"Why?"
"Perhaps to make money, perhaps to obtain renown or to do good. Dante gave the world his vision of hell, and of heaven; why not you?"
"Because I am not a poet, and because—well, every man has his own way of telling his story. Besides, if ever I were to tell the story of my life I should choose my audience."
They had by this time reached the gate which opened the way into the grounds of The Homestead, and as if by one consent the trio stopped.
"Are you staying here long, signore?" asked Olive.
"I do not know. I am given to understand that there is an unwritten rule that no visitor shall stay at your beautiful home for the poor, and the tired, for more than a month, Miss Castlemaine," he said. "The rule is just and wise. Your desire is to give the greatest happiness to the greatest number, and therefore it is not right that I should stay more than a month. Still, because the place seems to grow more beautiful, and more interesting every day, I may take rooms in some farmhouse. On the other hand, I may leave at the end of next week."
He looked up at her as he spoke, and watched her attentively out of his half-closed eyes.
"I hope I may have the privilege of seeing you again before I go, whether my stay be long or short," he added presently.
She knew not why, and she wondered afterwards whether she had done right. She had seen him that day for the first time. All she knew of him was that he was an Eastern stranger, who from his own confession had a strange past, and held opinions which to say the least of them seemed dangerous, yet yielding on the impulse of the moment she expressed the hope that she should see him at Vale Linden.
"Ah, signorina," said Ricordo, "I am not worthy of so great an honour; nevertheless, I accept it before you have time to repent, and withdraw your invitation." At this moment he stopped at the gates of The Homestead.