The house was an old one, and what purpose this secret place of observation had originally served it was now impossible to tell. Rispani had found it there when he took the house, and on more than one occasion had taken advantage of it to pry into the doings of his guests; but never to such good purpose as to-day, for from that coign of vantage he had been an unseen witness of the transfer of the roll of notes to Signor Alessandro. Immediately after the departure of the Englishman Rispani sought his daughter. “The Signor Alessandro loves thee—is it not so?” he said to her in Italian. There was something in his tone which convinced Vanna that he had a special motive in putting the question. “His eyes have told me that he loves me, but his words never.” “Thou lovest him in return?” “I like him—yes; better than I like any one. But as for loving him—no.” “Should he ask thee to wed him, what will thy answer be?” “It will be time enough to decide that when he _has_ asked me.” “He _will_ ask thee—I feel sure of it—and thy answer must be yes—yes—yes!” Vanna’s dark orbs looked the surprise she felt. “Listen,” resumed Rispani, laying a hand on her arm and speaking into her ear. “One of the strangers who have just gone gave the Signor Alessandro bank-notes to the value of six thousand pounds English money. These eyes saw him do it. Think! Six thousand pounds!” Father and daughter looked meaningly at each other. In the eyes of both sparkled the same cold avaricious gleam. At that moment the likeness between them was almost startling. Giuseppe Rispani had prophesied rightly. At the hour of sunset Alec Clare sought Giovanna and found her where she sat under the grape trellis in the far garden. Nowhere could there have been a spot more suitable for the purpose he had in view. Vanna might have had a prevision that he would look for her there. Alec had dreaded lest, when the crucial moment should have come, his tongue would fail him and that he should find himself the prey of a silence, at once painful and absurd. But no such mishap befell him. How the declaration brought itself about he could hardly have told afterwards; all he knew was that he found it surprisingly easy and simple to give utterance to what he wanted to say. But it may have been that Vanna smoothed the way for him after a fashion which, in his preoccupation, he was scarcely conscious of. In any case, he spoke with an ardour and a manly earnestness which did not fail to carry conviction to his listener’s heart. It was impossible to doubt his sincerity.