In that brief absence her countenance had entirely changed.  She was pale to the lips, with drawn brows, while about her mouth played a hard, bitter expression, as though her mind were bent upon some desperate resolve.

That the man who had come there by stealth was no stranger was evident; yet that between them was some deep-rooted enmity was equally apparent.  Nevertheless, he held her irresistibly within his toils.  His clean-shaven face was a distinctly evil one.  His eyes were set too close together, and in his physiognomy was something unscrupulous and relentless.  He was not the man for a woman to trust.

She stepped back from the threshold, and for a few seconds halted outside, her ears strained to catch any sound.  Then, as though reassured, she pushed the chestnut hair from her hot, fevered brow, held her breath with strenuous effort, and, re-entering the library, advanced to her father’s side.

“I wondered where you had gone, dear,” he said in his low, calm voice, as he detected her presence.  “I hoped you would not leave me for long, for it is not very often we enjoy an evening so entirely alone as to-night.”

“Leave you, dear old dad!  Why, of course not!” She laughed gaily, as though nothing had occurred to disturb her peace of mind.  “We were just about to look at those seals Professor Moyes sent you to-day, weren’t we?  Here they are;” and she placed them before the helpless and afflicted man, endeavouring to remain undisturbed, and taking a chair at his side, as was her habit when they sat together.

“Yes,” he said cheerfully.  “Let us see what they are.”

The first of the yellow sulphur-casts which he examined bore the full-length figure of an abbot, with mitre and crosier, in the act of giving his blessing.  Behind him were three circular towers with pointed roofs surmounted by crosses, while around, in bold early Gothic letters, ran the inscription

+ S. BENEDITI .  ABBATIS .  Santi .  AMBROSII .  D’RANCIA +

Slowly and with great care his fingers travelled over the raised letters and design of the oval cast.  Then, having also examined the battered old bronze matrix, he said, “A most excellent specimen, and in first-class preservation, too!  I wonder where it has been found?  In Italy, without doubt.”

“What do you make it out to be, dad?” asked the girl, seated in the chair at his side and as interested in the little antiquity as he was himself.

“Thirteenth century, my dear—­early thirteenth century,” he declared without hesitation.  “Genuine, quite genuine, no doubt.  The matrix shows signs of considerable wear.  Is there much patina upon it?” he asked.

She turned it over, displaying that thick green corrosion which bronze acquires only by great age.

“Yes, quite a lot, dad.  The raised portion at the back is pierced by a hole very much worn.”

“Worn by the thong by which it was attached to the girdle of successive abbots through centuries,” he declared.  “From its inscription, it is the seal of the Abbot Benedict of the Monastery of St. Ambrose, of Rancia, in Lombardy.  Let me think, now.  We should find the history of that house probably in Sassolini’s Memorials.  Will you get it down, dear?—­top shelf of the fifth case, on the left.”