and again she had well nigh made up her mind to turn aside from the
path she was following. She would go only a few steps further
towards the edge of the forest. She looked out eagerly before her,
standing on tip-toe on every little bit of vantage ground which the
path afforded. She would only go as far as that next bend in the
path. But the bend in the path disclosed a stile a little further
on, from which surely a view of all the ground between the path she
was on and the farmhouse at which Ludovico and his companion had
descended, might be had. She would go so far and no further. And
thus, poor child, she went on and on, long and long after the monk
had lost sight of her, and with a deep sigh, had turned to go back
again into the church.

It had been six o'clock when Paolina started on her walk to the
church, and nothing had been settled with any accuracy between her
and the old friend and protectress, with whom she had come to
Ravenna, and lived during her stay there, as to the exact time at
which she might be expected to return. The name of the protectress
in question was Signora Orsola Steno, an old friend of her mother's,
who, when Paolina Foscarelli had been left an orphan, had, for pure
charity and friendship's sake, taken the child, and brought her up.
Latterly, by the exercise of the talent inherited from her father,
Paolina had been able to do something, not only towards meeting her
own expenses, but towards making some return for all that the good
Orsola had done for her out of her own poverty. And now this
commission of the Englishman who had sent her to Ravenna would go
far towards improving the prospects of both Paolina and her old
friend.

Old Orsola did not know exactly at what time to expect Paolina back;