And behold! the white tombstone has letters of fire written on it, and the white flowers are changed to drops of blood, and the two black figures have hurried away and disappeared.  How the wind tears down this wide valley, in which there is no sign of life.  It is so sad to be left alone.

Well, it was about eight o’clock when he was awakened by the entrance of Waters.  He jumped up, and looked around, haggard and bewildered.  Then his first thought was,

“A few more nights like this, and Zaccatelli will have little to fear.”

He had his bath and breakfast; all the time he was forcing himself into an indignant self-contempt.  He held out his hand before him, expecting to see it tremble:  but no.  This reassured him somewhat.

A little before eleven he was at the house in Hans Place.  He was immediately shown up-stairs.  Natalie’s mother was there to receive him, she did not notice he looked tired.

“Natalie is coming to you this morning?” he said.

“Oh yes; why not?  It gives her pleasure, it gives me joy.  But I will not keep the child always in the house; no, she must have her walk.  Yesterday, after you had left, we went to a very secluded place—­a church not far from here, and a cemetery behind.”

“Oh, yes; I know,” he said.  “But you might have chosen a more cheerful place for your walk.”

“Any place is cheerful enough for me when my daughter is with me,” said she, simply; “and it is quiet.”

George Brand sat with his hands clinched.  Every moment he thought he should hear Natalie knock at the door below.

“Madame,” he said, with some little hesitation, “something has happened of serious importance—­I mean, of a little importance.  When Natalie comes I must tell her—­”

“And you wish to see her alone, perhaps?” said the mother, lightly.  “Why not?  And listen—­it is she herself, I believe!”

A minute afterward the door was opened, and Natalie entered, radiant, happy, with glad eyes.  Then she started when she saw George Brand there, but there was no fear in her look.  On the contrary, she embraced her mother; then she went to him, and said, with a pleased flush in her face,

“I had no message this morning.  You did not care, then, for our little bunch of flowers?”

He took her hand, and held it for a second.

“I thought I should see you to-day, Natalie; I have something to tell you.”

Her face grew graver.

“Is it something serious?”

“Well,” said he, to gain time, for the mother was still in the room, “it is serious or not serious, as you like to take it.  It does not involve the fate of a nation, for example.”

“It is mysterious, at all events.”

At this moment the elder woman took occasion to slip noiselessly from the room.

“Natalie,” said he, “sit down here by me.”

She put the footstool on which she was accustomed to sit at her mother’s side close to his chair, and seated herself.  He took her hand and held it tight.