It was a wonderful morning which saw the birth of the new year in Venice,--one of those clear, bright days on which Winter lays aside all his severity and assumes the smiles of the Spring still asleep in the bosom of the stiffened earth. The _piazza_ was filled with a motley crowd of holiday folk, and the lagoons swarmed with a fleet of gondolas and _sandalos_. Before a mighty marble house which stands where one of the smaller thoroughfares sweeps its waters into the Grand Canal, a gondola has paused. A young man, a foreigner evidently, steps from the boat and passes under the fretted archway, with an admiring glance at the beautiful carving. He is pressed for time, but he stops for a moment to glance into the square cortile, with its group of almond-trees and its playing fountain. He is met at the wide doorway by a servant, of whom he asks, in the best Italian he can muster, for the Signorina Almsford. The black-browed menial politely replies that it will be impossible for him to see the signorina; she is not at home to visitors. No further answer can the stranger obtain to his eager inquiries. A gold piece unlocks the tongue of the menial at last, and he informs the young man, in excellent English, that the signorina has been ill ever since her return from America, a month and more ago. "She has been very ill; Girolomo says that she will die, and the Signor Almsford himself fears the worst. She has not left her room once. To-day being a _festa_, she has fancied to go out with Girolomo in the gondola, and I am to help him carry her downstairs." As he finished speaking, the man noticed that the visitor had grown very pale, and now stood leaning against a marble pillar as if for support. When he spoke again it was to send his card to Mr. Almsford. On being admitted to an outer reception room he sank upon a chair, his face hidden in his hands. Soon he was bidden to enter. The signorina had learned of his arrival, and it was her pleasure to see him. The young man passed through a long suite of stately rooms, scarcely noticing the rich furnishing and decorations. Before a curtained doorway he hesitated for a moment, but the servant, pushing aside the heavy portiére, left him no choice but to enter. Before him, reclining in a great chair, lay a figure which he had last seen full of health and strength. From a pile of sea-green cushions smiled a face which he had known when it was glorious with the freshness of youth. The color which the red rose of love had brought to her cheek had faded now; she was like a flower no longer, but a great white pearl shimmering through pale waters. She smiled, and held out her hand to her countryman; and Maurice Galbraith, bowing low over the small fingers, strove to hide his face from the great hollow eyes which looked inquiringly into his own. "I am so glad you have come. I do not even ask what has brought you, it is so good to see some one from home."