she was doing; but unconsciously it was to him she was singing, when her voice escaped from her: it was a welcome to him--and he had accepted it as his welcome. Lottie gave a glance from her window, and thought she saw some one coming across the broad sunshine in the Dean’s Walk. Her heart gave a louder beat--_he_ was coming. She made no mystery now about it; the preliminaries were all over. He came for her--who else? he had never concealed it; he had come for her long ago. She could not tell how long ago it was since he had first caught a glimpse of her at the window. Always since then it had been for her that he came: content at first to watch outside her window; then, with a lover’s ingenuity, finding out ways of meeting her; then venturing, bold yet timid, always reverential, to her home--and now at length what was coming? He was coming. And she had withdrawn the veil from her heart, and seen and acknowledged what was there. It was for him she sang: without knowing it, her heart had been aware of his presence; and now he was coming. Lottie drew back in the shade of the great leaves which garlanded her window. The next moment he would be here---- But it was only the Signor. CHAPTER XXVI. THE FOOL’S PARADISE. The Signor came in with some suppressed excitement about him, which he concealed under an air of perfect calm, but which betrayed itself in the gleam of his eyes and the rapidity of his movements. He saw in a moment that he had bitterly disappointed Lottie, whose countenance changed as she saw him--changed from glowing expectation to that sudden pallor and sickness of departing hope which seems to carry all the life out of a face. He saw it, and he understood; he had the quickness of perception which belonged to his Italian origin, and he had, as we have said, a great deal that was feminine in him--this among the rest, that he could divine and read the meanings of a face. He saw at once what it was. She had expected, not him, but another. The Signor was very sorry for Lottie. He had been angry, almost spitefully angry, about her rejection of his favourite pupil; but she had made her peace with him last night, and all her offences had been condoned. He was very sorry for her. She had been looking for Ridsdale, and Ridsdale had not come. The Signor felt that he himself was a much safer and better visitor for her; but, all the same, he was sorry for Lottie. He bowed with a depth of respect, which, indeed, he showed to all ladies. He was more of an Italian than an Englishman in this point; he was always ceremonious and stately to women, bowing to the ground, taking the hand offered to him reverentially, as if he meant to kiss it. This ceremony gave Lottie a little time to recover herself, and after all it was very early. The voluntary was still sounding from the Abbey (how had the Signor got away so soon?), and though _he_ had not appeared yet, that was not to say that he was not coming. She took her seat again, with the colour coming