"What had he seen to make him so?" said Daphne.
"No one will ever know, Miss Leslie. He died the same week."
"What a strange story!"
"And a true one," returned Angelo gravely. "No one in Rivoli dares come within a mile of this fountain after dark; and no priest, or body of priests, has had the courage to try the powers of exorcism since that fatal day."
Daphne was silent and my uncle, taking Angelo's arm, resumed the journey, saying:
"Your story is a mysterious one, but it admits of an easy explanation on rationalistic and psychological principles. Now Professor Dulascanbee——"
And while I was enjoying sweet confidences with Daphne on the way to Rivoli, Angelo had to listen to a prosy lecture from my uncle, directed against belief in the supernatural.
"What do you say, Frank?" he called out to me. "Shall we imitate the bold cleric, and try to solve the mystery by passing a night at the fountain?"
"I'm perfectly agreeable," I responded. "I long to see a ghost."
It was a superb day. The mists had vanished before the glowing sun, and the sky was now one clear expanse of delicate blue. A soft breeze fanned our temples. Through the sunny air the mountains shimmered, faint violet airy masses topped with snow, their various peaks reflected in the surface of the lake, on whose margin stood the quaint old town of Rivoli.