"Is your father alive?" asked Ronald, who saw in this remark a good opportunity for finding out all about his beloved. "No, he died a long time ago," she said, sadly. "My mother is also dead, and I lived in Malta with my sister." "Was that your sister who was with you the first time I saw you?" Carmela nodded. "Yes, we did not get on well together, so I left her and am going to some relations in England." "Then I shall not see you again," said the young man, in a moody tone. "That depends on yourself," she replied, blushing. All the blood rushed to Ronald's fair face, and it was only by a great effort he prevented himself from taking her in his arms, and kissing her. "Does your cousin, the Marchese go with you?" he asked eagerly. "I believe so." "I suppose you are glad?" "Glad!" she looked at him with surprise; "why on earth should I be glad?" "Because--because--well"--desperately--"he's going to marry you." Carmela frowned. "Who told you so?" "Vassalla himself--is it true?" asked the young man breathlessly. Miss Cotoner looked at him in a queer manner for a moment, then turned away her head. "My parents arranged a match between us," she answered, nervously. "And you?" "I'm not in favour of it--I don't think there is any chance of my ever marrying the Marchese." Ronald sprang forward with a cry of delight. "Oh, Miss Cotoner--Carmela--I----" "Would like to see the fortifications," she answered, quickly nipping the declaration, she knew was coming, in the bud; "I wouldn't; let us go down to the Almeda." She turned away, and Ronald followed mortified and humbled at his failure, but half way down the hill began to pick up his spirits. "I can't expect her to fall like ripe fruit into my mouth," he thought, hopefully; "and it's impossible she can love me in so short a time." He was wrong there, for Carmela liked him very much--in fact, more than she cared to acknowledge to herself; but she would not allow him to speak because--well, because she was a riddle. Woman is an eternal riddle that man has been trying to solve since the beginning of the world, but every attempt has failed. Monteith, however, took his failure like the honest gentleman he was, and turned the conversation. Remembering his anxiety to solve the mystery of Ventin's death, he thought he would question his fair companion. "Did you know a lady in Valletta called Mrs. Ventin?" he asked, as they walked slowly along in the burning sun. "No, I never heard the name before," replied Carmela promptly, looking at him. "Of course not," thought Monteith; "it wasn't his right name." "Who is she?" said Carmela carelessly; "that's the same name as the gentleman who died." "She was his wife," replied Ronald. "Does she live at Valletta?" asked Miss Cotoner. "I think so." "Strange I never met her." "She was married to my friend seven years ago." "Oh!" said Miss Cotoner with a slight start; "no I never heard of her, Mr. Monteith."