She started and looked quickly around, but saw no one to whom she could attribute the remark. An old gentleman and lady were behind her, and with the exception of a spruce, dandified individual, she could discover no one else. It was sometime, however, ere she could recover from the agitation into which this had thrown her; and Crayford, attributing her abstraction entirely to her pity for the poor fortune-teller, exerted all his skill as a connoisseur to draw her attention to the beautiful creations of the painter and sculptor. He was successful, and the mind of Florence soon engrossed alone by the pleasing objects around her. Several times, in passing through the rooms, her eyes encountered those of a gentleman dressed in deep mourning, who seemed to be regarding her with a sad and mournful gaze. At first she thought nothing of it; but when again and again she met the same sad expressive eyes, she could not suppress a feeling of agitation. They spent some hours here, and were about retiring, when, in one of the galleries, Florence observed the same gentleman standing at a little distance attentively regarding a fine group of statuary. His profile was turned toward them, and struck with the intellectual cast of his features, Florence pointed him out to Crayford. “Heavens, he here!” he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon him, while a mortal paleness overspread his features; then aware his agitation must appear singular to his companion, he added, “I met that gentleman abroad under circumstances of very strange interest; some other time I will explain—if you please we will now pass on.” As they reached the door Florence looked around, but the stranger had disappeared. Once, as they threaded their way homeward through the busy crowd, she thought she met the same mournful eyes, but ere she could take a second look they had vanished.