"See those lions?" he touched her arm. "Thirteenth Century." She stared--"That's the 'Balzana,' the shield of the Commune, black and white. I'll tell you why. When Senius offered sacrifice to his gods, on his arrival here, from the altar of Diana rose a pure white smoke, and from that of Apollo a dense black one--and ever since it's been on the shields of the city. Makes one think, doesn't it? All those centuries ago." "It's wonderful!" On they went, through shadowy streets, the deep blue sky overhead cut by castellated walls and pierced by towers, dark with age. Then, with a final "Ee ... ah!" from the driver, a last flourish of whip, they swerved aside through the frowning arch of the palace into the vast courtyard. Here the sun had found its way, bathing one side in golden light. The fountain leaped in a dazzling cloud; the delicate marble stairs curved up, fairy-like, to the gallery; and about them was the beat of wings... "_Look_ at the pigeons!"--Jill cried. "Where are we?" The carriage stopped. He helped her down and hurried her on, up the shining silvery steps. "Peter! What is this?" Jill asked. But McTaggart only smiled to himself. "Come along"--he grasped her arm--"this way..." Narrow shafts of light through the twisted columns made a path, like striped satin under their feet. Dark doors were swung wide, and they stood in the dim tapestried hall, the inquisitive sunshine following them and playing among the crystal lustres. Jill, dazed, saw servants stand, bowing before her, heard a hum of respectful greetings rise and fall as McTaggart swept her, ever on, down a corridor lined with statues, and into a room, endlessly long, with a painted ceiling and polished floor. "Now!" said Peter. He laughed aloud, throwing a challenge to the walls, where on every side faces peered, measuring them with liquid eyes. "Here we are, Jill--at home." He closed the doors as he spoke. "Home?" Jill stared at him. "Peter--I _don't_ understand." A shade of temper was in her voice as she looked up in his laughing eyes. "It's the Maramonte palace"--he cried--"Mine!--and yours now, my darling. Where my mother lived ... And all these"--he waved his hand--"are my people." Jill suddenly caught her breath. "D'you mean to say"--her voice was tense--"You _live_ here?--that it's ... the house?" "Yes..." he caught her in his arms. "Aren't you pleased?--It's my 'surprise!'" But she pushed him away nervously. Wide-eyed she gazed around her. Then, still silent, she crossed the floor, and gazed out of the nearest window. He followed her, a shade anxious. Surely, she could not be upset? "Forgive me, Jill ... I ought to have thought..." But suddenly her face changed. "The tower"--she whispered--"the tower of my dream ... Peter, tell me--it _is_ true? It won't go ... fade away..." She clung to him like a frightened child.