Why, that was something he could _do_ for her! He had something to give her, something she needed, something to match a little the golden treasure she poured out on him with her every glance. It was incredible good fortune! How under the sun could a man, a poor, plain, ordinary human being, live so that he might be worthy of such transcendent good fortune? He was swinging up the long steps now, the dawn white and clear about him. Here was where he had turned that morning and saw her standing afar off, bright under the black shade, come back to him! Here was where he had been near enough to see her face, her brows drawn together, the seeking look in her eyes. He had always thought Marise's eyes seemed to be looking for something. Here was where he had seen that they looked frightened. And now he stood on the very spot where she had stood, and he saw again her eyes soften into quiet trust. If somehow she might find in him what she was looking for! His heart stood still in awe. He looked out over the sleeping city, its roofs and domes and towers coming palely into the new day; and he saw her dark eyes soften from fright to quiet trust. God! Suppose he had never lived, never known Marise! The sweat stood out on him at the thought. If she could ... if she could look into his face and find that life had put there what she sought. The sun rose magnificently and cast over all the world a flood of golden light. Neale stood in it, praising and magnifying God, who had sent him into life. CHAPTER LVI They were on their way to hear a Palestrina mass in a chapel at St. Peter's, and stopped beside one of the great fountains rushing with a leap into the brilliant air and falling in white clouds of spray. "I've heard," said Livingstone, "that if you get at the right angle to the sun, you can see a million little rainbows." They began to walk here and there over the wet, moss-grown paving-stones around the base of the fountain, looking up at the glittering splendor of the upward plunging water, their ears filled with the liquid silver plashing and dripping of its fall. "Perhaps this isn't the right fountain, with the sun where it is," suggested Livingstone. He and Eugenia walked off across the wide piazza towards the other fountain. Neale turned towards Marise. She was standing on the other side of the basin, and as he looked at her the wind flung the huge white veil of spray over her. She stood in its midst like a novice in her white robes ... or like a bride. Her eyes were lifted to the great plume of the leaping water. He sprang toward her, crying jealously, "What do you think of when you look like that?" He raised his voice to drown out the shouting uproar of the water. The wind caught the spray and cast it away to the other side. She answered him, dreamily, "I was wondering how we could ever know what we are made for?"