“Oh, that I could sleep and forget,” she sighed, and let the dark-fringed lids droop wearily again. Surely he possessed some magnetic power, or else the narcotic influence of pain overpowered her. She sank quickly into a deep, restful sleep, and the man by her side sat very still, watching the lovely, sleeping face and the closed lids, still delicately roseate from the tears she had shed a while ago. “She has been weeping--over what, I wonder?” he thought curiously. The studio grew very still as Italy slept and Ralph painted, though not very industriously, he exchanged so many sweet whispers with his beautiful model; but the sitting was almost over when Italy sighed softly and opened her eyes. She saw Mr. Seabright still by her side, watching her with an air of tender devotion. “I have really slept,” she said gently, forcing a smile for him. “And your dreams were sad, for you sighed often in your sleep,” he said. “Forgive me for watching you so closely, dear little friend, but my heart ached for you. I saw that you had been weeping before you came here. Ah, Italy, how can I help you?” His voice was divinely sympathetic, his bright, dark eyes softened with tender regard. It won upon her insensibly, this unobtrusive tenderness. “You are so good to me,” she sighed gratefully, and whispered: “I had a very unhappy interview with Mr. Gardner this morning. I wanted him to search for new evidence against my father’s murderer, and he wished to refuse, but I would not permit him to say no.” “He accepted the case?” Percy Seabright’s voice trembled over the question, and his face paled to an ashy tint. “No, he did not accept. I gave him two days to consider the proposition, and I told him if he refused I would place the case in the hands of some other good lawyer. I think I shall employ some clever detective to follow up the clues in my possession.” “And so you will follow up the clues and blacken Francis Murray’s memory and break his mother’s heart? Miss Vale, you surprise me,” he breathed reproachfully. “And why?” she murmured defiantly. “My mother’s name was blackened, and her heart broken. If there are any who should stand in her stead and bear all that she bore let the blow fall upon them. There is no pity in my heart for the criminal. And yet--yet I do not believe that Francis Murray was guilty; no, no, no!” A sullen light gleamed in Percy Seabright’s eyes as he said: “I hoped you would be willing to forego this matter, but since you persist in pushing the search, remember that I can prove my assertion that Mr. Murray was at The Lodge secretly the night of the murder.” “I will remember it,” she answered; then her eyes grew soft as she added: “But I believe in his innocence as I do in my angel mother’s.”