Clementina

"Never was truer word spoken," said Wogan, stoutly.

"Then why is the King in Spain?"

They had come back to the first question. Wogan had no new answer to it.

He said,-"I do not know."

For a moment or two Clementina searched his eyes. It seemed in the end

that she was satisfied he spoke the truth. For she said in a voice of

greater gentleness,-"Then I will acquaint you. Will you walk with me for half a mile?"

Wogan bowed, and followed her out of the garden. He could not think

whither she was leading him, or for what purpose. She walked without a

word to him, he followed without a question, and so pacing with much

dignity they came to the steps of a great house. Then Clementina halted.

"Sir," said she, "can you put a name to the house?"

"Upon my word, your Highness, I cannot."

"It is the Caprara Palace," said she, suddenly, and suddenly she bent

her eyes upon Wogan. The name, however, conveyed no meaning whatever to

him, and his blank face told her so clearly. She nodded in a sort of

approval. "No," she said, relenting, "you did not know."

She mounted the steps, and knocking upon the door was admitted by an old

broken serving-man, who told her that the Princess Caprara was away. It

was permitted him, however, to show the many curiosities and treasures

of the palace to such visitors as desired it. Clementina did desire it.

The old man led her and her companion to the armoury, where he was for

spending much time and breath over the trophies which the distinguished

General Caprara had of old rapt from the infidels. But Clementina

quickly broke in upon his garrulity.

"I have a great wish to see the picture gallery," said she, and the old

man tottered onwards through many shrouded and darkened rooms. In the

picture gallery he drew up the blinds and then took a wand in his hand.

"Will you show me first the portrait of Mlle. de Caprara?" said

Clementina.

It was a full-length portrait painted with remarkable skill. Maria

Vittoria de Caprara was represented in a black dress, and the warm

Italian colouring of her face made a sort of glow in the dark picture.

Her eyes watched you from the canvas with so life-like a glance you had

a thought when you turned that they turned after you. Clementina gazed

at the picture for a long while, and the blood slowly mounted on her

neck and transfused her cheeks.