A cry of eager surprise broke from his lips.
It was the pretty, blue-enamelled locket that Irene usually wore around her white throat.
It had become detached from the slender gold chain and fallen on the ground without her knowledge.
Julius Revington had endured many pangs of baffled curiosity over this locket, of whose contents he had heard much from the ladies but which he had never had the good fortune to behold.
Pausing now in the quiet, secluded path, he deliberately touched the spring of the pretty bauble.
The lid flew open, and there before him under the soft light of the Italian sky that sifted down through the glistening leaves of the orange trees, were revealed the handsome faces of old Ronald Brooke and his daughter.
A hoarse cry broke from Julius Revington's lips, his face whitened, a cold dew started out upon his brow.
"My God," he said, and sank down upon a bed of flowers as if totally overcome.
With starting eyes he looked at the kind, genial, manly face of the old man, and then at the fair, almost angelic face of Elaine. An uncontrollable shudder shook his form.
"Father and daughter!" he said, under his breath.