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334 Lady Frances was not of the number. The wind was still cold, and she preferred, therefore, to retreat into the little church. There was not much to see there; so having gazed for some minutes into a glazed cell containing a figure held to represent St Francis himself at his devotions, she seated herself upon one of the wooden forms close to a window in the little chancel. As usual, she felt a little sad, a little forlorn, a little out of heart with herself and her world. Why, she again asked herself, had Hal urged her so imperatively to come with them to-day, seeing that now that she was here he plainly wanted her as little as did any of these others?

Presently, prompted by an impulse, she did not quite know what, she mounted upon one of the wooden forms, which brought her head to a level with the small-paned window looking out across the wind-tossed acacias to the church-towers of Murano, and beyond these again to the wild panorama of mountains, snow-capped and cloud-flecked. She had been looking out a couple of minutes, and was about to descend again with a smile at her own attitude, which in truth was a slightly ridiculous one, when, rather to her surprise, she saw her brother coming back towards her along a little track which led through the grass back to the broader pathway leading to the landing-place. Her hand was lifted to attract his attention, but was suddenly arrested by the expression of his face, which betokened surprise, anger, astonishment, hurt feeling, wounded susceptibilities – the look of a man who has been assailed in his tenderest point, and who believes that no eye sees him – such a look as she had certainly never seen on his care-defying lineaments before.

He passed rapidly on between the swaying acacias – so rapidly, that almost before she had got over her astonishment at the unlooked-for revelation, he was out of sight, hidden by the corner of the church, which here flung out a great projecting buttress of masonry. Lady Frances sprang to the ground, her whole heart rushing to him in his trouble. She hastened to the door, thence to the landing-place, thinking to overtake him. He was not there, however, but had taken, one of the gondoliers said, a path to the right leading along the ramparts. She followed, but failed to see anything of him. It was not long, however, before she fell in with the rest of the party, who had made the giro of the island, and were coming along in rather scattered order, the beautiful Russian last, attended by a cavalier, to whom she was paying that listless, half-contemptuous attention which she was accustomed to mete out to her devotees.

Madame Facchino advanced to meet her in a state of considerable excitement. She had promised, she said, to be at the Bavarian consulate at five o'clock precisely that afternoon, and had only just discovered that it was past four now. As they had taken two hours to come here, it was obviously impossible for her to arrive if she remained with the party; her only chance, therefore, was to catch the steamer at Burano: would dear Lady Frances, who was always so kind, allow her to be deposited there? she inquired, clasping her hands with dramatic earnestness. Lady Frances was quite willing to do so, wondering however, rather, that nothing had been heard of this important engagement till then. She did not like to inquire whether anything