was our kind friend and excellent entertainer; but of the tenderness of
the Hotel Promontonio it was hard for me to find a trace. The great lady
indeed outshone her peers, and took my moorland eyes as well as the
regards of others. But I had rather walked by the lake with the scarlet
cloak, or stood with her and been shot at for a white owl in the niche
of the terrace.

In the last days of the month there came from Henry's uncle and
guardian, Wilfred Fenwick, an urgent summons. He was ill, he might be
dying, and Henry was to return at once; while I, in anticipation of his
return, was to continue in Italy. There was indeed nothing to call me
home.

Therefore--and for other reasons--I abode in Italy; and after Henry's
departure I made evident progress in the graces of the Countess. Once or
twice she allowed me to remain behind for half an hour. On these
occasions she would come and throw herself down in a chair by the fire,
and permit me to take her hand. But she was weary and silent, full of
gloomy thoughts, which in vain I tried to draw from her. Still, I think
it comforted her to have me thus sit by her.

One morning, while I was idly leaning upon the bridge, and looking
towards the hills with their white marble palaces set amid the beauty of
the Italian spring, one touched me on the shoulder. I turned, and
lo--Lucia! Not any more the Countess, but Lucia, radiant with
brightness, colour in her cheek for the first time since I had seen her
in the Court of the South, animation sparkling in her eye.

"So I have found you, faithless one," she said. "I have been seeking for
you everywhere."