attendants for the journey. Do you allow it?' The Malay informed you of this?' asked Fabio. 'In what manner? Why, he is dumb.' 'Here, signor, is the paper on which he wrote all this in our language, and very correctly.' 'And Muzzio, you say, is ill?' 'Yes, he is very ill, and can see no one.' 'Have they sent for a doctor?' 'No. The Malay forbade it.' ' And was it the Malay wrote you this?' 'Yes, it was he.' Fabio did not speak for a moment. 'Well, then, arrange it all,' he said at last. Antonio withdrew.
Fabio looked after his servant in bewilderment. 'Then, he is not dead?' he thought . . . and he did not know whether to rejoice or to be sorry. 'Ill?' But a few hours ago it was a corpse he had looked upon!
Fabio returned to Valeria. She waked up and raised her head. The husband and wife exchanged a long look full of significance. 'He is gone?' Valeria said suddenly. Fabio shuddered. 'How gone? Do you mean . . . ' 'Is he gone away?' she continued. A load fell from Fabio's heart. 'Not yet; but he is going to-day.' 'And I shall never, never see him again?' 'Never.' 'And these dreams will not come again?' 'No.' Valeria again heaved a sigh of relief; a blissful smile once more appeared on her lips. She held out both hands
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