“Pity!” he exclaimed, taking her hand, fervidly. “Ah, no! It is greater than that! I love you, Hera. From the first it has been so--from the very first. Knowing all and realising all, I have loved you with the whole power of my being. I will not silence the cry of this love, and you, too, must listen.” An alarming yet rapturous shudder went through her frame, and she shrank from him. With hands at his temples, he stood like one dizzy from a blow. “Are you sorry?” he asked, and she made him no answer. “Oh, not that!” he pleaded. “Not that!” She saw her life of despair whirling away, and a new life dawning, beautiful, glorious. “Sorry?” she said at last, her breath going with the words. “No; I am glad.” And he drew her to him, bent his head above hers, and kissed her lips. The shower had ceased and the sky was clearing. From rifts in the speeding clouds streams of sunshine found their way to earth. A golden shaft came in by the open clerestory and lingered upon them. Two bluebirds talked blithely on a window ledge. The rook and his mate came down from their dark corner to fly out into the sparkling air. Beholding the sunshine, Mario said: “See, the glory of heaven falls upon this unison.” They laughed together like careless children, forgetting all but their new-found joy, and feared no more. “I was lost; I have found my way,” she murmured. “And the mariner sailing under sealed orders has learned his destiny,” he said. “I dreaded the hour that was to take you from me, dear, and reason lost hope; but not so the heart. And now you are my own, my own for ever.” “Yes; they shall not part us now,” she said, nestling to him. “Hera, how often have I dreamed of finding you!” “And I of finding you.” “When, my darling?” For answer he had her eyes turned upward, timorously, fluttering under the depths of his, and then downcast, while she whispered the words, “Always, Mario, always.” Again their lips were locked. “Have I your permission to enter?” The words rang grimly in the old temple, sending their echo from wall to wall. Mario and Hera knew the voice. They turned toward the door, a low opening arched in the Gothic form, and saw standing there a dark figure sharply defined against the sunshine that flooded the cloister. It was the figure of Antonio Tarsis. His posture was that of one quite calm, his arms folded, on his lips an evil smile. He surveyed the others with a mock air of amusement; then, taking off his motoring cap, he made a low bow, and advanced with a broad affectation of humility. “I thank you for permitting me to enter,” he began, the hoarseness of his tone betraying the anger that consumed him. “My apology is offered--my apology, you understand--for breaking up a love scene between the woman who is to be my wife to-morrow and another man.” He paused as if expectant of some word from them, but they did not speak; nor did they stir from the spot where they stood when first they beheld him.