It was, if possible, grander now than it had been in the earlier part of the day. The hot sun had cleared away the lingering mist, and the cloudless sky was like one large perfect opal, while the earth beneath shone and glistened as if it were a jewel set with various-colored gems. There was not a mean or sordid thing about. Touched by the splendid alchemy of the sun, the smallest circumstance was noble, the poorest color glorious. Alick stood on the fell-brow entranced: then turning, he saw slowly coming across the pathless green a young slight figure dressed in gray. He looked as it came near, and his heart beat with a force that took all power from him. It was absurd, he knew, but there was such a strange look of Leam about that girl! He stood and watched her coming along with that slow, graceful, undulating step which was Leam's birthright. Was he mad? Was he dreaming? What was this mocking trick of eyesight that was perplexing him? Surely it was madness; and yet--no, it could be no one else. Supreme, beloved, who else could personate her so as to cheat him? She came on, her eyes always fixed on the distance, seeing nothing of Alick standing dark against the sky. She came nearer, nearer, till he saw the glory of her eyes, the curve of her lip, and could count the curling tresses on her brow. Then he came down from the height and strode across the space between them. She lifted up her eyes and saw him. For an instant the sadness cleared out of them as the mists had cleared from the sky: her pathetic mouth broke into a smile, and she held out both her hands. "Alick, dear Alick! my good Alick!" she cried in a voice of exquisite tenderness. "My queen!" he said kneeling, his honest upturned face wet with tears. "Lost and now found!" [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE ITALIAN MEDIÆVAL WOOD-SCULPTORS.