Their lips slowly approached each other, until they met in a fierce long passionate caress. It was the first time he had kissed her upon the lips--their kiss, alas! of long farewell. "Good-bye, my love. Farewell," he whispered hoarsely. "Though parted from you in the future I shall be yours always--always. Remember me-- sometimes." "Remember you!" she wailed. "How can I ever forget?" "No, dear heart," he whispered. "Do not forget, remember--remember that we love each other--that I shall love you always--always. Farewell!" Again he bent and kissed her lips. They were cold. She stood immovable. The blow of parting had entirely paralysed her senses. Once more he pressed his hot lips to hers. "May Providence protect and help us both, my beloved," he whispered, and then with a last, long, yearning look upon the sad white countenance that had held him in such fascination, he slowly released her. He caught up her soft white hand, kissing it reverently, as had been his habit ever since he had known her. Then he turned, hard-faced and determined, struggling within himself, and next second the door had closed upon him, and she was left alone. "Jack! My Jack!" she gasped. "Gone!" and grasping the edge of the table to steady herself, she stood staring straight before her. Her future, she knew, was only a blank grey sea of despair. Jack, the man whom she worshipped, the man whom she believed was honest, and for whom her pure affection was boundless, had gone out of her young life for ever. Outside, a young Tuscan contadino, passing on to meet his love, was singing in a fine clear voice one of the old Florentine _stornelli_-- those same love-songs sung in the streets of the Lily City ever since the Middle Ages. She listened: _Fiorin di mela! La mela e dolce e la sua buccia e amara, L'uomo gli e finto e la donna sincera_. _Fior di limone! Tre cose son difficili a lasciare: Il giuoco, l'amicizia, e il primo amore_! _Fior di licore! Licore e forte e non si puo incannare; Ma son piu forti le pene d'amore_. She held her breath, then with sudden wild abandon, she flung herself upon the silken couch, and burying her face in its cushions gave herself up to a paroxysm of grief and despair. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Six weeks later. Grey dawn was slowly spreading over the calm Mediterannean, the waters of which lazily lapped the golden shingle. Behind the distant blue the yellow sun was just peeping forth. At a spot upon the seashore about four miles from Leghorn, in the direction of the Maremma, five men had assembled, while at a little distance away, on the old sea-road to Rome, stood the hired motor-car which had brought one of them there. The motive for their presence there at that early hour was not far to seek. The men facing each other with their coats cast aside were the brown-bearded Marquess Giulio di San Rossore, and Prince Albert.