LITMIR.BIZ

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the National Guard. On the right the many-coloured fairy lamps of the gardens attached to the Caffé d’Italia shone through the dark foliage; on the left the ripple of the sea surged softly far below. Away across the moonlit waters flashed the warning beacon of the port, and the air was heavy with the sensuous odour of orange blossom and roses.

      For upwards of an hour we sat talking; she piquante, bright, and amusing; I lazily enjoying a cigar, and watching her beautiful face in rapt admiration. I told her of myself – how the interest in my sole object in life had been suddenly destroyed by affluence – and my present position, that of a world-weary tourist, with no definite purpose farther than killing time.

      All my efforts to learn some events of her past life or her place of abode were unavailing. “I am plain Vera Seroff,” she replied, “and I, too, am a wanderer – what you call bird of passage. I have no country, alas! even if I have patriotism.”

      “But you are Russian?” I said.

      “Quite true – yes. I shall return to Russia – some day.” And she sighed, as if the mention of her native land stirred strangely sad memories.

      “Where do you intend going when you leave here?” I asked.

      “I have not the slightest idea. We have no fixed abode, and travel whither it suits my uncle – London, New York, Paris; it matters little where we go.”

      “You have been in England; have you not?”

      “Yes; and I hate it,” she replied, abruptly, at once turning the conversation into another channel. She appeared extremely reticent regarding her past, and by no amount of ingenuity could I obtain any further information.

      When it grew chilly, we rose and walked along past the forts, and out upon the Spezzia road, where a refreshing breeze blew in from the sea.

      In her soft white dress, with a bunch of crimson roses at her throat, I had never seen her looking so beautiful. I loved her madly, blindly, and longed to tell her so.

      Yet how could I?

      Such a proceeding would be absurd, for our acquaintance had been of so brief a duration that we scarcely knew anything of one another.

      Chapter Seven

      A Secret Tie

      On our return we traversed the road skirting the fortress, and paused for a few moments, resting upon a disused gun-carriage. The moon had reappeared and cast its long line of pale light upon the rippling waters of the Mediterranean.

      Suddenly, as we were seated side by side, her dark eyes met mine, and by some inexplicable intuition, some mysterious rapport between my soul and hers, I knew I was something more to her than a mere casual acquaintance. My reason answered me that I must be mad to think she loved me, but my heart told me different, and gradually all my misgivings vanished before the hope and confidence that the conviction of her love raised in my mind.

      “I have just been wondering,” I said, “whether, when we part in a few days, we shall ever meet again, for, believe me, I shall cherish the fondest memory of this evening we have passed together. It is charming.”

      “And I also,” she replied, “but as you say in English, the best of friends must part.”

      It is useless to repeat the words I uttered. Suffice it to say that I could restrain my feelings no longer, and there, in the bright Italian moonlight, I declared my ecstatic passion, and asked her to be my wife.

      Had I taken her unawares? Probably so; for, when I had finished, she rose with an effort, and withdrawing her hand gently, said, “No, Frank – for I may call you by that name – your request I am unable to grant, and the reason I cannot now explain. There is, alas! an insurmountable barrier between us, and had you known more of me you would not have asked me this.”

      “But, Vera, you love me, you can’t deny it!” I passionately exclaimed.

      Tears stood in her eyes, as she answered, “Yes, yes, I do – I love you dearly!”

      “Then what is this obstacle to our happiness?”

      “No! no!” she cried, covering her face with her hands. “Request no explanation, for, I – I cannot give it. It would be fatal.”

      “But why?” I asked, for it was a cruel and bitter disappointment. All my hopes had been shattered in those brief moments.

      “From the day we first met I have known we loved one another,” she said slowly, “yet it would have been better had we never become acquainted, since it causes pain to both.”

      “But, surely, if you love me, Vera, this obstacle can be removed! Tell me what it is; if a secret, it will be safe with me,” I said earnestly.

      She dashed the tears from her eyes, and with an effort stood erect before me, saying:

      “No! it is impossible. Think no more of marriage, Frank; regard me only as a dear friend who loves you.”

      “Then you will not tell me why we cannot marry?” I said, gravely, rising and taking her hand.

      “It – it is a secret. I would rather die than divulge it; though, some day, perhaps, the circumstances will alter, and I shall be at liberty to tell you everything. For the present we love one another, but it must end there; marriage is entirely out of the question.”

      I saw it was useless to press for any further explanation. Evidently she was prepared for any self-sacrifice, to protect her secret, because, when finding herself wavering, she had summoned all her strength, and with a mighty effort overcame her emotion, resolutely giving her answer.

      As we rose and turned towards the city, a circumstance, slight in itself, occurred, which afterwards caused me not a little perturbation and surprise, and which considerably enhanced the mystery surrounding the fair Russian.

      We were passing a buttress of the fort when my attention was arrested by what appeared to be a man standing bolt upright in the shadow.

      I was too engrossed with thoughts of our tête-à-tête to allow the discovery of an eavesdropper – probably only a peasant – to cause me any alarm, but, seeing my eyes upon him, for I had halted to make sure, the figure suddenly drew from the shadow, and, with its face averted from the moonlight, walked rapidly away.

      Vera, uttering an exclamation of surprise or alarm, – which it was I could not tell – seized my arm with a convulsive energy that caused me no small pleasure at the feeling of dependence it implied, and drew a deep breath.

      “Do you know him?” I asked.

      “No, no; not at all,” she quickly replied. “He might have heard us; but never mind.”

      I endeavoured to learn the cause of her alarm thinking that so much agitation could not be created by such a trivial circumstance; but whether my knowledge of feminine nature was imperfect, or whether she knew who the listener was, and concealed his identity, I could not learn, her answers being of the most evasive kind.

      It was plain that the fact of our being discovered together had caused her the greatest consternation, and I was considerably puzzled to assign to this a reason.

      I did not broach the subject again, however, but walked straight to the hotel, where we bade each other buona notte.

      We met daily, and I, most prosaic of bachelors, found myself thinking of her every moment.

      Though in a dejected, perplexed mood, I felt utterly happy when at her side; for had she not given me words of hope for the future, and in these was a certain amount of consolation, however slight. Our clandestine meetings were so skilfully arranged as to keep the ever-grumbling Hertzen in entire ignorance, and Vera admitted such expeditions were her happiest hours.

      One evening, a fortnight afterwards, we had driven to Pegli, a quaint old fishing village four miles from Genoa. It was a gorgeous sunset, the sea a glittering expanse of blue and gold stretching out toward the descending sky, with nothing to fleck its surface but the gleam of a white sail or two; and as we walked together, close to the lapping waves, I fancied she looked a trifle wan and anxious.

      At

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