who supplied what was wanting to complete the realisation of the original design. And so, after centuries of struggle the final triumph of good was achieved."

So

"The story of Sabina is quite as interesting though not at all so mystical," said Honeywood." She was a sculptress by profession, and part of the most delicate carving was confided to her care. deeply did she enter into the spirit of her work, that she arose in her sleep, and climbing the dangerous scaffolding, worked at these wonderful traceries, and covered them with the exquisite images of her dreams."

"How beautiful!" said Ida. "Can you point me out any of her

work ?"

"No," said Honeywood, with a smile. "Much of it was destroyed. Sabina experienced the reverses that befall most fame-winners. The people, not knowing of her somnambulism, and finding that every morning a fresh piece of sculpture was found finished that had not been begun the night before, declared that she must have been assisted by the angels. Every night the angels came and did a piece of work for her."

"And I suppose Sabina herself did not know but that it was the truth?" said Ida.

"They were all, however, rudely enlightened. An enemy, a rejected lover, I believe, discovered the secret of her sleep-walking, and determined to be revenged upon her. Every night he followed in her footsteps, and demolished not only all that she sculptured that night, but much of what had been completed the day before. Upon this the people turned upon her, crying out that the Evil One had been helping her, but had now begun to mock her. It is impossible to say what horror might not have been the end of Sabina, only that she had a more noble-minded suitor, who discovered the fraud, and exposed the iniquity of the defacer of the devoted maiden's work."

"And how did it all end ?"

"In a dramatic scene upon the scaffolding at midnight. Sabina, like one of the angels who were said to help her, is seen from below moving along as if in the air, working magic among the marbles with her chisel. Now the figure of the spoiler is descried creeping out from the shadows and defacing with his mallet all the delicate images that have just been created. Presently a third form appears; the villain is seized and pinioned; torches flash out from below, and cries arise from the people who have been hidden spectators of the scene.'

"And Sabina wakened rudely from her sleep? Did she not go crazy, or fall from the scaffolding?"

"Probably she was soothed and supported by her lover," said Honeywood. "The legend tells us that she married her defender and was happy."

Ida's eyes became wistful, and she forgot the sculptured marbles. "So all the stories end," she said to herself; "but Thistleton is disgusted with me."

Arrived in Innsbruck, they felt already the exhilarating spell of the mountains. Passing down the street where the famous gold-roofed house glitters against an Alpine wall of purple, they turned into the church, where furry-capped peasant women knelt at prayer, and a strange brown company occupied the centre of the nave.

"Who are all these people?" asked Ida, hardly distinguishing between the brown-cheeked dovotees in their wild headdresses and the weird bronze figures as large as life that stood as if engaged in some solemn ceremony.

"These in the middle are royal personages," said Honeywood, "and they are standing round a tomb. One would think they had come here to witness the burial, and had forgotten to go away again. The others are mere commonplace peasants who are so accustomed to the presence of all this splendour that they do not stop to wonder at it as we do."

"It is like a witch-meeting, a Walpurgis-nacht," said Ida. "Fancy this church in the dead of night, with the moon glimmering through the windows, and all these bronze people standing gazing at each other."

"You think they take hands and skip over the tombs and chase each other through the aisles ?"

"They are too ponderous for that," said Kevin. "They seem to me riveted to the earth with the weight of their own experience. Look at these massive robes of bronze, these jewels and headgear which they wear here still, long after they have been stripped even of their flesh, and have gone destitute into eternity. Knowing all they know they are standing here aghast at the dreadful pageantries of life."

A magnificent thunder-storm came on while our friends were on their way to Verona; the train sped through fire; the ancient city was weirdly illuminated for their arrival. As they drove through the streets at midnight the lightning furnished a royal torch-light; by it they could fitfully discern the yawning Roman arches under which the horses passed, and which seemed to soar suddenly into a sky of flame and vanish; the black pile of the amphitheatre; the lofty towers; the tall medieval houses, with their shutters and balconies, their quaint roofs, and the long, deep shadows that lie about their base, surrounding them with grandeur and mystery. The great courtyard of the hotel was like a well of shadow covered in overhead with dark, intense blue, till a flash of lightning discovered the airy balconies hanging out above, with their clumps of flowering plants, and all the tiled intricacies of the roofs and chimneys, and the upper windows with their fantastic hoods and cowls.

The nervous Ida was frightened and depressed by the anger of the storm, and began to fear she had done wrong in giving herself up to the delights of this journey; but when in the morning she stepped out on the balcony and stood bathed in a flood of light and colour, she felt the warmth rush into her heart again, and the colour throw its glamour over her thoughts. The four masses of red and brown roof round the courtyard were blazing in the sun, all their whimsical forms and queer excrescences cut out crisply by the shadows against the blue. Awnings of gray and Indian red, jalousies of green, and blinds of faded blue, mingled their hues in the yellow morning light. Here and there scarlet or rose oleanders stood out sharply in a blaze of colour from the background of a mass of heavy shade. Voices uttering soft Italian speech were heard chattering or calling within the doorways along the balconies. A flock of white pigeons came flashing over the chimneys and dived into the courtyard for their breakfast; and Ida went smiling along the balcony towards Honeywood, who was coming to look for her.

CHAPTER IX.

VERONA.

WHO can tell the delights of a first walk through Verona ?—the rare old mediæval city, strong and beautiful in its antiquity, though so hacked at and notched by time; set like a jewel among blue hills and mountains; its towers and spires hanging so high in the blue air, that one almost reels to look up at them; with its gigantic Roman gates and arches, its sumptuous tombs and palaces, its Gothic fountains and faded frescoed dwellings, and its solemn and venerable churches.

