A crashing noise followed the dog's outbreak, which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot.
Ovid hurried into the conservatory--with the dog ahead of him, tearing down the steps which led into the back garden.
The pot lay broken on the tiled floor.

Struck by the beauty of the flower that grew in it, he stooped to set it up again.

If, instead of doing this, he had advanced at once to the second door, he would have seen a lady hastening into the house; and, though her back view only was presented, he could hardly have failed to recognize Miss Minerva.

As it was, when he reached the door, the garden was empty.
He looked up at the house, and saw Carmina at the open window of her bedroom.
The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him.

Was she thinking of her happy past life?
or of the doubtful future, among strangers in a strange country?
She noticed Ovid--and her eyes brightened.