman
what he felt for the fair young girl whose unreal presence visited his
dreams, and who, in those long visions, loved him dearly in return, with
a spiritual passion that rose far above perishable things and yet was
not wholly immaterial. There was that one moment when they stood near
together in the early morning, and their lips met as if body, heart, and
soul were all meeting at once, and only for once.

After that, in his dreams, there was much that Lamberti could not
understand in himself, and which seemed very unlike the self he knew,
very much higher, very much purer, very much more inclined to sacrifice,
constantly in a sort of spiritual tension and always striving towards a
perfect life, which was as far as anything could be, he supposed, from
his own personality, as he thought he knew it. The story he dreamed was
simple enough. He was a Christian, the girl a Vestal Virgin, the
youngest of those last six who still guarded the sacred hearth when the
Christian Emperor dissolved all that was left of the worship of the old
gods. He bade the noble maidens close the doors of the temple and depart
in peace to their parents' homes, freed from their vows and service, and
from all obligations to the