His noble simplicity shamed her. A lump in her throat, she nodded dumbly. Vittorio signed to the delighted dragoman. They swung about and put in at the small landing place. Knees trembling beneath her, Anne disembarked, and she and Vittorio strolled up the grassy bank towards the villa. The music, stilled for the last few minutes, smote the air once more with a tragic, persistent monotony. The player was evidently improvising upon some doleful, Arabic theme, perhaps a song of the boatmen. Anne pressed against Vittorio. "It makes my very soul shed tears," she murmured. They had neared the house. Low, rectangular, surrounded by palms and rosebushes, it rose directly in front of them. Upon the awninged terrace, iron chair tip-tilted against the pinkish walls, the violinist suddenly ceased playing. He laid his instrument upon the table next to him and looked idly into the distance. Although unspeakably altered, it was undoubtedly Alexis. Two great tears gliding down her cheeks, Anne signed to Vittorio to wait for her. She mounted the shallow steps alone and approached Alexis, touching him lightly where the slim shoulders showed gaunt beneath the loose linen coat. "Alexis?" As if galvanized by the sound of her voice, the motionless figure sprang suddenly to life. The sunken eyes leaped to Anne's, widened, then remained fixed. She came a little closer. "It is I, Anne. Don't you know me, Alexis?" she murmured very gently. The dilated eyes traveled over her face. He passed an emaciated hand over his forehead, beneath dampened locks. "Have I the delirium again?" His voice was hoarse, almost toneless, not the boyish voice she remembered so well. More altered, in fact, than the poor face which, at a distance, still appeared youthful, although near to, it showed lined and haggard, dry skin stretched taut over hectic cheek-bones. Anne's heart yearned over him sorrowfully. She sat down beside him, and took one of the feverish hands between her cool palms. "No, no, don't be frightened, dear. You are not dreaming. It is really Anne in the flesh. We--that is to say I, was passing by on the water. I heard your violin and stopped to listen. From what my dragoman told me, I guessed it must be you. So I came. Will you forgive me?" "Forgive you?" The altered voice was full of wonder. He still looked at her as if he scarcely believed in her reality. The great suffering eyes, like those of a stray dog who has found a master, wrung her heart. "Forgive you?" he repeated monotonously. "Yes. For disobeying you and coming to you after all these years?" Her voice was tremulous. As he listened the stiff figure suddenly relaxed, leaned forward with a choked, comprehending cry. "Anne, Anne, it is really you! Thank God! I have prayed that I might see you once more before I died. God is merciful after all!"