The sun was up before he woke.

He rose hastily and ordered breakfast and a horse; for he had resolved the day before upon an early ride.

A restless, undefined feeling led him in the same direction he had taken the preceding evening.

He passed the house that would forevermore be a prominent feature in the landscape of his life.

Vines were gently waving in the morning air between the pillars of the piazza, where he had lingered entranced to hear the tones of "Buena Notte." The bright turban of Tulipa was glancing about, as she dusted the blinds.