urt of honour on the other side of
the little palace. Petersen went meekly away and left the two to
themselves.

They walked very slowly along the path towards the fountain, and past
it, to the parapet at the other end, where they had talked long ago. But
as they passed the bench, they glanced at it quietly, and saw that it
was still in its place. Cecilia had not been at the villa since the
afternoon before Guido fell ill, and Lamberti had never come there since
the garden party in May.

They stood still before the low wall and looked across the shoulder of
the hill. Saving commonplace words at meeting, they had not spoken yet.
Cecilia broke the silence at last, looking straight before her, her lids
low, her face quiet, almost as if she were in a dream.

"Have we done all that we could do, all that we ought to do for him?"
she asked. "Are you sure?"

"We can do nothing more," Lamberti answered gravely.

"Tell me again what he said. I want the very words."

"He said, 'Tell her that it would be a little hard for me to talk with
her now, but that she must not think I am not glad that she is going to
marry my best friend.' He said those words, and he said he would write
to you from the Tyrol. He leaves to-morrow night."

"He has been very generous," Cecilia said softly.

"Yes. He will be your best friend, as he is mine."

She knew that it was true.

"We have done what we can," Lamberti continued presently. "He has given
all he has, and we have given him what we could. The rest is ours."

He took her hand and drew her gently, turning back towards the fountain.

"It was like this in the dream," she said, scarcely breathing the words
as she walked beside him.

They stood still before the falling water, quite alone and out of sight
of every one, in the softening light, and suddenly the girl's heart beat
hard, and the man's face grew pale, and they were facing each other,
hands in hands, look in look, thought in thought, soul in soul; and they
remembered that day when each had learned the other's secret in the
shadowy staircase of the palace, and each dreamt again of a meeting long
ago in the House of the Vestals; but only the girl knew what she had
felt of mingled joy and regret when she had sat alone at night weeping
on the steps of the Temple.

There was no veil between them now, as their eyes drew them closer
together by slow and delicious degrees. It was the first time, though
every instant was full of memo