Angelo, he paced up and down the cliffs, with the waves beating music at his feet. Then he flung himself down on the moss that covered a ledge of the rock, with his saddle beneath his head, as he had lain many a night under Asiatic stars and on Andes slopes, and on yellow Libyan sand; physical fatigue brought sleep, and sleep was gentler to him than his waking life, it gave him dreams, and with his dreams Idalia.
As she passed from him through the embrasure of the myrtle-shrouded window, and crossing her reception-room, entered an inner chamber, at the farther end stood Victor Vane—too far to have heard what had been spoken, yet near enough through the suite of apartments to have seen out on the terrace above the sea. A few minutes before he had left the villa with her other guests, whose boats were taking them across to Naples; now he had returned and awaited her, half with the familiarity of a man who shared her confidence, half with the hesitation of one who fears he may give offence.
"You are here still; and so late! I suppose you bring news of importance you could not give before them?" she said, with a shade of annoyance in the languor of her voice. He had approached with a quick step, an eager warmth upon his face; he was