Kevin wakened in the morning with a thrill of recollection, and rose in great excitement. "I am in Verona," he thought, "where Juliet loved and Dante dreamed, and where the grand signori of the middle ages held their court. Here walked the poet of the Paradiso, guarded and watched by the mighty Mastiff lord.”

It was very early, some hours before his friends were likely to appear, and he went out alone to ramble about the city. As he passed through the courtyard, a flock of pigeons swooped across it, and the flash of their white wings startled him, like a message from the past. It had not needed this to bring Fanchea's little form to his side; he always called upon her in spirit to share any new joy that fell to his share; and now, side by side, he and the ghost of his child-love travelled through the streets.

In the Piazza Delle Erbe business was already going forward; the Square, with its rich ancient architecture, its Palace of Justice, its

old Market House and House of Merchants, looked as if the contents of a hundred gardens had been emptied into its lap, while countless huge, white umbrellas spread their grotesque wings over the treasures of fruit and flowers set forth for the buyer. Under the umbrellas sat brown-cheeked, dark-eyed women in brilliant kerchiefs, guarding their juicy merchandise, and making striking groups against the background of the surrounding buildings, with their dim, rich frontage of time-worn sculpture and faded fresco. It was a gay, brilliant, noisy scene; loud chatter, ringing laughter, flashing colours; and above the heaps of green melons and groves of glowing oleanders, the squat forms of the quaint umbrellas, and the animated figures that moved among them, rose the marble sanctuary-column, the Gothic fountain, with its exquisite pinnacles, the soaring arches and lofty towers solemnly looking down, as on children at play, and tragically mindful of other scenes.

"Have you ever been here, little Fanchea ?" asked Kevin. "These buxom, black-eyed women are like sisters of the fiend in human shape who took you out of my life. Are you lurking behind their baskets, under their absurd umbrellas? Will you come forward presently and ask me in bad Italian to buy a melon ?"

He almost felt inclined to ask some of them if they had seen a little girl, with blue eyes and long, dark hair; but with a sigh shook off the folly, and passed under the mighty arch into the Piazza Dei Signori.

This piazza was comparatively silent and empty, and Kevin leaned against a column and surveyed in peace the gorgeous palaces of the great Mastiff race, with their lofty cortiles, and gigantic Gothic arches; with their massive pillars, delicate, graceful loggie, and the huge, towering campanile that pierces the clouds and once threw its solemn shadow upon Dante's exiled head.

Thrilling with excitement, Kevin gazed on the rows of frowning and sculptured windows. "What eyes have looked out from them!" he thought. "At which of them did Dante's strong, sad face come and go, watching for the form of his beloved lady in the golden blue of the morning sky? He was happier than I, for he knew that his love was in heaven. He looked to her on high; I search for her vainly on earth. Come along, little imaginary Fanchea," he continued, "and we will pass on through this wonderful city; and I will tell you as we go of all the good things that have fallen to my share since I saw you; you are only a pale little ghost, but you are all I have to console me for the Fanchea I have lost. As Beatrice was to Dante, so you have been the inspiration of my life. The great Master, who knew so much of human weakness, will forgive me for my audacity in drawing the parallel." Climbing the steps of the great amphitheatre, he sat down, and

gave himself up to the imaginations it suggested. His thoughts were the dreams of a poet, and took forms that may hereafter give delight to the world; his eyes had wandered away to the deep, blue horizon against which, wrapped in ether, stood up the great fortress towers of the Scaligeri, and the dark cypresses like sombre sentinels, ghostly streaks of shadow in the glowing landscape. He marked the paradisaical hills and the transfigured mountains, the rushing Adige with its bridges, and the rude, grand, lovely and picturesque masses of the city at his feet. Suddenly sounds from below caused him to look down, and see that some vulgar show was going on in the arena of the amphitheatre. A tent had been erected and gipsies were holding an entertainment for the benefit of some straggling spectators; a girl with floating hair was dancing and singing, and shaking a tambourine. A few notes from her fresh young voice rang up to where he sat; but he could not see her face. Startled out of his dreams, he thought he beheld the scene that was so often present to his thoughts; and rushed downward to claim and take possession of Fanchea.

The people gave way, and stood back, as the pale-faced gentleman advanced within the ring, with his eyes fixed upon the graceful little figure of the dancer. They thought he was going to give her money.

"Fan, little Fan!" he said, tremulously, "do you not know me ?" A child's face with a bright brown skin, and white grinning teeth flashed suddenly round upon him; a flood of eager Italian was poured into his ears, and an outstretched hand was held out to him, to beg. He dropped some coin into it, and turned away to hide the tears in his eyes. What freak of madness was this that had surprised him? Seven long years ago Fanchea might have looked, from a distance, like this. He saw tall, coarse-looking young women standing round, with beads round their throats, and rude laughter on their lips; "Oh, heaven! could she grow into one like these!" he thought, with horror, and hurried away from the spot.

All the way home to the hotel a little song, Goethe's, that Ida was fond of singing, rang in his ears :—

"Sie aber ist weggezogen

Und weit in das Land hinaus."

Yes; she was, indeed, gone far out into the world of time and space; and how could he any longer hope to follow her?

There was somewhat of a cloud over the breakfast party at the hotel; something had gone wrong between Honeywood and Ida after their pleasant greeting on the balcony. Delighted with her smiles, he had suddenly, on hearing her ask eagerly for Kevin, renounced all interest in her happy mood. Their conversation became constrained and commonplace, and a cold shadow lay between them. Honeywood, bitterly disappointed in himself, confessed in his own