What the pretty, coquettish countess had said was true. After making many plans and forming many resolutions, Ronald met Mr. Standon, who was on the point of joining an exploring expedition in South Africa. He gladly consented to accompany him. There was but little preparation needed. Four days after the never-to-be-forgotten garden scene, Ronald Earle left Italy and became a wanderer upon the face of the earth. Chapter XVI Valentine Charteris never told the secret. She listened to the wonder and conjectures of all around her, but not even to her mother did she hint what had passed. She pitied Ronald profoundly. She knew the shock Dora had inflicted on his sensitive, honorable disposition. For Dora herself she felt nothing but compassion. Her calm, serene nature was incapable of such jealousies. Valentine could never be jealous or mean, but she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle Dora both. "Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself. "Nothing but ignorance can excuse her. As though I, with half Florence at my feet, cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend." So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a fresh place. Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of an impassive unimpressionable American. Florence soon forgot one whom she had been proud to know and honor. Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite nook--the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been enacted--she was found by the Prince di Borgezi. Every one had said that sooner or later it would come to this. Prince di Borgezi, the most fastidious of men, who had admired many women but loved none, whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved Valentine Charteris. Her fair English face, with its calm, grand beauty, her graceful dignity, her noble mind and pure soul had captivated him. For many long weeks he hovered round Valentine, longing yet dreading to speak the words which would unite or part them for life. Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon knowing his fate. He sought Valentine, and found her seated under the shade of her favorite trees. "Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have come to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can confer on any man." "What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling request. "Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen Guinevere'," he replied; "that picture is more to me than all that I possess. Only one thing is dearer, the original. May I ever hope to make that mine also?" Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an offer of marriage then that he was making.