"It is time to return," said Paul, leading Barbara towards the boat. "The mantilla!" she exclaimed, suddenly stopping short in her walk. "I left it in the ruins. I must go back for it, since it is Jacintha's. And my diamond brooch is fastened to it." "You are tired, Barbara. Remain here. I will fetch it." "Do not be long." "Can you not bear a parting of five minutes?" he asked with a smile. "One minute is too long, Paul." Seating Barbara upon a fragment of rock, Paul hastened over the grassy upland in the direction of the classic ruin, which was distant about a quarter of a mile from the shore. At the edge of a small wood that intervened between himself and the temple, he paused for a moment to listen to Barbara, who was singing in a sweet plaintive voice the hymn to the Virgin accustomed to be sung in her convent at vesper hour. "Fading, still fading, the last beam is shining. Ave Maria! day is declining: Safety and innocence fly with the light: Temptation and danger walk forth with the night: From the fall of the shade till the matin shall chime Shield us from peril, and save us from crime. _Ave Maria, audi nos!_" She formed a pretty picture as she sat there alone by the dusky-blue sea in the faint starlight, her dainty white-robed figure clearly outlined against the black rock. "I'm the luckiest mortal living," muttered Paul. "By heaven! won't the fellows be dumb with surprise and envy when I mount the jetty-stairs at Corfu with Barbara upon my arm! And as for uncle, always an admirer of the ladies, he'll fairly worship her." He pictured Colonel Graysteel's look of admiration, and caught his whispered aside: "By Jove, Paul, where did you find this lovely vestal? Lucky dog! no wonder you have stayed away so long!" Barbara had followed Paul with her eyes, and now, on seeing him pause, she waved her hand prettily, while he, like a gallant lover, waved his in turn. Then, eager to despatch his quest and to return to her, he plunged into the wood, and Barbara was lost to view. On reaching the temple, Paul quickly found the mantilla, but the brooch which should have been attached to it was missing. As the ornament was a valuable one he did not like to return without it, and he therefore began a search in the fading light. Having spent ten minutes without success, he resolved to quit the task lest Barbara, sitting by the lonely shore, should become nervous at his long delay. As he rose to his feet he looked upward, and found that the stars were invisible. A white mist like a ghost was floating over the isle. Snatching up the mantilla, he dashed down through the woodland, and, but for the murmur of the sea, which served to direct his course, he would most certainly have missed his way.